*possible trigger warning*
I am totally and completely aware that dwelling on or even thinking about what if's or what should have been's or whatever is completely counter productive. Totally unhelpful and maybe even harmful. It was pretty much the only thing that I did towards the end of high school and in to my (very early) 20's (I'm only 25). All I could think about as I was attempting to navigate the murky, traumatic memory filled waters of my depression was one question: "What kind of person would I be now if I hadn't been molested?". That question, sometimes worded differently, flashing in my mind in my darkest, saddest times. A bright, buzzing neon "what if".
It's harmful to think about that, I think. (What would I know, I haven't seen a therapist yet). Harmful to visit that place where I daydream about this girl, this version of Luna that is completely OK. She's about fifty pounds lighter, she has clear skin (whoever claims the secret to better skin is to drink more water is seriously mistaken, I think I'm the most well hydrated person out here and I still have awful skin). She has a good job or she's about to finish school and get a good job, a job that she's passionate and happy about. She has a great boyfriend and they are planning to get married and start a family soon. She never got married at 22 to a man she didn't love simply because she felt suffocated and trapped and like she desperately needed to escape her own self-imposed prison. She has great friends and good habits and she doesn't let men use her as a stand-in until they find the person that they want to marry.
I know that I will never be able to change what happened to me. Never. I will never have true justice. That Luna that haunts my daydreams, that mocks me from her secure and neatly put together bubble doesn't exist and she will never exist because the real Luna got molested and it changed her brain and changed the way she coped with things and shaped the choices she made and the way that she saw herself and lots of other things. The anger that I felt has lessened considerably. The pain has lessened as well. Surprisingly, it's been a change that I hardly even felt happening until I look back now on the way I felt a year ago, even. It will never fail to cause a twinge of anger when I consider that one decision that was out of my control changed the course of my life.
Who told my brother that it was OK? That he was allowed to make a choice that would destroy me? Has he ever thought about it? Has he ever gotten therapy for what he did to me? Does he ever feel sorry or guilty or anything? Does he ever want to apologize to me for what he did? I think this is the first time I've typed these questions out without crying. I think I'm finally approaching some kind of peace with this situation and for once I'm not, not crying because I feel numb. I just generally don't want to cry.
It's hot and I'm sleepy and and I miss J, I'm at his house until tomorrow because I like to prolong my suffering and spend days at his place even though we aren't dating. He'll be home from work soon and I'll be my usual stupid self: begging him to give me attention and being hopelessly in love with him.