A Smile and a Tear to Remind Me the Importance of Forgiveness: Marianne

In the past few months, I have started to realize that I need to let go of my anger from the past.  I know that to find peace and be able to enjoy all the wonderfulness that has become my life, I need to let go, move on, and forgive.  You see, the past couple of years have been some of the best so far.  When everyone told me my thirties would be better than my twenties, I didn’t believe them.  At 31, however, so far they’re right.

I have had some wonderful experiences in the past two years.  I have some of the best friends, old and new, that a girl could ask for.  I met Donnie Wahlberg, one of my tweenage dreams.  I’ve been to New York City on a couple of girls trips.  I’ve been to an NKOTBSB concert that only existed in my wildest dreams in high school.  I’ve raised money and walked in Komen races in memory of Danny Woods’s mother, Betty, and everyone who has been affected by breast cancer.  I’m leaving in a couple of weeks to go on a cruise with New Kids on the Block and about 3,000 other biggest fans.  I’ve been in a few weddings, including my brother’s beautiful wedding to my sweet new sister-in-law.  Still, the anger, bitterness, and depression that I am holding on to are preventing me from enjoying all the wonderful blessings that this world is providing.

Marianne’s story is an alarming, frightening, stark, and sad reminder for me to figure out this forgiveness thing sooner, rather than later.

Marianne:

It was the November 2002, after I graduated from college.  It was during the year I took off before grad school.  I went to Virginia to visit my college dorm mate where she was working on a one-year internship.  We were going to drive the hour to Washington, D.C. for the one full day that I would be there.  I felt like such an adult.  I had flown before, but never alone.  I, certainly, never purchased my own ticket prior to this trip.

Melissa picked me up from the airport here in Baton Rouge.  She told me about our new neighbors as I listened intensely and anxiously.  My ex-boyfriend lived in the apartment next door to me.  He found someone at his work to take over his lease, because he bought a house.  I knew the new neighbor was someone who, at least, knew him.  I was almost certain that he had “warned” this new person about his “crazy”, “psycho”, “stalker” ex-girlfriend that lived next door.  (Although I was also sure that he didn’t inform my new neighbor of how he beat me up physically and beat me down emotionally, but that’s a whole other blog post.)

My group of friends all lived in the same complex in an area of town right north of LSU that nobody wanted to visit.  It was dangerous.  There were gunshots.  There were rapes and burglaries.  Our little group, however, had formed a community.  We couldn’t afford cable back then, so we often sat out in the courtyard smoking cigarettes and bonding over dreams and reality until it was time for bed.  If that courtyard could talk, the stories would be endless.  I knew I would meet the new neighbors soon enough, but I was worried about any preconceived feelings that she had due to Patrick’s stories.

Only a few days after they moved in, we met Marianne.  She saw us sitting outside smoking and shyly came outside to say hi.  She did ask which one was Sara, and we all laughed as we filled her in on the truth behind the stories Patrick told her.  She welcomed us into her apartment so we wouldn’t have to smoke in the cold November temperatures. 

Marianne and her roommate, Adam, fit into our little community immediately.  We were all fast friends.  Marianne was kind-hearted.  She was the definition of a true friend.  When I had a bad day, she was the first to offer her shoulder to cry on, and then turn some crazy music up loud for us to dance the sorrows away.  She was the first to celebrate new promotions, graduations, and the day I found out that I got into the MBA program at LSU.  Marianne was ALWAYS there.

As much as Marianne fit in, she was different.  We shared half-birthdays, and she was exactly a year and a half older than me.  My birthday is July 25, 1980, and Marianne was born January 25, 1979.  While we were all near the same age, Marianne was in a different phase of life.  Most of us were in school, had just graduated, or starting college, but Marianne did not finish college.  Her dad worked in broadcasting for most of Marianne’s life, and she had a passion to do the things that her dad had done.  She worked at the radio station (that is how she met Patrick).

She worked overnight, however.  While most of our little group went about our busy days, Marianne slept.  When we all said goodnight in the evening, Marianne left for work.  During her first few months living at West Chimes Place, Marianne commuted to and from work in her truck.  One day I noticed Marianne’s truck was gone, but she was home.  She was a bit embarrassed as she told us all, that she had not been able to make payments, and her truck was repossessed. 

