Grooming Period (Trigger Warning: Sensitive Material)

Yesterday, after I posted my third day entry, anxiety crept its way into my presence. I was on edge for a majority of the evening and my husband knew it. He made attempts to include me in some mutual activities such as watching some favorite TV shows together and playing Diablo III (actually super therapeutic on any other day), but I was not biting.

In fact, I started to fill with rage, because I couldn't figure out how I was going to write the backdrop I desired while also being vague enough to not implicate anybody. I understood it was a not a necessity to tell some of the details behind the origin; however, to me the grooming period is just as essential to the story as the actual acts themselves. It is how he gained my trust and brainwashed me into believing that everything that occurred was just as much my fault as his.

I ended up releasing my anger on my husband despite his courageous undertaking to calm me down. It takes a very patient man to deal with my outbursts, and that my hubby is. Eventually I took a few breaths and realized I can't let the "red tape" shut me down. 

So I begin.

I was young and full of trust, as most children are. The biggest worries in my life usually revolved around trivial things such as receiving enough allowance to buy a few knick-knacks at the 5 and 10. I had a best friend to hang out with and plenty of love surrounding me at home. Nothing could seem to infiltrate my security.

When I met him, I was enamored by his suaveness. It isn't a surprise that young girls usually found older boys dreamy, especially since 90s TV was littered with hunks like Uncle Jesse. I thought he was incredibly cool and the fact that he wanted to talk to me, well hey! I was lured into his bubble because he appealed to my kid-like desires. I mean who wouldn't want to play Super Nintendo? Cuddle under a blanket to watch SNICK? No problem! As long as you keep me distracted, right? Imagine how effortless it is for me to self-blame considering how he gained my trust with a video game console and premium tween programming. I wanted the attention! At least...that is what it felt like.

Sometimes I have to revisit my journal entries in order to remind myself that it wasn't my fault; to reaffirm the victimization that occurred every time he tricked me into doing what he wanted. Occasionally, I write my entries to him, especially when I am in a foul mood. It is healthier to project my anger in a letter that will never be read then to take it out on the ones I love. This is something I wrote a couple months ago:

"Do you remember asking for a blanket because you were cold? Do you remember putting it over me acting like you were nice, but only to slide your hand between my thighs and grab me with power, shaming me not to open my mouth?"

I wish I could recall the exact moment the abuse started, but all I have are fragments. Memories of him reaching his hand down my pants while I was playing Donkey Kong or finding ways to get me alone and show me how to kiss like they did in the movies. He told me that is what big people did. What people "in love" did. He told me he loved me. It was confusing and I started to buy into his crap because what choice did I have?

Things escalated quickly. Once he knew I wasn't going anywhere, he got cocky and decided to take things further every time I saw him. Unlike the start of the abuse, those memories are vivid. They repeat on loop behind my eyes every day.

 As I move forward through this journey, it is going to be an increasingly difficult endeavor to share the brutal details of each snippet of my traumas, but I will not give up. I may not be able to vocalize the words, but I certainly can write them.