Life is like a good suspense film. As soon as you think you have things figured out, just as you unravel the mystery and whisper your theory to the person next to you- you find out that you had things wrong. This is most often the case when evaluating the people we meet in life -we categorize people instantly, rather than pushing through their exterior and getting to know them on a personal level. I’m guilty. I’ve always conveniently bucketed personalities – if for no other reason than because it made things easier for me. But, just as I would start feeling brilliant for having everyone figured out, every few months throughout my life, someone would surprise me and turn my bucket upside down. The bully who pushed me around in gym class, the annoying girl who only cared about criticizing others, the quiet guy dressed in black with the nose ring – one of them would somehow, usually by accident, show me that there was a lot more to their uninviting exterior. It was always a pleasant surprise – and a lesson learned. But, what I didn’t expect to learn at the age of thirty-seven, is that one of the people I had wrong – was me.
At this point I’ve lost count of my months in recovery, not because I don’t care about how I’m doing, but because the timeline doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve stopped over-analyzing every therapy session, every bad day, every setback, and I’ve learned to be very comfortable with where I am. It’s where I am and nothing will change that. I’ve learned to relax and smile again.
Consequently, Jack isn’t much more than a name to me now. Jack is four letters that are assigned to a part of my past, and that’s all. About three months ago, after returning from work, I made a snap decision to grab my car keys and drive the ninety minutes up Interstate 95 to Arlington National Cemetery. I’m not sure why, but suddenly I was ready to re-visit the pile of dirt that pushed me into this self-discovery. I had no big speech planned. I had no expectations.
I parked my car in the visitor lot, strolled to the information desk, and told the clerk which grave I was visiting. Within ten minutes I was strolling up to a quiet section of the military graveyard, underneath an oak tree. Jack’s gravesite. It was a beautiful day. I stood there and just stared at the ivory-colored tombstone. Part of his headstone was broken – from what looked like a lawn mower incident – I smiled. I didn’t say much. I didn’t feel much. I just stood there and looked down on his plot. I was surprised at how little it mattered – how little this section of grass meant to me. After about ten minutes, I left. It was uneventful. I walked confidently back to my car, started it up, and drove home.
I had this incredible sense of relief as I drove. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the fact that I was uninspired, or unaffected, was empowering. It was a non-event – which was the biggest event of all. We buried Jack in Arlington Cemetery when I was fourteen years old – soon after, my family and I buried the memories of Jack – and now, twenty three years later, I had buried Jack once and for all.
Since that day in Arlington, I have taken incredible strides in my recovery. I haven’t been burdened by the raw anger towards my past, my family, my loss of innocence. I have resumed my relationship with my parents – and in doing so, I have been reminded how important it is to have them in my life. I have found hobbies that I didn’t know mattered to me. Don’t get me wrong, I still have a lot of work to do – but I understand where I’ve been and I like where I’m headed. My self-constructed exterior has been unraveled and my own bucket overturned. I like who I see underneath. It’s nice to meet me.
Well, I’ve still not found a therapist, but I am continuing to try to heal myself. Most days are good, some bad. I think eventually I’ll get the courage, until then I’ll continue reading and tackling it little by little.
Because of you and Chris Gavagan I’ve been able to post my own story. It could be a hard read, but if you want to read it, the link is below, but I definitely take no offense if you don’t want to. I’m sure it has triggers for some. The part that made me feel best about posting it was that I put my abusers name and picture at the end. I used to protect him, but I’ve been wondering why. No more. The embarrassment and shame is no longer mine to bear, it’s his.
http://sciler.wordpress.com/2011/07/27/silent-no-more-my-story-of-childhood-sexual-abuse/
Congrats on your discovery, I hope I can introduce myself to you someday.