Soon after, many of us took turns, along with Marianne’s cousin, taking her to work for 11:00 pm.  Her cousin always picked her up at 6:00 am when she was off work, but sometimes she needed help getting to work.  Eventually she was able to buy another vehicle, but after a short time, that car was gone too.  At some point, her parents helped her pay cash for a vehicle, but after only a few months, the transmission went out.  Marianne’s battle to keep usable transportation broke my heart.  I knew deep down that she truly had the best intentions, but she just couldn’t keep up.

At first, it wasn’t a big deal, as several of us helped out.  As time went by, and friends graduated and moved away, I found myself one of the dwindling few that she relied on to get to work.  I continued to help her commute through most of grad school, but I began to feel burdened, unappreciated, and so tired of the late night drives across town.  I occasionally would tell Marianne that I couldn’t take her, but the guilt often ate through my heart, and before I knew it, I was in my car way after dark, driving to the radio station with Marianne.  It wasn’t all bad, some nights I would stay for a few hours, and we’d listen to music, take smoke breaks, or talk.

When I graduated from grad school and found my “big girl” apartment in a better area across town, I was sure my nights of driving Marianne to work were over.  Surely, she wouldn’t expect me to leave my apartment, and drive 15 minutes to her apartment, then drive another 15 minutes to her work, and still another 15 minutes back home.  Besides, by then I had my first “big girl” job and was working forty hours per week opposite of Marianne’s hours at her job.  I was right for the most part, she didn’t ask for a ride nearly as often.  A few times, in desperation, she called and I made the drive to help a friend.

Even though I had moved away, Marianne remained a great friend.  She introduced me to many of my closest friends today.  She would come to my apartment.  We would sing karaoke.  We would swim in the pool at my new apartment complex.  I have some great memories from those days. 

Marianne never had a lot of money, but she always gave the sweetest, most thoughtful gifts.  For my birthday for a few years, she made “The Sara’s Birthday Radio Show” CDs.  She recorded herself doing a radio show dedicated to me on my birthday.  The CDs usually had Marianne intro’ing and outro’ing the songs with special messages to me.  Some of her messages were sincere, and some were cheesy inside jokes.  The CDs also included songs that had meaning to me, us, or our friendship.  A few times, she made the CDs for me for no reason in particular.  That was Marianne.  She was sweet, thoughtful, and sincere.

One of the last times we hung out, is a night that makes me sad.  Marianne had returned from a cruise with her mom, sister, and other family members.  She called and asked if she and Cristina could come over.  She had bought souvenirs for us and wanted to bring them over.  We giggled as she presented the gifts in the silly way only Marianne could.  She gave me a mini sombrero, which she proceeded to wear around my apartment for the evening.

That night, I learned that Marianne won about $2,000 in the casino on the cruise.  She had borrowed money from her sister and used her winnings to pay her back.  When she got home from the cruise, she had gone with her parents to the casino in Baton Rouge.  Her winnings had dwindled to about $1,400.  I was excited for her.  With $1,400 she could buy a car, granted not a super nice car, but a car nonetheless, to get her to and from work.    After the gifts, we (probably I) decided to take lemon drop shots.  Marianne said that she could only have one, because she needed to wake up early the next day to go to New Orleans with her parents.  When she told me, she was going to the casino with her winnings, my head exploded.

At the time, I thought it was “tough love”, but I didn’t realize it would change the course of our friendship.  I truly wanted the best for Marianne, but I could no longer provide a ride to work.  I felt as if instead of helping her, I was enabling her.  I was probably pretty harsh.  I know I was angry.  To this day, Cristina still says I made her uncomfortable and that she’s never seen me explode the way I did.

After that night, my time with Marianne dwindled.  We spent less and less time together.  I remember when I bought my house, almost three years ago; Marianne was there for two days in the hot June weather helping, like the slow and steady tortoise, reliable and willing as ever.  Marianne was ALWAYS there when I needed her, no matter what was going on elsewhere.  Once I moved into my house, Marianne and I continued to grow apart.  I nestled down afraid to venture out of my comfort zone and was too proud to apologize for that night or forgive her for asking me for rides for so long.

A while back, I spoke to Marianne.  She was excited.  She had her own apartment in a nice area and seemed to be doing well.  She wanted me to come see her new place.  I told her that we would make plans soon, but we never did.  A few months later, I received a house warming invitation for Marianne.  I already had plans, but didn’t take the time to call her to let her know I wouldn’t be there.

