Pulled by the Tides

I have read Pat Conroy's The Prince of Tides twice and have seen the movie as many times. I'm not sure what exactly draws me to this story, but I am attracted to it like some girls are attracted to "bad boys".

In this tragic story of abuse and family secrets, there is rape and violence, mental illness and suicide attempts, survivors and victims. It is a story that I should not be able to tolerate. My initiation was through the silver screen. I fell in love with Nick Nolte for the first time, and when he delivered his last lines at the end of the movie, "...in families, there are no crimes beyond forgiveness.", I broke down. I sat in my seat and sobbed violently into my hands, unable to move as the rest of the viewers abandoned the theater leaving me alone with my boyfriend.

I had just begun therapy for my sexual abuse...and for a form of self-harm that people still viewed as a suicide attempt. I believe it was the weight of the words that broke me...the thought of having to forgive the unforgivable, without truly understanding the full impact of the damage...caused by "family".

It would be almost ten years before I entered the pages of that book, tasting for the first time the melodic and intoxicating words of Pat Conroy. I could savor them and swallow them like velvety Merlot. There was no therapy during that time. I was recently married, and I wanted nothing more than to live a different life...as far away from my past as possible. Any memory that may have begun to surface was suppressed. I read the book for the sake of the story and the work and the art of the author.

Over ten years passed before I picked up the book again. This time, although I did not know it then, I was at the end of my marriage. I had been in therapy...for a long time. I was going through EMDR. I probably should not have read it then, but I was drawn to the story and once I stepped in, I could not turn around. It seemed the only way out was through it. I was sucked into the darkest aspects of the story as if they were a black hole whose pull I did not have the strength to resist. I identified with each character's pain and anguish and brokenness.

I was Savannah, whose demons visited her and stayed indefinitely, urging her to pick up her blades an hurt herself. I was also Tom, who had forever repressed any memory or emotion from his childhood, and was finally finding the courage to tell his story...the entire raw and gritty story. I was Lila saying enough is enough to her abusive marriage...and I was so many others.

I was engulfed by my darkness, brought to my knees by the tidal wave of my memories, and weighed down by the proximity of the characters' screaming torments to those of my own life. I crawled like a wounded warrior through to the very last chapter...to Tom Wingo's very last "...Lowenstein..." Only then did I decide that I could never read that book again...that it was, indeed, too much for me to handle.

...until now.

The title dropped in and hung suspended in front of me like a spider on a single thread. I have recently been enjoying the Audible app on my phone - audio books whenever and wherever I am...a non-stop mom's dream! Each download, however, comes at a bit of a hefty price. I am, therefore, judicious with my selections. The notice came via e-mail - 150 titles at about 85% off the regular price. I had to look!

I scrolled through the list, disinterested in and passing up most titles. I chose one about Frank Lloyd Wright, which looked interesting, and continued. Then I stopped...the words I saw stared at me. "The Prince of Tides by Pat Conroy, narrated by Frank Muller". They beckoned me, dared me, teased me. I can't handle that story, I told myself, ...don't even think about it.

...but the image of the words seemed to be burned in my retina. I saw them even with my eyes closed. I could not resist the pull. I told myself that I did not have to listen to it immediately. I could purchase the story now (at a fabulous price) and listen to it when I am ready...even if it is years from now.

...and so I did.

When the time came to listen to a new story, I thought I would choose the Frank Lloyd Wright story.

...but I didn't. Once again, I opened the doors to The Prince of Tides.

I am currently 31 hours into a 59 hour narration. I am chest deep into the marshes of the Low Country, pulled by the tides and hypnotized by the lyrical yet cutting use of the English language. I eat, sleep and drink Pat Conroy. His words have never been so alive and so palpable to me. This time around, I am relating to characters I had not related to before...but this time around, the demons remain in the story. They do not come out to beckon the ones from my own past. There is no darkness, no abyss. I am simply wrapped in the music of the story, and although some chords may awaken memories, they know their place in time and history. I can see them, but I don't feel them.

...I believe this is what EMDR does.

The Shameful Kisses

This is what is bothering me...that he asks, and I say no. He continues to ask...he doesn't give up. He doesn't just ask, he places his face in front of my face...his lips on mine. I finally say yes...just to get him to stop...just to get him to leave.

...but he doesn't stop, and he doesn't leave. He demands another kiss on the lips...and another one...and another one.

...and I oblige...just to get him off my back.

...I am sickened by the whole thing.

This is part of my shame.

Ashamed

There is a post that I have been working on for about a week. I cannot seem to finish it...actually, I cannot seem to start it. I desperately want to write about this topic, but I don't want to write the words. I don't want to see them. I don't want to admit any of it. I am ashamed. As far as I have come, I am ashamed to be hung up on this.