I am approaching the 47th anniversary of my going into Child Study and Treatment Center which is the youth portion of Western State Hospital. May 19, 1972. Some folks might wonder why this anniversary is so important to me year after year. I have written a letter to myself on most May nineteenths marking my growth and noting my successes.
Going to Western State Hospital was a defining moment of my childhood. It was a bridge between the years marked by intense sexual, physical, and emotional abuse to an awakening in the second half of my childhood when I went to live with my grandparents where I was mostly safe, fed, and well cared for. Many survivors mark the end of the abuse in one form or another. I am lucky enough to have an actual date. One which I celebrate each year when I woke up to the here and now and escaped from the relentlessness of constant abuse and began the long road to recovery.
I have not forgotten the warm summer of that year including the music of the era. “Stairway to Heaven.” “Daddy Don’t You Walk So Fast.” “Alone Again (Naturally).” “Last Night I Didn’t Get to Sleep at All.” “Doctor My Eyes.” “I Can See Clearly Now.” I met The Stylistics, The Temptations, The Chi-lites. I was almost entirely unaware of the politics of the day. I had spent all of my life energy to that point merely trying to survive. Music managed to filter into my consciousness.
I bought my first record album and listened to it endlessly on a portable record player that lived in my room in Western. Neil Young’s Harvest. I can still feel the texture of the album cover and almost smell it. It was my transition from being at the whim of DJ radio to listening to what I wanted when I wanted. This was a reflection of no longer being subjected to my parents’ abuse timeline. I could start making my own choices. Part of this new awareness, of course, has been a long, long learning about how to make good choices. Not an easy thing to learn.
I’ve made my share of poor choices. But, the underlying passion has always been continuous learning and growth. I am not particularly ambitious career wise. I’ve been lucky to have found a career that suits me and feeds into my personal mission to spread the word of acceptance and growth. If you look at my life, though, you would see someone incredibly ambitious with a life mission to do justice to the trials of that 14 year old me in Western that summer as well as all the other younger versions of me.
I visit that 14 year old in my mind. I look at her picture. I thank her for her hard work and say, “Look at me. We made it.” I’m alive. I thrive despite the curve balls life throws at me. I love. I care about doing my best. What more could I ask?
Across from Western is a lake and park. The other girls, our counselors, and I walked around that lake almost daily that summer. My counselor would say to me, “What do you want Joceile?” I imagined some far off time when things might make more sense. I’d be older and confident. It was hard to put that image into words then. But, I had it in my mind’s eye.
I used to go back to Western and the park every May to visit myself. Now, I do it in my head. I walk around the lake and see my 14 year old self walking towards me. She is awed by what I’ve become. I hug her and say, “We made it. You’re not alone. I’m here.”
She looks at me as if she’s seeing a miracle. I look back at her and smile because I know she’s right. It is a miracle to survive and be well in myself. It doesn’t have to look perfect. I just have to know I’ve done good.
L’Chaim.
Joceile
5.9.19
[Picture of me at 14 at the beach with ocean waves behind me wearing my father’s brown coat and light blue pants.]
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