Date: Fri, 10 Feb 2012 14:23:07 -0800 (PST)
From: Bono Torros <bonotorros@yahoo.com>
Subject: Sleepy Days, Come No More_Chapter 14

Sleepy Days, Come No More

Chapter 14

After I left the cabin I took a cab to the bus station. I had already
bought my ticket, but the bus wasn't due for a few hours. So, I sat on a
bench and listened to music. I was really beginning to doubt my decision. I
knew that Blake would be hurt and would feel abandoned by my sudden
departure.

I continued to run the questions through my mind as I waited for the
bus. Should I go? Should I stay? Would Blake forgive me? Finally, I decided
not to think about it anymore. I believed that I was making the right
decision. I probably should have done it years ago.

When the bus arrived I boarded and found a window seat. It was a long trip
and there was a changeover. The hardest thing about long bus trips are the
seats, they were so hard, which only exasperated my already sore rear.

I spent the trip looking out the window and shifting around in my seat. My
thoughts were mostly about Blake. I knew that he had probably awakened and
found the bed empty. That he had scrambled to his feet and called out for
me. He would have looked around the cabin in search of someone who was long
gone, a ghost. He had probably gone back to the bedroom to call me; only to
find my letter.

I hoped that the letter would explain everything. Explain the nightmares
and the distance. The reluctance to move forward. I hoped he would
understand that this was the best choice. That I was doing this not just
for me, but for us both. I had to leave to get better, he must understand
that.

These thoughts whirled through my mind until I reached my destination. Once
I departed the bus I took a taxi to the clinic that I would be staying
at. I called Marie to let her know that I had arrived. I saw that I had
several missed calls and a few voice mails from Blake.

Message 1:

"Steven, baby, what is going on? I read your letter. What do you mean you
are going away? Where are you going?" He paused. "Baby, call me, I am
worried and I want to talk to you. Call me." He exclaimed.

Message 2:

"Baby, listen, we need to talk. Tell me where you are and I'll come and get
you. We can work this out together baby. Please, call me."

Message 3:

"Steven, why haven't you called me back! You can't just leave. What the
hell are you doing? Call me!"

Message 4:

"Baby, I'm sorry for yelling at you. I know you are upset and are going
through a difficult time; I just want to know that you are okay. I just
want to hear your voice. Baby, I love you. Please call me."

End of Messages.

I stood outside the clinic, wondering if I should call him. I wanted to
talk to him, to convince him that everything was alright, but I didn't know
what to say and I didn't want to doubt my decision. I decided to send him a
voice message.

My message to Blake:

"Hey, baby. It's me. I got your messages, sorry that I didn't call you
right back, my ringer was off. Um, I am fine. I am going to a clinic, I am
actually there now. Um, there is to be no communication the first week, so
that the clients can focus solely on their treatment. Um, my cell phone
will probably be taken, so you probably shouldn't call this number. As I
said Marie knows where I am and if you need to let me know anything, just
tell her. I will write you soon, very soon. I know you may not believe me
but I really love you. Bye."

End of Message.

I entered the clinic and was escorted to a room for processing. My phone,
wallet, belt, shoe laces, and iPod were taken and locked away. The contents
of my luggage were searched. I submitted a urine sample and was given a
physical examine.

After we completed the admittance process, I was shown to my room. It was a
smallish room. There was a large window, a full size bed, a night stand, a
dresser, a chair, and a desk. There was a small bathroom, with a toilet,
shower and sink.

I put away my belongings and looked out the window. There was a nice view
of the water. I stood and gazed for a while, until I was interrupted by a
knock on the door. It was a staff member. She wanted to give me a copy of
my schedule and review the rules and expectations, and so on.

After she finished she gave me a tour of the facility and introduced me to
some of the other staff members and clients. When we finished the tour, I
returned to my room until dinner. Then I observed a group therapy
session. In truth, as I listened to some of the clients, I started to doubt
if I was supposed to be there. Their problems seemed to be so much more
severe than mine, and their lives were in such disarray.

