I think I'm losing the weight a little too fast now. I'm getting new stretch marks. They are not pretty.
Perhaps if women don't sleep more than three hours a night, they burn calories instead.
I don't know.
I'm working out about two hours a day but find it hard to sleep. The more I work out, the more I sleep.
I'm back into my clothes from high school but don't think I want to be showing off skin if it's going to look like it's full of rips and tears.
Maybe if I sit in a vat of glycolic acid?
Ouch....maybe not.
I've lost two dress sizes in a month. I walk around and sag like a rabid rap star. Just to be clear, I am talking about my pants but if I keep losing the weight this fast, I'll soon have be talking about my skin.
Like I said, it is not pretty.
Usually, I'd be ecstatic. Now I'm worried.
I'm thinking about times in my life when I felt powerless. I'm wondering what is triggering this. Perhaps it is being married to someone who is destroying my life right before my eyes but not having access to enough money to put a stop to it.
I'm trying to get away and regain my power. It's awfully hard without access to money or credit.
I'm just one good idea or scheme away from solving this fiasco. I'll come up with something. I always do.
I couldn't sleep last night. I realized that I have been selfish with information.
I realized why my high school sweetheart keeps coming back.
I owe him answers.
I mean, no one upon no one comes back to someone like me unless they want something.
He must want something.
I can't image what it would be except answers.
Why do I say that?
Well...
There is a note that he mailed to me when I was dating my first husband. It claims that he saw dead babies whenever he looked upon me. It went on to assert that I murdered his unborn child.
Nope...it didn't happen.
Sorry...uh...no...
I didn't eat enough to...uh...do the pms bitchy lady thing.
Nope...nada...sorry...
didn't happen.
I could prove it. At least I think I can. I have medical records somewhere but it best not come to that. He'll have to take my word for it.
I tried to address the issue when he wrote to me in '08. He didn't know what the heck I was talking about.
He came back in '10 and again in '11. Last August, he wrote something bizarre about being happy I was out of his life and I cut him off.
I did as he asked a couple of years ago, I burned the note. He doesn't want to know what he said to me that hurt me.
He probably wants to know more than he says he wants to know.
Now, a month before receiving that note, I had the thought that I should address the rape and gossip surrounding it.
My sister ran around telling everyone that I was knocked up...and I mean everyone. It worked to get the vengeance I wanted so desperately, the old idiot jerk who pushed his way on top of me lost his wife, his son and his mistress. My cousins were so pissed. I don't care. I'll never talk to those idiots as long as I live.
At fourteen, I was taken away from my family and sent to live with an uncle because my step-father thought that I existed to sexually serve my cousins. It never happened. I was a mean, ultra religious kid. I wasn't going to go to hell in order to please any smelly sweaty teenager.
What happened was that my cousins would tear off my clothes, touch me, and I would beat the crap out of them. My step-father would beat me, in turn, for not submitting. Calling the police didn't help because one of the the fathers of the boys who did that to me was a well known local political figure.
There was a Thanksgiving when a cop pulled me nude out of a bathtub because I had dishonored my step-father. It was a status offense. My crime? Beating up a cousin who wanted to dig his hand where the son doesn't shine.
After my step-father offerred to have sex with me, I told my grandmother and a school teacher. They called social services and I was taken away.
This man would later be responsible for my mother's murder.
This is why I didn't grow up with my sister and step-father. This is also why my family never trusted my sister. My sister made excuses for it. She sided with this step-father, even though I am darn sure he was raping her. I tried to keep a close eye on her. My first husband and I tried to adopt her out of a life of prostitution. We failed.
The assault I endured happened the Thursday before Memorial Day weekend (actually, it was the wee hours of Friday morning). Four weeks after my old flame and I broke up. We broke up on Friday, the first of May. The day after I was told about a music scholarship that would move me across the state. I told him that I didn't want to lose him and he got quiet. The next day, he handed me a note and said he was leaving me.
I never read the note. My husband found it during a fight in '07. We were fighting about me finishing my P.hD. He didn't want me back in school. The note fell out of his bedroom closet (for whatever reason) and into his hands. That was when I learned that Tom left me so I could go to school.
