Speak

The more I learn and understand of the entire situation my friend is in right now, and the more I remember of our conversations from the previous year regarding when things first started, the more convinced I am that silences should be broken. I can’t help but feel that had we been able to convince her to speak earlier then the resulting events would not have occurred.

Silence is both a blessing and a curse. It can save lives, maintain relationships, and just as quickly rip lives apart. The problem with using silence is that one must know when to maintain it, and when to speak. Today, for the first time I officially involved my family in the problems my friend was facing. Usually as adolescents and/or children we tend to handle things on our own, and situations become exacerbated. Had I chosen not to speak today, I do not know where my friend might have been, what frightening thoughts might have gone through her mind or what could possibly have happened to her to add to all the horror that already exists. When we couldn’t locate her for those first few hours, I felt so upset and so worried. I’ve mentioned this before in my post on Friendship: sometimes we need to perform what might appear to be an act of betrayal, to help save those we love–Speak.

Silence

Today, I find it so ironic the way my life has played out. In some ways I am the secret keeper for myself and others, and that very same position has constantly locked me in a box that I will never be able to escape. I guess what once again brought the point home for me today was seeing my mother’s reaction to the knowledge that one of my close friends had been raped/molested eventually resulting in her fleeing her home. The ensuing conversation between mother and I just seemed too close to home in a way. Having her pull me into a conversation that required me to explain what goes through the mind of a victim without actually revealing that I was once upon a time in a similar position was….uncomfortable to say the least. I remember when I was younger I would try not to move or breathe when the topic of abuse came up, because I didn’t want to give the secret away by even shifting an inch at the wrong moment. Then to have her say that usually the family doesn’t believe the person who tells his/her story tonight just sort of put the icing on the cake. All I kept muttering to myself was to maintain control and not tell her to shut up because I knew and understood to some extent how difficult it was to balance family and secrets and memories and conflicting emotions. I guess that’s what brought me to write this short post up here, because being the secret keeper doesn’t exactly leave room for many confidantes. Ah well.