I began to think that I had overreacted, that maybe things weren't as bad
as they seemed. I mean I was doing well. I had that great promotion. I have
a nice apartment. I have saved a lot of money. I had done everything
exactly as I planned, and in addition, I had Blake and he really loved me,
so what the hell was I doing here. I mean these are the type of people that
I work with at the hospital, not me.

I conduct group therapy sessions, not participate in them. I should be
happy and grateful for my life. I have a great life.

Once the group session was over I began towards my room. On the way I
nearly bumped into someone. She was a short woman, about 5 foot 2
inches. She had bright red hair, which was shaved on the sides in a type of
Mohawk style. She had pretty dark green eyes.

"Excuse me." I said.

"Oh, that's okay. You new here?" She asked.

"Yes, I arrived late this afternoon." I explained.

"My name is Cassandra but everybody calls me Cassie." She said as she
extended her hand.

As I took her hand in mine I saw that she had scars around her wrist and
there were scratches on her forearm, some of which looked rather fresh. I
stopped myself from staring and with a smile said, "My name is Steven, nice
to meet you Cassie."

"I'm in 207, where are you?" Cassie asked.

"I'm in 212." I said.

"Oh, cool, we're kinda neighbors. I'm going to the rec room to play pool,
if you need anything let me know." Cassie said.

"Thanks. I appreciate it." I said.

We continued on our separate ways. I went back to my room and read over the
literature that I received about the facility. It was the standard
information; I had passed the same type of documents to families when I was
completing an admission at the hospital.

I lay on the bed and thought of Blake and my family. I knew that my family
would not approve of me being at the clinic. I thought about things for a
while, and then decided to call it an early night. The next day I completed
my hygiene and went to breakfast.

After I received my food, I went to an empty table to eat, but was waved
over to another by Cassie. I went and sat with her and two other
people. The first was a young man; he looked to be about 20 or so. He had
piercings in his lip, nose, and above his eyebrow. He also boasted some
impressive tattoos. He was a slender guy, I couldn't be certain of how tall
he was because he was sitting, Cassie introduced him as Tristan.

The second guy was a heavy guy. He looked to be around my age. He had a
chubby baby face and wore glasses. He had sad eyes, but beyond the sadness
there was kindness. He was smiling broadly. Again, I couldn't really be
certain of his height because he too was sitting. Cassie introduced him as
Ricky.

We ate breakfast and talked as we ate.

"So, Steven what you in for?" Tristan asked.

"In for, it isn't prison." I said with a laugh.

"This must be your first time; my family has had me in and out of these
places since I was six." Tristan said.

"Oh, well, yes this is my first time. I just need to get a few things
sorted out." I said.

"What things?" Tristan asked.

"I think that information is best left to me." I replied.

"Tristan, don't be an ass." Cassie exclaimed.

"Hey we all need help; the first step is admitting there is a problem."
Tristan said in a sarcastic tone.

"Yeah, I admit that you are the fucking problem." Cassie retorted.

"Sorry, Steven, these guys can get a little expressive, but they are good
people." Ricky said.

"Well, there is nothing wrong with self-expression." I said.

"Okay, to demonstrate my sincerity, I will tell you why I am here. I use
drugs and am into goth. They say I have a chemical imbalance that causes me
to behave badly. Apparently, walking around naked and drinking animal blood
is wrong, but if I had fried it up, it would have been fine." Tristan said.

They talked further about other clients and impending activities. I just
observed, smiling from time to time and adding a comment here and there.

Later that morning I attended my first therapy session, with Dr. Meltzer, a
clinical psychologist. We began with the usual introductions. He directed
me to a chair and he sat across from me. It was a cozy little room, with
warm colored walls and generic art.

Dr. Meltzer smiled kindly at me and said, "So, why don't you tell me about
yourself."