Last Tuesday, I learned Marianne had a stroke.  By Thursday, things were looking good.  By Friday, her dad posted on Facebook that she made a turn for the worse.  He asked that everybody pray and said, “We need a miracle.”  Saturday evening I found out that the doctors had declared Marianne brain-dead.  Sunday morning, before I even woke up, Marianne passed away.  Today I saw the obituary that says Marianne’s viewing is Thursday night, and her funeral is Friday morning.

As I am trying to heal and learning how to forgive and let go, Marianne was there again.  Marianne was ALWAYS there.  I am saddened to say Marianne showed me that later may never come.  Don’t count on later.  The longer I hold on to bitterness, anger, and sadness, the more time passes in my short life and those lives around me that my feelings affect. 

While, I’m not sure how to let go, this past week has taught me that I need to let go.  I will never be able to tell Marianne how important she was in my life.  I will never be able to tell her how much her acceptance of me, after hearing Patrick’s stories, meant and still means.  I will never be able to tell her that I am sorry for being mad or ask for forgiveness.  I will never take another drive late at night, across town, to bring Marianne to work.  Now I wish I could more than ever.

Marianne
1979 - 2012

 

New Kids, New Friends, and New Forgiveness

***Forgiveness:  The act of excusing a mistake or offense; The process of concluding resentment, indignation or anger as a result of a perceived offense, difference or mistake, and/or ceasing to demand punishment or restitution; To pardon, to waive any negative feeling or desire for punishment; To give up resentment against or stop being angry with; pardon or overlook sins, crimes, wrongdoing, offenses, etc.

***Definition taken from various Internet sources deemed by me to portray accurately my definition of the above mentioned word.

The past year has been amazing, really.  Since my last post and my realization that the New Kids on the Block had actually reunited in the real world that had become my adulthood, I have had some wonderful new experiences. 

A little over a year ago, I discovered Donnie Wahlberg on Twitter.  I learned that he interacted with fans through the site.  Learning that all FIVE guys were on Twitter was an absolute thrill.  As I started following those guys, I slowly integrated into an entire community of New Kid’s fans via Twitter.  I chatted with girls (and guys) from all over the country, then from Canada, and eventually from all over the world.

I’m not sure how I found this one group, but I happened across a group of ladies that were planning a trip to NYC to visit Donnie on the set of his TV show, Blue Bloods.  I learned that his fans frequently visit him on the set and was excited about the possibility of finally meeting one of the NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK!!  (Holy Cow…just typing that makes my heart flutter all over again!)

Anyway, I quickly became friends with the group of girls planning the “Blue Bloods Trip”.  Before long, I chatted with these girls regularly.  We exchanged email addresses, then phone numbers, and soon we were preparing for our journey to NYC.  It all happened kind of fast.  I was just living in the moment.  The trip was fantastic.  It couldn’t have gone better, actually.  I was slightly nervous at the thought of traveling to a city in which I knew nobody and staying with people I had only met online, but when we met, I felt like I was simply reuniting with great friends after a long time apart.  It was amazing.

On the day we went to the set, there were several fans there.  At first, each group was sort of separated off from the others.  As the early morning turned to early afternoon, the fans slowly dissipated in, what I can only assume, was an attempt to sneak a bite to eat without missing Donnie exiting or entering the building.

My group of friends had split off, with half of us staying near the original door to the set, and the others going around the building, to another door.  I was texting with the girls on the other side of the building about leaving to get lunch, when I stood up paying attention only to my phone and text messages.  My friends were behind me, as they had started walking to meet the other girls.  I looked up for a second, and HOLY COW, there was Donnie Wahlberg.  He was walking in my direction.  Like the bumbling idiot that I can sometimes be, I think I said something to the effect of, “Holy F**king Sh*t, It’s Donnie F**King Wahlberg,” (Yeah, I know.  I am so eloquent and classy when caught off guard) to which he responded with a huge grin.  A dark van pulled up and he said he had to leave.  So, what did I do? I yelled, “I love the f**king sh*t outta you, just saying.”  (I know, another glaring display of class on my part) He laughed and said he loved me too and that he would be right back. 

