The other day I decided to call someone I used to consider a friend. If you’ve read this blog for a while, she was the one who told me that people who are sexually abused should just “get over it” and “move on”. Yes I know, I’m an idiot, but I thought that after months of not hanging out, maybe I should try again to connect with her. I’m not very smart considering that there are things about this woman that remind of me mother, and I try to overlook them but it’s hard. Their attitudes are very similar when it comes to what’s acceptable as far as how physical you get with your kids. My mom wasn’t my sexual abuser, but the physical abuser( I feel the need to remind people).
This will be hard to explain for people who aren’t in my situation but I’ll try to do it because it’s a key reason (I think) that I keep trying with her. I’m black, but my whole life I’ve been made fun of for “trying to act white” or being an “Oreo”, black on the outside, white on the inside, like the cookie. It’s been a constant thing in my life, the reason being that I’m from a rather poor area in the country, and things are still racially segregated there. It’s just how things are. Well, my grandmother, the one who loved me, the one whose body I found when she died, she started teaching me at a young age. She taught me how to read when I was 3, and she had me memorize my multiplication tables too. She was a big believer in teaching yourself and in reading books. I’m like that too. Anyway, she also taught me how to speak proper english, and when I say “proper”, I don’t mean uppity and snobby english, I mean, school textbook english. This emphasis on self-education and schooling made me stand out from everyone in my neighborhood and even in my family. I was bullied in school, chased by other kids and spit on too because of being different. As I grew up and moved from place to place, it made me stand out then too. I was just being me though, but for some reason being me was considered being stuck-up. Anyway I kind of get looked at strangely by some people of my own race even now, not always, but enough that I feel isolated. My husband is white so his family doesn’t factor in. This particular woman is also black and she’s about the age of my mother. I thought that since we got along, maybe I could have a connection to someone who I’d know back home, if I was accepted back home. Huh, for some reason this is making me upset. Anyway, this woman, despite claiming to have the same moral beliefs as me, has outright bragged about physically assaulting her daughters as kids like me, (and since they became adults, as my mom did to me) and she sees nothing wrong with hitting your kids and all of that stuff. And then of course there was the sexual abuse comment. Oh, she’s also the one who has a mentally ill daughter who was once curled up in a closet, ready to kill herself and she gave her a knife and told her to get it over with, and then she left her daughter and walked out the door. Yes, I know, once again, I’m an idiot. Why have I tried to connect with her? Maybe because I hope that if I can change her outlook on abuse, it would be like changing my mom? I don’t know, but I do know that when I’m with her, part of me feels physically threatened by her. Weird huh?
So, I called her the other day and she called me today and… wait for it…we had lunch. Yeah! She hasn’t changed at all. Everything is all about her, just like my mom. She craves attention over little things, just like my mom. She’s crude and socially embarrassing, just like my mom. So, now I sit here, regretting reaching out. I thought I was doing something good but now I feel like crying and don’t know why. I do know that I’m an idiot and I knew better but I wanted to try anyway. The fallout is my own fault. I just felt like writing about it. Thanks for listening, even if it doesn’t make sense.