You have so much courage. Not only as a child, when you lived your life as best you could while being betrayed by a “family” member, but then when you told your story to your mom, and now to tell your story publicly. You are an inspiration. I give your mom so much credit for acting on what you told her immediately. As for your recovery process, you should go at your own pace. Don’t feel like you’re not strong for not meeting with a therapist yet – it’s your timeline and you know what is right for you. I will say, however, that therapy (should you go) will be difficult but so very important to gain your self-respect and fully shed your pain. The right therapist is key so it may take time to find one you trust with your recovery. Congratulations, Sciler, you are taking steps and that takes incredible strength and courage. It’s great to hear from you. Chris
Chris,
I have been hoping for an update and this is such a warming entry to read! Hopeful. Positive. Inspiring. Honest and open. Your strength and courage continue to overwhelm me. I know you are proud of the steps you have taken to find/believe all of the wonderful things that others see in you. May you always take to heart your gifts and continue to let the pain be…what it is and not WHO you are. I continue to pray that your powerful words help others in their journey of recovery and that your true spirit brings you peace!
Much admiration,
Katie
Thank you, Katie. Your support means a lot – I hope you are well! Chris
Wow, this is like poetry.
I am very happy that you did those discoveries. You seem like a very bright person.
You should be very proud of yourself. I can’t begin to imagine what a big step it was to step in your car and walk up to that section of grass.
It takes a very strong person to take the giant steps you take!
I wish you all the strength in the world in your journey to recovery.
I see you don’t have a blogroll, I’ve added yours to mine anyway. If you ever start one, you can add my link, if you want offcourse, as “Journal of a Male Childhood Abuse Survivor” and link it to: http://prozacblogger.wordpress.com.
Sincerely,
– Prozacblogger
Prozacblogger- thank you for your support. I wish you the best as you navigate your recovery. I will take a look at your blog and add it to my blogroll when I figure out how to do that! You are one of the strong ones – keep going helping yourself and others. Chris
You should be so proud of yourself. What an amazing journey. I know I am proud of you, and know what a blessing therapy was for you. You were the brave one. God bless you, Chris and love to Ellen and Bailey.
Katie’s Mom
Thank you again Nancy! Chris
Chris, it makes us so happy to read this! It has always been nice for us to meet you. I’m so glad you can feel that way now. We look forward to seeing your smile again, it really does brighten everyone you meet. Love, Terry, Mike, Sarah, Erin, Thomas, and Baby Buckley
Thank you Terry and Company! Your support means so much. Congratulations on your newest edition. I hope we can meet baby buckley soon. Love, Chris
Thank you so much for opening your heart up to us again, Chris. It has been both inspirational and agonizing reading your blog and helpful to hear from your sister and brother, but there is no substitute for hugging you and hearing your story directly from you. We are happy that you have found Chris again, the authentic version of yourself, and we are so proud of you and your struggle and your continuing recovery. Prayers answered.
All our love to you and Ellen,
Mom and Dad
Thank you for being there for me as I’ve gone through this. I love you both very much (and it was great seeing you this weekend). Love, Chris
Chris, it’s nice to meet you too! I hope to do so in person soon.
Yes! Soon! Love, Chris
I remember when I finished my book and I felt…relieved. All of the skeletons were dancing out in the middle of the living room and I had confronted my biggest abuser — myself. What happened afterward confused me. I kept expecting people to engage me in conversation about what I had written; some of which others write under pseudonyms to avoid the embarrassed looks. I realized that in writing the book I had harmed myself again — I just found a different way to do it. What you have written here is powerful because you admitted that we torture ourselves so much more than the Jacks of the world ever could. He’s dead and gone — so is my mother, so is my grandfather. Carrying that with us, re-evaluating, analyzing, re-analyzing, pulling it out and looking at it… Well, it just gets old. I wish you the freedom that you’ve found here. Hell, I wish me the freedom I found in your writing tonight. As they say in Canada — “good on ya.” I think I’m going to try my hand at fiction next time.
SueAnn – thank you – It’s great to hear from someone who has been through the process of sharing and gaining strength. Best to you up North! Chris