Gemini’s words…
‘… So much I don’t understand and I am so angry right now, so angry. I screamed to let it all out and I know I have not yet done an anger release regarding the abuse to release that part of it. As I cried on Tuesday night I felt my pain and anger and sadness and disappointment that my parents will never see me that way - in pain, they will never see the deep pain they caused, they will never see the impact of their poor choices in my eyes. They will never see me.
So the opportunity is now here for me to let out my anger and hatred and I will take it. Kids or not, I don’t want this fuckin’ shit in my body anymore. I want all of it out, every last fucking grain of sand worth of this fucking abuse crap the fuck out of my beautiful, perfectly normal and healthy body.
I could scream right now “get out - get the fuck out of my body”. It’s so tiring. It’s a good thing that I know this is all worth it and that I am not afraid of the dark.’
When I was nine I would ride my bike, a hockey card in the spokes of my wheel, sputtering up and down pebble filled lane ways in my neighbourhood. It was my favourite thing to do. Most of my childhood memories consist of this, along with jumping roofs, climbing everything and pretty much being an ideal case for the use of psycho-stimulants. Returning home, I would back my bike up like a motorcycle and park it. My father wanted to remove the middle bar, removable on most bikes at the time, to indicate it was a ‘girls’ bike. I told him no. I liked the bar, made my bike feel more like a motorcycle.
I’d go into the house and wander downstairs. I knew exactly where Gemini would be. Standing before an olive-green refrigerator, chalk in hand, Gemini would be teaching a class of imaginary students. I’d sit in for a moment or two as she took attendance, then get up and go, leaving her alone once more.
Checking in, that’s all I ever did with Gemini, was check in. We were two hugely separate beings. She loved dolls, dresses and skirts. I loved pants, cars and sports. There was nothing between us that was remotely the same. She was pretty, fair, intelligent. I was homely, darker, in ‘special-ed’ for language-arts and math. The F’s on my report card didn’t represent ‘Fantastic,’ they indicated ‘Failure,’ I was an ‘F’ student. Gemini was an ‘A’ student right from the beginning.
When the sexual abuse occurred, Gemini and I never spoke to each other about it. We handled it alone. That’s how it was for me, alone. That’s how it was for her, alone.
Gemini’s words above are recent, Friday past, to be exact. Gemini has not read any of my blog entries since ‘Can’t no Preacher Man Save my Soul.’ She felt the stark nature of my words concerning the abuse. For years Gemini’s issues have been with our mother, gliding past the core issue with our father. For me, it’s always been about my father. I don’t defend him and I won’t defend him. A few years ago when my mother was admitted to the hospital because he had roughed her up, I told the administrators exactly what happened. My father was put on probation for three years. I was still living in my parent's home at the time (insert smile here).
I’ve never given Gemini proper credit for being my Hero. As a child she was timid and often hid, protecting herself from the noise as my parents argued. I would creep out of the bedroom to listen at the top of the stairs. There’s no courage in stupidity; I was born this way. Gemini, however, was a quiet fledgling who has emerged from the ashes as a beautiful Phoenix, strong and graceful in every way.
I’m sorry I never stood by you Gemini. I’m sorry I never clawed at him and ripped his face off when he was with you. I’m sorry I rolled over in exhaustion and relief that it wasn’t me. I’m sorry I failed you as your twin sister. I’m sorry I was there and didn’t protect you. I’m sorry you experienced the fucking horror, alone. I’m sorry that ‘I’m sorry’ can never change history, eradicate pain, or cleanse your soul. It should’ve been me. It should’ve only been me.
I’m not sorry I chose to incarnate on this planet with you, I need you. I’m not sorry that you’re smarter and prettier, I love you. I’m not sorry that I’m at your mercy, doing anything you wish me to do to facilitate your healing, I serve you.
I’m not sorry anymore because I’m here, you’re not alone.
Listen.
Continued on Saturday July 23rd 2011
Until then, I remain yours,
Lesley
Hallelujah Heartist
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