Funny how things happen...

~Nov. 10, 2002~

Still feeling a bit behind the power curve on the whole Fight Club issue. And just got off the phone with Sean who didn't help matters any. Hell, he's rather dense, and even he figured it out the first time he saw it. So I think I was just in serious denial at that point. It would have hit far too close to home had I "realized" what was going on. But now, I get it. And I understand a lot more about parts of the movie that I didn't the first time around. Though I need to remember to ask Jenn about the whole dildo/suitcase/Tyler taking the car scene. Still don't quite get how that happened, and now it's buggin' me. Thanks, Jeff *sticks her tongue out at her bro-in-law*

I guess it's true when people talk about things happening in their own time. I've noticed that, especially of late, things happen when there's a part of me that's ready to deal with them, or when I *have* to deal with them to move on.

Wouldn't it be nice, though, if we only had to deal with them once, learn the lesson, and move on? Sadly, I've come to the conclusion that I'm not that type of person. Otherwise, I wouldn't have gone from a marriage where I was second best into a relationship where I was second best. I think, though, that I got the idea this time, and if not, I have a ring on my right hand that will remind me of that until I no longer need it.

Though I also think that I'm one of the lucky ones. Some people never learn the lessons, and are destined to repeat them over and over again. My mom is like that. She's currently on her 5th or 6th marriage. She's very happy in it, and Don is a wonderful man that's good to her. Yet at the same time, I know that she's not fully happy. And a good part of that revolves around me. About what has happened to me.

I know she blames herself for it. For not having realised sooner, or not having gotten away from him sooner. Which it is I don't know. But she does blame herself. That much is evident in the fact that once, everytime we're together for more than a couple days, she'll get that look in her eye, and I know the "I didn't mean to be a bad mother" talk is about to start. And than it's as if her whole being revolves around the fact that she didn't do her job as a parent. And suddenly I'm the grown up and she's the child and I'm telling her that it wasn't her fault, that she did her best, blah blah blah. Do I believe that? Yes. And no. She did do the best she could, after she got away, and got us away from Dan. But before that...? Did she turn a blind eye, knowing somewhere inside what he was doing? She had to have known about the beatings. There's no way she couldn't have known. Right? But everytime we have "The talk" as I've come to view it, I always end up wondering, since she always says things like "I tried to get you away when I suspected..." or "I thought I was in time, but..."

Great Goddess, heaven help her, or me, if she ever finds out the full extent of what happened. I remember the reactions from the day that something clicked in my head after we'd left him and I knew part of it. We were all sitting in the grandparents' living room, mom, Tami, Amanda and the g'rents, watching some show that had twin girls on it. One of their friends was being molested by her uncle or something and they weren't sure how to deal with it. I remember my brain feeling like it was going to explode, my head pounding, my heart racing. Feeling like there were vice grips around my chest, and my throat closing up and barely being able to breath. And I remember the fear. Oh great Goddess, the fear. I was terrified! But I didn't know what of at the moment. I couldn't have told you what right than like I can't tell you what all happened now.

Than I remember blowing up. I started crying. I started shaking. I started yelling and screaming. At the t.v. and the stupid girls on it, and my mom for telling me to calm down. At the g-rents for telling my mom she should have better control over me. At my sisters for just staring at me. And I remember telling them that they had no fucking idea what it was like to have been used like that, so they needed to shut the fuck up until they did, than they could talk to me. And I stormed out, slamming every door between the living room and mine, which was quite a few.

But I remember the looks on their faces when I left that room. Utter shock. Pure disbelief. Pain. Disgust. Anger on the g-rents. And I hated them for that. I hide in my room, listening to the muffled conversations until finally my mom came in and asked what had just happened. She asked what did I mean, talking to everyone that way. And I told her.

She believed me, yet the look on her face... I felt as though I had told her I'd just killed her dog, she looked so .... crestfallen. Yes, that's the word. As though all her hope in life had just been stolen away, and that she'd never get it back.

And things changed than. The next day I was whisked off to therapy, which ended up being a waste. Though I knew the basics of what happened, I didn't want to deal with it. Didn't want to think about it, and certainly didn't want to face it, or tell some total stranger. So I never did. And within a few months, I stopped going. I didn't want to waste my mother's money.

Than, a few years later, when I was in high school, and I was raped the first time, and the blackouts when angry had been getting progressively worse, I wanted to go. But not back to that woman from the first time. So mom set my up with her therapist, and he was good. Almost too good. He didn't really pussyfoot around, which in a way was what I wanted. Yet going directly at it scared the hell out of me. But I started to deal with it, and the rape, and now I have a couple recovered memories, though most times they upset me so much I wish they'd stayed buried.

When I joined the Navy, I stopped going. Oh, sure, they have therapists here, but it's very double edged at best. Though there's the doctor/client confidentiality thing, they're required as well to inform authorities if there is justified cause to believe that a client is a danger to themselves, to others, or incapable of fulfilling their military contract. So when I've gone since then, it's all been things dealing with other stuff. Marital issues when I tried to save the marriage with Frank, anxiety/depression issues during the divorce with Frank, overwhelming stress, things like that. Except the one time after the second rape. I went than as well, but only so the doc's wouldn't talk. Only once, and I felt reviolated afterwards. Maybe that's by I became an advocate, so that others wouldn't have to endure that.

I've never told my mom about the rapes. I don't even think I've ever hinted at them. Why? I don't know. Or maybe I do... Maybe I don't want to ever see that look on her face again, and see that I've just killed another part of her. Maybe I just really do want to forget...

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