Sunday, August 11, 2013

Beautiful Deceit




  When a child experiences trauma, be it molestation, physical abuse, sex trafficking, rape…it’s absolutely necessary that they receive trauma counseling.
Intense trauma counseling.
  Everything I’ve researched supports this yet…I don’t know many who have received it. I think it’s safe to say (personal observation) that we’ve all come across at least one person on our lives, at any point in our lives, who we know to have suffered trauma. How many of us know that those same individuals received trauma focused therapy?? I personally don’t know many. I know a lot of adults that suffer from memories and they cope the best they can with what they experienced.

  I was very lucky to receive the best anyone could offer me during the time after my second experience-for a short time. However, that was focused primarily on that experience and on nothing else. As a result of not focusing on ALL of my issues and having to discontinue therapy very shortly after it had begun, I’m left with unhealthy coping measures that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get rid of.

   My most commonly used coping mechanism is that when telling this story is to tell it with no emotion. I have a very difficult time connecting the person I am now with the girl that all of these experiences happened to. I feel like she’s a character in a story and I’m just the story teller. Someday I hope to connect again, beat the shit out of these memories with all the emotion pent inside of me and breathe. It’s been a hella long time since I last breathed true emotion over all of this. 


  After I was able to find my mother when I ran away from Tyrone* it was really tense living with her again. It was a miserable atmosphere. After coming home I was strung out from the drugs, traumatized from being held in a motel by an abusive pimp and damaged by the lack of concern from my mother-not to mention her placing the blame 100% with the 15 year old child that I was.

  When she left College Park, where all of our family lived, my mother moved to Silver Spring. She chose an apartment complex kind of in the middle of nowhere. I was used to walking absolutely everywhere and this was a different setting. Looking back now I credit living somewhere strange and off the beaten path as a life saver at the time. I didn’t know anyone, and there was no close form of socialization. It was easy for me to stay within the apartment and recover physically. After a few weeks I got brave and ventured to downtown Silver Spring where my mother worked in a restaurant in the square within the mall. I had to take a bus and I was ok with that; I’d been taking them for a long time. Just not if I could walk instead. It became almost a weekly ritual. After leaving the restaurant I’d have to walk to the metro station to get another bus back the apartment complex.

  I remember feeling extremely lonely and bored. I had spent the last 2-3 years with constant socialization; always being in some sort of physical relationship, whether with one person, or several. It was REALLY difficult being alone and without someone to be with all the time-someone to give me love and attention.

  I wanted attention. I wanted to be noticed. I wanted someone to want me. I wanted someone to care.

  A lot of someone’s did. A lot of the WRONG someones. Usually just for one night or for a weekend. I’d meet random men on the train or bus or while walking around in the mall and I’d go home with them, get the physical touch that my young brain associated with the caring, love and affection that I needed. Then I’d go home-to the prison I hated being in.
One evening in May, three months after leaving Tyrone’s motel, I was walking back to the train station in Silver Spring, I'd just eaten dinner at the restaurant and I walked past what I swore at the time to be the most beautiful man to ever walk the face of the earth. He was about 5’6 tall, 140ish lbs, beautiful caramel sun kissed skin and beautiful brown eyes. His hair was long and curly and he had so much confidence in his walk. He was well dressed and Oh. My. God. The way he looked at me made me weak. He stopped me and started 'spitting game' and I fell for it like a fucking fool. Like the na├»ve 15 year old child that I was.

  He dazzled me with his poetic words and romance. It took him split seconds to convince me to go with him. We spent the evening driving around DC smoking weed and listening to underground rap. God, I thought he was smooth. I was in ALL a flutter. He was THE DREAM GUY. We stayed the night in small apartment that belonged to his friend. We spent hours lying together, talking and laughing. We connected. In the morning he drove me to the closest train station and dropped me off with a promise to call. I went home with hopes, but slowly came to the realization that just like the rest of them, I’d never hear from him again.

Then he called.

And I was amazed.

  It had been two weeks and I had nearly forgotten him. He told me to pack a bag, we were running away together. In all my 15 year old wisdom that sounded like a grand plan. After all, he was AH-MAY-ZING! We connected! He TALKED to me and better yet he had LISTENED to me! He was everything I was lacking at home. Affection, attention, caring. Plus, he was a God among men!  This 26 year old man had me falling head over heels and I had no idea yet how far and fast I needed to run. 

  He picked me up late that night. I happily and nervously jumped in his car and nearly cried with happiness as we drove off. We stopped at his grandmother’s house where he put some things together and off we went to DC. As we were creeping down the street he started talking about how were going to go to amazing places and do all of these fabulous things. All while tiptoeing around how all we needed was a little money. I got this sick feeling, like a sudden realization of what he was talking about before the words even left his mouth.  How the hell did I attract this shit.  Was it like an invisible tattoo branded on me that only pimps and abusers could spot?? 
Then he stopped the car and told me I needed to get out of the car. He instructed me on what I needed to say when a car pulled up beside me and how to spot a cop. I sat there in the passenger seat in shock; complete fucking disbelief.

He’d known.

Somehow he knew what I really was. Then he leaned over, opened my door and I got out. I never questioned it. I just did. For weeks, months.

No comments:

Post a Comment