Friday, July 11, 2014

Trying to Remember

(an encore post by Cecil Murphey)

"I keep trying to remember," he said. "I know something happened, but I can't remember exactly what it was." That's not uncommon.

I've written a number of times about my abuse from an old man named Mr. Lee. I know he abused me. I remember his inviting me into his room, putting me on his lap, and laying my hands on his hairy chest. But I can't tell you what happened after that.

For a time I tried hard to recall the details, but they didn't come. I finally decided that they were too horrendous for me to accept. That sounds simple to me now, but it was frustrating then. I wanted to know.

Or did I?

What I truly wanted to know was the certainty that I had been molested. Because I couldn't recapture the intimate details, for a time doubts filled my mind. Am I making this up? Is this my imagination at work?

So much has happened since those days, but two things stand out. First, even though I didn't have the so-called smoking gun of full, intact memories, I had the effects of the abuse. Second, when I finally talked to my three sisters, they confirmed several facts about the abuse.

If I don't remember details, 
it's because I probably can't handle the details.

1 comment:

Joseph said...

Neither do I remember what happened to me 69 years ago. I was in an Alabama bus station waiting to get on a bus to Greenville, SC. I was in the men's room and something happened in one of the stalls. I know it did, because what I do remember is going back into the waiting room and wondering if everyone in the room knew what had happened. That was the summer I turned 17, but when I remember the day, I see myself as a 12-year-old boy. My counselor says that is not unusual considering the psychological abuse I had at home. I never told anyone until 2012. I always felt like I had somehow cause whatever happened to happen. It was like a thunderbolt to realize and accept that what happened was male-on-male sexual abuse. At that point, chains began to fall off. There is hope, my brother survivors. There is hope and healing. To God be the praise.