That moment passed in only seconds that seemed to last as long as the entire 20+ years that I had waited to finally meet a member of the group that saved my childhood and recreated my innocence.  (Wow, did THAT just happen?)  When I turned around to join my friends, I giggled as I helped them pick their jaws up off the ground. (Yep….THAT just happened)  The rest of the day was spent chatting with the friends I had traveled with, as well as, new friends that I met that day.  (…and, of course, properly meeting Donnie, getting a hug, and a picture)

Before we even left NYC in October, we were already planning the “next” trip.  You see, people, that only days before were a small picture and Twitter handle, were now my real life actual friends.  I now had brand new friends that I felt like I had known forever, and we had so much in common.  Even better, once we were all home, I “met” another girl who was at the Blue Bloods set that day.  We were actually in each other’s pictures.  Somehow, we didn’t meet in Brooklyn, but now we were chatting daily on Twitter.

Since then, my friendships with these amazing people have continued to evolve.  Through Twitter, I met even more New Kid’s fans and probably had one of the most amazing years of my life, so far.  I had the pleasure of walking in two Komen walks (in NOLA and BR) in remembrance of Danny Wood’s mom Betty, who passed away from breast cancer.  I met more New Kid’s fans at both of the races.

In just a few weeks, I am departing from Miami on a cruise with the New Kids on the Block and about 3,000 other fans!  All of my tween dreams have far been exceeded, and I am beyond thrilled with the bonds that I have made with so many people that I would have never met if the circumstances were any different.

It all sounds great, right?  I know.  So, as the fabulous new life events unfolded, new friendships were made and old dreams came true, I was frustrated that I was still struggling with the anger, depression, and sadness that had plagued me for years.  I thought about all the great things that had happened, were happening, and would continue to happen, and I realized that my life really isn’t that bad.  I am a very lucky girl and have no reason to struggle with negativity.  I began to realize that wonderful things are happening, and I am missing out.  I’ve done things that I would have never dreamed of when I was 9 or 10 years old.  (So, why am I so sad?)

(Wait for it….) I’ve decided that I need to find forgiveness.  While I’m still struggling with that, and I’m not always sure where my anger is directed, I need to finally forgive so many people in my life (including myself).  You see, I know I really don’t have it that bad.  I’ve learned that I am beyond blessed in more ways than I can even begin to count.  The only person stopping me from living a fulfilled, satisfying, and, at times, exciting life, is me.  I’m not sure where this journey will lead, but I do know that Matthew, Patrick, Coach Harper, my grandparents, my mother, nor any other people are able to control my feelings and reactions.  I have spent too much time feeling sorry for myself and being angry at so many.

It is now time for me to learn the gift forgiveness, let go of bitterness, and allow myself to be free from the bad things that happened YEARS ago.  Forgiveness does not mean forgetting, being naïve, or letting my guard down.  Forgiveness, for me, will be the ultimate freedom that I’ve so desperately wanted for such a long time.  I can take lessons from my experiences, but I am hoping let go of the negativity.

If you have any suggestions or experiences where you were able to forgive a person, move past an issue, and find your own peace, I welcome your comments as I embark on a rather new(ish) journey.

New Kids on the Block are “Magically” Back in My Life….Thank You Boys!

WOW…it has been a long time.  I have so much to say, but I am not sure if I can type as fast as my mind is going.

So in the last almost year, I have renewed my infatuation with New Kids on the Block.  I was a huge fan when I was 9 or 10.  I had New Kids birthday parties and sleepovers.  I asked for only New Kids on the Block stuff for birthdays and Christmases.  I was in tween girl heaven.  I was secretly crushed when they split, and I would play their last “tape” in my car when I was alone in high school!  When Donnie Wahlberg was in Ransom, I asked for the VHS tape for my birthday.  That is all I wanted, and I only wanted it, because Donnie was in the movie.  The tape was not out in time for my birthday that year, so my mom went to the rental place and begged to buy a copy from the store.  They sold it to her for an obnoxious price, since it was not available for sale yet!

I remember when I first got on the Internet in high school.  One of the first things I looked for was information on New Kids!  All of this was “in the closet”; because it was, so not cool to be a New Kids fan in those days.  Therefore, I hid my fan-girldom.  Toward the end of my senior year of High School, the stress of moving away to college began to set in, and I set my sights on a new boy band.  That is right…I went to college being completely obsessed with the Backstreet Boys.  God bless my college roommate.  My entire side of the dorm room was covered in BSB and especially Nick Carter posters.  That first semester was so helplessly lonely for me; I easily became distracted with rushing home to see TRL on MTV to watch the same BSB videos every day.

