Follow the Arrow.

I tossed and turned last night with Dr. M's voice ring in my ears, repressed memories, something so horrible that I buried it deep down, in the depths of my soul where it would stay for as long as it could until one day it had to come out. It would be conjured up at some later date, after I had made my way merrily through life when all of a sudden a field of tulips triggers a memory and I remember that one summer I went to my uncle's cabin, deep in the forest, right by the tulip fields and I remembered the abuse I suffered at his hands.

But there was nothing like that in my past, I was sure of it, the time I got molested in the second grade is still as clear as if it happened yesterday and I can describe the culprit's face as if I some him seconds ago. I can feel my body stiffen as he comes up behind me and I squeeze my private areas as tight as I can because I can feel his fingers creeping lower and lower down the smooth, soft space that forms a triangle shape between my legs, like an arrow pointing the way to the hidden treasure.

It was as if my body betrayed me and made it easy for anyone to find what should be the most sacred and protected place for all women, I mean isn't that where the idea for the Chasity belt came from? But no, here my body was providing a guide for whomever came along to seize, to conquer, to take whatever liberties they pleased. I often wonder how a seven year old knew what lay beyond the flimsy protection of cotton and denim? Perhaps he had an older brother who showed him the way or an older sister whom he peeked at in the shower, whatever the case this boy violated my innocence before I even understood what his actions meant. I guess I don't have to suppress things to have skeletons in my closet.