At my age, one would think that my childhood wouldn’t bother me so much. And, in fairness, it’s not bothering me as much as it used to. I’m looking around. Taking in the spaces around me and what they really are. They’re not a threat. There’s not someone looking at me funny or talking about me. I’ve had to look at things from a different perspective.

I remember being a kid and thinking, this guy likes me. I must be cool. And that’s 25 year old guy said what about 15 year old me? She’s clearly old enough to consent, legally. I’m gonna get some .. here- want a beer before the cops show up? And I was the part of the equation that was wrong? I was the focus?

Every side has a story. Not all of them are facts. Fact #1. 25 year old guy scoring on a 15 year old? Gross. Serious issues. Who thinks that’s cool? He should have known better. I’m not saying that he doesn’t have mental defects of his own. Why is the girl/woman the problem. Yes, I showed up. I participated. He should have turned me away. He never should have come on to me.

Sure, I got raped by one guy twice. The one time, I said no. I was 15. The  guy was supplying alcohol for me and my friends. I tried not to make it weird and complain about how he raped me to my friends. I had to make up appearances, which probably led to him thinking that me saying no, was actually a yes. I get it, it’s confusing. The second time he raped me, I was totally drunk. In no way, shape, or form could that be considered consent. I just remember waking up with no clothes on and him being next to me. I wanted to run.

The guy I got into the abusive relationship with? He just took what he wanted. Tried to manipulate me to make me feel like I was the problem. After completely obliterating my sense of safety and sense of self esteem. I wasn’t allowed to take my anti depressants. I sold my car because he wanted not to work for money and convinced me it was the right thing to do. He put Old E in my hot chocolate. He required me to drop everyone. And everything. Including school. Just so I wouldn’t be hurt. Yet, I was the problem.

I escaped from the systems  and the people that left me feeling insecure. For the rest of my life, I would struggle to see the safety. I spoke to my friend Missy about my realizations as of late. She said, c-ptsd? I thought you knew? Oh, and don’t look up anxious/avoidant. Just don’t. Did I look it up? Of course I did! And there I am. In print, on a screen, just waiting for me to find me.

C-ptsd

All that being said, I was supposed to control my behaviors. Despite the fact that my brain was being overloaded with developmental trauma. I was emotionally neglected, I was shunned, and I lost some of the most vital people to me that shaped who I was and could have been. I didn’t start the fire. I tried to survive. Instead of being forthcoming when the time was there, I was a problem for another day. And can’t we all agree that that’s good enough.

I’m finding myself again.