I need to get going before the older boy comes up behind me on his bike and harasses me. I need to run and when he bothers me I have to walk so he doesn't chase me.
Today, I have lucked out. I have made it all the way to the back porch. I am searching behind the railing for the key. I need to get in. I manage not to drop it this time and dance as I insert it into the old lock. I crash through the door, leaving it open, even though it is winter. I make it half way down the hall before my bladder lets go and I pee my pants. The flow rushes like an opened dam and is relentless while I wet through my clothes just as I have every day this month.
I hated having to raise my hand to ask to go to the bathroom at school- I was painfully shy. That kind of shyness is a form of anxiety. I didn't use the facilities during lunch or recess because I felt like it was too close for comfort with so many other girls in there, laughing, putting on lip gloss. It was just another torturously awkward event for me, so I held it all day in order to avoid my anxiety.
Something about turning that key was symbolic for my body. Why it couldn't wait even thirty more seconds is still a mystery to me. All I knew was that it was just one more thing that I was sure was disgusting and different about me.
Child Abuse, Sexual Abuse, PTSD, Anxiety, Self-harm, Cutting, Depression, Survivor, Survivor of childhood abuse, Postpartum depression, postpartum psychosis, OCD, Recovered memories, Repressed memories, Spousification, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicide, Teen Suicide, bullying, drug abuse, incest, memoir, Attachment Disorder, reactive Attachment Disorder