Explaining Without Explaining

Have you ever done that?

Trying to explain something without explaining it fully, because if you explain fully then you reveal something that you don’t want to?

Example: Tonight, I was talking to a friend, we have a mutual ex…The same ex that pops up when I have an episode… I wanted to tell her, but I didn’t want to give too much away. It kinda shows me how many of my family and friends actually read my blog, which is fine, because I’m not sure that I could live down the humiliation of my family knowing my innermost secrets.

And isn’t that a weird theory? That I can share everything, become an open book, with my readers, but to the people who truly should matter most, I keep them in the dark? It’s a theory that I was hoping wouldn’t be put to the test. But one night, I told my mom that I had been blogging most of the day and actually posted 6 articles, a new record 🙂 — Anyhow, she wanted to read them. I found it extremely difficult to give her the link. Really? Like, I post some things to Facebook. Mostly my creative writings, or the ones that are specifically for explaining something to family, i.e.: My history with Self Harm, explaining my depression or my anxiety, or even why I keep everything secret.

But for the life of me, I can’t just come out and say, “hey go read my blog, don’t judge me.” Like it’s not that hard, but it is. And, why is it that I can share with the world, knowing good and well how cruel people can be, how judgmental people can be, and how easy it is to link your blog with your Facebook and to your job; making it easy for future employers to say “well, you did this, you’re not welcomed here.”

Anyhow, back to my story. I tried to explain to her what happened with our ex. The reason his life could be in ruins had I not kept my mouth shut. But at the time, I didn’t want to ruin him. Because I really don’t think of myself as a vindictive person, but you cross me and you should watch your back. But he really hurt me, and it haunts me. And I just wonder how many others he’s done this too, or how many others will get hurt because I didn’t open my mouth, I didn’t speak up? How many others will he coerce into saying yes, when they really don’t want to, and then continue even after they plainly and audibly say no? Maybe it was just me. Maybe I’m the one to blame. I put myself in that situation, I got what I deserved right?

My ex, he wasn’t violent, at least not until the end. He became more and more aggressive as the time passed. He was controlling from the beginning, but then, so was I. But in the end, I don’t care how many times they’ve said yes, when they say no or stop, that’s the end. No more. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. (Sorry…) He was a manipulative sonofabitch and he’s hateful, spiteful. But then, am I?

To this day, he still doesn’t think that this is what happened. That he was a sexual predator. Which gets me back to the story of the conversation tonight, she didn’t believe that he could be a predator. Honey, anyone can be a predator, anyone could be an offender.

“Really, who did he rape? LOL” It stung, but she didn’t know. I was hoping that she would use context clues and figure it out so that I didn’t have to actually speak up. But she just laughed and went on. A lot of people would think that, if you met him on the street, you would have no idea. You wouldn’t know him. You wouldn’t know anything about him or me, because he doesn’t look like the “type” (if there is a type). Oh, he’s so kind. Oh, so talented. Oh, so smart. But under all that, there’s a secret, but he doesn’t admit to it. And know one believes me.

It goes back to those nights, when my sisters (current ex) husband lived with us. He made me sit in his lap while his hands wandered up my thigh. Or when he would give me hugs that landed on my chest or my butt. Or the night that he stood outside my door and begged me to kiss him, forced me to kiss him. I can’t sleep with my door open now, because of that. But my sister doesn’t believe me. And I don’t blame her. She wasn’t there. She didn’t know. How could she? How could anyone? They weren’t there. No one was there. And he made sure of it. No one ever saw.

I was called a liar, by the detective. And by my sister.

Why do we blame the victims? I mean, isn’t that why we’re victims? Because someone else did us wrong, for no reason?

And maybe that’s why I can’t stand when men grab me at work. Maybe there is too much trauma that my brain can’t handle, that’s why I get so upset and want to fight back. Because I’m not taking this treatment anymore. And I’m trying to make things, make me better.

Why can’t I come out and say what it is? What happened to me…Why can’t I say that he did what he did to me?

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About Preslee

I am diagnosed with Bipolar 2 Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Panic and Anxiety disorders, and PTSD. I write about my own personal experiences and thoughts.

Posted on June 25, 2013, in Life, Mental Health, Support and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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