I haven't made up my mind yet about pressing charges against my Grandpa. My cousins are interested in it... I DO want justice. I DO want to see him be held accountable for the horrible things he did to us. I want him to know that what he did was wrong. I want to confront him and let him know that he stole my innocence and robbed me of a childhood. But I don't know if him going to jail will accomplish that. I know, a bunch of people would probably slap me across the face for not having him put away when I had the chance. But the thing is that sending him to jail would mean ruining my Grandma's life. She already said if people found out how sick he was, she'd move far far far away and live alone. She's so close to death. I can't turn her life upside down at the very end. I know I'm supposed to think about only me in this. My mom told me to forget about everyone else and just think about what will make me feel better. And the thing is... I am thinking about what would make me feel better, because my Grandmother's feelings are intertwined with my own. To say that her happiness isn't a big part of my own would be a lie. You don't understand. This woman sat me, the black sheep of the family, on her lap everyday when I was little. And she'd tell me fun stories. And she always said that one day I'd do something really special. She told me that a little birdie told her that. And I believed her. She was the greatest Grandmother any kid could ask for. She made delicious rice pudding and let me try on her lipstick when no one was looking. Yeah, she's recently betrayed me in the most horrible ways, but I can't act like everything she did before now is meaningless.
Right now, I feel like I'm holding a loaded gun. Just waiting for the moment when I know whether to pull the trigger or not. I feel like I'm choosing between myself and my Grandmother.
I'm running out of time. i need to make a decision soon.
All of this is very bad and stressful, but it's also relieving to put it on the table and to let everyone know what happened to me. It's like every time I talk about it, a little weight is lifted from my chest.
I've been going to counseling once a week at some Women's place. It's for like rape victims and shit. I like the counselor a lot. She's sassy and smart and really warm hearted. I like being in her office and sitting on her couch and talking about all of the horrible agonizing shit he put me through. We talk about that stuff and then we deal with it together. She says I have PTSD. eh, I don't know if that's true. But it would explain a lot. She's been helping me move on. The only thing I don't like about that place is being in the cramped waiting room. It's like there I am, sitting in a college sweatshirt and jeans, next to a woman dressed in a business suit, who's sitting next to a little oriental gal in a work out suit. The three of us just sit there, flipping through magazines, sighing occasionally about the weather, trying to act like we're not wondering whether the other person was raped or molested too. It's the most awkward thing ever.
The counseling is worth it though. I've never felt so on track in my life before. It's like there I was six months ago, kneeling over some random guys coffee table, snorting painkillers, acting like I cared about whatever that guy of the week's thoughts were. I'd sleep with them, not because the sex felt good (quite the opposite actually), but because something happened. And I know it sounds really stupid, but the attention felt so good. I can't explain it. So, there I was... this smart girl wasting all of her potential on partying, doing drugs, and having sex.
But ever since I started doing counseling, I've stayed sober. And I haven't slept around since new year's. I've been doing other things. better things like finding true friends to replace the old ones. I've been doing volunteer work. I've been keeping myself busy in the most Mother-approved ways. And that actually makes me feel really good.