So what is the point of this post?

A little refresher for readers and recap for newbies:

My cousin, Matt, who is about 3 ½ years older than me, had a malignant brain tumor when he was seven.  He was like an older brother to me.  Since I was an only child at that time, he was like a sibling to me at the time.  I remember my mom explaining to me that Matt was sick and was at Children’s Hospital.  I remember asking if I could go visit him, and my mom telling me that he was too sick.  I remember at the tender age of four, my mom trying to explain that Matt could die.  I remember trying to understand what death was at an age way too young to understand.

You can only imagine my relief, when the Children’s Hospital telethon was on TV, and I was able to see Matthew on TV for the first time in what seemed like forever in my young mind.  I was so relieved to see him, even though he had lost his hair.  When he came home from the hospital, I was elated.  I remember going to my grandma’s house, where Matt lived, for the first time to see him.  I remember my mom explaining that Matt still had staples in his head, and that I needed to be careful around him, because he was fragile.

It was sometime that summer that the molestation started.  While Matt was only seven or eight, and I was on four or five, Matt began to molest me after he returned home from Children’s Hospital.  Many people donated money and toys to Matthew because of his illness.  I even went on his “Make A Wish” trip to Disney World.  It started with me wanting to play with Matt’s new toys and Nintendo.  He would tell me that he would let me play with the toy, game; whatever it was that time, if I would let him rub himself against me. 

Being younger and looking up to him, I would do anything for him to play with me.  In addition, I knew Matt was still sick.  I remember the talk about him dying.  No one told Matt no, not the adults, not the other kids, and certainly not me.  I wanted so much to hang out with him and did not want him to die so badly, that I would do whatever he asked.

All that ended around the time I was nine or ten.  I was starting to develop into a young lady, and my mom had been very open about the changes that were occurring in/to my body.  I knew that I would get my period soon.  I knew that once you had a period, you could get pregnant.  While the molestation never actually became sex, I did not really know what exactly could get you pregnant back then.

I remember the day it ended.  He asked me to pull down my panties.  I do not remember what he tried to bribe me with that time, but I remember pull down my panties.  They were yellow.  I looked down to see my naked female parts, and he made a comment about how sexy it was that I had hair growing down there.  For some reason, that was the final step for me.  I was able to tell him NO for the first time ever.  We never even talked about it again after that day.

Now that we are all on the same page…back to New Kids on the Block…

  I had New Kids on the Block everything.  While I didn’t realize it at the time, in fact, I’ve only just realized that my New Kids on the Block obsession was the first time in over half my life back then, that I got to be an innocent fan girl dreaming about the boys in the boy band. 

Through therapy, I realized that they were my innocence.  While I spent most of my childhood dealing with secrets, that, according to Matt, I would get me in big trouble if I told, being a New Kids on the Block fan was a chance to be a “normal” adolescent regaining an innocence lost way too young.  I believe that is partially why I did not want them to go away.  They were my healing, my safe place, and my chance at normalcy in a young life that held too many secrets to bear. 

As I prepared to leave home and move away to college, the stress of the situation brought to me a new “replacement”, if you will boy band in the Backstreet Boys.  While I went to three New Kids concerts in the late 80’s and early 90’s, I never saw the Backstreet Boys in concert.  Unfortunately, concert tickets were not in my budget as a college freshman.

Last May, when I decided it was time to tell my dad and my grandma about what happened to me years before, I had an idealized, yet unrealistic, vision in my head of how everyone would react.  I had separated myself from my family, mostly because I did not want to be around Matt, for so long.  I was tired of being the “bad” person that did not make time for my family.

 I was almost 30 years-old, and my experience as a child led to a lifetime of abusive relationships with guys, and even at times, some of my girlfriends.  My first “serious” relationship was severely abusive.  He physical abused me, he emotionally eroded me, I allowed him to steal my dreams and goals, he took advantage of me sexually, and he broke me.  That relationship seemed only to set me up for a series of relationships that involved abuse, mostly emotional and sexual.  I seem to attract people that take pleasure in taking advantage of me.

