Reaction

Notice: This entry deals with memories of an abusive event in my life. If you are also a survivor, you might want to skip this one if you are feeling vulnerable or dealing with flashbacks at the moment. It's up to you. You are always welcome to visit my site again. Just take good care of you, ok?

I had therapy today instead of Thursday because Dr. K needed to switch his schedule around a bit. It turned out to be a good thing. It gave me an extra day to get in touch with some tension that had been rumbling around underground.

I used to wonder if my frequent ranting in this journal made me sound like a chronic malcontent. Today, I finally realized that I am not an “angry person” or a person who goes out of her way to get pissed off about every little thing. I am basically a happy human being and reasonably optimistic about life. Whenever I get on a livid, raving bitch about something, it’s because I have a pretty good reason for it. Like the rant I spewed out about Michael Jackson yesterday.

His actions were abusive, plain and simple. Those pictures of him dangling his son over that railing shook me to the core. It also reopened a wound that I thought had healed over a long time ago. However, the past few nights I have awakened with a start, heart pounding and gulping in air; panic seizing my entire body. It seemed to take forever to calm down and I was overwhelmed with the sensation of falling. I had to admit to myself that I wasn’t just reacting to the horrible images that had been all over the press this week. This terror was also about an event that happened to me as a . My recollection of that follows.

Happily happy

When I was 19 years old and used to visit my paternal grandmother a lot, I often played at an elementary schoolyard that was near her home. I could happily spend hours just playing catch by myself by tossing a ball against the side of the building, or climbing on the jungle gym. The playground in back of the school was huge, isolated and surrounded on three sides by trees and clay banks. Some of it was asphalted over, but most of it was just a grassy field. I remember that it was a hot July day the last time I was there as a .

I recall thinking that I had been away too long without telling my parents or grandma where I was going to be, and that I should probably start back to the house. I grabbed my basketball, and just as I did, I heard the voices of two of my uncles. They were coming around the building; cutting through the schoolyard, on their way home. At the time, they were in their mid-teens, the older of them being the neighborhood bully and the younger was his dopey henchman. I had learned from recent Chaturbate experiences of being molested by them that I would not be safe if they caught me alone. I started to panic.

The walk across the huge playground towards my grandma’s house was too long of a run and I knew that they could easily catch me. They were bigger, faster and stronger. My only choice was to hide. The one place I could get to fast enough was the wrought iron fire escape behind the building. I put my ball down and ran up the steps as fast as I could, stopping on the first floor landing. If I stayed quiet, they might not even notice me. They might just walk right by.

First the younger one appeared around the corner of the building, and he spied the basketball just sitting there on the asphalt. As he picked it up, the older one ran up to him and knocked it out of his hands. They threw it back and forth, horsing around, as I stood flat against the building trying not to breathe too loudly. For a split second, I thought they were going to leave. Then the older one, the Bully, looked up at me.

“What are you doing up there?” he shouted.

I couldn’t answer; I was petrified.

“Does your mom know you are playing here by yourself?”

My stomach began to turn and my knees started to tremble. I was trapped. I thought if I ignored them and didn’t answer, they would go away. I went inside my head and prayed and prayed and prayed.

The Bully was talking in a hushed tone to the younger one. I saw the Henchman nod his head, then go to the corner of the building and stand there, glancing around. He would be the look out guy. The Bully smiled and started up the steps of the fire escape. I was shaking hard, but I managed to run up to the second floor. I looked down through the silver-painted grating under my feet and could see that he was coming after me. He was grinning now; he sensed my fear. Still trying to get away, I went up to the top landing. I was out of places to run. I crouched down in the corner and put my face next to the building. I was clenching the wrought iron and trying to make myself invisible. I thought if I just concentrated hard enough I could disappear. He would be shocked when he got to the top and couldn’t find me because I had vanished into thin air.

Instead, I felt him grab the back of my shirt and pull me to my feet. My left arm scraped against the rough bricks of the building and started to bleed. He grabbed both of my wrists and squeezed them so hard my hands throbbed and turned red.

“Do what I tell you to do and then you can go…”

“No…” I heard myself say, but it sounded extremely far away. I wasn’t even sure it was me.

“No, huh?”

I wrestled and tried to squirm out of his grasp. He gripped my left wrist even tighter and then twisted my arm behind my back. I was now facing out towards the railing, towards the playground, and for the first time I realized how far off the ground I was. I started to cry and told him to let me go. Instead, he grabbed the back of my jeans, twisted my arm some more, and shoved me at the railing. I thought my heart would explode from the fear. I was gulping air and struggling against him.

“Wow, that’s a long way down, isn’t it…” he laughed.

I cried more and he jerked me a foot off the metal grating and bent me over the railing.

“Are you going to do what I want?”

“No!”

As I looked down I could see the white painted markings of the hopscotch game and the foursquare playing areas. I was sobbing and dizzy after spending too much time on https://www.jasminlive.mobi/. I was about to faint. He pushed me further over the railing. I was now balanced on my waist and he was lifting my feet up, threatening to hang me upside down until I gave him what he wanted. My hips slid a bit further over the edge. I saw the face of the younger uncle, the Henchman, looking up in disbelief. I felt as if I might slip out of my jeans and fall at any second.

I truly don’t know how long I stayed in that position. I know that eventually my mind decided to leave for a while in order to save my sanity. The next thing I recall, I was sitting with my back in the corner of the fire escape landing, and watched the Bully zip up his pants. I remember the clinking sound as he fastened his silver belt buckle. My mouth was swollen and aching. I had thrown up on myself.

“Next time, don’t put up a fight,” he said, then walked down the steps and went away.

