In Between
I read that post that I wrote yesterday over and over today. At work, at home. I was inexplicably angry today, grumpy, muted - but I just chalked it up to being tired. I haven't had a day off in nearly 13 days and I am exhausted. Kids wear me out.
As I was reading about Mike, a flash of recognition came to me. We reconciled, very briefly, because I wanted redemption from him. I had to prove to him that I was worthy. Because he said I wasn't. Every time that I kiss a guy or a girl now? And tell Dick? I have that EXACT same sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. But Dick forgives me, because he knows that this is bigger than me. Or was. The counselor said maybe it is because he operates from love and forgiveness. And I would like to be there. If he were to kiss another girl, I would forgive him, because I had done the same. I like to think that it would be out of love and forgiveness, but if I don't have that for myself, how can I have that for another person?
We also covered molestation from when I was little.
We lived in Chile. I was at my friend Maria Teresa's house. Our parents were gone and her older sister Pilar was watching us. A guy came around with a big wagon of oranges, but no horse to pull it. He pulled it manually. He asked to be let in to the courtyard to show us some exercises, and Maria Teresa and Paulette agreed. I didn't. I knew it was wrong, but I followed anyway. I can't say why. Maybe because I was 4. I remember feeling like the odd man out between those two. Girls are like that. I'm a teacher, I know that it starts from a very young age.
They let him in the back and I don't know how long he talked to us. Or whether he started out with regular exercises. He told us to line up against the wall and pull our pants down. We did, and he pulled his pants down as well. He began to come toward us and the other two ran away. I stood, frozen. He touched the outside of my vagina with his penis. There was no penetration. I suppose I was lucky. At that moment, Pilar came around the corner with a knife and told him to get the fuck out of there. He did.
They all teased me ruthlessly. Told me I was going to grow a penis. And I believed them. I was terrified. For years. I didn't tell my parents. I was too embarrassed.
Two years later, when we were living on Saipan, I finally broke. I just cried and cried and cried until I broke down and told my grandmother. She said, much to my amazement, that my parents already knew. That they guy had been caught and put in jail.
When I was relating this yesterday, I wondered out loud why I hadn't been told. I don't know if this is something that I blocked out, being told the guy was put away, or if my family just never told me. I can't imagine that they wouldn't, but I honestly don't remember.
The counselor also asked me if I felt traumatized by this. I don't know. I'm sure I did at one point, but now...I find other experiences more traumatic. My inability to stop kissing people, for example. If I lost Dick, I would know that he was the one that got away. And I don't think that I would recover from that. We didn't explore it further, because there is no point assigning trauma to something that I feel so removed from.
I still haven't been drinking. Reluctantly, sometimes. Last weekend when I was at work, Dick was out with everyone and I felt...left out. Just because I wasn't out, I think. I've put myself in social situations here where other people are drinking and I'm not. I was fine.
Days like today when I feel disrespected and maybe a little lingering anger from digging up the past are hard. I'd like a beer, or some wine. But I know where that goes. And I'm trying not to be stupid. I feel better when I don't drink, too. Especially since it seems like such a way of life here. But I feel bad saying that, because I feel like it makes me seem like I think I'm better than people who drink. And I don't. I'm just trying to do right by me.
I also remember that I drank into blackout when I first started - I find this kind of disturbing. One night I split a liter of coke with some Bacardi in it with a friend of mine and woke up locked outside my friend's apartment in my underwear and a T-shirt. I was 13. 14 at the very oldest, but I doubt it. My friend had put me to bed in her bed, in her bedroom, and somehow I made it outside. I hid inside the service entrance until my parents went to work in the morning, then I went inside to my room and crawled in bed and slept it off. I don't think that I did that again, but I still drank. And sucked long and hard on Marlboro reds. Anything to get that high, I think.
Looking at the behavior of my stepsons, I don't think this was uncommon. Or is uncommon. I just never stopped. It was brought up that perhaps I stopped maturing at 16, and that's why the kissing WITHOUT the sex happens. I suppose. But how do I get past that? PAST 15? Maybe I just stayed at the age that I felt the most in control. Of myself. Of men in my life. Of the bottle.
I really don't like thinking so much. I don't think it is good for me. I disappear into my head and into my thoughts. I'm looking forward to the weekend. I hope there is sun. My favorite thing to do is spend the day quietly with Dick walking on the beach, just the two of us.
Jane Says: I'm a Barbie Girl. In a Barbie World. Life in Plastic. It's FANTASTIC.
