Confessions of the Deepest Soul

Today has brought forth from myself realizations that required me to accept them as truth. Therefore, they became self confessions and with those came tears, screams, pain and a beautiful release.

This past month has been very difficult for me. I have been required, in the course of my career, to dive into some topics that have affected me personally in the past. I went into thinking I had nothing to worry about. I'm a very open person and have always been very open about my past. I've helped others deal with what they've experienced, similar to my own experiences.

Yet, this was different. This was statistics with numbers. The sheer magnitude of the numbers. I am brought to tears just typing that. So many children, so many people......abused, beaten, tormented, raped, tortured. So many. So very many.

Then there were the "why". So many theories. I have long since advocated that the abuser has their own set of trauma that they were not able to work through. I've worked with the abusers. I know that they abuse out of the dysfunction that happened to them when they, as innocent children, were abused. Yet here, it was all split apart, dissected, investigated, and laid out. Looking at the abusers from this perspective, it brought back that old familiar fear. It made me feel unsafe again.

I had to read case studies.I had to watch videos. I had to remember my own muffled screams in my mind. I saw videos of 8 year old children offering to give blow jobs. I read of parents that sold videos of them molesting their own flesh and blood children. I studies cases of psychopaths and sociopaths and even heard their explanations as they justified their actions, even as they argued that it benefitted the child to feel the type of love they offered. I heard the women who were to scared to speak out publicly, and kept their faces in shadows. I have spent the last several weeks being daily reminded of that which I have fought to forget.

I have discovered that underneath all my walls and layers and facades and chains........... that I am weak. That I am scared. And that I am angry. So very angry.

I thought I had released that anger long ago. Because you have to forgive your abusers and move forward. How can you forgive and hold onto the anger? I don't hold animosity towards the ones that ripped away all my sanity. I don't wish them to be hurt. I pity them. I don't understand them. My heart aches for them. But I am angry. I am their VICTIM and though I have survived and accomplished many things in life, there are apparently still moments like these. Moments where I can feel weak, and vulnerable, and scared. Moments where, even though I know I will keep standing tall and moving forward, I just want to curl up small and have someone hold me and tell me that everything is going to be OK even as I know that I am most likely being lied to.

As a result of the last several weeks, I've made many mistakes. I've neglected responsibilities in work, parenting, maintaining my household, and college. I've pushed away someone I think may have been really good for me and I am not sure if he can understand that the timing of his entrance into my life just really, truly, sucked. I've withdrew inside myself, let my energies run wild, and sat in front of my computer 90% of my waking hours in an attempt not to think.

Not to think.

Yet, it all just exploded in an email I was writing earlier. The tears exploded with it. Because I have not cried the last several weeks. I have not cried for the victims or the survivors I studied. I have not cried for their offenders. I have not cried for myself.

I held it all in trying to push it all back into that pretty box I've kept it in for so long.

In the process I let go of my sanity somehow.

I don't want to box up those parts of me again. I don't want to bury it deep inside and wait years thinking everything is fine only to have them pop out like some infernal jack in the box.

I want to ..... I don't know. I can't let them go,they are my memories, they are who I am. They do not define me, but they have created me. I can't box them back up.

But I don't know how to embrace this part of me. I've only just come to the realization that the parts of my sexuality others condemn is a direct result of that past and that there are those out there that can see the beauty in it (thank you Fetlife). I've just started to accept that so much of my sexuality I have hidden because of it's abnormality can be embraced.

Yet, it's easier to embrace some things than others.

I guess, deep down, I still see those parts of me as ugly. Although I've found a place where there are finally people that can accept and appreciate the "fetishes" that are part of who I am, I still look inside myself and feel as if I need to clorox my insides. People haven't helped through the years. I've had men that broke up with me when they found out I'd been raped. Quite a lot of men. I've had women spurn our friendship. I've seen the repulsed look on my own parent's face when they finally were told so many years later. It's hard to embrace and love a part of yourself that so many other people are disgusted by.

I thought I was OK.

I thought I was past all this.

I thought I'd never be here again.

I am so angry at what was done to me. No one is ever going to be able to give me the validation I want. That validation has to come from within and I haven't figured it out yet.

I am broken, but I am whole. I am shattered, but I am complete. I am unique, yet I am everyone. I am me...... and I have to learn for that to be enough.

15 Years Later

It's odd the things you remember in life.

I was in the passenger seat of an old, green Ford pickup truck. We were in the drive-thru at Burger King and I was insisting there was no way that I could eat anything, not even a bite. Yet, it was argued that I was pregnant and I needed to keep my strength and my sugar up. A song came on the radio and as I listened to the lyrics I began to cry. Tonight, writing this, I remember what food I was given at Burger King. It was a bacon, egg, and cheese croissant. I remember what I was wearing....a black shirt with a gray striped dress over it. Yet, I can't remember that song.

