I have a junk drawer;  I even have a junk cupboard – places for things that don’t have a place.  And, I had a dare-I-say-it, junk room.  I hated it.  As I cleaned the rest of the house things that didn’t have a permanent place just kept getting thrown into this room.  A room that has had several purposes over the last 7 years:  a formal dining room, a makeshift office, a nursery, a craft room.  I want it to be my office space.  A nice office with a real desk and real storage, but first I need to wrap my head around what to do with all the stuff that is in there now.

We would lie in his bed, watching TV and he’d fondle me.  I don’t know if he penetrated me.  I just don’t know.  But I do know there were times that he’d insist that I return the favor.  I remember what I think was the first time he unbuttoned his jeans and took my hand in his, pushing it under the waistband of his underwear, until it reached his coarse pubic hair.  My tiny fingers reached his penis.  It was warm down there.  I pulled my hand back.  He pushed it back down.  That’s the last thing I remember.

Alcohol and the grace of God, spared me the memories of the rape, but I’ll never forget the harassment I endured, after returning from my TAD trip.