Note: A slight trigger warning since, while I do not discuss the actuality of the event, I do mention a sexual situation.
On Saturday, I had a bit of a moment. I went out all on my own with the intention of enjoying myself. I don’t get a lot of private time, being a mom of an active four-year-old and with TH being gone all week. So, I took time for myself with the intention of just going out and being. While waltzing through the mall, I realized that I don’t know how to do that much anymore, but that’s not what this is about.
You see, as I was leaving, I called TH to tell him about someone I had seen in passing that we both used to know. And as I was cavalierly regaling him with the gossipy details, none other but the man who molested me when I was eighteen years old and he was twenty stepped into my field of vision. I didn’t miss a step. I didn’t stop. I didn’t freak out. I didn’t say a word, but as I continued toward my car, I made sure to peer around me. Could he be following me? Was he following me? Would he try to come after me and finish all of that?
Thing is that there was a moment there when I wanted to get off the phone with TH – who I didn’t bother mentioning this to until later – and go back inside. I wanted to make a scene. I wanted to start a riot. It wasn’t anger that was pushing me, but it was the need to say my piece. We all have moments like that where we have to say the things that are inscribed upon our hearts, the parts and pieces that may help us retrieve the soul pieces that others have taken from us. My molester took a large part of my soul for a lot of reasons and when I start down that shadow work, I’ll tell you about it. The thing is that I just wanted to tell him that he ruined me in ways that I cannot fathom. Well. He had a part of my ruination, at least, and I’ve never been able to bounce back from that. I ignore it. I pretend it didn’t happen. I go about my day, but there is a time and a place where I want to say, “You did this to me and this is what it did to me after. Then, you compounded the situation later and here is what it did to me further.”
I felt fear. I will admit that. I felt real and true, primal fear in that moment of seeing him again.
And then, I analyzed him. I saw what he presented to the world – a nothing, a nobody, a ho-hum dog that has been kicked just enough times to where it’s up in the air if the dog in question is feral or not. The one thing that I noticed was that he was smaller, leaner. In a sick and twisted way, I kind of hope that smaller physique has more to do with the horrors he caused me and compounded later were eating him away from the very center of his heart. But, I doubt this. He had a hard life before I knew him and it didn’t get any easier later, or so I’ve heard. So, I doubt that the thinness and gauntness had much to do with me. The other thing is that while I didn’t see his eyes because I didn’t have to. But those eyes were always a little crazy, a little insane. And as I knew he watched me surreptitiously as I walked right on by, I felt that insanity watching me leave.
Then, I analyzed myself a little bit.
I felt fear, but I did not panic.
I felt worry, but I did not cry.
I felt pain, but I did not have an attack of nerves.
As I got off the phone with TH, I drove blindly. I wanted to talk to the Sister, but she didn’t pick up, so I ended up just randomly driving. I thought about calling someone to just say, “Hey, I saw this person who ripped a part of my soul out of my body and never gave it back. So, how are you?” I thought about it but decided that there was no point in doing this. I didn’t feel like I needed to have a panic attack. I had the shakes. I had the start of a headache. I had the wild, crazy stomach flip-flops that can happen when situations like this come up. But, I didn’t feel the gut-wrenching need to leave or run or hide or cry or any of that.
I’m rapidly beginning to assess this moment in my life as a stepping stone or a turning point. I’m not sure which – the path ahead is still in darkness. But, whatever it is that this moment was… it’s important. And as a sort of recompense or maybe a just because, I’ve been dreaming about that part of my life again. All of this with my molester relates to other aspects of my life that I have to work through. I keep dreaming about that boy, the one who was my everything and I was his nothing, because of all of this. They’re related, you see. And I know I’m being cryptic, but right now, I don’t have the stomach to go through it all. It doesn’t matter for what I’m writing right this second, either. What does matter is that in analyzing myself and that moment, I’ve come to realize that in just doing a little bit with my ex-husband, I’m able to hold my head up high, even when I just want to hiss and bitch and snarl.
Either I’m growing up, or things are just getting easier.