Research really is "me" search.

My 12-year old self showed up this morning. Unexpectedly. Seemingly out of the blue. I know she's been there a long time just waiting for the right moment to come back to me. And I've welcomed her, even though she's brought a flood of emotions back to me.

On the outside I am told that I convey confidence, strength, wisdom, intelligence, competence. On the inside? Well, that's an entirely different story. On the inside I am insecure, scared, unsure of myself, of my feelings, of my future. I understand my past all too well and now I know that I am understanding my future, too.

You see, I am a relationship sabotager. Actually, I am a self-sabotager. If there is something unhealthy about a relationship, I'm all in. If the man is unavailable, arrogant, psychologically dismissive and distant I'm there. I'm there. Why?

Without sounding too cheesy, I've had a serious "a ha!" moment. If you are reading this blog you probably already know that I am working on a Ph.D. in human development. There are a million directions one can go with topics concerning the life span and how an individual becomes who they are throughout the processes in their life. Me? I've chosen adolescent romantic relationships. What I thought was just an interest is actually my life history. MY life story. I've tried to ignore this fact for a really, reeeeally long time.

Wham. Too late.

Here goes...

When I was 11 or 12 I got my first "boyfriend." He was considerably older and I was new to my school. Just entering the seventh grade, my family had moved from our hometown in Pennsylvania to a small town in New York just outside of Ithaca. I was struggling to make new friends and fit into the new school and did so pretty well. He was popular in an odd kind of way, far less ambitious or academically motivated than myself, but I was new and I thought I'd give it a try.

Once I got in I couldn't get out.

At 12 years old I was in an abusive relationship, unable to move away from the control, the possessiveness, the anger that came along with it. I tried. Believe me. I tried. I played sports. I went to friend's houses. I lied. I tried to get away, but he had a strong hold; physically, mentally, socially.

And then in eighth grade I told my school guidance counselor/volleyball coach. I trusted her. She let me down. "Don't you think you're making a bigger deal out of this than it is?" she said. And I stuffed it down for another year and a half. And then I stuffed it down until I went to college. And I kept stuffing it down until there wasn't any part of me that wasn't full of it.

Long story short and sparing many, many details it's had a lasting impact on my life, on my family, on my relationships, on my psyche on every last little part of me. The pain and confusion and lack of understanding of myself and my world has brought me to this point in my life. I realize now that my research is my own search for an understanding of my self.

And so here I sit with my 12-year old self next to me; encouraging me to speak now what I couldn't speak then. To say now what wasn't heard then. To write now what wouldn't have been read then.

And to the "boyfriend"? If you are reading this (and you know who you are) you fucked up my life. YOU FUCKED UP MY LIFE. You and your selfish, insecure, pitiful self FUCKED UP MY LIFE, but I am a fighter and a writer and a bitch and you will not win. Me and Karma are coming for you.

This will not beat me. My 12-year old self will not feel small and insecure any more.

It's game time and it's on.