Tell It Like It Is

I have been trying to make my way around the blogging world, trying to find and read others' blogs who have been unfortunate enough to have endured experiences like my own. I have not come across too many; perhaps I don't know where to look, or perhaps they are still working through the intensity of emotion that comes with surviving the unthinkable. One blog I came across is Penelope Trunk's Brazen Careerist. I have read several posts on her blog. She is open, honest and very brave. In addition to several other topics, she has no problem telling the world of the host of monstrous experiences she weathered at the hands of her parents. Many of the comments to one post in particular, "How to decide how much to reveal about yourself", imply that possibly she is an attention seeker, crying out to be noticed. I mean, here she is for all the world to see, giving out the raw and uncensored details!


Some of the comments I found offensive, suggesting that hiding the truth is better than saying it out loud. I will say this. There are those of you out there who walk around with unscorched souls, your decency intact, never knowing the savage sting of fist on delicate flesh, or the unbridled fear of absolute abandonment, the apprehensiveness that hunger brings on. You may have your say, but there are some things you should know. As an abused child, your voice is taken from you, and therefore you are unable to cry out for help, or tell on those who stole your innocence. Those of us who have survived have long awaited the moment when we can point the finger and say what it was and where it happened. We are only removing the hand that has been clasped over our mouth. To be able to speak and know that you will not be hurt is awesomely liberating. We speak for those who are still unable to do so for themselves.

I do not dislike anyone for the wholesomeness of their life. Yours was the one I would have preferred to have. I ask you to open your minds as to the reason why someone would be so willing to spill the beans. The cover is taken off for the countless others out there who will read and say. "I am not the only one who endured".

I used to have a friend who would regale me with stories of sneaking out of the house by going through the maid's quarters. Occasionally, he would slip the doorman a few bucks not to be seen. He lived in a penthouse on Park Avenue and being denied to him meant being out of town in the Hampton's and not being able to attend the next debutante ball held at The Plaza. His Holden Garfield existence was what it was. I did not look down on him for it as he did not (as far I remember) look down on me for coming from nothing. We did not judge. We did not choose the hands dealt to us. We just played them the best we knew how.