I produced a small notepad from my pocket and began, "Okay, well, I don't
want to waste time so I'll just jump right in." I paused. "I was sexually
abused by my uncle my grandmother knew and I believe my mother
suspected. My parents were pretty negligent and have a tumultuous
relationship, that often involved verbal and emotional abuse, and physical
violence, but that waned over time. I have four siblings, three older half
sisters and a younger brother. Um, I am gay and I have recently entered
into a monogamous relationship and I actually just recently consummated
that relationship with penetrative sex, with me as the recipient, it was my
first time since my childhood." I took moment to read my notes. "Okay, I
think those are all of the major issues, next is diagnostics. I have been
very depressed for many years, starting with the sexual assault. I believe
the symptoms are consistent with post traumatic stress syndrome which has
caused an acute depression, which may rise to the level of clinical
depression or could possibly be considered bipolar disorder, but that is
such the trend diagnosis these days." I smiled. "Um, there are also some
avoidance and intimacy issues that require address. But I think that should
be sufficient for now." I said.

Dr. Meltzer smiled and took a breath, "Well."

"What? Did I go too fast, would like me to clarify anything?" I asked.

"No, I understand. It is just, usually the client starts with where they
were born, what they do, and things of that nature." He explained.

"Oh, well, I have already divulged that information during the admission
process and I was under the impression that it would be included in my
file, and that you would have access to all of that. So, I had no desire to
cover that ground again, especially since it is the least of importance." I
said.

"I understand. You say that you want to jump right in?" He asked.

"Correct, that is why I made this outline, I want to accomplish as much as
possible. I want the session to be goal oriented, so we can realize the
best outcome." I explained.

"Steven, therapy is not time sensitive; it varies from person to person. I
understand your desire to get everything in order but it may take more time
than you anticipate." He said.

"Doctor, I am aware of how these things are done, I am in nursing and I
specialize in psychiatric care. Now the difference between me and many
others is that I realize I have some issues and I own that, so we won't
need to waste any time with denial. I just need some assistance regarding
emotional management. I am here to get these past issues resolved so I can
continue to move forward." I said bluntly.

"I see and how do you think we should go about this?" He asked.

"I think we should focus on behavioral modification, cognitive development,
things that will enable me to better manage my feelings, I mean because the
problem lies with me and I know I can get it corrected." I proclaimed.

"Steven, have you considered that your issues may be deeper than you are
able to convey?" He asked.

"I don't understand, I think I have established that the issues are pretty
significant." I said.

"What, I mean is you seem very detached from the emotional aspects of the
issues. You state them with apparent indifference." He said.

"Would you prefer that I cried doctor, would that convince you that I am
attached?" I said.

"I do not want to upset you; I simply want to express my initial
observation." He explained.

"Doctor, the issues are apparent there is no need to become overly
emotional about them, I don't feel that that would help anything." I said.

"Okay, maybe we should move on. You stated that your uncle had sexually
assaulted you. Could you elaborate on that, when it happened, how long?" He
asked.

I took a deep breath and sighed, "Well, um, the actual assault happened
when I was five, but there was fondling that had occurred first, and that
went on for quite awhile. It is difficult to give an age, it was so long
ago, but I would say the fondling started when I was about 3 or 4. It
started as tickling or sitting on his lap or wrestling, but over time he
started working his way lower and lower." I explained.

"Could you describe the assault?" He asked.

"Sure. Um, it was anal. The first time we were playing a game, it was a
game I had made up, it was similar to hide and seek. My uncle was hiding
and I found him and then he chased me." I paused. "It's funny, it was a
really, weird kind of day. It must have been the start of winter, you know
when it begins to get dark early, the sky was darkening and there were
these beautiful dark pink streaks in the sky. I could feel that something
was going to happen," I paused, "you know that surreal feeling, like
something isn't right. Anyway, I was running and in a moment I went from
happy to frightened, I had knots in my stomach. We ran in to the living
room and he caught me and pushed me against the sofa. He wrestled with me
for a few minutes, in a playful way. The way he always did, but soon he had
me pinned against the sofa on my knees." I stopped.

"Would you like to come back to this later?" He asked.

