Wow. This was five years ago. I can’t believe five years have passed.
I last posted here shortly before I got on a plane to go to the Caribbean for the first time.
I last posted three months after my father died and two months after my first grandchild was born.
I last posted here four months before my mother’s sister, Jenirva, died and five months before my first official nervous breakdown (major depressive episode without psychotic component).
Five months after the previous post I came to an emotional understanding that I was sexually molested as a child. I still consider my mother’s sister as either one of my abusers or a direct facilitator of sexual abuse for me.
Therein lies the rub…I can only remember one episode of sexual assault in my childhood and that didn’t even involve penetration (at least I don’t think so).
Sometimes believing in sexual abuse is like believing in God. It just has to be taken on faith. You just have to believe it’s true because that kernel inside you tells you that it happened even though you have no empirical evidence to back up your conviction.
I can believe in God and Jesus Christ (although my definitions of same have certainly morphed, changed and grown in the 35 years since I met Christ) without empirical evidence to support my conviction.
I can believe in the truth of my understanding that I was serially sexually molested by someone (or more than one someone) when I was a kid despite seminal fluid or DNA to support me. I know it happened. I just don’t happen to remember it.
God has exercised great irony in my life, thrown many trials in my path. I can still support her without evidence. I can believe in her.
I can believe in me.