Background

This is a long one, please read as much as you can. I'll write it in parts

part one

I struggle with the idea of acceptance. It comes to me in waves, usually I get stuck in denial and then anger. I didn't process any of the anger until last year. When it came out, I cried for days. My therapist was gentle and patient with me. But I was livid. I was angry at everything I lost.

It wasn't until I started learning about anger that I began to understand its root. I was processing the assault, abuse, loss, family troubles, and endings. I blamed myself for so long. It's cliche but it came out in floods. It started when I was 16.

It's normal for a child to want to find good parental figures in life, most people get a solid foundation with a mom and a dad, it's also common to not get that. I was the latter. I tell my friends that I was raised in a dual parent household, by a single mother. My dad had a garage he worked in after he got done transferring margarine and butter around at his factory job. He liked cars, he like to work with his hands, I didn't, neither did my brother. That created friction between us, he could do anything he liked with us, therefore, nothing in common, equaling to not being interested in my children. My mother had to pick up the slack, often taking my cousin's in as well because her sister couldn't figure out how to raise kids. So there was four of us VS one parent. Great set up mom and dad. Thanks. It wasn't until years later, in college I understood the damage this caused. Because my dad wanted nothing to do with me, I looked for other father figures, and I was successful. However, they were terrible people; I didn't know that at the time.

When I was in 10th grade, sophomore year, I began to notice the difference in behavior one teacher paid other students. Not just any students, blonde hair, blue eyes. There was a type. They had to play the flute in a band and had to look naive. I noticed it with two of my brother's classmates at the time. Maybe I was curious and flew too far into the sun, and that's why I ended up stuck in the middle of the abuse. Maybe he saw this and knew I knew you know? Like he was worried I would say something because I knew and that's why he placed the trap. I didn't think anything of it at this point but I knew something. Now I did keep my distance and I do still get mad at myself for not walking away, but I know I was A CHILD and he was AN ADULT. He prayed on vulnerable girls. It is not my fault. But that only came after a decade of therapy.

In 2013 my brother graduated high school and left town. The best thing he ever did. I had two more years left. I turned 17. My band director needed a new prayer. I didn't drive, so I needed my mom to drive me to the pep band. At first everything was normal, but then I noticed the awkward eye contact, the extra lessons after school he scheduled. I thought he wanted to make me better at playing, but that was never his intention. My friend at the time also played the flute and we would schedule lessons together. I am grateful she was there with me so most of the sexual abuse hadn't taken full affect yet. So when I started doing solo lessons towards the end of the year to prepare myself for senior year, he grasped on. At first, it was little things, the feeling of being noticed. I didn't have friends in my class, so the idea of what it meant to be a friend was skewed. At first that's all I thought it was, friendship. But when the hand holding started, the idea of someone liking me became something I liked. I always thought that I wasn't pretty enough, or likable enough in because all my classmates never showed an interest in crushing on me. Looking back, I don't want anything to do with them. But this feeling was new. I had felt something similar with my guy best friend, but he wasn't able to communicate feelings and left me hanging. (That's a story for another time). So, I didn't think too much of it.

As the days went by, and seasons changed, the behavior ramped up. He started leaving things in my locker; getting there really early to put heart shaped chocolates in there. Christmas presents and even a rose when it came to valentines day. Lessons were after school, usually 30 minutes, and lasted an hour. . Most of the time we would talk, honestly it felt a lot like hanging out. When I turned 18, I could drive so it was a lot easier for my mom to not drop me off anymore, so lessons could run longer. But it also became a lot harder to lie to my mom about this too. So I started learning new instruments, saxophone, and then joined a jazz band. Now I had morning lessons, regular band lessons with everyone, and solo lessons. He made me feel like I was a good player, better than my other classmates. But I was confused because I never received a solo or even a duet. I was placed in the second chair. Maybe this is where my anger towards him started. Why did he tell me I was the best flute player in private, but he seemed to be embarrassed by my playing when we were in the group. Now I know I sucked. But his behavior told me otherwise.

As graduation started to approach and the snow turned into buds, I began bottling up my pain and anger. We took our classic band and choir trip to Nashville and Louisiana around this time. Here I think he was really starting to lose it (he paid my way to go on this trip). I remember getting really sick, like a fever of 104 and having to sleep on a bus for 20 hours as we made the trip back. All I wanted to do was sleep, but because I am fortunate and can't sleep in a moving vehicle, I had to stay up all night. He came to sit by me when the rest of the kids were sleeping, definitely really ballsy. But even more so when he would rub my legs while others were there. I remember feeling really angry at him. Wanting to tell him to leave and kick him. But because I was so sick, and my throat was swollen shut, I could get anything out. So I had to sit there overnight with him, not sleeping. It was my own little version of hell. This was my breaking point. When we got back, my mom drove me to the ER to get checked out, but the doctors never figured out what was wrong. So I went home and then back to school the next day.

There he stood there in the hallway as I came into school that morning. Still with a fever and not able to talk rest. (thanks mom for teaching me that sickness is not worth missing school). I was mad. I didn't want to see him, I didn't want to be at school. But I had to get through it. One day at a time. I kept myself busy but working on the spring play and working at concerts. (reasons why I still hate Neil Diamond and Sweet Caroline). But somehow he was always there. And I was sick of him. I started walking through the stage to get to my locker, completely avoiding him in the hallways. This made him mad and he started verbally harassing me. But I knew I was stronger and walked away.

By the time I graduated, I wanted nothing to do with him, and he broke down crying. I remember lying to him in his office about coming back and visiting. I never did. I wanted the hell out of my school and the hell out of this town.

I worked over summer to make money for college, and he visited me three times, always ordering butter pecan ice cream. By the third time, I told him to get lost. I could not wait until I could pack my bags and leave.