"No. I was wearing a long tee shirt, um, it was probably his or my
aunt's. Many times I would be dropped off over my grandmother's house for a
visit and would end up spending the night, so usually I slept in a tee
shirt." I paused. "He, um, started to touch me, it all happened so fast. He
had me pent over the sofa and had pulled my underwear down and he started
to insert himself into me. I think he said that he wanted to try something
new, I may have agreed, I am not sure. But I remember when he started I
felt the worst pain I had ever experienced and I told him to stop. I was
struggling to get free but he was so strong I couldn't. He just kept on and
he was begging me to let him, to stay still." I paused. "Once he had, um,
once he had completely inserted himself into me, I lost all of my breath,
it felt as if someone had punched me in the gut, you know that feeling when
hit your funny bone and you feel sick and light headed. My eyes were full
of water and I couldn't speak. I couldn't comprehend what was happening to
me. I just lay there motionless as he finished his business." There was a
long pause. "Afterwards he just left me there, he always rushed off after,
maybe in shame or to clean up, I don't know, but he left me there bent over
the sofa with my underwear about my knees." There was silence.

"At some point he came back and he was just begging me not to tell and
saying how sorry he was. He just seemed so pitiful, and he kept begging and
begging. I remember just sitting there, with my insides aching, and
listening to him but not really hearing what he was saying. I didn't cry. I
just sat there with my arms wrapped around my knees and my eyes on the
floor, rocking back and forth." I paused.

"That was that." I said.

"I think that we should stop here." He said.

"Okay." I said.

"I think that this was a very good start. During the next session I want to
discuss this further, I would also like to explore your feelings about what
happened and about your uncle. So, I would like for you to give that some
serious thought, perhaps write your feelings down." He suggested.

"Alright, Doctor." I said.

He stood up and walked me to the door. I was scheduled for a meditation
class about an hour after my session and a group therapy session after
lunch. Since I had an hour I decided to go to the chapel. I don't know if I
went to pray or if I just thought it would be quiet, but I went. It was a
dimly lit room. At the front there was an altar and there was a table with
candles and a statue of the Madonna, as well as a crucifix with Jesus on
it.

I wasn't particularly religious, but I had grown up believing that there
was a God. I hoped there was one, that there was some reason for life. I
sat in the chapel in complete silence and felt some semblance of safety and
strength. Rather it was from God or from the tranquility of the room, that
is a matter of personal perspective, but I was at peace in the chapel.

Later, I attended the meditation class. It was okay. There was a lot of new
age music and stretching and visualizing peace, at least that is what the
instructor wanted us to do. Oh, and to find our center, she kept mentioning
that also. When, I left I felt completely relaxed.

I went back to my room for a while and then had lunch and went for a
walk. Next it was time for my group therapy session. I was not at all
pleased with the prospect of group therapy, I almost didn't go, but I
committed to the program and I said should at least make an attempt. It
turned out that this group dealt specifically with sexual abuse. I noticed
that Ricky was in this group.

As I had done the day before, I mostly observed. I was asked to introduce
myself, and I did, which completed my contribution to the group. Some of
the members would argue amongst themselves at times and the group leader
would have to mediate.

When the group was finished I attended an exercise class, a team work
activity, and went to the recreation room to watch television. Many of the
channels were blocked; I guess they wanted to prevent any negative concepts
from interfering with our treatment. I went to dinner and sat with Cassie
and Ricky, Tristan wasn't there.

After dinner I played pool with Cassie and Ricky. Then I went for a walk
around the grounds. I attended another group therapy session, and
observed. The next day I had breakfast and attended my second therapy
session.

"Hello Steven." Dr. Meltzer greeted with a smile.

"Good Morning doctor." I said.

We sat across from each other.

"So, how are you feeling today?" He asked.

"I feel fine. Thank you." I said.

"Last time we talked about your uncle, you explained the first assault. I
would like to discuss that further." He said.

"Okay. I think I told you everything about the initial experience, what
would you like me to say?" I asked.

"I want you to discuss the progression of the abuse." He said.

"Okay. Well, um, after the first time, he continued. I spent a lot of time
with him, he watched me after school and on weekends. So, he would make
advances toward me and when I refused he would force himself on me. The
first times were struggles, but over time I stopped fighting. It was almost
like we had a schedule. Every day after school, usually on the living room
floor. Depending on how long we were left alone, it might happen two or
three times a day." I said.

