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Last night, falling asleep, I had a troubling realization.

I'm jealous of H.W.S.R.N.

OK, so maybe that's not news, but what is news is the why: because he fucking remembers his life.

Not me.

I'll tell you what I do remember:

I remember 7th grade, and that I just stopped doing any schoolwork. I didn't cut classes, I was still physically there, but I just sat there, did nothing.

I remember 6th grade, and that I brought a knife to school and threatened another student with it.

I also remember 7th grade and the music teacher who was ... let's call it "inappropriate." I remember him holding me, close. I remember struggling, squirming to get free. I remember him pressing himself up against me.

"Inappropriate"? Damn skippy. "Abuse"? Well, that's a bit nebulous.

I will also say that it certainly never occurred to me that I could -- should -- tell somebody about it. He was a teacher, for fuck's sake -- I was just a fuckup student -- fat girl -- crazy girl --

Hell, my own Dad hardly ever went a day without calling me "crazy girl," "abnormal," "wild like a Banshee ..."

You know, when you get told something often enough, you start to believe it.

So is this why I keep my (paper) journals? Is this why I take all those pictures? So I won't forget? _aqualung_ remembers all sorts of things about our time together that I've long since forgotten, and I find it really troubling.

ratphooey was there when I was in 6th and 7th grade -- so tell me: what the fuck happened?

My mother always wrote it off to puberty ... is that really the best that she can do with that goddamn motherfucking psychology degree of hers?

Cause gee golly willikers ... they all sound like classic signs of sexual abuse to me ...


( 35 comments — Leave a comment )
Sep. 12th, 2004 11:09 am (UTC)
they all sound like classic signs of sexual abuse to me

Yeah, me too.

Your mom, with her psych degree, had a vested interest in not recognizing what was up with you at the time - the fact of the matter is that attentive parents note this stuff and do what's necessary to fix it. When they don't, they're complicit in whatever happens. Doing things like "writing it off as puberty" absolves them until it's too late for admission to make much difference.
Sep. 12th, 2004 05:02 pm (UTC)
And how will I deal with this problem? Why, the same way I always do! I decided not to drink, I'm still trying not to smoke (about 45 hours now), and I've already eaten until I felt sick ... Hmmm, what's left? Ah, I know! Leftover pain pills! Two of those and two of these and I'm sure to be swooning in no time!

Ask me what happened a year ago tonight (or you could scroll through my archives and see if you can guess).

Is your icon some kind of joke about my stepping on a nail?
Sep. 12th, 2004 08:40 pm (UTC)
OK, wow, I'm really pretty high. A double dose of Percocet plus a double dose of Tramadol will do the trick every time. Yee ha!

bishopjoey, I'm such an old drug skank. I'm a cliche. I'm a total loss.
Sep. 12th, 2004 06:31 pm (UTC)
I don't remember much about 6th and 7th grades except the things I read in Ms. Williams' English class. And Giacomo DeGasparis, because I thought he was cute and I loved his name. And possibly dissecting frogs in Mrs. O'Farrell's science lab.
Sep. 12th, 2004 06:50 pm (UTC)
I remember Giacomo. He was actually nice to me.

I dug out my diaries from back then and tried reading ... unfortunately they're illegible, and they have huge gaps. I mean, plus the fact that my parents regularly read them (all the locks are long-since busted open), so I never wrote anything desperately personal anyway.

I'm instead reading my journals from the fall of 1990, because that's when I remember first questioning the appropriateness of Mr. D's actions. So far, no clues.

And anyway, I think it happened earlier. I was sent to a shrink at age 7, and that's around the time that I remember no longer feeling OK ... OK in my body, OK about who I was, how I looked, how I fit into the world ...

Not that I ever told that shrink anything, mind you -- I was always too terrified that she'd go and tell my Dad (which doesn't mean that I think my Dad was the one -- quite frankly, I've always suspected my uncle -- but I did have plenty of reason to be afraid of my Dad ... the rages he would fly into, the look of glee he would get as he stared me in the eye as I pleaded with him ... the abject power he had over my life, my possessions, my body, my safety ...)

