I've been staring at his house all week...trying to make sense of it....remembering things....like how he used to take us into the woods behind his house and smoke pot with us....and he would wear cutoff jeans with no underwear so his dick would hang out the leg hole.......like how we used to skateboard on the street in front of his house....like how he used to expose himself to us kids when we were playing in the street......somehow that only made us laugh.....it never occured to us something was seriously wrong here.
And I remembered details of the abuse itself...the taste...the smell...disgusting things I won't go into here....but I have to remember it all. I have to own it all. Every fucking detail has to be crystal clear. I can't let it be like a faint ghost haunting me anymore. I can't run from it anymore. It has to be real for me to deal with it. I can see that house...its real...he's real....and it brings it all back.
"Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more"Kansas