“Mondays are the potholes in the road of life.” I agree with Tom Wilson on that, although probably not for the same reason he said it. For me Mondays mean another therapy session. Since the repressed memories started those sessions are often distressing. But today I actively dreaded going. Last week I got a hint that I faced more repressed memory. There was something more to the buried alive episode that I had not remembered yet. Since burying a memory deeper generally turns into more traumatic, I was not keen on seeing this one. Hence, the dread today.
Thankfully, this memory proved overall easier than I expected. In fact, there was a moment when I just wanted to laugh. That certainly doesn’t happen often during these things so I want to share it.
Memory
Let me first back up a step because I haven’t shared this memory in any detail before. One day when I was 9 my brother-in-law, Drake, volunteered to baby-sit me. His version of that was to drive me to a wooded area, rape me, hit me in the head with a shovel, and then bury me in a shallow grave. I had already remembered that part.
Remembered, too, choking on the dirt when I regained consciousness and found myself totally buried. Then Drake pulled my head up out of the dirt. He explained the lesson he expected me to learn while I clawed the rest of me out of the grave. We then marched back through the woods with Drake punching me in the back when I just stumbled along. Reaching the trunk of his car he took out a jug of water and started splashing it on me. He ordered me to wash away the dirt but I just stood there shivering. I was in such a state of shock that nothing really registered.
And that was the problem. Drake loved fear. He wanted complete and utter terror from me but I wasn’t giving him that in a dazed state. So today’s addendum to the memory showed me his rage when I did not react like he wanted.
Addendum
Drake grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked hard as he demanded, “Are you stupid? Too stupid to be scared? Don’t you know that I could kill you and no one would ever find you?” Then he continued to call me stupid as he dragged me around the back of his car. I was already naked so he just pushed me face down onto the back seat. As the adult survivor I quickly realized that he intended to sodomize me. But as I watched the memory I saw that he never did. Drake was unable to . . . perform . . . which enraged him even more. I’ll stop there because the memory continued into other things that the 9-year-old Me found horrifying. And then it turned to relief because another vehicle entering the woods prompted Drake’s decision to quickly leave them.
That inability to inflict sodomy was the moment today when the adult Me wanted to laugh. I saw his failure with a touch of glee and could not hold back a giggle. I wished there was some way I could taunt him now. Even a tiny hint at justice feels good.
Healing
Driving home I wanted to share the humor with someone and I immediately thought of my sister. Only Nicole could truly appreciate the irony here. And she did. We laughed together about it. Laughter is wonderful medicine for the soul.
But Nicole also provided additional insight into just how furious Drake would have been at such a lapse. She stated that he apparently decided to jolt me out of my shocked state by inflicting intense pain. No doubt that would have worked. So, being unable to do that when he intended would have absolutely enraged him.
I am grateful I missed the additional pain then, but even more grateful I got to laugh today. According to Madeleine L’Engle, “a good laugh heals a lot of hurts.” It’s true. It really is true.