Adolescence Tested

I walked away.  I walked away from that day.  The day I told of my failures, and was dismissed.  The day I told of my losing value.  I walked away.  Well, I thought I did.  And yet I held onto those nights.  Those days where uncomfortable hands were "normal."  I didn't seem too scared in the moment.  Just confused.  And confused.  And not questioning what was routine for a visit.  Years of consistent images; feeling older than I was; made to know objects, and parts that were intended for married couples . . . I was confused.  Uncomfortable.  But not terrified of the routine.  I had been taught at the young age of three, not to cry, but take the pain.  To toughen up.  To deal.  I had been taught at the age of three to grow up.

*Part one