Last May, it was finally time for me to quit keeping secrets, and face this thing that set such horrible patterns in my life.  It was time to take my life back.  The first step was to no longer keep the secret.  I was certain that once my family found out, Matt would finally be “punished”; after all, I was still struggling to move on.  Maybe telling my secret would provide some kind of closure or justice and allow me finally to become healthy.  Maybe it would take away the anxiety and depression I have fought during my adult life.

Boy was I wrong!  While my dad and grandma were supportive and finally seemed to understand my avoidance of family functions, my need for therapy once a week, and even, my need for medicine to deal with the depression and anxiety, the other side of the family did not exactly see it the way I did.  You see, Matt and I were their grandchildren, niece and nephew, and cousin.  We shared the same relationship with our family members.  Those family members did not choose to take sides.

In retrospect, I realize that my idealize idea of what was to happen once the secret was no longer a secret, it was and still is a tough pill for me to swallow.  I understand that I am completely biased and placed impossible expectations on family, but it is still difficult for me.  Since that time, birthdays, Christmas, weddings, and anniversaries have been celebrated, and with Matt being invited to everything, I do not feel comfortable being anywhere near him.  I am still the one “left out”, even if only by my own choosing.

Needless to say, the depression and anxiety in the last year and a half has only multiplied.  I realize that I need to deal with facing Matt.  It is nobody’s problem, but mine.  I need to be strong enough to be in the same room with him without freaking out.  The thought of him now, still causes anxiety and tears.  I am working on healing in therapy now.

Right…back to New Kids… Can you imagine my surprise and pure delight when New Kids on the Block teamed up with Backstreet Boys at the American Music Awards at the end of 2010, and then again on Dick Clark’s New Year’s special?  It was pure elation.  Then I began following all nine of those guys on Twitter.  More importantly, I “met” several fan-girls just like me on Twitter. 

I recently discussed with my therapist the escape that is Twitter.  You see, on Twitter, I am not “that” girl.  I am not the girl with issues.  I am nothing more than a fellow fan.  When New Kids announced that the summer tour with Backstreet Boys, and I saw there was a show in Louisiana, I was ecstatic.  I wondered who would come with me.  My good friend, Emily, quickly volunteered to go to the concert with me, and we got great third row seats.

Between meeting new people on Twitter and looking forward to the June 24^th concert, I finally had enough distraction to help me keep fighting.  It was as if a new breath had been given to me.  Right when I thought I could not keep going, I suddenly had this new excitement in my life.

Even better, about two weeks before the concert, I received an email from the Backstreet Boys’ website.  I had won a VIP ticket to meet them!  Holy smokes, I was excited.  While my initial love was and will always be New Kids, I was still excited to get to meet and take a picture with BSB.

I took off work on the day of the concert.  I felt like a teenager trying to pick out the perfect outfit.  I got a manicure and pedicure that morning.  The feelings of joy and excitement that I had were foreign to me.  The hour-long ride to Lafayette seemed to take an eternity.  Finally, we arrived, and it was time to enter the arena to meet Backstreet Boys.  I met other girls in line that also won from the website.  We all talked and sat together.  We even ended up taking our picture together.

Then, before I knew it, it was show time.  I do not think I could have imagined a better show.  For the 2 ½-hour performance, I had a seemingly out-of-body experience.  For a few hours, I had no problems, no sadness, no loneliness; even being in the arena with thousands of people did not bother me.  I was in a different world.  It was sheer bliss.

I absolutely believe it was a magical experience.  I hope that New Kids continue to tour, so I can feel that level of bliss again.  Is it a distraction?  Absolutely.  Is it healthy?  At this point, anything that helps me cope and finally feel happy with my life is healthy.  Do I plan to go on a cruise (if they ever announce it)?  I would not miss it.  Will I hide my excitement for New Kids on the Block ever again?  Absolutely not.  Are they magical?  I am not sure, but they made magic in the Cajundome that night. 

So, while I’m sure the guys from New Kids probably won’t happen across my little blog, I am thanking them for reuniting and for creating a magic that I haven’t felt since I was maybe 11.

Here is a picture of me after the concert.  Can you see the joy on my face?  No that's confetti, look at the smile!  J

will add new update SOON

Going through this experience and reliving these memories is difficult. It's difficult to dig up forgotten memories. While I feel like this blogging experience is ultimately a healthy activity for me, it is taking an emotional toll. Stick with it. I will be updating. Sometimes, however, I need to take breaks in order to get by.

