One Secret at a Time

He manages to weave his way back into my thoughts just when the flashbacks have begun to dissipate ~ just when the writing I am doing has given purpose to what I endured ~ has given me of a vision of what I need to share with the rest of the world ~ all with the hope that my truth continues to help other people who have a shared experience.

Along came an email just before Christmas with loving thoughts about feeding me creamed corn if we were still together.

And all I could think was:  Would you charge me $20 for that bowl of creamed corn?

I laughed to myself in that moment, remembering how I hate creamed corn, and therefore; he must have me mixed up with someone else.  Or maybe I ate the creamed corn just to have something to eat?  So many moments of those years together are a blur, and yet so many are as crystal clear as having my head bashed into a wall all over again.

I think of him again during this bout of unemployment.  I think of all the money he extorted from me, and how I wish I could have that money now.

The university has not called to let me know about the latest pref-rehire interview, and so I had to go back on unemployment benefits once again after my last temp job ended, and I now worry if the benefits will run out.  I really could use the lawyer and bail money he made me pay back in payments for two years after I called 911 on him.

I wonder if he ever thinks of what he did and how he should make amends.  I wonder if he ever thinks that what he did was actually wrong.  And then I shake my head and instinctively know he never thought that what he did was wrong.  That's why he made me pay him back the lawyer and the bail money.

I walk through Santa Cruz, remembering how much I have lost.  I ache for the lost contact with the animals he brought into my life during those dark days ~ the precious souls I can never really see again because of what he did to me. 

I tell myself that I have to think of myself each time I miss the animals.  That I had to leave, or I may have died.  Yes, these are my thoughts as I walk the streets of Santa Cruz.  That I really could have died.  I see my reflection in the Old Vets Hall window and remind myself that I am still here.  That I did not die.  That I may have lost everything.  But I did not lose myself.  That I have been rebuilding myself for 6 1/2 years, and the biggest foundation of the new me was laid down the moment I started the writing blog.

I ask myself why.  Why did it happen to me?  Why did I let it happen to me?  I ask myself why, and I do not even know if I want to know the answer.  I do not need to have an answer to know that some amount of good ~ some amount of hope ~ can come out of the pain that is now a part of my past.  All I know is that I will keep writing.  That I will keep sharing my truth.  That I will keep helping others through my words. 

One sentence at a time.  One story at at time.  One secret at a time.  

Uncensored