Her Yellow Swimsuit

Abused Victims Anonymous

      I thought about coming to the meeting in more ways than one, and strategizing how to avoid confronting it. I planned on doing tremendous escapes so I could not fulfill my promise to the group. It was my shrink who enlisted my name there. She explained gravely I needed to be there. 

      Did I really need help? Or was it just the illusion of the people around me that indeed something was wrong with me? 

      "You must be Hyacinth...", the group's Coordinator welcomed with an almost overstretched warmth, to the point of extreme exaggeration. I had the habit of squirming whenever I was held or touched inappropriately by another being, whether it be a friend or a loved one or someone close to me. I just hated to be touched. 

      A couple of ex boyfriends had broken up with me in the past because they deemed me cold. They were unsure whether to me, they were just my stuff toys or care bears. They could not take it that I was freeing myself from any form of intimacy whatsoever. And they begged to ask why...why my kiss was lifeless...why my hug was impersonal. 

     "Yes Sir, I am." I was a bit hesitant and even stammered at some point. "I don't really know what to expect." 

     "There's nothing to expect. All you have to do is to share your experience and voice out your sentiments. And no one will judge you." 

       Mr. Teddy, that was his popular pet name among the group's circle. 

      We were about eight or ten in the group. Truthfully, I could not count properly at that time because nervousness almost ate me up. I was abnormally and overly bothered, it it was the best description for my stature. And so the sharing began. 

      Each of the participants all began with their stories with, "When I was blah blah blah...", emphasizing the age when the particular abuse happened. 

     Our commonality as a singular group was ABUSE. At one uneventful day in our lives, something unexpected happened...against our own will... and we were taken advantage of.  Some of us have forgotten and forgiven our abusers, the others would  never recover. 

    I was the last one to speak in the group. And when it was my turn to open my mouth, I felt restrained, as if multiple hands were suppressing me from coming forward. And I thought I lost my voice momentarily. 

    Everyone was staring at me now. 

    "When I was nine years old...", the words began to flow and stopped midway. 'When I was nine..." I tried again and I burst into a well of tears. "I'm sorry I can't." And I fled to the rest room. 

     Mr Teddy followed me to the area and comforted my back with his reassuring pat. "It's gonna be OK. Don't force yourself." 

     "I need more time..." I sobbed. 

     "I know..I know...".