Don’t do this Ang. It’s stupid. No one’s going to believe you anyways. Satanic ritual abuse? are you fucking kidding me?! That kind of shit doesn’t happen in real life.
My hands are shaking, so I grab my pack of cigarettes, and pull one out. Filter to lip and drag my thumb across the metal ridge of my black lighter. The flame sparks and I inhale deeply, close my eyes, and turn my face away from the glare radiating from my lap top.
I’ve been jumping back and forth between doubt, and confidence.
Between fear, and courage.
Most importantly, in my opinion, between the chains of shame, and freedom.
It’s tiresome, but I knew something like this would happen.
You’re making a fool of yourself. People are talking about you behind your back you know, and they’re saying…you’re just doing this for attention.
I take a deep breath, and try to be still. Try to be still underneath the weight. Be still as the unease crawls up my throat, and the flutters in my stomach, turn to waves of folding queasiness.
God is on my side. God is on my side. Deep breath.
Fingers to keys.
My entire world changed the day the memories surfaced.
I went from being very confused about my emotions, pain, depression, and life experience to feeling, for the very first time, understood.
For the first time, in my entire existence, I made sense. At least to myself.
And as sickening and terrifying as it was, I was grateful to finally have an answer, to the question that had haunted me for so long.
What is wrong with me?
For the first time, I was able to put a name to face of evil in my life, and for a little while, along with the rage, tears, disgust and hatred, I felt empowered.
But that didn’t last. It washed away piece by piece, as everything began to sink in and make a home for itself inside me. Tucking itself away in the bleeding parts of my heart. In the saddest places of my soul and I began to slowly shut down.
In the beginning, I was relieved. Relieved to have found the truth, and have the opportunity to expose what had been done to me. But in time, like I said earlier, as it made a home within, I began to panic. Because the reality was, I had no where to put it. I had no idea what to do with these horrifying memories, it was like something out of some sick horror movie and I felt like I was going completely insane. It was very hard for my mind to wrap itself around such evil, let alone, the truth that this evil had touched me in ways that could destroy a person, and I wondered how I had made this long. I wanted to scream it out in the street, smash and break everything in my grasp, and on the same hand, the shame was suffocating me, forcing me down to a tight lipped mannequin version of myself who wouldn’t, couldn’t, speak a word.
I lived like that for a long time, trying to face it alone, and then falling into a bottle of vodka. A two liter of wine. A 12 pack of beer. Sobering up and trying again, only to fall into a pool of booze again. Eight or nine months of this messy fight, and then I got a phone call.
” Angie, I have something to tell you. Are you sitting down?” I’m sober today, and sitting on my back patio. It’s one year ago, and it’s summer time. June.
My heart falls into my stomach, that all too familiar feeling, and my eyes are already filling up with tears.
I’m so fucking tired, I can’t handle anymore. Please. Please God.
” Angie, I’m so sorry to tell you this but, you’re mom has been diagnosed with cancer. It’s spreading rapidly, and they don’t think she’ll make it through this.”
There’s a pause, I don’t know how long, but I don’t make a sound. My mind is spinning, and at the same time, everything feels so slow, so surreal.
Cancer. You mother fucker. You can’t take my mom. YOU CAN’T TAKE MY MOM.
But, it did. It did take my mom.
And the one person who could validate my memories more than any other.
“Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord”. ~ Romans 12:19