Stolen Innocence (18 page)

With that I began crying and told mom that she always wants to put the blame on herself like she is a terrible mom. I didn't know what to say to make her understand my pain. Instead I put my head on the table and began crying. While I cried Mrs. Ardell and my mom talked about getting me outside help. Mom eventually had to leave which left just Mrs. Ardell and me in the room. Mrs. Ardell tried to calmly get me to talk to her, but all I wanted to do was cry. Cry for the pain I couldn't get rid of. The pain Brian is to blame for. Mrs. Ardell eventually got me to stop crying and take some deep breaths. She told me, “your mom agrees you need help and wants to help you.” She gave my mom the names of some therapists for me to call. Mrs. Ardell told me we would talk again Monday to see how the weekend went. I thanked her for her time and headed off to my history class. It is nice to have someone like Mrs. Ardell to have available. When I got home that afternoon from school, mom was not happy. She was upset and hurt that I did not come to her about the self-injury. She later talked to my dad that evening about the situation. She gave me the list of the therapists and told me when I made an appointment to get her insurance card from her. I called the first lady on the list who was highly recommended. Her name was Dr. Stern. I left a message on her machine and she called me back tonight. We set up my first appointment three weeks from now because her schedule is full. I hope I can learn to open up and let go of this pain. I hope this is the answer I've been waiting for.

I turned eighteen on Groundhog Day. It was a nice birthday. I went out to dinner with the family and opened presents. My childhood years are gone and I'm left with the memories. Growing up as a child playing with Barbie's, baby dolls, having slumber parties, lemonade stands, and playing school. My childhood didn't end when I turned eighteen. My childhood ended when Brian took my innocence. A childhood that can't be replaced.

I had my first appointment today with my therapist. Her name is Debbie and she seems very nice. Today I filled her in on my painful past with Brian. I told her how the family has been divided ever since it happened and the heartache it is for me with the flashbacks and nightmares. Just when our session was up she asked me if I was harming myself in any way. I informed her of the cutting and she asked to see my wrists. She told me we would work on it. I am almost afraid to open this door of pain that has been closed for so long. Pain I don't want to let others hear. My next session is next Thursday at four.

Dr. Stern, my therapist, explained to me how I am experiencing symptoms of PTSD, which means Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She explained it and it made sense. PTSD is very common in men that have gone to war. Many sexual assault survivors experience it. I told her about my suicidal thoughts and attempt. We talked a lot about my self-injury. She told me she wants me to get to her two H's, which are healthy and helpful. She told me I was doing something helpful, but not healthy. She ended by asking me to come up with a list of things to do during a crisis situation when having a flashback or urge to cut. I'm going to go get started on that now.

I'm awake from a terrible dream. I was locked in this house I'm unfamiliar with. There is no way out. The windows are barred up and the doors locked from the outside. I'm not alone. Brian is coming towards me to make a move. I run to the basement where he follows me down. It is dark and gloomy. He catches up and shoves me on the couch, using his hands to rip off my shirt. As he lies on top of me I wake up. It is 2:57 A.M. I can't go back to sleep. I will wait till I hear the sound of my alarm at 5:30.

I was going through a box of photos tonight when I came across a picture of my grandparents' condo in Wisconsin. Above the door is the number 269. The memory hits me. The night so crystal clear it was like it happened yesterday. Waking in the middle of the night with Brian's hands down my pants as he is fingering me. I immediately panic, grab his sweaty hand and put it on his chest. Looking over at him he gives me a cold stare. The flashback ends.

I can hear his faint whispers in my ear telling me to stay quiet. I use my hand trying to push his weight off me, but he is powerful and I grow weak. He's using his hands to feel my chest. Then taking my hand and forcing me to feel his penis. Rubbing my hand up and down it. I make a fist trying not to feel it. He begins kissing me. I beg him to let me be. Another flashback, another cut, another day scared and alone.

We made it to Colorado after driving from 7:30 in the morning until 10:30 at night. We stayed at a hotel where the parking lot was filled with snow. The next morning our car was dead. A man was nice enough to get it started up again with jumper cables. When we got to our condo at the resort we got settled and Allie and I went to find the pool. We spent the evening playing cards and watching television. Today we skied all day. It was beautiful. The mountains are amazing. Sitting on the chair lifts with the sun hitting my face. I always feel the closest to God here remembering last year when I was on these mountains. It is unbelievable what God has created. No matter what though, wherever I go, the memories come with me. While coming up a chair lift, I had a flashback. It was a short one, but it frustrated me. It is like I can never escape them. I had a flashback in Florida while looking at my reflection in the ocean, and now I am having flashbacks on the chair lifts hundreds of feet off the ground. I just want to enjoy my vacation. I am going to make the best of it. Good night!

Another nightmare has me up. I was in a city all by myself and could only hear the sounds of cars from a distance. I am walking past tall sky scrapers and see no one in sight. I suddenly feel like I am being followed and continue to look over my back. I start to pick up speed and see a corner I can turn at. Just as I turn the corner I run right into a man. I scream and take off running, turning down different streets. I suddenly make a horrible mistake and turn down a dead-end alley. Looking back, I see the man turn in and he corners me against the brick building of the alley. Near a dumpster he beings stripping me of my clothes. I wake up in pouring sweat terrified. I've been up for about an hour analyzing the dream. My interpretation of the dream goes back to the night Brian came home and chased me around his house until I was stuck upstairs, just like in the alley in the dream. Eventually being locked in a room and abused. There was no one in the city except passing cars on the nearby highway and the night I was abused there was no one around except the passing cars on the street outside. It makes perfect sense. I wonder often if Brian ever laid in bed at night feeling horrible for what he did. Someday when I get the courage I want to confront Brian. I have nothing to be afraid of and I am not weak anymore. I should not fear him.

