I repressed a lot of things from my childhood. For a lot of years. I’ve watched movies before where people have repressed things and at the time I didn’t know I did exactly that. I thought it was fictional, but its real. Real and raw. You hide it so deep inside you that you don’t remember and you don’t want to remember, but you know its there. Like dirty cobwebs in the corner with an evil spider. You both are aware of each others existence but you don’t need to acknowledge each other for fear of what will come out.
That is, until someone loves you. And I mean really loves you.
I met Domenic (again – met him first time at the races years before. We both have a different retelling of that story) in June 2012. The more I tried not to love him, the more I did. I did what I was good at, tried in different ways to push him away when he got too close, kept the safe distance when he would give more. Complain when he didn’t give enough. Made excuses of why it wouldn’t work. But it just kept working. He loved me so much that it made me forced to be loved. And it forced things up from the surface that were stopping me from being loved.
but sorry babe, this story isn’t about you.
Its hard to be loved when you don’t love yourself. I don’t know why I didn’t love myself, countless reasons. I was told I was fat, I was ugly. But mostly, I was taken advantage of as a child. That does real fucked up things to you. Realllllly fucked up things. I’ve tried to write about it before, and I gave snippets, but I was worried about the backlash and really I was worried about facing that evil spider. Its here if you wanna read it. Its a shit blog really, but I was in a weird mood. Good enough
After I wrote it, about my grandfather, Gino, molesting me (there I said it). I felt him around. I don’t know what your stance is on ghosts but I am a believer (he has passed). I could feel him. It was strange. I knew he was around because of what I wrote. I felt he was sorry. I even said out loud “I know you’re sorry but I can’t forgive you.”
If I forgive him, I make it okay, don’t i? And it’s not okay. It was wrong. It makes me angry, and sick, and angry again. I am angry because I was young and defenseless. And it fucked me up. Do you know how much it fucked me up? I look at my beautiful children, Gino, and I worry every day that someone will approach them inappropriately. A stranger, or worse, someone that everyone trusted. You didn’t just do it to me, you did it to others. We all know about each other now, and we are all equally mad about you. You are the “kiddie fiddler” (Thank you to the beautiful soul who made it funny to take the power away, I love you). It’s funny but it hurts my throat.
I forgot about you, dear Gino, about the blog I wrote, about how I could feel you around. I told you to go away because I didn’t want to feel you. I wanted you to know that now as an adult, I would have fucked you up if you dare dreamed of touching me. I wouldn’t have been helpless. But I forgot, for a little while.
That was until I saw Rita. A psychic Medium. Think what you want of Psychic’s thats cool, but this woman says too many scarily accurate things to be anything but a voice from the other side.
“Who’s G? Guiseppe.. g… giii….?” she asked, “Hard man, very rigid, your dads dad”
It couldn’t be him, she had picked up my other grandfather before. My Guardian, and his name started with G.
“No I am going to follow through with him. It’s Gino.” she said… “Hes sorry for choices hes made. He wants you to know that.”
She told me about his apologetic energy. Without me saying a word about him, she said again, “He’s sorry for choices he made. His energy is apologetic. You need to let it go and cut that chord otherwise you’re going to be over possessive with your daughter because shes female”.
You can’t make that shit up.
My gut sinks. My heart hurts. uh. I am angry again.
People tell me to let things go all the time. This is not frozen. I am not Elsa! That shit is hard to let go. You don’t know my truth. You think I don’t want to let it go? It’s not an attention thing. I don’t enjoy it. I feel dirty and angry that I lost my innocence. I hate the fact that I can’t really trust anyone to watch my children and therefore can never have a date night out. Do you know how much that HURTS?!
But can I forgive? I don’t know. I could do what my sister did. Go to his grave, clean it up. She had a dream his body was mangled in a horse troff and once she told him she forgave him, he reformed and went to heaven.
At the end of the day, hes dead. So really, whilst he might be hurting in the afterlife. The one person who this is really hurting is me.
How do I let it go? How do I forgive? If I let it go, I make it okay, don’t I? I make what he did okay. I don’t want that.
I usually like my blogs to have a happy ending. Like I overcame something so I can help and be inspiring. But all I know at this stage, is that she is right. I can’t live in this fear. I know he is sorry. But I am on the fence right now.
And maybe that is okay. Maybe that is all I need to be. On the fence. I don’t have to forgive completely. I don’t have to go to his grave and clean it up. I don’t have to let it go, or cut a metaphorical balloon and watch it fly into the sky. All I can do is work on surviving and being stronger, and not let it dictate my life.
For now that is all the forgiveness I can offer. I am content with that.
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