Piece of my mind...

Tuesday, Apr. 13, 2010-1:19 am
They say anger is a "double edged sword". Not only do we give people a "piece of our mind",
but sometimes in the process, we give them a piece of our happiness, wholeness, focus. It is always there to take back.

(The heart is different, and if we are lucky enough, we may give someone a piece of our heart and we don't ever want to take it back.)

Right after something bad happens, you are still numb, and for a moment, suspended in time, it seems like it is not real, and you are OK. Abuse seems like it didn't happen to you, that it was just a cinematic observation of an act committed against some other person. It seems, at that moment , before reality takes over, that you can handle it. You have to hold onto that moment for dear life, because every perception and reaction you have after that are obstacles to peace, useless replays of negative thoughts , getting in your way.

It was a very long time ago when the 16 year old girl was taken to a gynecologist for the first time. That was also the first time she saw a true face of evil.

We all know what evil looks like in the faces of serial killers in the news or dictators capable of atrocities ,devoid of conscience. The scariest of them all are the ones that pretended to be benign...The ones that you never expected would be capable of abuse. That is the most disturbing abuse of all. ( If only this paragraph ended with "..and then one day"...as if it had been an instant decision to "erase" what happened, as if suddenly there was a dawning of light, a spark that magically made everything OK. This would not be true. )

Those closest to me would have expected me to have spiralled into depression or to be robbed of the ability to have future sexual pleasure or to lose the ability to extend trust to a man.
For me, THAT is a crock! And, THAT is why I never told them.

"FORGET"

"You will do exactly what I say" he said. He led her out of the examination room and into his private office. There was no nurse. She realized retrospectively that this was highly irregular . "Open the gown"

(She forced herself not to react, not to show any emotion.... stay in control...pat attention ...find a way to escape...desperately wondering, with the most pathetic form of naivete`, if maybe this was routine...afraid to ask....

Her voice was unfamiliar to her own ears saying " I don't want to "...."I want to talk to my mother"...asking him "why are you doing this?" )

"Disobedience....it is a weakness." he said flatly.
(The next thing barely registered. When she would recall it later, it would be outrageous and embarrassing..but at that moment while it was happening, it was like a vague unfocused bad dream in which you could not run or scream.

She gripped the fabric of the medical gown and wrapped her arms tighter across her chest, choking down a scream. She gazed at the blue insipid Fluer-de-Lis pattern and mindlessly counted the little designs , across and down.)

His stern voice broke the reverie. "I gave you an order. Now open the gown so I can see you.". Fear shot through her body like an electric shock.

(The ordeal would only get worse, and really, it would be better to get it over with..)

"That's it . Yes, like that. Now drop it to the floor Put your hands behind your head. Turn around .Slowly. Now face me."
(Her legs were weak but they held her weight.)

" Stand up straight with your feet apart . Further . Look at me . Oh, Yes, beautiful..."

(He pulled her towards him with his pale veined liver spotted hand pressing into the curve of her lower back, ignoring her fear as her body protested the sudden movement. She felt dizzy and fell to her knees, gasping in short breaths, crouching to hide her naked body , ashamed , her head down , arms across her chest.)

"GET UP !" he ordered.

She thought 'Have to run... Have to scream... Now.'

"Stand up. Give an old man a break.

I'm going to examine your breasts. Stand right here in front of me, open your legs, feet apart. Wider. Arms up behind your head. N-i-i-ice."

(She was numb but her mind latched onto the fact he was evil. She closed her eyes and inhaled, and exhaled, another sense confirming what she'd seen, heard and felt was in fact really happening.)

She lowered her arms and turned away, hoping it was over. Then she heard the sound of a zipper and she dug her nails deep into the flesh of the palms of her own hands.

"Turn around! Face me! Closer! Now touch it. Like this... Don't turn away... Hold it ..Squeeze it ..Harder... Don't let go until I tell you ..."

She held herself , arm extended absurdly , frozen, rigid, barely breathing, with an old man's wrinkled grey-white semi-erect organ in her hand.

'Don't tell. No one will believe you anyway. We both know that." he said, as he handed her a Kleenex.

