Telling my secret

I am feeling compelled to this because if I get it out of my system, to tell my secret, it is no longer a secret, and it will have less power to hurt me. This secret has been in hiding in silence and fear for many years. In the vain that what doesn't destroy me makes me stronger is way I am telling it now. I have done this with telling the story of my attempted rape, and that has made me stronger. I have also told this story to my therapist, and she and other girlfriends have given me the courage to keep going. Telling my therapist first was such a relief because that was the first time I ever let to the story to someone else. While part of it hurt, I mean really hurt, I know that telling the story will help heal that hurt and also makes me feel lighter because I am no longer carrying this burden or hiding this story in fear and silence. This story is seeing the light of day.

I feel, now, I also need to put a caveat here as well. To ask that who ever reads this not jump to conclusions or assumptions about my past. It is my past and my story to tell. If I don't remember something, I don't remember it - and I may never remember it. Right now I have enough on my plate just getting this story out that I am not focusing on what I don't remember. If that story comes back to me then I will tell it when it is ready.

So, with a heavy sigh, let me take you back. I have already written some about my horrible experience of 5th grade when no one had my back and didn't care or protect me. I left out part of the story because I am afraid that you will judge me as I was judged in the 5th grade. I am scared that you will find me some sort of deviant or not worthy of love. Now I know this is the 5th grade me talking so in order the stop the fear I am going to bring it out in the open and talk about it. It no longer has a chance to be silent or to hide or to be afraid.

So, the missing part of the story of 5th grade was that I was bullied and teased and a "humper." Not only was I called this by some fellow students, but I was also called out by a male teacher, in front of the whole class.

Now to why I would be called this, to that I have to go back to 1st grade. Somehow I learned - and how I learned this I can't remember - that by pressing my pelvis on the edge of my school desk, while seated, produced a very pleasant experience, and orgasm. It wasn't something that others noticed since it happened as I was seated at my desk. I remember doing it in 1st grade, but 2nd 3rd and 4th I don't recall doing it, and that could be because the desks where a different design. I wasn't ashamed of this activity - and as I said I don't remember how I learned, I may never remember and for right now that is okay with me, it is my story.

So, now forward to 5th grade, new school and new classmates. I was picked on because I wasn't fashionable, I mixed plaid and stripes (a fashion faux-pas), I was chubby, I was developing my women's shape ahead of everyone else, I started wearing glasses, I had migraines, I was put in remedial reading for some reason, I don't know why. My mom and dad where no help in solving these problems and some couldn't be helped.. I must have discovered that I could do what I did in 1st grade. Classmates saw what was happening. I don't know if the particular math teach was told or saw for him self - but he took it on him self to call me out in public in front of my classmates. I was mortified and embarrassed - I learned to start to hide and that being alone was more of a comfort to me then being with anyone. I know during that school year I saw a school psychiatrist - but I can't say if it was in relation to this incident or other things going on.

So there, is the missing part of the story. Regardless of what anyone else thinks right now it feels good to tell the story and to let it go, to let it out, to take away it's power to hurt me through fear and silence. Since my therapy was Tuesday evening and my special valentine to myself ~ yesterday I spent the day at home trying to love myself - to cry - for the all pain this has caused over the years - for the pain of then and that there was no one there to love me or help me - I watch a fun little animated film "How to train your dragon" that I love, but that I also weeped through it because it shows love the little c feels like she never had. It felt like my guts where out on the floor - but I also know that telling the story and letting it go is the ultimate healing.