What the hell am I doing, writing about what I've been writing about? I've written about so much of it before and I'm really not sure. I just felt a...compulsion?
Is this an attempt to understand more, to exorcise, to stop having dreams about him, to perhaps feel more comfortable in my being, to peel a few more layers of this onion?
All of the above?
Also, I very much want for people to know what sexual abuse can look like and to be able to better protect their own children, grandchildren, NEIGHBOR children, whatever-children, as Angella suggested in her comment on this morning's post. That was very much in the forefront of my mind when I began to write about the grooming process of the pedophile.
Or at least some pedophiles. Some of course are already firmly in place in the family as fathers, mothers, uncles. Brothers.
I have never heard of a sister who sexually abused a sibling, not personally, but I have no doubt that in the history of the universe it has happened.
I think that perhaps what I really want to do overall is to make peace with myself. My own soul. Turning 63 last week told me for sure and for certain that if there is a time to do this, it is now. I may live another twenty years or I may die tomorrow but whatever time I have left, I would like to do it with a lighter heart, a happier soul.
As much as I do not want to ever be a narcissist, I think that perhaps it is a sin to not be able to enjoy this amazing life and all of the love I have around me as much as possible. Or if not a sin, then at least a big mistake, a big fat waste of time.
And lastly, you cannot believe how many people have e-mailed me or pulled me aside to say...me too.
This happened to me too.
And I want those people to know that they are not alone in any way, shape or fashion and that they are not to blame and any shame they may feel is not theirs to bear.
I have a lot more to say about all of that but now is not the time. Talking about these things is not the scab-ripping/wound-opening thing it used to be years ago when I was going to therapy and to the sexual abuse survivor's group. But I will admit that it does roil the pot a bit.
La-di-dah, as Lynn used to say.
The sun will still rise in the morning and the toilets will still flush, as my social studies teacher in high school used to say.
And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make, said the Beatles.
And so forth.