As I was reading about Mike, a flash of recognition came to me. We reconciled, very briefly, because I wanted redemption from him. I had to prove to him that I was worthy. Because he said I wasn't. Every time that I kiss a guy or a girl now? And tell Dick? I have that EXACT same sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. But Dick forgives me, because he knows that this is bigger than me. Or was. The counselor said maybe it is because he operates from love and forgiveness. And I would like to be there. If he were to kiss another girl, I would forgive him, because I had done the same. I like to think that it would be out of love and forgiveness, but if I don't have that for myself, how can I have that for another person?
We also covered molestation from when I was little.
We lived in Chile. I was at my friend Maria Teresa's house. Our parents were gone and her older sister Pilar was watching us. A guy came around with a big wagon of oranges, but no horse to pull it. He pulled it manually. He asked to be let in to the courtyard to show us some exercises, and Maria Teresa and Paulette agreed. I didn't. I knew it was wrong, but I followed anyway. I can't say why. Maybe because I was 4. I remember feeling like the odd man out between those two. Girls are like that. I'm a teacher, I know that it starts from a very young age.
They let him in the back and I don't know how long he talked to us. Or whether he started out with regular exercises. He told us to line up against the wall and pull our pants down. We did, and he pulled his pants down as well. He began to come toward us and the other two ran away. I stood, frozen. He touched the outside of my vagina with his penis. There was no penetration. I suppose I was lucky. At that moment, Pilar came around the corner with a knife and told him to get the fuck out of there. He did.
They all teased me ruthlessly. Told me I was going to grow a penis. And I believed them. I was terrified. For years. I didn't tell my parents. I was too embarrassed.
Two years later, when we were living on Saipan, I finally broke. I just cried and cried and cried until I broke down and told my grandmother. She said, much to my amazement, that my parents already knew. That they guy had been caught and put in jail.
When I was relating this yesterday, I wondered out loud why I hadn't been told. I don't know if this is something that I blocked out, being told the guy was put away, or if my family just never told me. I can't imagine that they wouldn't, but I honestly don't remember.
The counselor also asked me if I felt traumatized by this. I don't know. I'm sure I did at one point, but now...I find other experiences more traumatic. My inability to stop kissing people, for example. If I lost Dick, I would know that he was the one that got away. And I don't think that I would recover from that. We didn't explore it further, because there is no point assigning trauma to something that I feel so removed from.
I still haven't been drinking. Reluctantly, sometimes. Last weekend when I was at work, Dick was out with everyone and I felt...left out. Just because I wasn't out, I think. I've put myself in social situations here where other people are drinking and I'm not. I was fine.
Days like today when I feel disrespected and maybe a little lingering anger from digging up the past are hard. I'd like a beer, or some wine. But I know where that goes. And I'm trying not to be stupid. I feel better when I don't drink, too. Especially since it seems like such a way of life here. But I feel bad saying that, because I feel like it makes me seem like I think I'm better than people who drink. And I don't. I'm just trying to do right by me.
I also remember that I drank into blackout when I first started - I find this kind of disturbing. One night I split a liter of coke with some Bacardi in it with a friend of mine and woke up locked outside my friend's apartment in my underwear and a T-shirt. I was 13. 14 at the very oldest, but I doubt it. My friend had put me to bed in her bed, in her bedroom, and somehow I made it outside. I hid inside the service entrance until my parents went to work in the morning, then I went inside to my room and crawled in bed and slept it off. I don't think that I did that again, but I still drank. And sucked long and hard on Marlboro reds. Anything to get that high, I think.
Looking at the behavior of my stepsons, I don't think this was uncommon. Or is uncommon. I just never stopped. It was brought up that perhaps I stopped maturing at 16, and that's why the kissing WITHOUT the sex happens. I suppose. But how do I get past that? PAST 15? Maybe I just stayed at the age that I felt the most in control. Of myself. Of men in my life. Of the bottle.
I really don't like thinking so much. I don't think it is good for me. I disappear into my head and into my thoughts. I'm looking forward to the weekend. I hope there is sun. My favorite thing to do is spend the day quietly with Dick walking on the beach, just the two of us.
Jane Says: I'm a Barbie Girl. In a Barbie World. Life in Plastic. It's FANTASTIC.
This entry was posted
on Friday, September 22, 2006 at 1:26 AM.
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Wow, what haven't you been put through? It is amazing that you emerged from all of this as well as you did even with the problems you have. I really feel for you.
I try and put a positive spin on things. For me. I think that's why I read a lot of other blogs where things were much, much worse. It helps me put things in perspective. And sometimes, I don't even feel right feeling bad because these were isolated incidents. In between years of relative happiness. RELATIVE.
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