Relief flooded through her. It was over .

Was this what she was going to remember every time a man reached out to touch her for the rest of her life? NO!! Would it reinforce itself, like a viral replication, taking over the host?

Still not not moving until he told her to go into the next room.. She had to walk on her own and he set the pace. It showed her the strength she possessed, as well as the effectiveness of his abusive techniques.

She was led to the empty white room with nothing inside, but a table and an overhead light with a high small window. She was left alone . She'd lost track of how long she'd sat there with the white noise of chaos in her ears and the ticking of the wall clock..

She didn't notice that anyone had come into the room she was startled by the door creaking open. The nurse was wrapping a blood pressure cuff on her arm..

She was given instructions and left alone again. Her feet were propped up against the cold steel . She never heard anyone else come back, she didn't know she wasn't alone until she jerked away from the warm hand on her leg. It was his voice again. Just when she thought she had hit rock bottom, there was a new geological level of humiliation: "Good afternoon Miss _____." His hands passed all over her body. She focused on making herself breath in and out, on looking out the window, and on the clouds in her peripheral vision disappearing every second.

On the ride home, street lamps were turning on one-by-one.

Somehow�it just wasn't comforting to go home, not now.
Navy blue descended from far beyond her vision, darkening both the northern sky and her perspective on the truth about human nature.
She didn't let herself look away from the darkening sky .
Stars were out , as if they were a path
to bear her toward the future
which will not be quite so dark.

(Several Months Prior...)

Cape Cod .The summer of '74. I sat on the beach without a care in the world with my best friend. We giggled conspiratorially as we read through a secret copy of "The Sensuous Woman " that she had taken from her mother's night table. Beyond the teenagers' voyeuristic comical take on the "how-to" instruction in the book, there would a part of it that would be stored in my memory banks, for convenient reference for future use .

My 16 year old version of romantic idealized fantasies didn't require any sexual skills or instructions about what to do with an erection. That summer when I used to think about what my first experience with a man would be like.. it was Victorian , and more like something out of "Jane Austen" than "The Sensuous Woman" .

......... He would be beautiful. And intelligent. And strong. A gentleman. We would never argue.

The initial euphoria of getting to know each other would never wear off.
I'd enthrall, and never disappoint.
He would be the man that I would love to kiss ,all the time, and never feel claustrophobic, even at dawn when he would be unshaven, after we had spent the night together.

We would drift back and forth between each other , like a synchronized dance. I'd know just what to do , armed with all the things I read about in that book.
I would lie in his arms all night and never feel an impulse to pull away ...
We would enjoy recounting the story of how we met,( as if it were some sort of miraculous tale of two people coming together, as pre-ordained by the hand of fate).
We would transcend the typical soul-crushing clutches of a co-dependent insecure significant other.

It would always seem warm and safe, like a sanctuary when we were together.
I'd palpably feel it as a wave of longing when I'd bring the pillowcase to my nose
and smell his skin and be carried back to the night before.
I'd hear it in my tone when I'd say his name,
It would transcend logic.
I'd run my hand under his shirt and feel his heart beating in his chest... the only place I could ever imagine wanting to rest my head forever......

Every thought that we cling to , good or bad, can be a "blueprint" for our lives. In the summer of '74 I knew that I wanted to hold on to that unrealistic teenager's concept of a relationship with a man. Was that too much to expect?

I learned the truth in the months that followed: I had to decide that I was not going to allow my dreams to be eclipsed, surrender my confidence or compromise my self-image. I was NOT going to give an abuser any more power than he had already stolen from me. I had to fight for it, not verbally, not face to face, but in 'the battlefield of the mind'. The mind is where he resided, as long as I allowed him to.
I was not going to let a misanthropic pervert become the image of sexuality that would contaminate my future experiences .
Is that crazy?

They take pictures of people at the top of the mountain, They don't take them along the way, during the relentless climb. The pain and anguish of taking it to the next level...No one takes pictures of that. No one wants to remember.
The breathtaking moment at the top of the world is what keeps us going .
It is worth the pain.
THAT is the crazy part. That is where redemption lies.

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