No, ratphooey, I think it was a more philosophical question. Forget school, forget Mr. D even -- what do you remember of me at that time? Was there a sharp change in my personality? Was I going through something (other than the aforementioned puberty)? Did I confide some terrible truth? Some terrible fear? What the fuck was going on with me that I walled myself into a corner of my chest and hid out there for years?
Sep. 13th, 2004 12:06 pm (UTC)
Giacomo was remarkably laid back. He was nice to most people, from what I saw. It's funny - the thing that burst my crush bubble was how poorly he read aloud. Once a geek snob, always a geek snob.

It's pretty awful that your parents read your journals. Ugh. Your dad always gave me the creeps, a bit. I liked your mom, for what that's worth. No creeps there.

I spent a ton of time with (at the time) Mr. D., and he never did anything inappropriate. That is, of course, irrelevant to his behaviour with you.

I don't remember a sharp change in you. You were always a lot on the edge, and I don't just mean your long fingernails. One never knew what comment might set you off, make you angry. No terrible truths or fears were confided.

I was pretty walled off, myself. That age is awful. I'm almost glad I'm having a boy - it's less intense for them, or at least appears so from the outside.
Sep. 13th, 2004 02:16 pm (UTC)
Now that's telling. You described me the way I always describe my Father: that you never know what's going to set him off. There are certain landmines, certain subjects that must always be avoided at any cost (money, his family, anything that might be construed as "a sadness"), but then there are other ones that are surprises ... you don't know you're about to set him off, and then the next thing you know he's yelling and breaking things and leaving bruises on my arms ... like walking on eggshells ...

which is how I often feel in my pseudo-relationships with these damaged men of mine. It's also, in a way, how I used to feel when I would hide out in public restrooms and shoot up: furtive, restless, on the edge ...

I just wanted to be Mr. D's friend because I wanted to be half as cool as you. So I let him do whatever he wanted to do ... as long as it meant I could hang out with him.
(no subject) - ratphooey - Sep. 13th, 2004 03:14 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - hopita - Sep. 13th, 2004 03:53 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - ratphooey - Sep. 13th, 2004 03:57 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - hopita - Sep. 13th, 2004 05:55 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - ratphooey - Sep. 13th, 2004 06:25 pm (UTC) - Expand
Sep. 12th, 2004 08:56 pm (UTC)
...sigh... So much for my male ego...
You find it troubling? I'm the one that has to face up to the fact that I was lousy boyfriend. No, that's not completely true, but it's close. The fact that you didn't dump me after our first date (some movie I forget that played at the then King's Court) is a testiment to your generosity and patience with me.

If it could have all been like the night we all saw "Yellow Submarine" at The Playhouse (I still remember Beth trying to introduce you to me and Gregg Mairs from group)... All we did was talk...

Anyway, I've said it before in other comments (i think), but it bears repeating. Drugs notwithstanding, Lady, you taught me how to love. All I taught you was sex, and you were more of a teacher in that as well, since I also learned to give pleasure as well as get.

Also, some of the stuff I remember has some temporal inconsistanceis. I remember having a Pittsburgh Press route when I was in high school, so I don't understand how I managed to hang out with you after school and deliver the evening paper on time. I remember both, so I must have...

Now, back to the rest of your post...

I have to agree with bishopjoey; Your mother was just too biased. What I don't understand is how all those shrinks missed the symptoms. A lot of your behavior makes a lot of sense now after this post (no nothing I can pin down at the moment, just a general sense from flashes of some of your more charged rants)
Sep. 12th, 2004 09:08 pm (UTC)
Re: ...sigh... So much for my male ego...
Now see, I remember it differently. I remember our first date as being in the afternoon, and that we kissed over by the Stephen Foster statue at the museum at the end. I may have a journal from that time that's readable (but hey -- dontcha remember group therapy when Dr. Garfinkel told a whole buncha stuff that he learned because my parents read my journal? Hoo, boy, fun fun fun).

You taught me lots of things, and I think it's terrible that I taught you how to love, because I sure as fuck don't know how. I know compulsion -- I know how to cling to a person/food/drug/idea/object because I believe that without it/him, I'll have nothing left ... I've been looking for someone or something to make me whole, and I cling to those notions for dear dear life.

