This One's for Luz

I have been ill for the past few days, so I haven't been blogging. Today, however, I saw a comment from Luz (you should check out her blog - http://luzmcosta.com/) asking if my weight was perhaps a factor in the doctor's decision to prescribe six Xanax a day for me. My answer to that question is that at the time, I was approximately 120 pounds, and I'm 5'9", so I definitely don't think it was a factor. I don't know many 250 pound men that wouldn't be groggy or just plain knocked out by that amount of medicine. Anyway, I visited her blog, and I encourage anyone who is reading mine to read hers as well. I found something very interesting in her blog, something that we have in common. We have both been molested.

The first time I was molested, I was a virgin, and a senior in high school working for the office as an aide. They asked me to take something to the gym to the coach, and when I did, he asked me to come into his office that needed to be received in the main office. When I entered, he slammed the door behind me and tried to take off my clothes. I screamed and fought back, but there was a gym class going on, and nobody could hear me. He grabbed me in places that only one's husband or OB/GYN should touch. I don't remember how I managed to get out of there, but I was able to before there was any actual intercourse. I went to my next class wiping away tears, and terribly upset. When I went home, I told my mom what happened. She was upset by it, but said that we didn't need to make a big fuss about it because of all the attention that would be cast upon us. I honestly think that at that moment, my self esteem plummeted, and I began to feel as if I didn't matter, that what happened to me wasn't important. I wasn't good enough for someone to stand up for me. I was officially a "nobody." And to this day, it's hard for me to stand up for myself, because I don't want to cause problems. People walk all over me and they get away with it. I hate them for doing it, and I hate myself for letting them do it.

The next time was at my first job where one of my two bosses couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself. His hand would brush against my ass as he passed me, no matter how much space there was for him to get by. Once, he even pulled me into his lap, and I struggled to get up. He brushed it off as a joke, and everybody thought it was funny. Everybody but me.

The time after that was a church member who had always stared at me in a peculiar way even though I was underage. He watched me for years, with eyes full of lust, and made comments to me that he shouldn't have. I just did my best to stay away from him because I knew that if my mom didn't want trouble at school, she surely didn't want it at church.

I changed churches and years went by. My mom invited me back to see this great new preacher that had just come. He was supposedly so vibrant and such a godly man, I had to see this for myself. So, I went for a visit. Mom introduced me to him and he thanked me for coming. I picked up the phone at work one day to hear the sound of his voice. My mom had given him my telephone number to try to get me to come back to my old church. Initially, the conversations were innocent, but they became very different very quickly. It got to the point where he invited me to a hotel and told me what he could do for me in bed. I went to my mom and told her what he'd said to me. Her response? I must have misunderstood him. She did not want to talk about it any further. As far as I know, he's still married with two children. I feel sorry for his wife.

In yet another episode, I had a pair of white shorts and my college t-shirt on (extra large because I like big shirts) with no bra, but it wasn't provacative or anything like that -- just a tee-shirt. A male relative came downstairs where I was alone (in my family home) and started tickling me. I asked him to stop, and when I tried to get away, he put me in a bear hug, grabbed me from behind, and somehow or another, in the process of trying to get away, I found myself upside down with my shirt revealing my breasts. I told mom about that one too, but she said that it would upset the family and might cause a divorce if that ever came out, so she asked me never to say anything about it. And to this day, I haven't.

The last episode that I remember was when I went to another church member's house for Bible study. There were many people there, so I didn't feel uncomfortable. In fact, I even had a friend there with me. When I got home, I received a phone call from this man asking me if I could come back to his house. Apparently, his wife was out of town, and he "really wanted to be with me that night". This time, I took action. I talked to my minister about what happened, and he confronted the person (who actually admitted what he'd done), but said that his being sorry for it and repenting was enough and that it would not be taken any further. I left the church.

The problem with all of these events was not so much what the men did to me as what my mother did to me by making me feel unworthy of being taken care of, stood up for. I will always love my mother, but to this day, I don't think she has any idea about what kind of damage she caused by allowing these things to happen without consequences. I have a daughter. If anyone touches her, I'm not sure that I could even let the law intervene. I'd have a hard time not killing them, and I'm NOT a violent person. No one should be allowed to take away someone's innocence and get away with it. And no parent should ever sweep it under the rug for the sake of not opening a can of worms. Just let someone touch my daughter. Or son. You'll see worms flying all over the damn place, along with men's body parts.

I'm convinced that there is a correlation between having been molested and anxiety/panic attacks. Because when someone molests you, they take away that feeling of safeness that you have. They take away your power, and they leave you with suspicion, guilt, and the thought that you had to have done something to cause it. I know now that I didn't cause any of these events, but for the longest time, I thought there must be something wrong with me or it wouldn't keep happening to me. I didn't know anyone else that it had happened to, so it must have been me. I was the faulty one.