I would like to thank everyone who has posted here, has contacted me personally, or have quietly read my story.  Your support, prayers, good thoughts, and kind words do give me the strength I will need to continue my healing process. 

STOP

Please STOP….Just STOP!!

Stop blaming my therapist, stop telling me that everyone else you know has gotten over it, and STOP denying that you didn’t do anything WHEN I told you at the age of 11. I did tell you, and you told me not to tell Daddy, because he would never let me play over there again….guess I should’ve told Daddy. I didn’t need to be playing over there at all. My therapist is HELPING…not having your support is NOT. STOP comparing me to everyone else. Maybe if I had the opportunity to heal a LONG TIME AGO, I would be a little better now, but I didn’t. This just came out. I am only beginning to heal, and your support would help the process progress. I guess I am going to have to figure this out without you. You’ve always been there for me, or so I thought. I guess it’s time to grow up, try things on my own.

UPSET & FRUSTRATED

So this isn’t really a writing assignment from my book, but it is my latest blog post. This is how I feel.

Things are getting worse with my mom about her parents. Now my brother is butting in as well. While I am trying to heal, they are making life difficult for the very few that are supportive of me.

Also, my mom made the comment that I have recently spent holidays with that family while Matt was there. I tried to explain, that I was just suppressing my feelings for the sake of everyone else, and now I am now trying to be healthy. I don't think any contact with Matt is healthy for me. I don't know if I'll EVER want to be around him. I think that is completely fair to choose not to be around the person that molested me for five years. I also think it is fair that I never want to be around him again, even if he is family. (The fact that he is family makes it more disgusting, actually.)

My grandparents have had several family celebrations (father's day, birthdays, out of town relative visits) that Matt was invited to. I was unaware of these until I saw the pictures on facebook. I feel like as long as he is welcome there, I am not.

Tonight my mom was rushed to the hospital with gallbladder issues. My dad got in his truck and is rushing to Nashville to be by her side. She has been such a bitch to him about all of this. I worry about him driving all night, and I am pissed at her for having the nerve to expect him to drop his life now to be with her.

She also made drama when she asked about my last visit with my therapist. I told her that as long as we are not going to get along, it's best that I not seek contact with her. She first said..."are you sure you're seeing the right therapist?" SERIOUSLY??? Now it's MY THERAPIST’S fault that she's a psycho?? Then she called a few days later and asked if I was still avoiding her. I reiterated that I am not avoiding her, but I am not seeking out negativity either. She doesn't get it. All she cares about are her parents' feelings.

UGGGHHH....so upset and frustrated.

More Quotes and the 2nd Writing Assignment: Coping

Quotes from The Courage to Heal:

“Coping is what you did to survive the trauma of being sexually abused.”

“Many survivors criticize themselves for the ways they coped.  You may not want to admit some of the things you had to do to survive.  But coping is nothing to be ashamed of.  You survived, and it’s important to honor your resourcefulness.”

“Children who are abused or battered often numb their bodies so they will not feel what is being done to them.  Others actually leave their bodies and watch the abuse as if from a great distance.”

“A tough sense of humor, a bitter wit or sense of cynicism can get you through hard times.  As long as you keep people laughing, you maintain a certain protective distance.  And as long as you keep laughing, you don’t have to cry.”

“Survivors often feel an overwhelming need to achieve, to make up for the badness they feel is hidden inside.  Excelling at work is something that they can control and that’s given a lot of support in our high-achieving culture.  While working to excess can show a strong motivation to succeed, it can also be a way to avoid an inner life or a connection to the people around you.”

Coping:  Writing Exercise Two

“This is an opportunity for you to write about your experience of coping – how you remember it, how you’re still doing it, how it’s affected your life.  Write with as much detail as you can, always write from the perspective of honoring what you did.”

So…how exactly did I cope?  As I read this section, I could definitely relate to some of scenarios presented.  I’ve never thought of many of my behaviors as coping, but rather, as traits of my personality.  I supposed trying to cope with my situation shaped who I am and who I’ve been.  I am hoping that, while this will always be a part of me, sexual abuse will no longer define who I will be.