"What were you thinking while it was happening?" He asked.

"I don't know, the first time I was shocked, maybe I shocked the first few
times, but over time I didn't really think about it, I knew that it was
going to happen. While it was happening, I would just be lost in my own
thoughts. Over time I couldn't even feel it, I mean I would have pains
after, but during I just stayed still and let him do his business. The
television was usually on, cartoons." I paused. "The more time went on the
more he wanted to try different things. He would call me to his room and
play pornography movies and asked me to try this or that. He would beg,
please, please, just try it. He just would never leave me alone." I
explained.

"What about your grandmother, you mentioned she knew?" He asked.

"Yes, one day she came home early and caught us." I said.

"What was her reaction?" He asked.

"He stopped and she physically accosted him." I said.

"Was there any interaction or conversation between you and your grandmother
about what happened?" He asked.

"She took me into her room and told me that it was over, I don't recall her
exact words but that was the gist of it." I said.

"But it didn't stop?" He asked.

"No. It went on for years after. She would even call and ask if he was
`bothering me', I mean he would be standing right next to me. What was I to
say, yes? She caught us another time, this time we were in his room and he
climbed off of me and we scrambled to put our clothes on. We were dressed
when she came in, but she knew that something was going on. She asked point
blank. He denied and I did too. She took me in her room and asked me in
private but I still denied it." I explained.

"Why did you deny it?" He asked.

I thought about it for a moment, "I didn't feel that she had the right to
ask me. She knew what was happening and she didn't help me. I loved my
grandmother. She was like my favorite person, and when I needed her she
just left me." I paused. "When she caught us the first time, I just knew
that everything was going to be okay, that she was going to save me, but
she didn't. She left me with him. Just like my mother." I said.

"Like your mother?" He inquired.

"I felt my mother knew." I paused. "I was always begging her not to go over
there and I was crying all the time. My whole personality changed, when I
was home I would sleep all day. There would be days that I would go around
the house in the same clothes for the entire weekend. My school counselor
even advised that I should see someone." I paused. "Once she was taking me
over there and as usual I was tearfully begging her not to take me and she
looked back at me and she asked why, and I just looked at her and I
couldn't say. So she yelled why at me, and we looked in each other's eyes
and I know that she knew. She started to cry to and she went and bought
cigarettes. She never smoked and she smoked a cigarette, cleaned her face
and took me there anyway." I paused. "I couldn't believe it. That night I
sat in the hallway and cried and rocked back and forth until I fell
asleep. After that night, I stopped resisting. I let him do what he wanted
and stopped expecting someone to rescue me. I accepted it as my life, no
more tears." I said.

"You accepted it as your life, how old were you?" He asked.

"Um, about seven, maybe eight." I said.

"Tell me about your relationship with your mother." He instructed.

"It is not good." I paused. "I don't really know what happened, it was like
one day she just started treating really badly. Especially after she and
daddy had a separation." I said.

"When did they separate?" He asked.

"When I was eight. One day I came home and all of our stuff was in
boxes. She took me and my brother to her mother's and the next day we moved
into our new apartment, just like that." I said.

"How did her treatment of you change?" He asked.

"She was just angry all the time. She was always yelling at me and calling
stupid, saying that act like a bitch. Over time I had more responsibility,
when I was nine I started washing all the clothes and doing the ironing. I
would be at home alone with my brother for a few hours at night and I would
have to get us both bathed and ready for bed." I paused. "It just didn't
matter what I did, she always seemed to be yelling at me or hitting me for
one thing or another. I remember just being so nervous when I heard the
door knob turn. My stomach would be in knots." I paused. "Sometimes she
would be happy, but you never knew which she would be. One day she would be
screaming at me and hitting me, the next she wanted to spend time with
me. It was insane." I explained.

"What about your father?" He asked.

