being alone or loneliness?

i have always been a loner. too weird, too different, too other for friends. for most of my childhood, my closest friends were family members my age that i saw once in a while.

my first best friend was foisted upon me by my mom. she'd been friends with the girl's mom for years. the girl was just a year older than me. we were in the same grade. we looked so similar we could have been siblings. it was too perfect.

that's just about where the similarities ended. mostly.

she was outgoing, popular. her group of popular friends moved like a herd of bison together, grazing on other kids' self esteem. forming a circle around their own to shield each other from the unclean.

i was an outcast, strange, quiet, gullible and naive and an easy target for bullying.

she dictated our play, always. we went where she wanted. we did what she said. oh, i could make suggestions, but in the end it was her call. i followed her around like a good little toy. at school, at my house, at her grandma's house, at her mom's house, i was hers to direct. and i should be grateful that she would give an ounce of her time to someone like me, an other. 

for just one recess, on just one day, i wanted a break from her. i asked for a break from her, just to play by myself. just for ten minutes. just for one recess, on that one day, that's all, i promise.

she went and cried to her popular friends, and her popular friends formed their big hairy snorting circle around her, showing me their horns, promising to use them, because i had wounded one of their own. i should be ashamed of myself. i should feel terrible for abandoning my friend, for all of ten minutes. bad little dog. kick, kick. now you're not allowed in mommy's purse.

they wanted me to feel bad. she wanted me to feel bad. i didn't feel bad. i felt angry. i felt vindictive. i played with other others and felt a sense of mean satisfaction as i watched the herd nurse their poor, wounded calf. if they chased me i would turn and bite, i decided. show me your horns, i'll show you my teeth.

they never chased, but they snorted. how they snorted. how long did it carry on for? hours? days? doesn't matter. i could hold out. i was starved for any semblance of power.

all very harrowing sounding for schoolkid drama.

of course, i can't look back at her now and feel angry. she was a little girl, around 7 - 11 during our friendship, and she had her own demons; her own broken family, her own abusive family. hurt kids hurt kids. it's a harsh truth. children aren't equipped with the social and emotional skills we adults have learned over the years. they only know what they observe.

some observe a lot. some partake, willing or no.

she was my first kiss. another idea of a game to play, and as always, her game her rules. i hated the taste of her spit. i hated the texture of her tongue in my mouth. i hated her hands on my body. she told me to get on top of her, but that we both needed to keep our pants on, because she didn't want to get pregnant.

sex wasn't a foreign concept to me by then. when i was four, my cousin gave me my first hands on demonstration. this childhood friend was the... fourth kid? fifth? so by that point, i knew the drill: don't tell. keep it quiet, because you knew better, you knew it was wrong, you'd get in trouble. so sit quietly with the shame. sit quietly with the dirt and shit and rot festering in your soul. just don't tell anyone.

now i know that she was being molested around that time by her mother's boyfriend. deep down, i think i always knew that. takes one to know one. a little girl doesn't know so much about sex all on her own.

"According to a 2003 National Institute of Justice report, 3 out of 4 adolescents who have been sexually assaulted were victimized by someone they knew well."

i recently told my therapist about a family member my age who sexually harassed and abused me for years, starting around that same time. i mentioned that he'd suffered traumatic brain damage at a very young age that caused a personality change. no, she said. that type of childhood sexual deviancy isn't caused by hitting your head. no, no, his behavior was learned.

learned from who?

"...3 out of 4 were victimized by someone they knew well."

i have an uncle who molested a little girl, his stepdaugther, when i was young. oh! but! he turned himself in! (somebody give the man a medal! quick!) so he did his time (he did some time), he complied with his court mandated therapy, and then an entire side of my family opened their arms to him, said hush-hush, and swept it neatly under the rug. but his dirt was still there. he started dating again, single women with children. he was allowed near us kids in the family, often without supervision.

my siblings and i only found out the full truth within the past 5 years or so. and all our childhoods we'd been forced into his presence. there was no reason we needed to know. there was no reason not to trust him. because he didn't mean it. because it was just a mistake. because he paid his dues.

boo-fucking-hoo.

"Of sexual abuse cases reported to law enforcement, 93% of juvenile victims knew the perpetrator: 59% were acquaintances, 34% were family members, and only 7% were strangers to the victim."

this family member who sexually abused me, he wasn't the only other kid who displayed sexually deviant behaviors. he wasn't the only other kid to go on to sexually abuse other kids in the family. it makes me sick. it infuriates me. the adults can bend over backward, contort themselves until they break in some mental circus, wear drunk goggles, deny, deny, deny, but it isn't hard to put 2 and 2 together.

2 (child molester) + 2 (free access to half a dozen or more kids at any given time) = WAKE THE FUCK UP AND SMELL THE SHIT YOU PLANTED IN YOUR OWN HOMES!

normal. shame was, is, normal in my family. manipulation, fear, control, silence, confusion. that was, is, my family's normal. abuse— emotional, physical, sexual— that was, is, my family's normal. and you keep quiet about it. you don't question it. it's normal, but you should be ashamed of yourself. don't talk about it. you sit with that fucking shame. oh, no, honey, it wasn't your fault. but don't talk about it. your family loves you! we all make mistakes! forgive and forget, peace and love, go fuck yourself.

needless to say, i grew up with an unhealthy relationship to trust.

i grew up with an unhealthy relationship to love, and to sex. and to childhood, and to innocence. i'm still just a child, please, i'm a kid, i'm just a kid, really, and i don't know how to grow up, and i don't want to. i want to be a happy child. i want to be a safe child.

but my childhood was never innocent, never pure, so i can't be innocent or pure. i can be a hurt child. i can be a sick child. i can be other.

i can let myself be small, i can let myself be in that headspace. i can play, i can see the world with childlike wonder, but the gaping wound the abuse left, that's not going anywhere.

it heals, it does, but sometimes it itches. i try not to scratch. scratching only makes it worse. but it fucking itches sometimes, it really, truly does. and i'm not that strong. i try and try and usually succeed, but it gets too... much. too much, sometimes. cone of shame? bandaid solution. take away my autonomy? cruel, inhumane. when i scratch my itch, i don't hurt anybody else. i do it quietly, in a corner. good dog.

i don't feel lonely for friends. i don't feel lonely for understanding, really. what do you understand about me? go on, tell me. i know i'm not special, i'm not the only one with issues, with these issues, with this trauma. duh, doy. why would i want that? why would i wish understanding on anyone, when understanding the thing comes from experiencing the thing? i feel solidarity, i do, but i also feel sadness.

i get lonely, just sometimes, for acceptance. like me? do i care if you like me? fuck no! like me, hate me, i don't care. but accept me. see me. you see me right now. you, reading this, you see me. like me or hate me, you're seeing me. do you accept that this is what i am? do you accept that i deserve the same respect you'd give your peers, your equals? am i human enough for you?

you can't convince me that i'm deserving of any less. you won't. i know what real love is, now. IT is ALL. all is nothing, everything is one. fuck your empathy. you use it to justify hate. i spit on your empathy. compassion! compassion is love!

but i won't beg for acceptance, and i can't command it. demand it? i can do that. these are the rules for my amusement park. have you come to gawk? enter with eyes wide open, and accept! fucking accept what you see— this dirty, smelly, ugly, human-shaped freak. careful, it dreams of biting! boo! ha-ha. fuck sake. i'm harmless.

i don't want to be your friend. i want you to see me, and then you are going to accept me.