Finding The Missing Pieces

 
 
 
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    A college student's journey to put herself back together
     
    More pieces April 25th, 2016

    Let’s say that I should be asleep, logically, but was woken up in the middle of the night by more bits and pieces of memory:

    New memories that I recovered:

    -Needing Mom to keep me company after I started worrying that Woundwort from Watership Down was going to come and get me (even listening to my Enya music — I used that at the time as one of many methods of sleeping — did not help). I know that it sounds silly (I’m…not quite sure how old I was. Middle school-ish? Fuck, even saying it aloud is embarrassing) but I do remember that I was just really freaked out by Woundwort from what I saw in a music video for the cartoon. Don’t really know whether I slept on the floor of her room or not, actually. Speaking of which…

    -Mom might have actually been pretty good about the boundaries in regards to the Freddy incident, the incident with C, and the incident with the Reavers. She let me at least sleep on the floor. And she didn’t really seem to approve much of it — she did acknowledge that I should be able to sleep by myself. I think my dad did similar stuff when my brother and I slept in his room while Mom was out on business trips. He let us sleep on this mattress in the back room, similar to when I was at some of my relatives’ (unofficial aunt, uncle and cousins; let’s say that my mom has a bad relationship with her brothers and is in VLC mode at minimum, and my dad has a brother but I only saw him occasionally, although that said, Dad’s brother was a very nice guy) house and I’d be reading my Deltora Quest books (which I also read on the way to dance class and such), just engrossed, horrified and enthralled with the adventures of Lief, Jasmine and Barda. In one of those instances in Dad’s room, I’d read a book of unsolved murder cases that happened to be lying around my Summer S (yeah, real kid-friendly, right? /sarcasm) and not be able to sleep very well because I was afraid of someone breaking into our house or something. That book of unsolved murder cases was, incidentally, how I learned about the Zodiac Killer, so…yeah, I learned about the Zodiac Killer when I was little.

    Like I said, real kid-friendly. /sarcasm

    -Another piece of the tampon incident: Mom might have been a bit frustrated that I couldn’t put it in myself. Not in terms of trying to punish me (unless my mind was trying to shield me from something, she wasn’t trying to hurt me. I actually am not certain of how much of the helping she did. Hopefully that will become clearer as I work on the damage). In terms of the first one I remember (because there’s one with a teacher that is like a black hole in my memory), my mom might have been saying something, but it’s like the audio in there is muffled and unintelligible, same with the cleaning memory. I also remember that with the cleaning memory — it was like I actually chose to forget it. Shove it away, act like nothing happened. Like nothing was wrong. But it still kind of kept lurking in the back of my head, very subtly.

    -Better times, like watching movies on the old boat we had (that got sold recently). Going swimming. Drawing in shaving cream at that old pre-K that I went to. Playing in the sink with sponges — at least I have a fuzzy image of it.

     

    I guess the weird thing of it is that there were definitely some wonderful, beautiful times woven in with things that are…well, questionable. And that I’m still putting together. My mom, who’s a suspect at most, doesn’t really fit the pattern, so to speak, of the sexually abusive mothers I’ve read about. And my dad, also a suspect, doesn’t really fit the pattern either, I don’t think. But my mom especially — the thing that kind of gets things fucked up a little is that she isn’t narcissistic, sadistic, anything like that. She was in my corner when I needed her, very encouraging of my talents as a writer, things like that. I honestly don’t want to have turned out to have been sexually abused. It’s too horrible to wrap my mind around. It’s too big. And I guess there are times when I’m wondering if I should feel guilty for being uncertain. It reminds me of one line that Mina says in the Francis Ford Coppola adaptation of Dracula that I watched for a college course: “Perhaps though I try to be good, I am bad.” I know that I do feel like it sometimes. No, even before that, I felt like it. Usually thanks to not being good at following directions, doing something unintentionally hurtful when I was a kid, not agreeing with something, losing my temper, things of that nature. Maybe I can just work on some of the flaws I do know I have to be accountable for, and try and do some deprogrammjng on the “I’m bad” thing. It’s the best I can do.