Monday, December 12, 2011

Grey Fog (7)

As this first memory began to manifest, I grew more and more confused. It was so very disjointed from reality that it took me a few days to even recognize that it was there. All I could identify was that something was very wrong. Up until this point I had never thought about participating in this kind of sex act. Now that it was being forced upon me, it repulsed and angered me all the more.

(My dearest reader, it is not my job to place judgement or condemnation upon two consenting adults. However, it is my job to love others no matter what--to demonstrate kind compassion regardless of lifestyle.)

It was hard to understand and decipher exactly what I was experiencing.  My adult mind told me I was folding laundry, cooking dinner, or performing a task at work, but something else was telling me I was being abused at that very moment. A grey fog surrounded me that was limiting my consciousness; I found it hard to focus. I even began to stutter in my speech because I could not find the correct word to express my thoughts for even the most basic thing.  Dis-associated from reality for three days, I needed to solve the puzzle of what my body was trying to tell me. I felt divided at the very center of my being, like a chain being stretched beyond its limit. I was coming apart at my weakest point. I was ready to break.

My wife turns to me on that cool October afternoon as we were walking through the parking lot to do some shopping.

"Are you ok?" she asks.

I had hardly spoken in several hours.

"Ummmmmm, no." I whispered sadly.

"Whats the matter?" she said with genuine concern in her eyes.

"I don't understand what is happening to me. I can't . . . I feel. . . so hard to describe. . ."  then I just blurted it out. "He put his penis in my mouth."

No words needed to be said, she moved in closer and tenderly embraced me.

"I'm so sorry," she finally said after a few moments. "How do you feel?"

The grey fog had lifted.  I immediately started to feel more connected with the present, yet at the same time more in touch with the past. For the moment I was no longer caught in the numbing haze that is neither now or then. With those words, my first time traveling journey was complete. Now I needed to deal with the aftermath--the realization that I can't heal from something I can't identify. The knowledge that I wasn't ever going to be the same, and that I needed to know more  drove me to seek more so that I could become the man I wanted to be.  I needed to be the man my family deserved.

"I'm angry,"  I said, "Why did he do this to me? Am I crazy? This cant be real. I must be a sick pervert for making this shit up."

"You're not crazy; you're not a sick pervert," she said. "This happened. You need to talk to Pastor about how you should handle this new information."

"Somehow, I think this is above his pay-grade."  I said in a feeble attempt at a joke.

I went to work that week arguing with myself. "Real? No, not real. Real? No, not real." I couldn't beLIEve me. Then one day as I parked my car in the driveway after a long day's work. My wife met me at the door.

"Tyler Perry was just on Oprah. You need to see the show. I recorded it for you. Sit down," she ordered me to the couch and turned on the T.V.

I must admit I hated Oprah Winfrey. I found her to be self-righteous and falsely pious. Yet, because I was exhausted from my day, I did not want to argue. I sat down and began to hear a childhood story of a nightmare beyond all comprehension.  I couldn't believe what I was hearing. How could someone be so cruel to another person? At the same time I felt comforted that perhaps I wasn't alone after all. They kept saying "one in six boys have been sexually abused before the age of 16." That was me. I was the one in six. "FUCK!" I thought, "I'm a statistic!"

iamnotbubba