Bad News
As I have previously written, when I was about fourteen years old I recognized that boys liked me. Because of the abuse, I hated and feared them--and so I used them to work out my feelings, to hurt as many guys as I could. This is not something I want to remember, but it also doesn't go away. And something happened today to remind me, once again.
When I was sixteen a very cute and unfortunate young man decided he wanted to date me. Naturally, I took him on as my newest victim. We started dating in early October. My normal cycle usually lasted six to eight weeks, then the victim was burned and I had moved on to someone else. This particular young man, R, lasted longer than the rest. I dated him until the end of the following March. I think part of the length had to do with the fact that he really did care about me, although that was something I couldn't fathom at the time. All young men were evil, they wanted to hurt and use me, I would hurt them first--that was my thought pattern.
R, however, added a dimension the other young men had not. He let me meet his mother. I loved R's mother immediately. She was older than my parents, not particularly pretty, but there was a sense that she cared about me. I loved visiting her. I extended my relationship with R simply because I wanted the contact with his mom. I spent hours at his house, visiting with her, helping her clean, preparing meals. I adored her.
There was no question that I had substituted R's mother for my own. I felt she valued me. She told me she loved me and hugged me often. I was so starved for healthy affection--for the first time in many years I felt whole. But through all this, it was obvious that R was growing bored with me. I suppose it's difficult to be in love with someone who's in love with your mother, in a manner of speaking.
As time passed, R and I grew further apart, and R's mom and I grew closer. When R and I broke up, his mom was more sad than either of us were. She came to visit my parents to see if they knew why R and I were no longer dating. My parents, of course were clueless, since I never told them anything. R's father also made a visit to talk to them. Apparently he, too, cared about me.
I continued my friendship with R's mom for the rest of that year and into the next. When R left for college, and later, a mission, my contact with his mom began to dwindle and eventually ceased. She came to my wedding reception, and I have not spoken to her since. I have saved birthday cards and small notes from her. She represents to me someone who proved to me that I could be loved when I was certain that was impossible. She was aware that I had treated her son badly--and she loved me anyway. She saw beneath the hurt and anger to the person I was inside--the one I wanted to become. She was beautiful.
I say "was", not because all this took place in my past. R's mom was killed in a car accident yesterday. I've not had contact with her for many years--but she has always been in my heart. I've toyed often with the idea of visiting her, calling or e-mailing her. I know I told her I loved her. I know I thanked her for befriending me and letting me spend time with her. I never told her why that was so important, and maybe it doesn't matter. But today the reality that I can never talk to her again has set in, and it hurts a little.
I've decided however, rather than dwell on the regret that I didn't do something when I had the chance, I'll focus on how her beautiful life touched my own. It was in the time that she cared about me that I was able to stop nearly all my coping devices that involved self-harm, and my eating disorder eased, as well. My nightmares were less frequent, and I remember fantasizing that if any person tried to harm me again, R's mom would help me and comfort me. It's not true, of course, and I read much more into our relationship than that which was actually there--but for a very short while, in my mind, I had a Mom, and much of the pain of the sexual abuse I'd encountered seemed to ease. I have no idea what the correlation is between those two things. I only know that's what happened.
I'm so grateful to have had her in my life. I'm so blessed that for a few months I had relief from the agony inside me, because of her. My heart aches for her family, for their loss. I feel it as well.
When I was sixteen a very cute and unfortunate young man decided he wanted to date me. Naturally, I took him on as my newest victim. We started dating in early October. My normal cycle usually lasted six to eight weeks, then the victim was burned and I had moved on to someone else. This particular young man, R, lasted longer than the rest. I dated him until the end of the following March. I think part of the length had to do with the fact that he really did care about me, although that was something I couldn't fathom at the time. All young men were evil, they wanted to hurt and use me, I would hurt them first--that was my thought pattern.
R, however, added a dimension the other young men had not. He let me meet his mother. I loved R's mother immediately. She was older than my parents, not particularly pretty, but there was a sense that she cared about me. I loved visiting her. I extended my relationship with R simply because I wanted the contact with his mom. I spent hours at his house, visiting with her, helping her clean, preparing meals. I adored her.
There was no question that I had substituted R's mother for my own. I felt she valued me. She told me she loved me and hugged me often. I was so starved for healthy affection--for the first time in many years I felt whole. But through all this, it was obvious that R was growing bored with me. I suppose it's difficult to be in love with someone who's in love with your mother, in a manner of speaking.
As time passed, R and I grew further apart, and R's mom and I grew closer. When R and I broke up, his mom was more sad than either of us were. She came to visit my parents to see if they knew why R and I were no longer dating. My parents, of course were clueless, since I never told them anything. R's father also made a visit to talk to them. Apparently he, too, cared about me.
I continued my friendship with R's mom for the rest of that year and into the next. When R left for college, and later, a mission, my contact with his mom began to dwindle and eventually ceased. She came to my wedding reception, and I have not spoken to her since. I have saved birthday cards and small notes from her. She represents to me someone who proved to me that I could be loved when I was certain that was impossible. She was aware that I had treated her son badly--and she loved me anyway. She saw beneath the hurt and anger to the person I was inside--the one I wanted to become. She was beautiful.
I say "was", not because all this took place in my past. R's mom was killed in a car accident yesterday. I've not had contact with her for many years--but she has always been in my heart. I've toyed often with the idea of visiting her, calling or e-mailing her. I know I told her I loved her. I know I thanked her for befriending me and letting me spend time with her. I never told her why that was so important, and maybe it doesn't matter. But today the reality that I can never talk to her again has set in, and it hurts a little.
I've decided however, rather than dwell on the regret that I didn't do something when I had the chance, I'll focus on how her beautiful life touched my own. It was in the time that she cared about me that I was able to stop nearly all my coping devices that involved self-harm, and my eating disorder eased, as well. My nightmares were less frequent, and I remember fantasizing that if any person tried to harm me again, R's mom would help me and comfort me. It's not true, of course, and I read much more into our relationship than that which was actually there--but for a very short while, in my mind, I had a Mom, and much of the pain of the sexual abuse I'd encountered seemed to ease. I have no idea what the correlation is between those two things. I only know that's what happened.
I'm so grateful to have had her in my life. I'm so blessed that for a few months I had relief from the agony inside me, because of her. My heart aches for her family, for their loss. I feel it as well.
posted by Samantha @ 8:51 AM
1 Comments:
At Wednesday, December 27, 2006 6:14:00 PM,
Neo said…
Sam - Damn, sorry to read that. Especially so near to Christmas.
I knew a lot of woman that went through similiar turns with guys due to abuse. The important thing is that you grew up and figured out what is right. Most importantly never to blame yourself for the things you couldn't control.
Peace,
- Neo
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