Why is that my mind wanders away from reality so quickly? They call it dissociation but if I could live in an altered state, none of my story would be true. And, if it were true, I’d minimize it. Change the destruction of its path. I would temper it to the point where it had no meaning.
That’s just fantasy though.
The day I was five and watched my mother drive away, leaving me all alone, once again abandoned, in that house on their mountain – I’d change that. She would have lifted me up and told me she was sorry. She didn’t mean to leave me that day, she’d just forgotten I wasn’t in the car. That’s all. She hadn’t intentionally left me on the hill with the dead lady. She wouldn’t do that.
My father and brother just loved me so much they had to sleep with me. They couldn’t help themselves because our bond was so strong. We loved each other. We needed the depth of relationship to change through sexual intercourse. That’s it. It wasn’t rape.
Lolita had nothing over me.
I listen to people do this all the time. The brutality too cruel, they change the story. I tried to do it for years. I needed my mother’s love, so I pretended. My father was a funny guy that liked to tell stories and me and my brother were great pals.
The great pretender.
It didn’t get me very far down the road of recovery. But, I liked it while it lasted.