Yes, it was the topic for this month’s NaBloPoMo that drew me in to immediately sign up, but as I scanned the prompts, one stuck in my head:
Is there anything you would erase from your mind if you were given the option to forget something completely?
I’ve been waiting to get to this one, to really dig deep and put some serious thought into my answer, which is definitively yes. Only the memory remained in question.
And oddly enough, as I read some old posts while writing last night’s load of fun, I came across something perfectly appropriate from last year:
I wish I could go all Johnny Mnemonic and selectively dump a chunk of long-term memory. And it would be every second that had anything to do with that counselor.
I’m gonna stick with this one.
I woke up this morning, early, and I thought about the last sentence of my previous post.
I feel like letting her continue to work for the court is like letting a rapist go free.
I’ve been thinking that for months, but now that I’ve written it down, I don’t believe it anymore. At least, it wasn’t like letting my rapist go free.
About a month before I turned 17, I took my best friend to her boyfriend’s house to have sex. I hung out in the living room with two of his friends until one of them left. The other, bigger and stronger, held me down and raped me.
I struggled. I told him no, repeatedly. I didn’t scream. And once he was in, I let it happen. I didn’t know what else to do. He’d already started; it had already happened. I thought it couldn’t get worse if I let him, and then it would be over.
And I was right.
He didn’t finish, but he stopped, and then he left. My friend came out a little later; I made some excuse to go home, dropping her off first.
And I didn’t say a word.
What could I say? My mother would have been disgusted that I didn’t fight harder, that I didn’t scream, that I didn’t find some way to stop him. Who else would have believed me? A nobody versus a football player? What a joke.
I never said anything.
Instead I let the event change who I was. I wasn’t a virgin; I’d let a previous boyfriend pressure me into sex once, but we broke up and I decided not to do it again.
But now I was damaged goods, so I didn’t see a point in saying no anymore. Saying no is so hard; I was so shy. So I started saying yes. That’s not exactly right; I didn’t start saying yes. I started saying ‘I don’t care.’
I didn’t care again for a long time. I didn’t care for eleven years after that. I didn’t care until Ian.
Obviously, being raped caused me lasting emotional damage. The difference is that I accepted what happened and moved on. I have lost sleep over those memories, most notably thanks to Facebook’s suggestion that I might know my rapist. Ya think?
Thinking about that now, I realize I got that Facebook suggestion during the bad time, but before I knew what was going on. Life sometimes piles it on you when you’re unsuspecting, doesn’t it?
But still, it’s one night in a blue moon. Even immediately afterward, I was ‘okay’ in a few weeks.
Not so with the counselor. She destroyed me emotionally. All told, I have lost weeks of sleep from thinking about her. And I don’t know how to make it better. I don’t know how to accept it and move on.
I’m glad her crap had no bearing on the ruling, but I can’t get it out of my head that there was such crap in the first place. I don’t know how to forget it. I don’t know how to lock that knowledge away and disregard it as irrelevant, because it is relevant. It’s relevant to my self esteem.
Letting him go free was not the right choice for everyone, but it was the right choice for me.
I can’t let her go.
It isn’t right for me. It isn’t right for anyone.
I will begin the process of filing a grievance against her.
Well, I have been in the grips of a wicked headache for most of the day, so not much to say. Still not impressed with 2012.
Who has worse luck finding care? The counselor actually didn’t show up today. Her son’s karate schedule changed, and she didn’t bring her folder with phone numbers to call. Awesome, huh?
I’ll see you guys tomorrow.