It’s just a few days into this blogging thing and I have been wondering what I’m really trying to accomplish here. Do I think I’m special or something? Yeah, I’ll admit to being an attention fiend, I get that straight from my mother. But am I important? More special than other survivors? Ummm... that would be a big no.
So what am I doing this for? Because I’ve gotta be honest with you, this is frightening. Even if no one is reading it other than a few really close friends, this is damn scary stuff. And, and, and! AND, Holy Guacamole, what if Other People ever somehow stumble across this thing and start to read it. Other People are kind of mean sometimes, and sometimes some of them are really, really mean, and frankly, I’m just not equipped to deal with that. Yet.
My story isn’t different, important, or even terribly dramatic. No one hit me. No one raped me. Even as far as the sexual abuse went... well, let’s just say other people have far more horrible tales to tell.
I wonder if there are a lot of us out there, left in some kind of limbo. Wondering how we can be so messed up if nothing that bad ever really happened, if there’s no one to point a finger at, no incident to hold up and say, “This! This is what made me broken!” It just didn’t seem all that bad, but here we are, sort of broken and kind of functional. The in-betweeners.
Growing up, I had a couple of neighbors who had their suspicions. They knew something was wrong at my house, but they had no proof. They befriended me, talked to me, tried to be pseudo-parental figures, but there was nothing they could do. What were they to say? They don’t love her enough. He says mean things. She has too many chores, too much responsibility. She’s a 10 year old running a household while her mother works 60 hours and her stepfather drinks. They tell her she’s not pretty, not good, and not normal. No, there are no scars, no bruises, no horrific fights, no domestic violence calls.
Still and yet... damage was done.
And maybe that is what is important to tell. We all deserve to be loved, to find trust, to get better, to feel better. Even if what we went through wasn’t The Worst Thing Ever. Even if we feel guilty for thinking about it as “abuse.” Even if we still love them, as bad as they made us feel. Even if we think that it isn’t their fault, that they didn’t mean it, that they were doing the best that they could. Even if we feel like we don’t deserve to be angry.
Someone hurt me and I didn't deserve THAT. That matters.