BEDA Day 24 : The Full Story

Hopefully this will be the last time this month that I mention anything about the Incident. In fact, I just hope it's the last time for awhile.

There are some things about that evening that I haven't mentioned to anyone until now. Not to my  family or friends nor even to my therapist (s).  Up until now. Things that are just memories mostly but things that I feel could contribute to how I feel about the whole thing.  Could contribute to my feelings over blaming myself for what happened.

I mentioned on Tumblr how something happened on Friday that caused me to be shaky. Here's the story: Friday morning, I was heading to the library for Storytime and saw the neighbor’s car pull out in front of me. The same neighbor from the Incident. I know it was his car. He has certain stickers on it that I have at this point memorized so I just know it's him. I also know the color too. I proceeded to follow it almost all the way to the library. It was unintentional that I followed it (obviously). But still seeing it, recognizing it, sent waves of fear thru me. At the time I spotted the car, I was singing along with a song on the radio and I continued to do so trying to distract myself. It didn’t exactly work though. Eventually, I just stopped. I was actually getting a bit shaky too. I felt so at least. It’s not even that long of a drive to the library but by the time I reached the parking lot and parked, I felt like I was a shaking a bit. I had to spend a few minutes calming myself down because of what happened.


Truth be told I don’t understand my reaction. I thought things had gotten much better but then again, maybe not. Then again, maybe things never truly went away. It really hasn't let's just be honest. I've just gotten better at dealing with it.  That's all I feel I can do. Deal with it the best way I know how. Which I guess for me means locking myself away whenever he's around. Not opening my blinds so it looks like I'm not around and checking everytime I want to go outside. I guess I'm just dealing with it.  Until I've moved away, I don't think I'll feel safe. I don't think it'll go away.

We discussed this in therapy today. Just my reaction and how things have changed. Going back into it. Why we really haven't discussed it since the beginning of the semester. Why it's come back really now.  What happened has certainly changed me as a person and robbed me of something that I can never get back. Not really get back. It's complicated.

Discussing what happened again of course brings back memories of that evening as well as things that I've never really mentioned before.  Now that I think about it, I'm not even sure I've mentioned the full details of exactly what happened.  I've mentioned the important part but that's mostly it.  Now I'm going to tell the whole story to the best of what I can remember.

*takes a deep  breath* So here it goes:

It was November 13, 2010 (I know this because I still have the conversation with my friend after it happened) . So it's been over a year. I don't remember the details about the conversation that took place that evening.  I couldn't tell you much about what we talked about.  I just remember him coming over that evening wanting to know how I was doing.

We sat at my kitchen table for awhile talking. He then asked if I would mind playing a song on my piano . Sidenote: when I first met him back when I first moved in, my parents were with me. He saw the piano and asked about it and I played a song then too. He liked hearing piano music. It's not usual me playing for someone either. People are just generally interested when then find out  I can play. ).  While I tried to find a song, he asked if he could use the restroom. Afterwards, I played a song for him and he enjoyed it. Then we talked some more. Again, I don't remember the exact conversation. I remember mentioning something about him being old and him laughing about it. I didn't mean he was old old but certainly older than me by quite a lot. I then remember him asking me to come to him. He was trying to show me something but for some reason, I thought he was asking me to sit on his lap. (I don't know what I was thinking or where I got that idea). It turned out he was trying to show me some scar or something from when he fought. (He's an ex-Marine).

Sometime after that we got into a conversation and I remember getting a bit emotional about it.  I don't remember breaking down completely but I do remember shedding some tears about it. Finally after a little more conversation, he decided to leave.

 I headed to the door to open it and say goodbye when it happened. He was outside already getting ready to leave when he tried to kiss me the first time. He wasn't aggressive about it either.  I remember still being a little teary eyed. Him putting his hand on my cheek. Me holding onto that hand telling him something along the lines "I'll be fine. I'll be ok." referring to the conversation we had. (I think it was something about me feeling lonely). Then suddenly I remember him kissing me. I remember just standing there shocked. Not knowing quite how to react. I seem to remember me trying to step back out of it.  It was very short. But after the first kiss I remember him saying something like "That wasn't a real kiss" and then deciding to try again. I really don't know why I even let him try a second time. I guess I was just still in shock or something. Then again, he really didn't give me time to react before he kissed me the second time. I remember breaking free, trying to reach for my door handle to get away,  and saying "No. I'm sorry. I just can't". Something like that.  After it was over, I remember feeling on the verge of breaking down. I didn't know what had just happened. I think I was just in shock and wanting to get away from it as soon as possible. I  remember there being a bit of an awkward pause afterwards, before he said good night and headed back across the parking lot. I think I must have said Goodnight back and then something about it being a bit cool out. I don't know why I said that or anything. I just did. I think it was all I could do to diffuse some of the awkwardness I was feeling.

As soon as I closed the door though, that's when everything just broke down. All the emotions I was feeling just let loose. I remember begin shaken up and feeling guilty. I remember feeling unclean and washing my face to get the feeling of him kissing me off my lips.  I also remember wiping down my toilet with Clorax wipes. I think I just wanted to erase all the traces of him being there after what had just happened. I was just an emotional wreck.

After what happened, I knew I needed someone to talk to. I just knew it couldn't be my family. I just couldn't tell them about what happened. So I reached out to my friends via Twitter asking them for help. Needing someone,  almost anyone to help. My guy friend responded first. It's great he wanted to help but I just felt it couldn't be him at that moment. I just felt like it would be better talking to one of my female friends first. I was nice about it though and he didn't mind. Then one of my female friends contacted me and we had a long Facebook conversation about it. She made me feel a lot better and I was able to calm down enough to where I at least felt somewhat better.

And now you know the rest of the story...


So that's the full story of what happened. The first time I've described in detail, I think. I've told this story at least 7 times by now (8 including this full version).  4 times to counselors and therapists, 3 blog posts, and 1 time to a friend. Although by this point, I think my close friends know all about it. I've mentioned it a few times on Tumblr too and have even written a few poems about it.

What happened really traumatized me. I've said this before. I guess that's really why I'm still dealing with aftereffects ever after over a year since it happened. What happened really shook me.  Maybe I don't really deal with it but instead just simply tolerate it. It's complicated.

The memories do tend to come back to haunt me though. Like now and when I don't really expect them to. What that reason is though, I'm not sure I really know. 

Talking about it; writing about it, does help to a point. I do feel better each time I do talk or write about it. While I've mostly stopped blaming myself for what happened, there's still a part of me that feels responsible. I don't think I'll truly ever be ok about it. At least for a really long time.