The New Normal

   It's been several months since I have been back on the blog; mostly because I have been busy; mainly because I have been unsure what to write next. It seems as though my latest blog had a climax that really could be the end, but it's not.
    You see, though that little girl inside of me named "Mandy Leigh" was raped, molested and abused, that's not the end of the story. My story seemed to have begun at that time, until I realized what had actually happened. All I knew was the "after" of the "before."
  After the sexual abuse, I needed reassurance that I was okay. I became constipated and depressed. I started wanting to be a boy, not a sweet little girl who had been exposed to a sexual world before my body even developed. Confusion seemed to overshadow me. I don't remember feeling my physical self. All I remember was feeling like my head and skull were my only parts. The food went in my mouth and seemed to get lost, not coming out without severe pain. I was closing up. My irregularity was my new "normal."
   No, this isn't an Activia advertisement.
   Mom wasn't openly aware of what happened to me. Things like this were not common to her. She grew up in a home where "abuse" was siblings relentlessly teasing, but never in a sexual way. But I figure even her upbringing was a means to the evil that lurked.
   Blame it on Elvis, The Beatles, Woodstock, Hippies.
   The "sexual revolution" was in full swing. Mormondome was getting a dose of  "worldly." Our little suburban world outside of "metropolitan" Salt Lake City was getting even more complicated that early Mormon settlers could have imagined, but not more than church prophets had prophesied.
    You see, Salt Lake City is destined become "the most wicked city in the world."
    I guess my incident was one step toward that wickedness.
    However, as a young girl with revenge on the outskirts of her mind, the fight to protect her remaining innocence was far from over.
   Then mom got married, pregnant and we moved to Souix Falls, South Dakota.
   My new little sister was the product of this. She is a beauty in my life that I cannot explain fully with words. But when I was young I remember nothing about her. I am sure I was jealous of this new little being in my family's life, most siblings have jealousy in the mix. I remember, however, that I wasn't sure she was a girl. The style of dressing children must have become more unisex because I remember her being dressed boyishly.
   I got my first physical scar in South Dakota or maybe Phoenix, where we moved just after. It remains on my left hand, reminding me of a bike and my brothers. I remember an orange tree and some cows. I remember some pictures.
   Then it was back to Salt Lake. Back to Austin Avenue. Back to our same house. Back to extended family. Back to time with Grande Anne.
   The good came with the bad. And the bad was not over.