I’m just a (scared, little) Girl

I have so much to tell you. It’s been a very busy week.

I had therapy on Thursday. Bea and I talked– well, okay, she did most of the talking– about the email I had sent her on Tuesday. I told her how much I dislike the woods, and how tangled up in memories hiking is for me. I told her how all her questions made me feel, how unsure and triggered and messy I felt. I told her how hard the weekend really was.

And then I wrote to her what I think the little girl felt on that Ferris wheel. I continued the story, writing about the little girl getting older.

I think she was scared. Not at first, but maybe there was a little bit of a nervous feeling when no one else wanted to ride again except him. And maybe she wanted to change her mind, when only he offered to ride again. But she couldn’t, because she had whined and been such a drama queen about wanting to ride again. And maybe she felt a little bit excited, to be alone with him. And when the others left, maybe that was when she felt that first twinge of being afraid. But when they were on the ride, and he moved his hand, she felt very, very scared. And very trapped. Because there was no where to go. And there was no one to ask for help. Maybe she felt bad, being touched, letting him touch her in public like that. Maybe she felt like she was doing something naughty, and that she asked for it by going on the ride alone with him. Maybe she realized she couldn’t ever stop it, that he could do anything he wanted because he was the one in control. Maybe she felt like she might throw up, like everything was falling apart.

And maybe that little girl grew up. Maybe she was so good at pretending nothing ever happened, and making things go fuzzy, and forcing herself to forget that she managed to keep everything bad that ever happened locked up tight. Until one day things started to spill out.

And then everything got messy and confusing and the more she remembered, the more she stopped hiding and stopped pretending, the more confused she got.

What if she told you that she loved him? What if she told you that she thought she was going to marry him? What if she told you that she used to email and AOL instant message him in secret? That she snuck out to meet him, not once, but often? What if she told you that the night she cut her wrists was the night he told her he was engaged, that he was getting married? That she wanted to die? What if she told you she can’t get it straight in her head, what was her choice, when did she start thinking of him as her secret boyfriend and what about everything that happened when she was little? What if she told you everything in her life feels fake and confusing and twisted? What if she told you that he broke her heart? What if she said that it felt like he was the only person in the world who knew how screwed up her family was, and didn’t expect her to pretend and go along with the part she was supposed to play? What if she told you he said she was adult for her age, more grown up than people even their parents age but that no one else would see that or understand? What if she said she’s tired of feeling so alone, and scared? What if she told you that sometimes she just really wants to disappear? That sometimes the things she thinks or does scare her? What if she told you she doesn’t really believe that you won’t judge her, or leave her, or decide that she’s this horrible person, or freak out on her or be horribly disappointed or get really angry but she doesn’t know what else to do, so she keeps trying anyway? What if she told you that this all hurts, actually hurts and that she doesn’t know where to begin to make it better? What if she told you that she’s terrified there is no fixing this, fixing her? What then?

Bea responded that nothing would change for her, and that her heart hurt that I was sitting with even more pain than I had been letting on.

So. Kenny started playing the secret game with me when I was very little; I was five, Kat’s age. And it continued, with me having a crush on him– crushes are not safe– and finally choosing to be with him, believing I loved him and would marry him. It’s all so very confusing. I don’t know which way is up, or what is true anymore. I can’t decide if Bea is right and he hurt me, abused me, raped me, or if I am a liar who loved him, a crazy girl who couldn’t handle the rejection. I just don’t know. It’s all hard to understand and make sense of.

Bea talked on Thursday about how I was almost brainwashed by him, brought into his crazy world and now, as hard and confusing as it is, I’m leaving his world. I just don’t know if she is right. Everything in me says she has to be wrong. It feels awful to think of someone having that much control over me. It’s scary and….I don’t know, unsettling and unsafe. It’s not okay.

I want to run and run and run and never look back until I am so far away from myself, I’ll never be able to find me again. I want to crawl out of my own skin. I don’t want to be here, to be this, to know these things. I want them gone, I want it all gone. I can’t do it. I can’t face my demons. I thought I could, but the truth is, I’m weak. I’m just a scared little girl. I’m not brave, or strong, or in control, or competent, or smart, or anything else people think I am. I’m frightened, and I want to hide. That’s what I am. A coward.