It was one thing when I had heard he had moved back to Ohio to his hometown. It was one thing when he went on to work for a ministry with which I was very familiar. It was again another thing when I FORCED myself to do a very quick social media search and see him standing smiling next to his wife, Sarah. It was another thing upon that when a single search a few years later showed me that he had added a child to his family. I was able to stand that. I was able to stand the fact that he was able to stand right up after he picked the bones of my soul almost clean and then build a whole life without any hint of trouble or difficulty. This life fits every dream of convention anyone could ever have. But it has now been a totally other thing entirely to now see that he has been granted the pastorate of a church in the very same town where I once felt terrified for my own life.
I sit, shaking, so enraged. My mind does a brutal replay of every moment I felt afraid. I make myself go to the website for the church. I clicked on "sermon audio" and I remind myself that it is my right to do this. I have earned the right to listen to the sound of his voice. At first it sounds just as contrived as every other 30 something dude who wants to hear the eloquence drip from his own tongue as he draws out the last letter of the last word of a sentance he thought up with Jesus attached to it. But I listen more. I let him continue past his introductory taglines. More contrived tone. Fake. Softness that is manufactured and I know because I lived it. And then I hear it. I hear his words in my ear. I remember him screaming in my face. I remember his clenched jaw and the absolute insanity in his eyes.
My blood is running cold again. 15 years feels like 5 minutes. I can see my whole life played out, and I feel like I just got out of his truck all in the same moment. Still shaking. Why am I shaking? I'm not afraid, but I am - not present me. Past me feels afraid. I had thought I had done all I needed to do to lay her to rest - to rest in peace, but I feel fear as my hands shake holding my phone in my hand and staring straight at the image of a man who stole so much from me.
I thought it was done. But there was a missing piece. The truth of what happened has been made public except for one part - the part that allowed him to move on with his life as if nothing had happened and then build a life and have a son down to whom he will pass this very thing. His name.
I tell you even as I type that I ask myself a thousand questions. What will happen if I tell? What could he do to me to terrorize THIS part of my life? What would I do if people choose not to dirty their hands instead of grabbing mine and holding me up?
...What good does it do? Why does it matter that people know the name of the man who callously and coldly murdered my innocence? Why can't I just share more of the emotional journey and just leave out that piece??? The piece that actually protects him but it protects me too because as long as I don't say it and name a specific person, I get to move freely through my world of advocacy and his world is not upturned - his rage is not kindled.
What if there are others? And why aren't you alone worth the freedom to tell the actual truth???
There was another time in my life that came after this monster when I asked myself all those questions. I felt convinced that I was the only one - that what was happening was only affecting me. I will forever hate the part of myself that was grossly mistaken. And so now, me of some years ago stands before me of now and asks "What makes you so sure????" And I have to give the honest answer.
Nothing.
Nothing makes me sure. In fact, statistically, it is really unlikely that I am the only one, but EVEN IF I AM THE ONLY ONE, I STILL GET TO NAME THE MONSTER WHO ATTACKED ME. *caps for emphasis, not anger
I get so close to typing out all the letters and then I ask myself "and THEN what?" His church scrapes together money to pay for representation who then sends me a cease and desist. I am quieted again. And if I continue to speak, then what? It is likely again that I will stand alone. I keep talking only to have to stand before a judge and make it a matter of public record every filthy thing he did to me. The judge cannot rule in my favor because I don't have a way to prove anything and the statute of limitations has run out on my rapes and molestations and all the abuse he managed to squeeze into just a few months 15 years ago. Case dismissed at the very best. That's really all I could hope for, and you know what I mean if you've ever lived pro se'.
What happens after that? Do you think everyone who knows me is going to rally around me and praise my courage and help me hobble my next step to finding my way out of all this? I can tell you that I doubt it. I can tell you that I have lived a whole lot of people not wanting to get their hands dirty. They don't want to take a risk that I'm wrong or they've been duped because, you see, people can say kind things so they feel like they've done a good deed, but very few of them are going to truly believe me. I already know this. I've already lived it. Years upon years, I've already lived it. It doesn't matter how true the things are that I have to say. It doesn't matter that they really did happen, and I am ready and willing to swear my oath on the words sent to us from an Almighty God.
I will never stop. I will never stop telling the story of what this man's tenure in my life has done to the rest of it. I ready myself for the potential opportunity to get to stare him straight in the eye and tell him that I am here to fight in past tense for the me that he murdered and that he is no longer allowed to hide behind my silence - my protection of this one last detail. It's just that I do not know when or how I will ever do it. How will I ever actually bring myself to say out loud his name and escape the haunt of me from 15 years ago begging and pleading with the me of now to just tell
No comments:
Post a Comment