It helps to write about this stuff; doing so gets it out of my head and I am able to put some distance on it again. I don't do group therapy anymore, so I guess this journal serves as my sounding board when I need speak up about what happened to me. I haven't told anyone about this memory in years. If you have stayed and read all the way down to here -- thank you. I honestly appreciate it.

It's time for "This-or-That Tuesday!"

This week's topic: Thanksgiving! Go here to read how others spend their holiday.

Are you ready? Here we go!

1. Stuffing: baked inside the turkey, or separately?

I always stuff the turkey to capacity, and I cook whatever dressing remains in a little casserole dish. It’s important to spoon a bit of the cooking juices from the roasting pan over the dish of dressing as it bakes – it gives it wonderful flavor and keeps it from drying out.

2. Fresh or frozen turkey?

Fresh, with no preservatives or tenderizers added. When I was a young, my parents bought the bird straight off the turkey farm.

3. Cranberry sauce: jellied or whole berry?

I always make whole berry sauce. It’s soooo easy and tastes so much better!

4. Stay home and watch hot sex shows or visit friends/relatives

I prefer to stay home, but since none of our relatives would ever dream of traveling away from their cozy nests over Thanksgiving, we always end up doing the long distance driving.

But I so enjoy that...

5. Do you cook Thanksgiving dinner, or let someone else do it?

The times that we have stayed here in town, we have cooked. It’s always a lot of fun and I love to do it. My dream is to have a huge feast with lots of family and friends here someday.

6. Traditional turkey dinner, or an alternative (such as vegetarian)?

Always a traditional dinner with all of the trimmings. A house is supposed to smell like turkey on Thanksgiving Day!

7. Regular potatoes or sweet potatoes?

Regular whipped potatoes, with a bit of whole milk and butter added to make them very fluffy.

8. Homemade gravy, or the jarred stuff?

Homemade ONLY. Good heavens, if you ever see me buying a jar of gravy just shoot me on the spot.

9. What part of the turkey do you prefer...dark or white meat?

I used to only like the white meat, but over the past few years I’ve found that if you get a piece of the dark meat that has been roasting in the pan juices it is really delicious! I don’t think anyone in the history of our family has ever actually eaten the drumstick of a turkey – it is always handed to the youngest person at the table and they get to wave it around like a trophy, then gnaw on it for awhile. Drumsticks are props for photos, not food. Heh. :)

10. After dinner: football or Christmas movies?

If visiting family: After dinner all of the men go and flop down in the living room like a bunch of beached whales and watch football until they go to sleep. They only come out of their comas when they realize dessert is being served. The women folk do the clean up, then sit around the dining room table gossiping and munching on whatever is left of the relish trays.

If we stay home for the holiday we always watch movies. One of our favorites is “A Christmas Story", with little Ralphie who wants a Red Rider BB gun from Santa.

So-so Sunday

It’s been one of those days when a bunch of stuff seems frustratingly out of reach, beyond my control or just plain ol’ “up in the air.” As we all know, I obsess about the “up in the air” stuff and worry it to pieces like a wildass terrier with a stinky sock.

Sometimes I don’t take care of details as I should, though, so I have no one to blame but myself. For instance, this morning I finally called and made hotel reservations for our Thanksgiving pilgrimage back to the hometown. (Yeah, you’re damn skippy we stay in a hotel when we go back there – we aren’t masochistic lunatics who bunk up with relatives…) I think I have been putting it off because subconsciously, I really don’t want to go. Anyway, the hotel that we normally go to was booked solid except for 1 room! I was stunned. Who the hell travels over the Thanksgiving holiday?!

Thousands of dorks like us, I guess.

I about choked when the desk clerk told me the room rate. Then I thought of the alternative of having to stay with either J’s dad or my folks, and I couldn’t get the words “I’ll take the room!” out of my mouth fast enough. Gawdamn. That was too close of a call. Next time I am booking the room a month in advance. I solemnly swear to that.

Sunday’s Frustrating Event #2

Agent J cooked dinner today. Which is wonderful in many ways, but the man has no concept of time it seems. He put a roast in the oven at 4:15 expecting that we would eat around 6:30.

Yeah, I know! You just rolled your eyes, too, didn’t ya? Hahahaha!

After we got everything prepared we finally ended up eating about 8:30. By that time I was so damn hungry I was hallucinating and considering chewing off my own arm. Bless his heart, it was a good meal, though. Very tasty with enough leftovers to nuke for tomorrow’s supper and then some.

I just have to teach him that he can’t dink around with my eating schedule when I am dieting like this. It’s extremely dangerous. Innocent people could get hurt.

Other unresolved issues: I have no idea what gifts to get for some people on my Christmas list. The most difficult ones to shop for are my dad and my brothers-in-law. Whatever I get for my dad has to be very practical OR so outrageously absurd that it becomes the running joke for rest of the holiday season. Anything in-between is lost on him.

Now, “the bros” (as I like to call my brothers-in-law), they are hard to shop for because I really don’t know any of them all that well. Which makes me wonder why I am buying them each a gift in the first place, but what the hell, right? They are all good guys. They deserve some reward for putting up with the high-maintenance women in my family, lo these many years.

To give you a hint of the task I am up against:

My older sister’s husband is the lead singer in a popular rock band, my younger sister’s husband is a chemical engineer, and my sister-in-law’s husband is a machinist in a Coca-Cola bottling plant.

I’m thinking:

1 microphone shaped soap-on-a-rope for the singer.

1 pocket protector for the lovable chemist nerd.

1 case of Pepsi for the Coke man.

Or socks for everyone.

Hehehe. Ok.