Wednesday, May 25, 2011

How did I get here?

It had to have started somewhere.

And I have to go way back in the memory bank, and feel and acknowledge some really disturbing %&$#. 

To say it out loud is not only freeing, but it is also very hard and scary.

My first memory of my very young childhood is not that of playing in a meadow.  Nor is it a pleasant outing with family.  My first young childhood memory is that of being molested by an uncle. And every other memory is just as disturbing.  I was molested by my half-brother and two uncles all of who are dead except one.  These experiences have affected me in ways that are factors in my choices, even in who I have married and I still have not yet discovered all of the effects.

Other memories are of being sexual assaulted at 13 by a 30 year old drunk neighbor.  He didn't have intercourse with me, but he did pin me up against a wall and forcefully kissed and grope me as I tried to get away.  I did succeed in escaping.  I never told.

I never told.

All of these years I never told.  I have been walking around full of shame and watching things happen to me all my life. As a spectator to this, now a woman's soap opera. 

There have been years of the two coming together and actually participating as one and enjoying the joys of life, but still many more years of just watching.

The past has a funny way of telling you what your future will be like.  I knew that what had happened to me then, would shape who I would become.

I knew I would be married to the person I am married to.  I knew that the road would be less hard for me than it was for my mother.  I knew I had been damaged, but still lovable.

All these things I knew, which are wonderful, but still I had so much to learn.

One thing I've learned is that being in love with someone is not the same as being loved by someone.  And that love can blind you, if you let it.  I have. I did.  Now, I have taking the blinders off and can see real love.

But that lesson brought with it depression, sadness, anger and pounds.  As I think about it every extra pound that I have been willing to carry has its purpose and reason for being. 


Not every one has an individual name, because many have come in groups, but they do have a name.

And admittedly not all of them are bad, some came because of good things...that I let get out of hand.

How about that!!!  Every pound has a name and a purpose.  But the question to letting them go is, have they done their time?  Have they served their purpose?  Have I been selfishly holding on to them because of comfort and familiarity?  Am I afraid of what it would be like for everyone to see who I really am under all of the pounds?

I am not one who believes that my fat hides a "skinny" me.  I know it hides the shame I feel and the pain that 80lbs. covers up.  I know it hides the quiet and reserved person I really am.  The person who is content to be quiet.  To sit in silence and be happy.

I am just scratching the surface here.... 

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