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Repressed Memories- Freedom

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I’ve always been a planner. I was quiet which translated into sneakiness for the most part. So I plotted. Too many times I planned to run away and lost my courage at the last minute. Anger if able to remain level headed is a fantastic motivator.  I was finally fed the fuck up. My innocence had been stolen, body poked prodded and molested. As if having been abandoned by my teenaged mother wasn’t bad enough. I could almost live with the sexual abuse I was numb and unprotected anyway but now I was angry.

Angrier than I’d ever been at an adult phallus being stuffed in my mouth, or being some disgusting old man’s concubine before I was even old enough to have a boyfriend.  Emotional and mental abuse had me at my breaking point. I needed to run. I had some hair brained plan to hide at a friend’s but that would entail giving away what was left of my virginity. I would then become the wrong doer. I thought it through some more.

Angry but level headed I went to plan B. I started my goodbyes that day in school. I knew somehow it was my last day. I walked into the house I was determined to never sleep in again, the boldest and bravest I have ever been. I picked up the phone and snarled at the man who had oppressed me my WHOLE entire life as he dared remind me in all his pompousness that I was once again punished and I couldn’t use the phone. It was at that very moment that I learned to check my temper.

I imagined him bleeding profusely from his neck from his gut. Blood all over the tile floor I had been made to scrub on hands and knees countless times. I glanced at the kitchen knives. Ten steps and they would be in reach. Would I be fast enough strong enough to make the cuts?  The knives or the phone. There would only be one choice.

Freedom from temper.

My memory gets foggy. I just remember my voice cracking as I told my father whom I’d longed for a relationship with about the abuse. I remember the police station smelling like old wood. I remember talking to the Brothers and feeling absolute disdain for elders that I had loved and trusted all of my life. I remember sleeping at Sister Henderson’s who I’d always thought of as mean but was my loving savior that night. I remember my Guardian Ad Litem and the disappointment I felt as I was told I couldn’t go to my dad right away. Just disappointment though because I would die (plan C) before I went back to that house.

Then there was a solution. I remember them. For the first time I had a somewhat traditional family. There was a mom and dad and even a big brother. For once I didn’t have to take care of anybody and the men didn’t touch little girls inappropriately.  My feelings were valid and I was given time to just be me. It wasn’t too late to just be a kid.

Freedom.

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