Second Thoughts

Never in a million years did I think when I started this silly online journal last March that it would be what it is today. It's just, well, bigger than I imagined it would be. A search for my maiden name turns me up on the first page of Google. The links and comments here are getting numerous, and I try to keep up with them and reciprocate blog visits but it's tough because the Marital Ass Spread I've been rocking these days does well enough on its own, without the encouragement of spending hours on end in front of the computer. I'd like to thank those of you who visit, and I'm sorry about sucking with the whole reciprocity thing. I try. I really do.

And while I'm thankful that y'all give me props and read my musings and link to me, there's a little voice in the back of my head, chirping, "Maybe this has gotten a little out of hand." I try to tell that voice to shut up, but it doesn't seem to be the negative voice that tells me I suck every once in a while. The mean voice that NEEDS to be told to shut up. It's a kind and caring voice that maybe has a point.

The thing is, this blog of mine has led to some awesome serendipitous encounters. I've been found by incredible people from my past, and I couldn't be happier about that. When I started The Adventures of Zube Girl, I opted not to be all incognito about my identity. In the back of my mind, I wanted to enable people who knew me when I was all screwed up to be able to find me now and know that, while I'm still kind of screwed up, it's not all bad like before.

Back in September, I received an e-mail from Dave. Dave, who had the grand misfortune of being my boyfriend back when I was raped. Dave, who told me he would support me no matter what I decided to do with the resulting pregnancy. Dave, who didn't drop me like a fucking hot potato even though I was pregnant by another guy. Dave, who bought me flowers and stayed with me the night after the abortion while I was cramping and bleeding and crying. Dave, who is seriously? One of the most beautiful people I've ever met.

After finding my blog, he sent me an e-mail saying, among other things, "Looking back now I have to tell you that you were so strong in the face of such a bad circumstance. I wish I could have done more for you." And my gut reaction was OH MY GOD, NO! I wasn't strong. I mean, I didn't kill myself. I guess that showed some strength. But, I chose instead to obsess over the thought of killing myself. How I would do it, and how awesome it would be to fade into a deep forever sleep with an empty pill bottle in my hand and my family and friends standing around me saying, "It's okay. Go to sleep. We know that life is just too hard for you." I actually used to daydream about it while I was supposed to be painting window trim at my summer job.

I wasn't strong. I sucked. At least a little bit back then. And on top of all that, I had the audacity to blow Dave off. See, he cared about me, and I didn't want to deal with that. Getting wasted and feeling sorry for yourself takes up a lot of time and energy, ya know? And the more people who care, well, the more explaining you have to do. So I stopped calling Dave. And we had been dating for a while. Long enough to warrant a break-up explanation. But with the explaining thing? I wasn't having it. I just stopped calling. That was pretty shitty, if you ask me.

When he e-mailed me in September, I asked him if I could write a post on my blog about his wonderfulness and he said yes. After being totally cool and humble about it. That was his way. And I REALLY wanted to thank him. But I couldn't do it. I tried maybe a million and one times to write about it, but I just couldn't find the words. I mean, how do you say THANK YOU for being Not-an-Asshole when I wanted to believe that ALL men were assholes? How do you say THANK YOU for being the kindest 20-year-old guy EVER and holding me when I cried about an abortion we didn't decide I'd have together? Because it wasn't your fault I was pregnant? How do you say THANK YOU for not getting mad that I accepted a ride to the grocery store with another guy I only kind of knew through a friend? How do you say THANK YOU for believing me when other people thought I was making it up to hide an indiscretion? How do you say THANK YOU for writing me ten years after the fact and telling me I was STRONG when really, YOU were strong for me, and I pushed you away because of it?

There are just no words. Except THANK YOU, DAVE. Thank you, especially, for finding me again and giving me the opportunity to tell you how wonderful you were, and how you got me through some of the roughest months of my life, and how I will be forever grateful to you for that.

And then there is Kenyatta. He e-mailed me after being forwarded this post by someone random. Kenyatta and I met back in college when we were both RA's. Kenyatta was there for me when I was depressed even *before* the rape. Ever since I was a kid, I've been a little sad. It's weird. Actually, after the rape, my whole outlook changed. Sort of. My brain went, "Oh shit! Things can be AWFUL! Hmmm...I'm not gonna dwell on the small stuff anymore." Being raped sort of made me a happier person. In the long, long run, anyway. Like now. Ten years later. How fucked up is that?

I've always had friends like Kenyatta who've been there to build me up. And that makes me feel bad in a way. Because what have I done for them? I just don't see myself putting as much into friendships as I get out of them. But still, they're there for me. Why? Because they're amazing and I'm fucking lucky.

Some of you may recall that I dated a guy I call AssFace. He threw a television set at me once and that led me to kicking him out. It was the final straw. And Kenyatta was there. Even though I hadn't talked to him in a while. Just so you know, AssFaces don't really like when their girlfriends have friends. Especially friends of the male persuasion. So I pushed Kenyatta away because I was hell-bent on self destructing or something like it. Thankfully, I realized what a dumb-ass victim I was being and rid myself of AssFace. And I called Kenyatta. And he cruised down from NYC to make sure I was safe. Because he fucking rocks like that.

I don't know how to thank him either. Words would be a good start, I guess. And I'm so full of them sometimes. When it's not so important. Yet when words are crucial, I fail to find the right ones.

All I've got is THANK YOU KENYATTA. You are more awesome than you know.

Now, happy as I am that these people have been reintroduced to my life, I'm a little nervous. There are people I don't really want to find me. Or, okay, maybe just one person. The guy that raped me.

It seems a stretch that he'd find me given that I doubt he even remembers my name, but mere months ago I'd have thought it a stretch for someone I didn't know to forward a blog entry of my dog dressed in a scarf and hat to a good friend from college I hadn't talked to in years. I'm beginning to have second thoughts about being so openly Zube. I don't want to miss out on people like Dave and Kenyatta, but the randomness of life is freaking me out a little.

Let's pretend for a minute that the guy who raped me, in a moment of clarity, remembered my name and Google searched me. Imagine I didn't have a blog. He'd find a few articles where I'm mentioned for some of the work I've done with Planned Parenthood. That I don't mind so much. So what if he can find me being strong? Big whoop, right?

But I have a blog. And if you search my name, it is easily found. And if a link to my blog is forwarded to you, my name is very easily remembered. What if he found my blog? Do I really want him to know that in moments of weakness I Google search his sorry ass to play some sort of power-trippy self-torture game with myself? Do I want him to know that I remember the exact day we last saw each other ten years ago?

Would it make me a wuss to begin anew and anon? I don't know. I don't really want to, but I guess you could say I'm considering it. Would I rather call The Adventures of a Gnome Exterminator or The Adventures of a Stick Figure Arteest my home? Would it be worth it? I do draw a mean stick figure and I kick some righteous gnome ass, but, I'm Zube. And I'm kind of stuck on that. I don't know that I'd want to be anything else. But I also don't know that I'd want to be Zube who was fucked up forever-and-ever-amen because someone who once invaded her body, then invaded her mind. Because she thought she was invincible...