I can vividly remember the abuse.  I looked up to my cousin.  He was like a big brother I never had.  I separated the abuser from the cousin I loved.  I hid the abuse in the back of my mind, because I wanted his attention.  At some point, I even took the blame for it.  I felt like I “chose” to be sexually abused, because I wanted to play with my cousin and his cool toys. 

I lived with the guilt that I had caused my own abuse for so long, that I had to make up for it in every aspect of my life.  I was such a “bad person” for choosing to be abused, that I had to be perfect at everything else.  I have always been an overachiever.  My parents provided tons of opportunities for me, and I NEEDED to be perfect in everyway.  I had enough imperfections in my life because of the abuse that I apparently “wanted.”  So I couldn’t afford to fail at anything else.

My perfectionist ways are and were not all that bad.  I was a great student, participated in several extracurricular activities, and was the perfect daughter.  I have worked in the same place for 7 years (5 years full-time).  In my job, I have continuously been given opportunities for growth.  I am proud of many of my accomplishments.

The problem with needing to be perfect is that when you do fail, it is detrimental!!!  Because I had enough flaws “on my record” in my head, I had no room to fail.  So, when things haven’t or don’t worked out perfectly, I usually don’t handle that so well.  In college I resorted to alcohol and pot to make it all just go away.  I had a lot of “fun” being miserable.  Does that make sense?  It sounds ridiculous to me.

I have also tried gambling, bulimia, and binge eating.  All of these were FAILURES.  If you haven’t tried these yet, don’t bother.  They’re all more trouble than their worth.  Luckily for me, I have a wonderful therapist who helped me through these.

Gambling was attractive, because I didn’t have to be alone, and I could be surrounded by shining lights and hopes of riches.  At the same time, I didn’t have to speak to anyone.  I could sit in front of machine feeding it my money and play for hours.  I used this time to avoid friends and closeness.  I used gambling as a way to cope.  Thankfully, that phase was not long-lived.  I couldn’t and can’t afford that habit.  I was miserable.  One of the worst feelings in the world is leaving a casino having spent more money than you can afford, and knowing that you’re not getting paid again for another 20 or 30 days. 

Now I detest going to casinos.  I’ve seen in my own life the potential for detriment.  I’ve sat outside casinos and watched the people walk in and out.  Rarely are those people happy.  The typical casino goers are some of the most miserable people that I have ever observed.  I quickly learned that I was avoiding something by being there, and that behavior was simply making me more miserable rather than happy.

I tried the bulimia as a method to lose weight.  It didn’t work.  Now I have acid reflux all the time.  I am on a prescription for acid reflux.  My doctor says that it can be a result of repeatedly making myself vomit.  That just sucks.  I have actually done permanent damage to my body.

Binge eating is usually what led to the bulimia, so I strongly suggest you think twice before trying this.  I would eat to feel better.  If a little of a good thing does a little good, then a lot does a lot of good, right?  Not so much.  I would eat until I literally felt sick.  I felt sick because I had “done it again.”  I felt sick because of the massive amounts of food I had shoved down my throat.  I had to throw up.  It made me feel less guilty.

The only other negative coping behavior that I am currently dealing with is my desire to sleep.  When I have the opportunity, I like to sleep all day.  It’s like, if I am not awake, I don’t have to face reality.  However, when I do wake up, and realize that I have missed an entire day, that I have not done the laundry, that my house is still messy, or that I still have no groceries, I get frustrated with myself.  While sleep is healthy, and I even believe that naps are beneficial at times, sleeping to avoid life is clearly not the way to go.

Overall, I have tested the waters of destructive behaviors as coping mechanisms.  I am incredibly fortunate that my parents instilled strong values of what is right and what is wrong.  I knew what I was doing was wrong.  I was able to realize that the bad things that I was doing were only making the situation worse.

As for taking the blame, I no longer blame myself at all for being sexually abused.  I was a kid.  I had no idea what was really going on.  I am consciously aware that I did not choose to be molested.  I have forgiven me!!  I believe that was my first break through in therapy.  Forgiving me was really my first step in leaving victim status and becoming a survivor.

Time’s up.  Good night.

PLEASE REMEMBER IF YOU OR ANYONE THAT YOU KNOW HAS BEEN OR IS BEING ABUSED SEEK HELP IMMEDIATELY.