I'm wide awake right now, my mind is racing through memories and feelings of the past. Things I want to forget, feelings I never want to remember. My first bad memory is of a cousin, who often tried to molest me. We were about the same age, but I was so weak, and he was so heavy. There was nothing I could do on my own to free myself from him. I'd be in the basement at my grandmother's and suddenly everyone would be gone. The first time this happened I was trying to go up the stairs, trying to get past him. He wouldn't let me, he kept trying to touch me and kiss me and I panicked. I did the only thing I could think to do. You see I tried calling for my sister but she never came. I'd call for my cousin Kim and she came every single time I called. She saved me many times, and I am forever thankful for that. I never told anyone. I held it in, buried it. Secretly relieved when he went to juvenile prison. No more fighting with no luck, no more being afraid of being alone in the basement. It was strange to love the family member who caused you to feel such shame and fear. We once went to visit him while he was locked up, I don't know why I agreed to go I had nothing to say to him. Maybe deep down I hoped he would apologize for what he'd done, but in his mind... it never happened. I would see him again after we were grown. He'd been in a out of jail so much it didn't dawn on me that he would possibly show up at his mothers house. Again, I was alone, the fear right there in my throat, there would be no one to call this time. There would be no way to defend myself because time had not made me stronger, nor was he any less fat. However, just like that day in mini prison he acted as if nothing had happened. I still can't say his name. I saw a picture of him and broke down in tears. I wish I had known then the pattern my inactions would create. But that's a story for another day.
At this point I have to ask, is therapy really working? I've been in therapy on and off since I was about 14 years old... maybe one or two years younger than that. That being said, I never really got much out of it in the teen years because let's face it, as a teen you really don't want to cooperate with any adult, let alone a "Shrink". I would go and talk about nothing of importance, pretending to sleep when it was my mother's turn to come in for the session with me. How this woman knew I wasn't sleeping was beyond me. I did what I was required to do and got my Doritos every time I went, so I was happy. Looking back at my first session, I can see the pattern that started even way back then. I have the hardest time finding competent therapists. Let me explain, from the moment I read an article in Teen Magazine about depression, I basically diagnosed myself. My being in therapy wasn't even the result of my mother thinking I had depression; it was bec...
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