I thought writing about our journey would be linear… A story, after all, has a beginning and ending, right? The journey had its pathway and it would just be simpler, I thought, to create the outline to produce that linear path, depicting Point A to Point Z – how we started, and how we ended. Start at the beginning, and then report it in its straight-line way, the exact way it happened to us. But that just isn’t real life. Even in remembrance, “reporting” on our own story, will not allow us to follow a straight line. Because Life is still happening. And Life isn’t a straight road. Life is a river – with curves, tributaries, swells, rains, shrinkage, and flow.
This journey has many side waterways and branches, each one threatening to distract (with joy, or career fulfillment, friendship, or sadness, etc.), threatening to divert, threatening to thwart the mission to tell our story. I thought I could control the story. The story was having none of that, however. It decided that it was going to live, that it had it’s own life, and therefore, had the right to tell it’s own story. Confusing? A journey through Life has potential for great things and terrible things, for each one of us. Every day. With all of its curves and branches, possibilities of growth, and potentials of danger. These understandings have made me realize that I will not be “reporting” as I’d originally planned. I had to let Life flow. Therefore, I am going to let the story have the life it so passionately and anxiously demands. If I don’t allow it to live, it won’t allow me to live, either. It is demanding to live, to breathe, to inhale and to exhale, to cry, to yell out in pain, to beat its chest and yell out with vindication.
I haven’t written since I initiated this story in February. When I wrote “The Exam Room” and the “About” of Becoming Free in February, I was surprised at how real it all felt – all over again. I mean it – I was really surprised. Talking about “The Exam Room”, brought me back to that room. In my mind, I was there… my living room was transformed… I could smell the room… with all of its astringent medical room smell… I could touch the exam table…and feel it’s cold steel. I could hear the doctor’s footsteps plodding – in quick fashion – against the tile floor as she ran out of the room. I could hear my young 5-year-old daughter’s voice. All around me, I could see how dim and grungy everything looked. And in very REAL fashion, I was ANGRY all over again. Hot, White Anger – no longer was it red – it was the white searing kind – and I wanted to sear something.
I… wanted… to… S E A R… something.
I wanted to put that white hot steel burning inside me up against something and HEAR IT ACTUALLY SIZZLE… SSSSSTTTTTTTZZZZZZZZ…..
I was in so much pain, and then June was fast approaching. June was the month that the case was birthed and became official – it is also our 10-Year Anniversary this year. I don’t know if it was starting the blog, or the 10-Yr anniversary, or the two working in conjunction together, that brought all of the details back, bringing with them all of the associated emotions, in all of their painfully exposed and open state. I wanted to make the people who hurt us… feel that wrath, feel that hurt, the way they made us hurt. The way that some of them still hurt us… still, to this day, betray us and plot against us. Yes, they still plot against us. They actually think that If they can bring me down, “and put me in my place”, then maybe they won’t look so bad… maybe they won’t look weak or cowardly… MAYBE… no one will find out that they sided with the rapist and tried to sabotage the case, and when that didn’t work, then they tried to sabotage me and my children. One relative in particular, stirs the others in that small circle of theirs, and STILL tries to sabotage me and my children, in an effort to silence my voice.
My voice will not be silent.
More importantly, the story itself, in its effort to breathe on its own, will not be silent, either. In fact, the opposite has happened… the story’s voice has grown – and matches mine in intensity and determination. It has taken a while for me to process all of these raw emotions these past few months – and while I’m in no way, near the end of that process – at least, I can say that I’m IN the process. It is important – for me – to not waste energy on persons who don’t deserve that special kind of emotional energy that it would take to confront their weaknesses. I choose to spend it wisely… on letting the story have my energy, to do what it needs to do… on helping other victims and victims’ families… on speaking to those who can help these families achieve successful prosecutions… to helping victims reach an understanding that they may not be able to bring their monsters in, but they can still heal themselves. So now I’ve learned to let the story go… and breathe… and live.
The writing will be its own – living to tell it’s own story – with it’s own voice.