Does it Matter?

In my job I read a lot of info about other people.  Most of it is public knowledge, some of it well-known, some obscure.  And I’m pretty sure some of this knowledge are skeletons in people’s closets.  Then there are the people I deal with that didn’t even have a clue that these things were a part of their family history.

On occasion I even find a piece of info about myself.  This time though, the info I read threw me for a loop.

I only know loosely the ages I was when certain abuses happened to me.  Mostly I don’t remember at all.  I find this very frustrating but there is nothing I can do about it.  Try as I might I just can’t remember.

But I was pretty certain of my age when I was being abused by a particular man.  I was sixteen years old.  That age was set in my mind.  And besides I should know that, since I was by that time old enough to remember details like that.

That is until I read this piece of info about myself.  Turns out I was fourteen when I was being abused by this particular man.   Obviously my memory is faulty in that area.

What’s the difference if I was fourteen or sixteen?  Maybe the difference is that at one age I am still a (sort of) child and the other age a (sort of) adult. What bothers me about that?

Finding out that I was fourteen at that particular time raises the question that maybe I was younger than I thought when the sexual crap (and all the other crap) started happening and kept happening until I was eighteen (but now maybe I’m wrong about that as well).  I do know that it started happening before I started going to school but at what age?  What does it matter what age I was when anything happened?

I’m not sure why but finding out that I was younger than what I thought I was at that time really, really bothers me.

And that leads me to wonder if what happened to me (what I can remember) actually   happened.

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13 Responses to Does it Matter?

  1. Just Be Real says:

    Sorry for your struggle here on this one dear. With my abuse, I too am not certain when my brother sexually abused me. I am thinking around the ages of 8-9. I have a few vivid memories and also wonder if there were more times, but just cannot recall.

    Here listening……

  2. One long journey says:

    Echoing your frustration on this one – although I don’t remember a lot and don’t remember the beginning (I’ve always assumed it was when he first came into our household when I was 6), I’ve always been sure the end was when I was 10-11 and in 5th grade. BUT – the documentation of the ER visit I found in my mother’s house was when I was almost 9. So – could I be off by a year or two? Unfortunately, no one to ask at this point.

    I sometimes have this fantasy that I am able to map it all out by tracking down the ER records and the lawyer my mother saw during the divorce proceedings. Too bad it was all before the electronic age.

    And it does matter to us, so it is important.

    • lostinamaze says:

      I guess I wonder why it’s important to me. I wonder if it would give me a sense of validation particularly since I don’t remember much. The only way I can know anything is when I run across little tidbits of info accidentally like I did at work.

  3. Harriet says:

    I think it is important, if you think it is. No one can tell you what is important or what matters. Your feelings about this are real, and worth exploring. A year or two does make a difference. It must be very frustrating, though, to not be able to find out for sure.

    • lostinamaze says:

      I have a hard time accepting that what is important to me really matters. It is frustrating to not know but I think that I will have to learn to accept this how it will be.

  4. Dear lost
    I hear so much of your fear and confusion in this post. I can’t tell you how heartbreaking it is to hear your questions… the pain of uncertainty…
    I’m so sorry for the horrors you have had done to you. You have every right to know, you have every reason to have blocked a lot of it out, and you are on a long, painful journey of self discovery.
    You deserve to believe yourself.
    You deserve to know that it mAtters. It does because YOU did then, and you do NOW.

    X

    • lostinamaze says:

      I wish that I could actually believe that anything about me matters. I am hoping that the pain of this journey will be worth it in the long run. Deep down I must believe and that is why I continue. And I have to trust my mind that there is good reason why it has blocked stuff. Probably mainly survival.

  5. I just wanted to pipe in and say that I think it matters because the small shreds of what you think to be true, and then told aren’t, is devastating. At least you could say, yeah this happened to me at this age. It doesn’t make it better, but at least you have some control in that you know.

    Maybe it will be hard to get on with the fact that the age wasn’t right, but you can take back some of the fight in knowing more concrete details.

    Does that sound lame? Maybe – either way, you’re brave to even look for the answers.

    • lostinamaze says:

      It doesn’t sound lame at all. In fact it gives me a bit of a different perspective. One of the reasons I found it hard learning this was it was totally unexpected. It really through me off, but you’re right at least I know some truth about it now.

  6. Milo says:

    lostinamaze, i think it matters too. the concept of what happened and most of all, it was WRONG. for many years when i spoke about it no one believed me and for me that was the hardest part. it affected everything else in my life. it mattered to me. and since no one appreciated what happened to me, i felt like a lying cheat in everything else i was doing in my life as well.
    I wish you all the good things, happy and calm thoughts.
    lots of love,
    Milo

    • lostinamaze says:

      I think one of my problems now is that I started second guessing all my memories. If I was wrong in this maybe I’m wrong in what I thought happened to me. At the same time I know this isn’t right even if I have some of the details not quite right. I do know what happened to me – what I can remember anyway.

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