"We were actually close at first. He has a very fun and charming way about
him. I loved being with him, he was fun and nice, and he always gave us
what we asked for. But when he and my mother separated he stopped spending
time with us. He would say he was coming to get us, me and my brother. We
would get dressed and wait but he would never show. Or we would call and he
wouldn't answer the phone. Sometimes my mother would literally chase him
down and dump us off on him, and then he would drop us off at his mother's
house." I paused. "When we first moved to the new apartment, I would always
tell my mother I wished he was there or that I rather be with him. She
would say that he didn't want me, at first I ignored her but after he
continued to lie to us and break his promises, I stopped getting dressed to
go with him and if he showed, which he seldom did, I would just stay home."
I explained.

"I asked you to think about your feelings about your molestation. Can we
discuss that?" He asked.

"Of course, um, it was a terrible event. It is unfortunate that it occurred
and that it lasted so long." I said.

"Yes, but how do you feel about it?" He asked.

"I just told you, it was an unfortunate occurrence. I wish it had never
happened." I said.

 "Were you angry or sad?" He inquired.

"I suppose." I said.

"Earlier in the session, when you were discussing your grandmother, when
she discovered what was happening, you said that she `caught us'." He said.

"Yes, she caught us." I confirmed.

"Well, that conveys a certain level of responsibility." He said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"When you said caught us, it made it seem as if you feel some
responsibility for the molestation. Do you think that you are in some way
responsible for your abuse?" He asked.

"I think you are putting a lot of importance on a couple of words." I said.

"Okay. How do you feel about your uncle?" He asked.

"I think that he made a horrible mistake, that he was obviously a troubled
person. Um, he had been abused and he continued the cycle." I said.

"Is that all?" He asked.

"Yes. That is all doctor." I said dryly.

"You said that he had been abused, could you explain?" He asked.

"His half-brother, no relation to me, sexually abused him." I said.

"Do you feel that his abuse justifies yours?" He asked.

"No, I simply meant that his abuse probably clouded his judgment." I said.

"When did you learn of his abuse?" He asked.

"He told me years later. I had run into him at a shop, I was 16. He came to
me and told me that he had been abused and that had been the reason for his
behavior." I said.

"Did he express any remorse?" He asked.

"No, he just said that he had been abused, which was the reason he abused
me." I said.

"How did that make you feel?" He asked.

"I don't know. Sorry for him I guess." I said.

"Steven, I think we can stop here for today. Tonight I want you to
seriously think about your feelings regarding your uncle and what he did."
He instructed.

"You want me to do it again?" I asked.

"Yes. I think that we need to focus on how you feel about the abuse, it is
important." He said.

"Fine." I said.

He walked me to the door and told me to have a good day.

For the next four weeks our sessions were focused on my sexual abuse and
how the people around me handled it and how I felt. Dr. Meltzer, apparently
thought that I was detached from my feelings and that until I could get in
touch with my real feelings regarding the abuse and my family, that my
progress would be hindered.

Honestly, it was beginning to annoy me. I continued to answer his questions
but he continued to ask the same questions over and over again. In addition
to my individual therapy sessions, I was also attending several group
therapy sessions, and an art therapy and music therapy class. As well as a
meditation course and trust building classes.

I had become rather close with Cassie and Ricky. We would usually spend our
free time playing pool with each other or talking. Tristan would join us
from time to time. It was all becoming somewhat normal being there, but I
still constantly thought of Blake.

After, the first week Marie was able to call and she told me about Blake
and the rest of our friends. I had been writing Blake once a week and sent
him cards, but we had not spoken. I only heard about him and from him
through Marie, and she would always say that he loved me and missed me.

Then, one day I received a package from Marie with a letter from Blake
enclosed. I went to my room and lay across my bed. I opened the letter and
began to read it.



**********************************************************************************

Special thanks to Oscar, Arch, Clayton, Gary, Khalid, Fred, Vern, Joseph,
Jake, Michael, JT and Mikal for their encouraging comments, I am extremely
grateful.

Sincerest thanks to Nifty and all of the wonderful participants who make
this site possible, from the generous donors to the archivists and
administrators, you all are truly appreciated.

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think, please forward any comments
or feedback to bonotorros@yahoo.com.