So where do I begin? Things have really changed since I last posted... like drastically even.

Most of you who read this will have already heard from me exactly what it was I remembered. I think I've told pretty much all of my friends, so I don't feel the need to post about it in depth... Maybe I will at one point. It has to do with when my grandfather molested my cousin, but that's all I'll say except to clarify that it's not that I was molested to, because that seems to be the assumption that everyone is jumping to. Suffice it to say that it was traumatic enough to be virtually burried for 18 years, but not so traumatic that it will ever defeat me again. It's out now, in the open... A lot of people know, now, and there's no taking it back or repressing it now, which I tend to think is a good thing. There were a few people that I was afraid to tell, but they've been really supportive. It's wierd how you can fear something, and know in your heart of hearts that the fear is irrational and ridiculous, but still be so afraid that you tremble before it. Strange thing, the human psyche, to make you doubt what you know to be true.

I called my mom to tell her, and she was busy when I first called, so I had to wait and call her and tell her about 45 minutes later. Before and during the first call, I felt okay, like I could get through it without being all weepy and pathetic. But then I had to wait, and the fears crept up on me... what if she doesn't believe me? what if she still defends my grandparents over me? what if she won't accept it at all? And I knew this to be ridiculous, just as anyone who has actually met my mother and seen us together would know that this is ridiculous... My mom and I are probably the closest we've been, maybe ever, and she has never really failed me. We've hit our rough patches, but when it really counts, and when I really need her to be supportive of me and take me at my word, she always does this without fail. And this time was no different. It's odd, kind of, I don't know that it's really registered with her yet, and I think it will take time for her to really let it sink in. After I told her she ranted about how she thinks my aunts handled it wrong, that it would have been better to make him go into intensive treatment rather than prison. I tend to agree with her, because he was only in prison for three years, and they only made him get treatement in the last six months of his sentence... plus, even when he was forced to go to counseling, he wasn't forced to talk about the abuse or molestation, he could talk about anything he wanted, so what good does that do? Looking back, after being off the phone, I can see where she was going with this... At first it didn't seem to have anything at all to do with what I remembered, but then I remembered that the anxiety and wierdness, for me, started after he was arrested, when I got scared that if I ever told her what happened that I would go to jail too... I think she was saying that maybe if he'd gone to counseling instead, maybe it would have come out then and not 18 years later. I let go and told her how afraid I've been for the last few days that she'd get mad at me or not believe me, and she didn't even bother to lecture me about being old enough to know better that she wouldn't react that way, she just said she loves me and that nothing will change that, which I think is what I most needed to hear. And we went on and talked about other things, didn't dwell on it too much really. I think there will be more conversations about this in the future when we've both had time to mill it over.

And now I feel, to a certain degree, like the worst part of this is over. Fear of being thought a freak or rejected because this happened, or of some horrible punishment are all part of the reason my brain put this whole thing in quarantine, and now that can't happen anymore. The memory hit me, and I cried for four hours thinking about it, and thinking about how it's been lurking there, such a deep secret that I couldn't even think of it myself, to a certain degree dictating how I live my life. And it can't be that way, ever again... There's a certain strength, I think, in facing something like this the way I've done, and I feel like I've taken back control of myself to a certain degree. I could have just forgotten it again, but then maybe it would have haunted me even more. When I finally calmed down a bit, I went and I told the only friend of mine who was online because, it seems ridiculous, but I was afraid if I didn't tell someone that I would forget again by the time I woke up in the morning, and I knew at that point that remembering was crucial if I was going to take control of the situation. And now I can learn to accept it and move on... I don't think I'll ever be able to fully get rid of the effects it's had on the person I am, and I don't know that I'd want to. But I can accept it as a part of my history, and a bad experience that I'm going to master.

Next up in the neurosis ring, my father, and convincing myself that I'm worthy of being loved...