“Tell me again, the one about the ape.” Mama piped up and told me, “He’s told you that joke three times already.” “I know but I like it.” I laid my head in his lap and he told me one more time. A purple plaid shirt tucked into dark blue jeans, a young girl looking up from his lap in awe as he sat on the steps in a house referred to as “Your Grandmother’s house.” I both fear him and love him. I’d almost say I was in love with him. “The man ran through the final door.” He concluded, “The ape came through and said, “Tag you’re it.” A six year old little girl in awe of monster-angel laughed as if she’d never heard that joke before.
I told my mother I’d name my first child after him. Why such obsession over a cousin? He was addicted to me. My mother, well, she was just a pervert but he was in love with me I thought. He was in love with me and that’s the difference. No, I don’t like what he does but he loves me. I’m going to name my first child after him. It all seems so sick now, so silly to think he could love. I mean, how would he know what love is when not one day alive in that family was he shown anything but how horrible the human race could be to those weaker than themselves?
When I think about my cousin I shutter. When I was asked if I have an alter that identifies with my perp, the way my therapist did last week, my mind doesn’t go to my mother, it goes to my cousin “the wolf”. A flash of fear came across my face when MacBlue asked me that question. He scared me half to death. I wasn’t expecting it. I’m sure he thought I’d say, “Yes, someone’s behavior mimics that of my mother who punished with no mercy.” But no, I saw “the wolf” and then I saw black.
Wolf is a special kind of sociopath, the homemade kind, the kind that is shown how to torture and kill without remorse. He’s also the kind that wears a full iron mark on his back and can say with truth that he was fed on the floor like a dog because he “wasn’t human and shouldn’t eat at the table with humans.” Perhaps that’s why he raped, tortured and killed dogs. He did what was done to him, only his perps left him alive. Wolf was the type that played with werewolf figurines and removed their heads with a kitchen knife earning himself the nickname Wolf. He was the kind of boy that would grow up into a man that hurts little girls and lands himself in prison.
Yeah, I hear my mother’s voice in my head saying I haven’t done enough to deserve a meal so I won’t eat until I feel I’ve completed enough back breaking tasks to earn my meal. And yes I will decide what I deserve to eat based on performance. So in that respect I mimic my mother’s behavior. But it is Wolf that has a replica inside my head. The good thing is, my own Wolf who goes by the name Robert no longer howls in the background. We could hear him all the time, wailing, howling way back far. It was both a howl for help and a howl to keep away. He could bring you to tears, Robert could. But now Robert is no longer a danger to himself or to me. I wish I could say that Wolf is safe but I can’t. I don’t know him anymore. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead, in state or out of state. What I do know is this one little boy was born into a family that hates men. His biggest crime was being born male. He paid for that “crime” a thousand times over.
Besides the touch what I remember about him most is fair tale-like. I remember the jokes. I remember believing he was a Prince. I remember him in a ball taking blow after blow after blow then joking with me later about silly apes. I was amazed that he could be both full of fear and funny. I was amazed that he didn’t look at me with loathing eyes like my mother did. Now, I’m amazed at how a child’s mind can excuse pain just to get what they thought was love. I use to be appalled by the idea that Robert was in the image of Wolf. In my head he looks just like him only Robert is no longer someone I need to be afraid of or protected from. Robert is the one that turned from bad to good like some magic spell fell on him and took away all that evilness. But the thought of Wolf in anything other than fairy tale fashion has a tendency to turn my mind numb and black. However, that’s what my therapy assignment is to do, to talk about if an alter of mine hurts me in a way that one of my perps did. This forces me to think about Wolf and to do so without losing myself.
Austin
Tell Me Again-Therapy Assignment Part 1 of 2-Thursday, August 30, 2007-1:32AM EST
Tell Me Again-Therapy Assignment Part 2 of 2
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