That was a stupid sacrifice, buddy.
If I remember correctly, that weekend in '87 I was supposed to attend graduation that weekend but missed it hiding in my bathroom scalding myself with hot water. I felt disgusting. I remember burning myself to the point of passing out, waking up and doing it again.
I spent the night before painting a portrait of my high school sweetheart. It started off as a pastel project but it lacked depth, so I gessoed it and started over. I don't like oil paints near as much as pastels. The paints take too long to dry.
The night of the assault, I actually threw the painting at my rapist and smeared the paint. He was angry that I ruined his pants. I also threw my beloved antique tenor saxophone at him; $400 of repairs went down the drain on that day.
I've never touched that sax since. I'm not even sure I've bothered to open the case. The case is damaged from getting hurled at a man who didn't know what 'NO' meant. I probably ought to donate it to charity because it is too painful to look at but I need to get it repaired again (which means opening the case and facing what happened). I prefer to ignore it.
That Thursday, I was giddy over my project. I was out and about getting paint to finish my work. I rode the bus to visit my grandfather. Grandpa mentioned that my cousins and my sister dropped by wanting to know where I lived. He gave them my address.
Why on earth would he do that? I'll never understand. He promised that I'd never have to deal with my cousins again, yet he told them where I was hiding.
When I got home, they were waiting for me. My landlord actually let them in.
My cousins and sister left a man there. He claimed to know me. I did not know him. He gave me a name and claimed we went to school together. I have never been able to prove that this guy was ever anyone who knew me. No one at my old school knows him, although I have a classmate with his name. My classmate was not my rapist. I'll never forget that face, that voice, or that funky smell.
From the moment I saw him, I hated him. He was constantly putting me down. He was disgusting. The man would not leave. It would take four days for me to sneak out of my own apartment when he had fallen asleep away from his gun. I ran to a businessman waiting at the bus stop. He gave me money to use the phone. When my friends and I got back to the apartment, the idiot was gone - so was my money. I had a thousand dollars squirrelled away.
I marvel at the fact that he only touched me once that weekend. Well, twice....he got worried when I didn't come out of the bathroom, broke down the door and pulled me out of the room.
Maybe he thought I'd scream if he tried to touch me again.
I don't know.
I just count that as a happy blessing.
Once was more than enough.
I just remember staring at the carpet and crying.
I was in a lot of pain. My body has a memory of it. There is pain when I think of it, so I prefer not to speak of it unless I've had a lot of alcohol. If I have to address this issue with my old friend in person, he needs to bring me the compassionate gift of whiskey, rum, or vodka and take me to a very private place where no one will overhear the conversation and give me ten minutes to numb myself. I protect rape victims. I don't want to be thought of as one of them.
After the rape, I had a couple of friends move in with me. They were gay men. Brian moved in. His boyfriend Brian would stay the night. My friend Jim was always close by.
Then there was Sampson...oh.... but that's another story.
Weeks later, one of my friends found a gun in my walk-in closet. He disposed of it for me.
Why didn't I call the police?
Well...I was living alone. I was seventeen. I was an orphan. My uncle was supposed to have custody but his girlfriend kicked me out because I put a crimp in their sex life.
I didn't believe that the cops would take me seriously. They would say I was a run-away and force me back to live with my uncle and his abusive girlfriend.
I didn't want to be put on trial. I just wanted it to be over. It was hard to get out of my mind. I had to have the last laugh (and lots of STD tests) in order to heal.
I did call my grandfather and aunt first on the day I escaped. They didn't understand me or believe me. It would take months before they acknowledged what happened. It would take a decade before they apologized to me for treating me like garbage in the days after that assault. They brought it up casually, apologizing for not listening to me. It must've haunted them for years.
Fortunately, my life was graced with good friends. My friends never left my side until I moved out. I was too afraid to live alone. Sampson would bring me pets to keep me company. He brought me a show cat (a Persian) and a Scorpion. The cat ate the Scorpion. I felt so horrid about that. I didn't know cats liked those things. The Scorpion was a better companion than any man, by the way.