It has been five years this month since I broke my silence. Yet it still feels like it was just yesterday I was being held down and told not to make a sound. The memories are so fresh. I often wonder how my life would have been different if I had not been abused. I feel I wouldn't have the determination that I do now. I feel I wouldn't have the passion to help others the way I do now. In fact there was an article in the paper last month about my volunteer work. It was a nice article. Every night I lay staring at my ceiling wondering how other victims of abuse cope with life. I feel like I will live in this pain forever. My therapist has been very helpful in making me understand my feelings and open up. She has made it clear that I should not be blaming myself that I am not at fault for what Brian did to me. I recently had a flashback in her office and she helped me through it. Dr. Stern has worked with me on relaxation skills. She is also teaching me how to ground myself when I am being triggered with a memory. Once a week I sit in her office staring out the window on the tenth floor at the parking lot of the mall below and watching the cars pass on the highway. Too afraid to show my tears, I look the other way. Dr. Stern mentions that I should try writing a letter to Brian, but said I don't have to send it. I told her I have done that before, more then once. She feels it will be a good way to help me let go of some of the hurt I'm feeling. I often wonder what Brian has been thinking the past five years. She told me I could write a letter to Brian and then burn it. She said that could be therapeutic for me. I might give it a try.

I talked to Mrs. Ardell today. She asked if I am still self-injuring. I couldn't lie and told her I was. We talked a lot about my sleep pattern. I get very little sleep an average of three or four hours a night, which makes it harder in school for me. Every week when I see Dr. Stern, she asks to see my arms. This past week she was shocked to see how much I cut myself. Mrs. Ardell started working with me on a book about people that self-injure. Every time I come in she has a page marked to read to me. She also has me filling out a daily task sheet on my self-injury and how I felt before and after. Mrs. Ardell and Dr. Stern see my determination to get better. It is having people like them in my life that give me the strength to move forward each day.

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Everything from my past is fresh in my mind. It has been years, yet it still feels like just yesterday that I was begging him not to rape me. I had a lot of mixed feelings tonight sitting in my room wanting to cut and end the images flashing in my head yet the same time knowing it will just cause me more pain and cause me to think about taking it a step farther. I guess the only thing that keeps me from taking it that step farther is holding out faith that someday it will get better. Yet looking back it has been a lifetime of pain. From my childhood up into my teen years and now following me into my early adulthood, the same painful pattern. I can't even escape the pain in my sleep. It chases me wherever I go. I know people look at me as this “downer” person and it bothers me. I wish I didn't look like that person. I walk with my head staring at the floor in school. I try my best to pretend life is great and hide my true feelings, but it isn't always that easy. Especially when they are all coming out at once. I stand in front of my mirror every now and then and look at myself. I see my soul crying inside. My soul has two doors attached to it. When I open these doors I see shelves like in a closet with millions of memories stacked on top of each other. Entering my soul I begin coughing. Dust is piling on top of memories too painful to talk about. Instead of dealing with them, I close the door and let the memories collect dust. I tried turning on the light to my soul but the light does not work. For my soul is a really dark place. A place that has been kept stored with painful abuse too scary to express. I hope with time I will be able to dust my shelves and clear out some of the pain piling up in my soul and make room for happier things. Maybe then it won't be so dark. I'll be able to turn on the light. For years I have kept those doors closed not letting anyone in. Hiding the truth. It relates to when I cut, which is my way of expressing my pain and not letting anyone in on the truth. Just like with the doors to my soul I use my sleeves to cover my wrists. If it isn't a fake smile hiding my dark soul, then it is long-sleeved shirts hiding my scars. I sit back and wait and wonder when the light will come on, the true smile will show, and the sleeves will be rolled up. “When?” I ask myself. Someday soon, I hope.

An incredible step I took tonight. Where do I begin? How do I explain this to you? You're going to be so proud of me. I've never been prouder. I went to my youth group where we had a scavenger hunt. It was so much fun. The night was going great. When I came home I was triggered with a flashback. I began to walk upstairs towards my bedroom to get my razor and begin cutting. When suddenly stopped myself and turned around. It was like something tapped me on the shoulder and made me turn around. I went back downstairs and got on the computer. I went online and looked up an old “forward” my grandma sent me. This same “forward” she also sent Brian. I copied Brian's e-mail address down and began typing a letter. For the first time in five years I am confronting my cousin through this letter. When I finally finished a little after one in the morning I sat staring at the computer screen, too scared to hit send. Reading it over and over again I finally hit send at 1:45 A.M. My adrenaline is going. I can't believe I did it. There is no way he would respond to it. I put so much of my anger into the letter. Letting him know how much he hurt me. He probably won't even open it and will just click delete. I wouldn't be surprised, but guess what? I took the step and confronted him through a letter. Here is what my letter said. It isn't friendly at all!