About $20 got me well inebriated, enough to get me drunken Facebooking at about 5:00 am, typing lyrics onto my status, and announcing to all and sundry how much the lyrics meant to me. See, I have never made bones about the childhood I have had, and the experiences I have been through.
Sexual, mental and physical abuse was, for the longest time, part of my life. But for me, it was part of my family’s life. I was under the impression that everyone was going through the same thing that my family went through. It is sad to report that yes, in fact, I was probably 50% right. I went through my requisite year of depression in my teenage hormonal stage, and because of that, I believe I am a better person than ever. (Well, I mean my life is better for having gotten the angst out, having hidden it for so long.)
It was a shock for me to realize that in fact what I had been through was wrong, in every sense of the word. Perhaps wrong was not the right way to describe it. Vile, horrendous…words fail me. But to know that what I had felt was in fact true, that what was done to me and to my aunts and cousins, was wrong; well, it was a bit validating. Picture a child who doesn’t really know what is happening, but she’s feeling like it shouldn’t. Imagine her going through life wondering if it was her fault, and wondering what she could have done to not make it happen.
Well, that was me.
Having come out of that situation, and found people who gave me understanding, and helped release the inner angst, and discovered an entire world of support, love and care, I have given up the ghost of justice for myself. But I will not be quiet about it for others, and if it helps someone in some small way, I am happy to tell my story.
…so, back to the Facebook incident…
It seems I was rather happy early at 5am posting my love for an anti-abuse song on Facebook. But the reaction I got? Well, what a shock!!
Obviously, I was not too drunk as I managed to log on and string together sentences that made sense. So, imagine my surprise when I am rudely awakened by the ringing phone, and it is a friend calling to see if all is well, and if I remembered what I posted. Once I got my hung-over self awake enough, of course I remembered. But, take a nasty headache and add confusion, and I just couldn’t understand the fuss.
Being told by a well-meaning friend to think about taking off my post in case I regretted my actions the next day was quite surprising. Her worry for my embarrassment was sweet, but it also made me wonder if other people were perhaps offended, or taken aback. I thought we were living in a world where this subject is no longer taboo. And why would I regret stating the truth. I am certainly not embarrassed by my past. It wasn’t my fault, so the embarrassment is not mine to experience.
I also was not taking a social stand either. It was not a cry for help, but if it meant that others were shocked into realizing that the [proverbial] shit does in fact happen, well then, excellent. I do have good, well-meaning friends who obviously do the right thing by their drunken friends. These are probably the friends one could count on to take them home after a raucous night out, friends who would not let you drink and dial. Friends who would still talk to you, even after you sneak a drink and dial, then let you cry on their shoulder when it doesn’t work out any way. I am a lucky, lucky person. And I know it.
$20 worth of drinks and one massive hangover later, people were alert, and noticing, friends were supportive, and by god I will drink to that!
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