My friends said someone claiming to be my ex-boyfriend was stalking my apartment and standing outside the window, so I figured I owed him an explanation. Allegedly, he threatened to kill Sampson (which wasn't smart because he and his buddies liked to fight a little too much...I'm thinking Sampson lied but who knows anymore...).
When I got therapy and felt better, I decided to track my old boyfriend down. When I saw him, he ran off murmuring the craziest thing I've ever heard in my life.
He yelled, while skipping off in the opposite direction, "I've turned into you and you've turned into me!"
I didn't know what to say. I just left, hoping to never see him again. I, quite honestly, thought he was high. I did my best. There was no issue. It was over. I could move on.
Then the letter came and I knew I should stay away. He was obviously delusional. I mean...really?
I don't want to say what I remember but...
I can't imagine where the heck he got that idea.
I realized that now, I should've addressed it then in writing. Twenty-five years is a heck of a long time to wonder about such things.
I'm sorry.
I didn't think it was any one's business but things that happen within a month of a break-up can lead to misunderstandings that I have to address.
I feel guilty.
I don't want to say why.
If he still reads this damn thing when he gets bored and worried.
I know him. He researches every damn thing....and I mean every frickin' thing. His Facebook posts betray his anxiety. He even did a wikipedia search on platonic and unrequited love. I mean, I could just imagine him searching my name, his name while hunting for pictures of a child that never existed.
I'll add some tags below to help him. Hope he's drunk if he finds this. I don't know what he drinks because when we meet, we are good...no drugs...no alcohol...public places...he sneers at me when I'm dirty....he's an angel. His father would be proud.
He seems like a Long Island Ice Tea kind of guy.
I really don't know...
What makes matters worse is that my first husband wanted a child to make up for one he lost due to a stupid decision made by his high school sweetheart. Our daughter looks exactly like me but with blue eyes like her great-grandfather. Tom had those same blue eyes.
My old flame is always asking about her....I only just now realized why that would be.
Could he think that I....you know?
Oh...no....
Worse, the kid was always two years ahead of herself in school. She could very well appear to be twenty-fourish....Oh crap...
Oh darn... The answer is NO.
Please tell me I'm overthinking this....
No...if I caused those gray hairs due to twenty-five years of worry I'll feel so freakin' awful. I wanted to be the last thing he thought about.
If he wants an explanation, I'll give it.
He can breathe a sigh of relief.
If it is true that we are all connected on some realm, perhaps when he gets the answer, my nightmares will stop.
The answer is NO...no...no...no...no..
There is no way he would have gotten off of the hook so easily.
Besides, I'm so much a chicken...I wouldn't have let myself do such a thing alone. He'd have known. I'd have probably been a bit of a pill. I'd have freaked out.
He would not have gotten off so easily. I'd have made sure he would have endured some form of hell in exchange for making me gain weight.
Besides, I couldn't even throw away any of the drawings he made. Seriously...how in the heck could he accuse me of throwing away anything he allegedly made?
I don't get it. Maybe he confused me with another girl.
I don't know...I would have made his life a living hell if that had happened.
Just teasing...well...no...not really.
He knows how obnoxious I can be when I'm angry.
But...I wasn't going to let that happen.
That is why it didn't.
When a moron I hadn't planned on meeting touched me,
I was angry.
I was obnoxious.
My obnoxiousness became legendary that year.
People learned not to play with me.
They called me a coyote...a trickster...they called me Kali. I was quite happy to lead an abusive, child raping lunatic to destruction. His wife and son were better for my game.
I played a game of pretend. I was a deceitful piece of crap in order to scare the shit out of a pig who thought I could prove that he touched me.
I'm sorry if my bratty lies hurt my old friend.
Hope this helps.
Love,
S.
Now...I'm not going to correct the blog post. I'm crying and my contacts are foggy. I can't see a damn thing....
This is what happened (for the most part). I am leaving a heck of a lot of stuff out.
Maybe it will bring him closure.
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