Photograph

 Today's writing prompt popped up unbidden in my head earlier today. Just a visual--no sound other than the echoes in my head.  There exists a picture somewhere of me, age 12, wearing a sports uniform, hair wild, red-faced, tear-stained. There's a male, back to camera, standing over me, arm raised. The setting is my mother's kitchen.  I'm cornered, literally no way out. 

One of my sisters took the picture. I saw the flash of her instamatic camera go off, and even though I was already in a rather disastrous state, apparently there was still room to bottom out. I remember screaming at her, and she and my brother laughing at me. I don't remember what happened next, but apparently I got out of that alive. 

I saw that picture exactly once before it disappeared. And I remember thinking that I felt exactly like that, how I looked, in that moment. 

It's probably one of the only extant pieces of evidence that what happened, happened. Maybe that's why it vanished. 

I hadn't thought of that moment in decades, which is why I'm surprised it came up while I was doing a mindfulness exercise, of all things. Then again, the level to which I've been exorcising all the demons guaranteed that moment would surface, eventually.

What happened?  Nothing that hadn't happened hundreds of times before, except that somebody caught it on film that time. No one enjoyed pushing my buttons like he did, and it took me decades to bring my reactions down to a point where he didn't have that power over me, anymore. 

Oddly, about 30 years or so after that particular moment, we were gathered, and he tried to do it again.  I can't even remember what he said, it was just a carefully calibrated comment to make me snap. 

I was able to recognize it for what it was, and responded coolly. Again, don't remember what was said, just that my response was not the one intended.  He told me then to calm down.  I put my head to one side and informed him I was calm. He told me to calm down again. I laughed and walked away, shaking my head. 

By that point there was a lot of water under that particular bridge, and I had more important shit to deal with. 

Running parallel with this line of memory was a breakup. Actually, two of them--but the voices are as one, telling me that I am only looking for an excuse to break up with them. And both times I shrugged and said I didn't need one, but I was, nevertheless, breaking up with them. 

I'm conflating stuff again--not sure what one thing has to do with the other. Except that maybe, the stuff that went before made it possible for other abuse to happen....that I deserved whatever I got.

It is connected.  Fortunately, I was able to break the cycle. 

Meanwhile, elder is coming in here holding forth about all the ways his rights as an elevator enthusiast have been violated over the years by various school administrators.  Both of us licking our wounds in the relative quiet.  I am trying to stifle the urge to tell him to do something more useful, since I'm pretty much doing the same thing he's doing, except I'm a lot quieter about it.

In the present time, he's stuck. I don't know how to unstick him. 

I've been going through more things and cleaning out in between; have another box and contractor bag ready to go. Hoping to get another bag or two together before dropping elder off at work. 

Maybe also another box or two.

Amended to add:  I sat with this a little while today. Probably the most resonant thing in all this is that my sanity was always the thing called into question. I've been called some variant of crazy more times I think than my given name has ever been used. I'm having a quiet laugh over the people who have told me that they hope I get the help I need. Ironic. I am recovering from PTSD and who caused it has no apologies but a boatload of allegations of how I continue to aggrieve.  Narcissistic Personality Disorder is an actual thing, and I am getting the help I need to recover from being a target of abuse.