CHAPTER 19

I can’t remember what prompted my last flashback. I do know that it was different from the rest in that I was more awake and alert than I had ever been. It was as if my memories were finally ready to be viewed in the light of day, in a moment of complete consciousness and clarity. That is not to say that any more details were revealed, only that I was for the first time able to watch my memory like a movie reel, through the eyes of a woman rather than those of a frightened child. The memory was still frightening but I was okay. I was safe.

I owe a debt of gratitude to the woman who had the misfortune to be present for this latest round of self-revelation. She was a co-worker and we were in her office for a meeting. We had never been close – we had actually clashed many times - but she was a counselor by profession and had a gift for asking the right questions. I guess she could see something in my eyes that day, even though I was unaware anything was happening. Rather than get to the business at hand, she casually asked how I was, what had been going on in my life. Before I knew it, I was telling her about Sara, the memories, the missing links that had troubled me, the journey I had shared with the women from my group. She was not shocked, she had heard bits and pieces of my story before. She simply nodded and urged me to continue. As I spoke, it was, for the first time, a more detached account, told through the eyes of the 30-year-old woman I had become, not the child I once was.

There was a clarity, a gradual kind of acceptance that came from somewhere deep within me. This thing had happened to me. This terrible thing was done to me. This experience is mine but it is not all of me, only a part of me. My co-worker just listened. She was kind enough not to stop me or ask questions. The tale within me simply needed to be told. I felt sadness, awe even, for the little girl who had been so hurt, so terrified, so betrayed. At the same time, I recognized that I was that girl but I was also so much more. Her experiences were mine but many other moments before and since, some good, some bad – had combined to create the life I now knew. I saw myself as I never had before – complete, whole, far from perfect but perfectly human. The specifics of our conversation are a blur. I can only recount now the feeling I had, the door I felt opening inside of me. I walked through it that day, hungry for whatever it was I believed awaited me on the other side.

No one reading this should assume I am now “healed” or “cured” of whatever difficulties I have had in life or that the experiences of the past are now neatly packaged and tied with a bow. My daily reality is no different from any time in the past. I still have moments of intense fear and crippling depression. I still struggle with a tendency toward addictive or self-destructive behavior. I grapple with the questions that remain unanswered. But something profound shifted that day though I cannot say why or how. I never believed it would or could but it did.

We talked for more than an hour – or I should say, I talked. The tears flowed and emotions long-suppressed washed over me. For the first time, I was able to view the little girl who had been hurt with eyes of love and compassion rather than hatred. Someone who has not had this experience will not understand how I could feel hatred for that child – but a woman who has been through it will know. We hate everything about ourselves. We believe – unconsciously or not – that we are to blame for what happened to us. If only we were something else, something more, better or different, we would not have been singled out for such pain. Irrational as they may seem, these beliefs linger long into adulthood and taint any effort to live a happy or moderately “normal” life, if there is such a thing, which I don’t believe there is. We all have our scars, our crosses to bear. Little do we know that we are the only ones who can put those crosses aside, if only for a moment.

As I left the woman’s office, I knew the present revelation was not yet over. Though I had walked through a part of it with my friend, something inside me said there was more I would have to experience alone. I had stopped short of telling her everything. There were some things I still was not willing to accept. I was only five minutes into my journey home when I was overcome with revulsion, physically and mentally. My stomach heaved and I began to cough and choke. My eyes burned from tears and my head swam with emotion. The road in front of me began to blur. I gripped the steering wheel tight. Afraid I was going to pass out, I pulled to the side of the road, alongside a large field of tall grass, its blades swaying in the breeze. I put my head in my hands and sobbed, still coughing and gagging.

What was this? I hadn’t had a real flashback in at least a year and that is precisely what this seemed to be. Out of control, back on the rollercoaster ride of unwelcome memories. I panicked and reached for the cell phone. I did not want to go through this. I had had it. I wanted out. I dialed the co-worker I had just left but got her machine. I contemplated dialing 911 but had no idea what I would say. “Um, I’m having a panic attack. Can you come get me?” No, I would have to ride this one out alone, something I don’t think I had ever done before. So I cried and I heaved and I coughed and gagged for what seemed an eternity but was probably only 10 or 15 minutes. My body shook violently and I was overwhelmed with feelings of revulsion and nausea. I was reliving one of the more horrific aspects of the abuse. I was seeing it both through the child’s eyes and the woman’s. It was hideous. I cried and I howled and I beat the steering wheel. I wanted to hurt whoever had hurt me. Years of anger and fury and fear flowed through me. I moaned and shook until I wore myself out.

Lifting my head from my hands, I wondered briefly where I was. It took a moment for me to come back to the car on the side of the road and remember that I had just left my co-worker’s office. I had no idea what time it was. I remember feeling vaguely hungry. I was thoroughly spent but felt intense relief that the moment of panic had passed and I was okay. The thought shot through me. I had relived my pain and come out on the other side. I had endured this one alone and not simply self-combusted from the experience. I was alive. I had survived. I sat not moving and let that revelation sink in.

Though the day until now had been sunny, in the time I’d been sitting there, the air had gone cool and the sky dark. I stared out the window at the tall grass bending with the wind. It began to rain, streaking the window and blurring my view. I sat very still and watched, thinking of Sara once again. Was it raining the night she died? Did she see the grass bending above her and wonder how she had gotten there? I closed my eyes and held her in my mind, breathing deeply. I had never fully mourned her death, just as I had never mourned for the little girl in me. I don’t equate my pain with the horror she suffered. My connection is only to the little girl that was lost. Sitting by the field, watching the rain that day, I knew she was at peace. And so was I.

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TITLE: This Is Me   CHAPTER: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19
AUTHOR: Anonymous