I'm high now. It's the only thing I could think to do to keep from sliding down the walls like a giant crimson stain.

I did find one item of interest in my 7th grade journal: apparently I tried to kill myself with aspirin but my friend Ann stopped me.

I'd forgotten about that.

I've always lived in such constant fear. I still do. But now I'm starting to wonder: Just what the fuck am I so afraid of anyway? I can't actually remember anymore.

I'm afraid of HIM ...
Sep. 13th, 2004 04:26 am (UTC)
Re: ...sigh... So much for my male ego...
That was a date? I guess it was. I wouldn't call it a kiss though - more like me trying to suck out your lungs and stomach while ramming my tongue down your throat.

I remember you being clingy. I remember coming home after hanging out with Ken and Jesse and my dad telling me that you called no less than 12 times. I think I blew everything off to my being your first lover. I was so complacent back then. Just imagine the shock I felt when you broke up with me. To this day I still regret loosing you, and I bear some guilt over how I treated you.

A lot of stuff didn't come clear until after we broke up. I'm not the pompous ass I used to be, and I get more human each day.

I remember a little from group. The asprin incident seems familiar. It might have come up then, but one thing that stands out is Dr. G. telling us to stop holding hands during group one session.
Sep. 13th, 2004 09:18 am (UTC)
Re: ...sigh... So much for my male ego...
I broke up with you? I thought you broke up with me. I remember being in Mellon Park and saying goodbye and you pinned the rings/earrings that I had given you to the back of my shirt. I asked what that meant and you kind of shrugged. I don't know -- I don't remember it very clearly. But I do remember having to go out to dinner with my family that night and sooooooooooo not being up to it (and that, yet again, my Mother called Garfinkel and told him about it and he told the whole fucking group and made me sound like a total fucking psycho).

I was always calling everyone all the time. Just ask ratphooey. I was always terrified of being alone. I still am.

It still feels like nobody likes me as much as I like them. It still feels like if I don't call/email/write, nobody will call me. Nobody will miss me when I'm gone.
Re: ...sigh... So much for my male ego... - _aqualung_ - Sep. 13th, 2004 02:26 pm (UTC) - Expand
Re: ...sigh... So much for my male ego... - hopita - Sep. 13th, 2004 02:36 pm (UTC) - Expand
Re: ...sigh... So much for my male ego... - _aqualung_ - Sep. 14th, 2004 04:27 am (UTC) - Expand
Re: ...sigh... So much for my male ego... - hopita - Sep. 14th, 2004 06:31 am (UTC) - Expand
Sep. 13th, 2004 12:45 pm (UTC)
It's true. She was a caller.

I like you, too, Hopey. :-)
Sep. 13th, 2004 02:29 pm (UTC)
I know that she is.
My parents know...
My departed sister knew...
My friend Ken's mother knew...
Sep. 13th, 2004 02:39 pm (UTC)
I get so self-conscious about this. When I first started hanging out with H.W.S.R.N., I was so sure that I was being a total pest. I still am, though he swears that I'm not ... that if I was, he'd say so.

I will forever be convinced that I call too much, email too much, write too much, am around too much ... but, conversely, that if I didn't call, nobody would call me.
(no subject) - ratphooey - Sep. 13th, 2004 03:16 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - hopita - Sep. 13th, 2004 03:54 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - ratphooey - Sep. 13th, 2004 04:00 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - hopita - Sep. 13th, 2004 05:58 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - ratphooey - Sep. 13th, 2004 06:29 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - hopita - Sep. 13th, 2004 07:10 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - ratphooey - Sep. 14th, 2004 01:08 pm (UTC) - Expand
And the rest of us do? - _aqualung_ - Sep. 14th, 2004 04:39 am (UTC) - Expand
Re: And the rest of us do? - hopita - Sep. 14th, 2004 06:32 am (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - _aqualung_ - Sep. 14th, 2004 04:47 am (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - hopita - Sep. 14th, 2004 06:33 am (UTC) - Expand
Sep. 13th, 2004 03:15 pm (UTC)
( 35 comments — Leave a comment )

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