All my life, well 41 years of it anyway, I’ve had to defend myself. Unfortunately, the form of defense that I have employed has usually, also been to my detriment. In that, I have hidden, run, anesthetized, gone silent…held my breath…to maintain my survival.
And this is the aftermath and ongoing cruelty of infant or child sexual assault, for its victim. It’s no longer some pervert cunt whose trying to get into your tiny panties…its the continuous hiding from the possibility of impending assault. It’s Us; still trying to defend ourselves from those prying fingers.
But those fingers don’t exist in the here and now anymore. Just in the senses…in the dreams…in the reminders…in the head…in the heart…and they are more than enough to terrify an avid horror film buff.
And as I wake this morning, to the realization that I have been my own worst number 2 enemy…as number 1 is lost somewhere in the open world…I wonder; am I going to defend myself differently? What does that differently look like?
I think it would look like what I do for; have done for my kids. It would look scary and fierce. It would be quiet, but firm…unyielding. It would defend and die for the life of…the growth of…the success of. It wouldn’t take any shit and wouldn’t take No for an excuse or an answer.
So if that is my new truth…that I; the person who hid, survived but died inside every day…if I; am truly worth fighting for…then today must be the day that happens.
I have listened and remained silent to the uneducated and unlearned and uncompassionate taunts of “get over it all ready … stop using it as an excuse … that was years ago … you’re so unaffectionate … you’re not better, your worse … you need to forgive … you need to move on”. And my defense, or best defense, has been an argument. Has been a plea, really.
To listen, to understand…let me educate you so that you will understand. Let me beg, plead and cry so that you will understand. Let me share my horrors with you so that you will understand.
Not realizing, they don’t want to understand…they just want me to be different. Not such an unwelcome truth.
So, for her, and me…I’ll keep talking the unwelcome truth…the mundane horrors…not just to educate; but to defend my position; my truth; my battle; my scars; my reality; my healing; my moving on and growing up.
I’ll also speak for all of those that didn’t make it out of that little dark room with prying fingers and filthy deeds. ALL those little people who never got the chance to get out, grow up, get a job and a family. For all those little people, just like me…who grew into big people, and have rocked in the corner, for far to fucking long.