and waking up from the nightmare.

I've had some private comments about my last post, because yes, the girl was me, and yes, that is what really happened.
One of the things, anyway.

Many of the commenters (most of whom are related to me) were concerned about me being so public with that story, and some were hopeful that in some way, it might allow me to heal or move on.

I rang my sister the day after I published, to see what she thought, if I'd crossed a line, and she said that hadn't even occurred to her. She only thought how bizarre it is that we used to think of that as our normal lives, and how amazing it is that we all grew up to be normal, functioning people.

Neither of us think that we're 'stuck' in the past, but obviously it has had an effect on us.

I wrote the story to get it out of me; I published it because for the whole of my life, I've been ashamed of where I came from, and even of who I was.

No more!

I didn't DO those things, I didn't CAUSE them, and I'm not going to bear the weight of that shame any longer.
This is where I've put it down, and this is where it's staying.

a dog story. No happy ending.

I read a post today that I can't stop thinking about. You can see it here, and then this post will make a bit more sense.

When I was a teenager, I was ... well, I'll be kind to myself and say 'plain'.
I grew massive boobs at 14, and they got a lot of attention, but the rest of me was pretty uninspiring.
The boys at school, who were a fairly stupid bunch, used to call me all kinds of things, and I was one of 'those' girls who never got asked to dance and spent the evening dancing with other girls at the disco.

One day, when I was 16, I went swimming at a local waterhole with some friends, and while we were there, a bunch of yokels rocked up.
One of them, Chris, who was a few years older than me, and engaged! to be married!, called me over and asked me if I wanted to go for a walk with him.
This was yokel-speak for 'd'ya wanna shag?'
I said no.
He tried his most winning tactic.
"Oh, come on," he said. "The other guys say you're a real dog but I think you'd be a good root."

Shockingly, I was not convinced by this, and said no again, and turned to walk away, and he got all pissy and called me a few other names which I won't repeat here.
After that, he would always glare at me and mutter about cock-teasers, while I could never look at him without feeling that burn of shame and humiliation.
Dog?
This is the first time I've ever spoken about that publicly. I still feel the shame, 30 years later.

I stalked him on Facebook a few years ago. He's divorced, with a drinking problem. Are you surprised?

I don't get what it is with some boys, that they have to put girls down like that. Obviously, they're shallow, insecure, immature, and all those other things, but knowing that doesn't ever take away the pain and shame of the things they say.

Seasidechik is a beautiful girl. She dresses well, she looks after herself and her family, she's bright, and bubbly, thoughtful, a loving mum, and a fantastic wife.

And today, she's nursing bruises on her soul because of some loud-mouthed gits with not a brain between them. I want to smack their heads together, force them to crawl on their knees over broken glass to apologise to her, make them cry....

... the way they made her cry. Bastards.