What journey is waiting for you?
Do you have a secret dream you have never told anyone? That might be a journey that is just waiting for you to take the first step.
My dream involves actual traveling. I want to learn French and go to France. It isn’t something that will be happening soon, but I could start preparing now with some studying and planning.
I took a small first step, now it is your turn – what journey is waiting for you?
I can feel the panic rising in my throat like bile.
We are at the pool and my son is showing off for a group of boys; trying desperately to be noticed and loved. This brings it all back: being the social outcast from grade three on up. The teasing, the ignoring, the bullying the tears. Hours of wishing I could belong.
My only recourse was to NOT belong: if they thought I was freak; then I would be a freak.
He is two. Only two. Is the need to belong so deep inside our biology that it begins so early? Tears are in my eyes even now, as I think of it.
Please don’t let him be like me. Please let him be okay. Please don’t let him go through what I did.It’s not about being popular; it’s about being okay. I don’t want him to go through what I did. On the other hand, I sure as hell don’t want him on the other extreme; the type of person who made my school years hell.
I see him striving for attention, to be noticed, to be loved. Already. At two.
Please, please don’t let him be like me…
It’s been six months since my sister died.
Already.
How is that even possible? February seems so freaking long ago.
Originally as I started his post, I was at a low low point and after some thought, I hit delete. Because I wanted to start this post over. Like I wish I could do to my life, well, most of the time.
I will say my grief has been better. A couple times, the grief hit me like a tons of bricks. It happened once when I’d gone to visit a friend who’s expecting her first child which is wonderful. We had a great time, but during the drive home, I felt sad – I’m 30, and still don’t have those “joys” that everyone else around me seems to have.
It really hurts.
I cried on the drive home.
Not long after, Dad had the last of my sister’s belongings from storage. Stuff I hadn’t seen in ages; stuff long-forgotten – cue water works. It was over just like that. How do you deal with that?
Then, Mom’s wound – the one she’d had surgery on a month before Jenny died – re-opened. She’s having ANOTHER surgery right before the six-month anniversary of Jenny’s death.
I feel like screaming.
However, there is healing.
I recently accepted a co-chair position for my local Relay For Life – I’ll be one of two in charge of the whole event. I felt taking this on would give some kind of purpose in my life. I have such a huge hole I have to fill.
I don’t let the grief consume me, I get up every night (I’m night owl), go to work, then a walk or workout. After that I’m off – I eat, spend time with my family and friends, I laugh, I smile. I keep going because it’s what Jenny would want.
It’s not easy – then again, nothing ever is. There is a light at the end of a very dark tunnel. You just have to get through it.
Not a day goes by where I don’t miss her smile, her giggles, her fluffly brown hair, her sparkling eyes – the way she’d squeeze my fingers.
I end this post with a quote from Winne the Pooh by A.A. Milne:
“If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together keep me in your heart. I’ll stay there forever”When I was sixteen years old, I was sent abroad to study and work. I was on my own – no family, no friends, and no jobs. And as I was underage, it was quite hard to get a job.
Finally, a nice man with a family – his lovely wife pregnant with his second, a son about a year old – agreed to allow me to work at his store without a contract.
I trusted him. His family allowed me stay overnight, cooked me meals, as his house was nearer to my school. It was nice. One night we decided to have a party. We all drank.
He took advantage of me while his family was upstairs.
Desperately, I tried to run away. As his family was upstairs, he followed me downstairs and locked the door and pushed me down onto the floor. I tried to pull away, but he had a hold of both my hands and legs.
He stole my first time; my only chance to make it special. He stole my carefree teenage years, my childhood, my lively personality.
After he was done raping me, I ran for the door and escaped to home. I was scared – I couldn’t understand what had happened; what was going on. I lost all sense.
The next few days, I spent alone in my room, staring at nothing, not talking, not doing anything. My friends reported me missing – eventually they came to my house and found me in this state.
But they didn’t know what happened. I was in denial; pretending I didn’t know what’d happened. They knew something was up.
I quit my job.
I cut all connections with everyone in that city and moved away. I changed schools, took medicine to quell my anxiety, I started (and stopped) therapy sessions as I didn’t want to open up to the therapist. I didn’t want to. I pretended nothing had happened to me – as long as I believed nothing had happened, I’d be fine.
Dose after dose, I took the medication until I became addicted. I’m addicted to drugs and alcohol – they make me forget what happened. They allow me to feel happy again. I can live my life without caring about anything. I started doing dangerous things and harming myself, hoping that if one of my “adventures” goes terribly wrong, I can finally die.
I considered killing him, but decided that was a bad idea.
I lost my connections, my friendships with other people – become antisocial. It’s extremely hard for me to make friends because I just don’t want to talk or share my story with others. I close up and let nobody in.
They think I’m weird, snobby.
I lost interest in everyone – especially men. I fell apart without my family, I’m depressed and anxious; I cannot sleep without drinking alcohol. I suffer nightmares; I’m extremely jumpy – especially in my sleep. I hit people or shout at them if they touch me, even if it’s a friendly touch. Suddenly, I’ll wake wake up crying without remembering what I’m crying about. I drove everyone away from me – in order to find joy and safety alone
At age twenty, I got into university and am doing a bit better. I managed to make new friends – even if they think I’m odd.
I was doing okay. Until recently.
Finally, it hit me that what happened wasn’t a bad dream. I was actually raped. I’m on the verge of breaking down again… just as I’m trying to start a new life.
I can’t let this happen again.
That’s why I’m here, The Band: to share and hear about others, to find comfort in stories that help me find the light again.
I’m hoping that by writing this, by letting it all out, I can start new again.
It’s never too late.