Whew... Mind is reeling

I tried to talk to my husband about my discoveries last night.  He is on a business trip across the country and was not particularly interested in what I had to say, other than the creep does not live here in our town.  It was as if - Oh, we're safe from running into him at the grocery store, so it's okay.I am a listener.  I am a person who genuinely cares for people and their joys and sorrows.  I think that I am approachable.  My trouble is that I don't like to reach OUT to people anymore.  I spent many years trying to foster relationships only to be left behind when everyone else went on to work, to school, to their busy lives.  My phone doesn't ring unless it is a person wanting money (solicitors, telemarketers, donations, etc) or one of my kids.  Or my kids' schools.  Come to think of it, they always want money, too. I often had better relationships with my penpals than I did with people at school.  Maybe it was the writing that bound us letter writers together... I want to have real life friends, but I need to work harder at it.  I guess I wrote that to express that I do not have anyone here IRL to talk about this with.  Even my husband, who I should be able to confide in, just wants to fix it or ignore it.When I woke up this morning I kept asking myself if I am supposed to *do* anything with the information I found about DD.  I wanted to do sneaky things like try to approach him in his dream makers bullshit and act as though I was interested in being a follower.  I wanted to post nasty, but entirely TRUE things about him on an anonymous blog or something along those lines.  For so long I have debated in my mind whether the things I remember and/or told to my friends were true or embellished or what.  Then as I mulled it over today, I recall being in therapy when I was 13 and even in my deepest denial, being shown the PROOF.  DD had lived at the apartments that I said he lived at, he had rented the type and model of car I said he drove, he had gotten my phone number to babysit from the person I said he did. She (the person) did not want to talk to my mom about DD or the fact that she had given my name to him until she had talked to her husband.  If she was innocent or did not have some feelings of guilt or remorse, why would she need to talk to her husband before telling my mom what happened?  I had babysat for her more than once -- not pleasant but I did my job -- so she probably did not think twice about recommending me, especially if DD asked. My uncle had dug up other things about this guy and my mom knew it was real.  But I felt BAD thinking that I was getting some guy in trouble when I didn't even know him.  All I can think is that the wounds are so deep that I could not face it. I knew what I had told my friends, but I told myself I had lied.  I had made it all up.  But it was real.  Like it or not, I was abused repeatedly. I was impregnated. He forced me to have an abortion.  I remember bleeding all over my brother's letterman's jacket on Christmas Eve that year and how pissed off he was at me for getting blood on it.Predators blend into the background, right?  This guy blended. Predators sense the weakness of their prey.  I was already so damaged that I might as well have had a sign or a target saying "Won't tell -- Abuse at will".  I wore that sign for years and years...I really wish my Mom was alive so I could talk to her about things.  She was there back then and loved me through all of the chaos.  She also was a clinical social worker and licensed therapist so she had skills of helping to process old stuff and not taking MY problems and blaming herself.  She has been gone almost 5 years.  She is the person I always knew I could trust to love me and be there for me, even when I felt my most unlovable.  I hope and pray that she will be allowed to whisper in my ear, to help me remember my strength and relay Christ's healing love.  I suppose forgiving DD is not quite complete.  Usually I am clear in my mind that the past is done and that I was not responsible for what happened, or for the misguided choices I made in the subsequent years that were due to my being severely twisted and having my mind effed up.  I put up with bullshit from boyfriends, mind-f*cks as a teenager, went into a mentally and emotionally abusive relationship with my ex-husband, etc.  Even now I put up with things with my husband that could be abusive, depending on my perspective.  He has his own demons and his depression is getting the better of him lately.  We are better when we are in the mode of taking care of each other, instead of dwelling on our own pains and old bitterness.So, what do I do with the information I have?  Right now I let it stay where it is.  I looked at my 7th grade yearbook this afternoon, just to try to remember what I looked like.  I had great 80's hair!  LOL  But I looked far away. I was obsessed with love. I wrote fiction(ish) stories all the time and was acquainted with things far beyond what a 12/13 year old girl should know.  I desperately wanted to be the object of love and affection.  I did not have relationships with boys at school.  I was shy, perhaps, but I had just as many boys sign my yearbook as girls.  I did have friends.  However, not close friends. Not friends who knew my secrets.  By the end of the school year I was having a completely inappropriate relationship with an overnight radio dee-jay.  My gosh I was effed up in the head.God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change;Courage to change the things I can;And the wisdom to know the difference.I really want to have my soul open to receive inspiration and comfort from the Holy Spirit.  I feel as though huge walls are up around me and no matter how I try to knock them down from the inside, they are just as strong as ever.  Every disappointment and trial in life has built them up stronger and stronger, to the point where there is no gate in or out for the Holy Spirit to come through.  And I need to restore my soul.Sorry I ramble all over the place.  Stream of consciousness writing... It's kind of what I do.
dea