We went to meet our group of friends before heading to the funeral home. I knew I wanted that song to be played at the funeral. Pam agreed, and it was played. 15 years later and my breath still catches in my throat when Angel by Sarah McLachlan is played.

Exactly 15 years ago today, a beautiful blonde haired, blue eyed, six year old boy was murdered. Six years old....the same age my son will turn in three weeks. My son, who has blonde hair and blue eyes. My son who climbs, jumps, flips, and does stunts proudly and with no fear.....just like Jordy did 15 years ago. My son who asked today if he could watch Power Rangers on Netflix. Power Rangers....a show he's never seen, but that was Jordan's favorite.

Jordan's picture sits on the cabinet in my dining room. The picture frame has a motherly angel down the side of it. An angel.......the first time I saw Jordan the sun was shining on his blond curls, and I thought to myself that he looked like an angel. Those words would come back to me when I heard of his death.

I should've known. There aren't many things that can make multiple grown men cry. Yet, all they told us was to go to the pay phone and call Dan. So, we did. I remember thinking it was someone in their family.....their aged father perhaps. But I remember when I heard the person beside me say, “No, it can't be. Are you sure?” Then they looked at me, and suddenly I knew....it wasn't his family member. This was someone I loved. Yet, when he said the name in that horrible sentence, I didn't want to believe. Yet, somehow I felt it......inside.....where the core of all you are exists.

I was sitting in the passenger seat of a car, a small gray Honda. I doubled over in physical pain. I felt it.....the pain....it was driving through me. I raised my head and looked out the windshield. It was dark out, late. Most people were sleeping. Yet, I noticed lights coming on. Inside lights, then porch lights. I looked around for the source of what was waking everyone. I could hear it.....it was this primal scream that sent chills down my spine. It scared me. Even after I was taken back to the house and calmed down, I still didn't realize the screams I heard were my own. That would come to me later.

Each year, right after my birthday, I start to think about Jordan. I think of him often through the year, but towards the end of November I remember. Jordan's birthday is towards the end of November. The holidays. I think of him all through Christmas. He used to lie on the living room floor with me to watch the patterns the lights made on the ceiling. Then, into January....this month. Today.....15 years.

The news reporters all called it, “the worst case of child abuse in North Carolina history”. None of us would argue that point. We saw, we knew, we had tried to save him.

She is behind bars. Two consecutive life sentences and up for parole 25 years after her conviction date. She still claims to be not guilty. Facing the feelings I felt towards her was almost the end of me. God showed me that hating someone, seeking revenge.....that only destroys the hater and not the hated. I almost lost myself learning that lesson.

There are lots of lessons to be learned. There are some lessons that should never have to be learned. Jordan's death taught us all lots of lessons that we didn't need to know. It taught us a level of grief that to date has yet to exist anywhere else in my life. I'm sure those that love Jordy would agree.

I know that no matter how I write the words that come next, that they won't be able to convey the emotion behind my pleas. I know that words can't show you the tears that I shed as I type this. I know that words can't make you feel that pain that is still there.....in the core of my very being. I know that words won't allow you to hear the longing in my voice when I beg you to please do this one thing for me....for Jordan.

If you suspect child abuse, please please please seek assistance. Do not just pick up the phone, call your local Child Protective Service office, make a report, hang up and walk away. FOLLOW UP!! Call back, make sure it was investigated, make sure that the workers know you aren't going to forget. Let your presence be made known. Is the child in school? Report it also to the school. Is the child in daycare? Report it there. Do you happen to know who the child's pediatrician is? Report it there. Is the child school age but not in school? Report it to the truancy officer. Call the police. Call and report it to everyone you can. Each person you report it to will have to document the report and possibly investigate the allegations themselves. By reporting it to multiple people, you just gave that child that many protectors! Keep a ledger documenting what you saw....dates, times, who was with the child, what the abuse/injury was and never let that original out of your site. Include the dates, times and names of the people you reported the abuse to. Make copies to give to those who need it, but hold on to that original so that you hold those dates and times. So that if something else happens to that child, there are people that can be called who are able to move quickly to help the child. So that if the child is not protected by those in charge of protecting children, then there is a record of who to hold accountable.

Between 2006-2010, the average child mortality rate due to homicide was 52. That's 52 children dying each year as a result of child abuse. Homicide. Murder.

You can make a difference. You can save a life. You can do it for any reason you want, or you can do it for Jordan. It doesn't matter to me at all what your reason is, just please.....if you suspect child abuse, do something about it.