A Book and a Memory

I am officially on break from school, as of 12 o'clock this afternoon. This week has been Hell week for me. I had to write two papers and put together a 5 minute presentation complete with power point slides, and it all ended up pushed back to the very last minute. I made the decision to take the day off. This afternoon was all about relaxing for me, and I decided to read a book that I had gotten from the library last week. It was called Call Me Crazy by Anne Heche. I read the whole thing, all 250 pages of it, in a couple of hours this evening.

She was horribly abused as a child, and had a lot of problems coming to terms with it. The book as a whole struck me, but a few certain parts stuck out. I marked one that I found particularly relevant. She wrote:

I tried to be what everyone I was with wanted, until I couldn't be it anymore. I wanted to be good enough, pretty enough, sexy enough, for him not to love who he was really loving, and love me instead. This would somehow prove that I was lovable. I could put myself on the back burner for someone and twist and contort myself into what I thought they wanted so that they would love me. In the process, me got left at the door, buried in the couch, hung out to dry. I became the idea of me that I thought they all wanted.

That really stuck out to me because I do that. I try to become the chameleon. Even at home, I am not myself. I do my best to be what they want, and I am always successful for a while. Unfortunately, as my ability to conform crumbles, so too does the relationship. Most have crumbled fast. One has held on way too long in this state. I keep hoping that I can do enough therapy to be better, more me, more real and present. I'm not even sure that's possible.

A memory came back while reading the book. I'm not sure anymore exactly what in the book triggered the memory. It has been hovering around the edges of my mind for at least a few days, and possibly longer. (Man, the T is going to have a field day with this when he sees it.)

Okay, deep breath.

When I was little, I had a really close friend named Thomas. He was a year or two younger than I was. I lived two houses down from him when we were little. I remember being in his house one day and playing in a bedroom. I'm not sure if it was his room or a guest/playroom. I feel like it might have been the latter because I think that his actual bedroom was the rooom right next to the one we were in, but that might be wrong. It's just a weak impression. I was probably about 6 years old (because I know how old I was when I lived on that street). I remember trying to play a game that we might have called "doctor," but again, I'm not really sure about that detail. I might have added that later to legitimize the interaction when I learned that it's a common activity for young children. I remember what I was thinking though. I wanted to touch his p*n*s. I wanted to feel in control of it, to explore it in my own good time. He didn't want to, and I backed down disappointed. Earlier, when this first really hit, I was horrified and felt flooded with emotion of sorts. Now though, I am cold and neutral. I feel disconnected from the whole experience now, and it feels like maybe it didn't happen at all.

I don't know what to think anymore. I want it all to go away.

Me