It was January 28, 2020 that I had my moment of clarity, or epiphany, or whatever. Not that long ago, is the point. Realizing I was child raped doesn’t change anything about me, but it changes everything. Suddenly I don’t know why I think or feel any of the things I think or feel. It’s not fun and it never stops. There are tides of disgust and anger and deep deep sadness. And I can work on it but some how I just don’t believe I will ever feel okay again.

How can I? I was so super child raped. Some people in my life have said it’s brave of me to speak out about it. I guess it’s brave because I’m afraid but I just feel like… FUCK child sexual abuse. FUCK all child abuse really.

I have a soft heart. I’d rather take the path of least resistance in every scenario, if I have the option. That said, I would give so much pain to a person who hurts children, not to ease my own pain or to assert some sort of justice though. I would just like to have a different memory for my body to focus on.

In many ways I am grateful for my repression. I am grateful that I hid from the horror of what happened to me for long enough to break the cycle of abuse. I am grateful that I have learned about the source of my twisted nature before I died. I keep telling myself my litany of gratitude because it’s true. It changes nothing, helps nothing, this truth. It’s like, so what now? I’m not glad I got raped but I’m glad I never raped anybody. I’m glad I don’t think the pain in my bowel is caused by some strange and undiscovered form of cancer that can’t be seen by our current medical technology. I’m glad that I know.

I’ve always liked to tell myself about the pain of healing. Putting ourselves back together hurts. Hurting is one of the best indications that we are still alive. I hurt, so I must be here.

The other day I failed miserably at work. One of the children in my care ran away from me. This was not the failure, the kids will run, and he didn’t go far and he’s fine. The failure was that I hurt myself in a moment of panic, to keep focused on the task of looking. I don’t know exactly what I get from punching my head so hard I can feel it two days later. I know I’d like to stop, I just haven’t figured out how yet.

I’m glad I can watch an awful Maple Leaf loss with a bit more of a rational perspective. Failure happens, so what now?