the a word

the lunch was a good one. i ordered my shrimp and chicken. he ordered a sandwich of some sort. we had small talk for a second.

then it began.

this was the conversation that would inevitably steer me in a much needed direction. he asked me some serious questions about myself, my past, and how i fit it all together. i gave him some real answers, answers that some people in my life have never heard. and i've known them much longer.

"when i saw you in class, at times i didn't know who i was looking at. at times you would be this confident figure that people would follow. at others you would just seem so unsure."

"well, at times i don't know what to pick. i feel like i have too many options."

"that's actually a good thing."

we got into some other things. there were two things that were discussed. one i was fine with sharing. the other one...when he inquired further about it...opened up something that i wasn't expecting.

"verdell, are you telling me that you were abused?"

i was floored. tears began to stream down my face. all of the events just came streaming through my mind. especially the day on that tennis court with that stick. i just cried. but, as usual, i found my composure.

i subconsciously fought for years not to give it that title. "no," i would say. "it happens to everyone. just a part of growing up." i didn't want to make too much out of it. but no one deserves that happened to me during those days. it was years, honestly. years of fear, pain (emotional and physical), and confusion that have shaped me to be who i am, for better or for worse.

abuse is an ugly thing. it happened to me. definitely going on a journey to find out exactly what this means and how i move forward from here.