Free The Unbalancing Act by Kristen Lynn

whatever it is you are trying to cover up as an eating disorder, well it’s not my problem and I don’t want people involved in our group who don’t belong.”
     
    I point my finger at her like she’s going to get it. “Okay, little girl, you may not understand me and that’s fine, but you don’t know a thing about me so until you do, I suggest that you focus on yourself. I’ve got enough going on and really don’t need your shit, okay? I’ve got three kids at home and I don’t need another one here, so thank you very much. You can go now.”  Wow! I’m way more ballsy than I thought. Actually, I’m kind of a bitch. Who knew?
     
    She looks at me like I’ve just slapped her. In my mind I’m all like, what now biotch! You best be headed back to your room! But the mother inside of me sees a little broken girl who just needs someone to be mad at. She lets go of her hair and looks down at the floor like she is about to cry.
     
    I soften my voice and I feel like I’m dealing with one of my children. “Come here and sit down.” I walk over to the chairs and pat one with my hand. “Let’s try to start over, okay?”
     
    I can’t believe it but she actually does. I really hope she doesn’t stay long because Mommy needs sleepy.
     
    “Alright, I’m sorry if I was rude. It’s just been so hard being here,” she says. “I feel so exposed...and the things I have told these women here and the story you heard…about my grandfather…well…” she starts crying.
     
    I hand her a box of tissues, “What?” I ask. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
     
    “But I do want to talk about it. I want someone to know! Nobody outside of this building knows! Everybody thinks, ‘Oh Jess just wants to be a model’ and ‘Jess is starving for attention.’ That’s what my family and friends think is wrong with me. They all think that I’m obsessed with my looks and the truth is I hate myself because when I look at my body it reminds me of what happened to it!”
     
    This little lady is now crying and I find myself crying too. I did not sign up for this. I am not equipped to deal with this. I need to find a nurse. STAMP! or STAP! What the hell is the word they say when the medical people need something quick? I know it starts with an S! STAT! What am I supposed to do with this girl? Maybe I should just let her talk and not say anything. Maybe I should just run out of the room and hope she doesn’t follow me. But I think she came to me for a reason. There must be a reason. Words come out of my mouth, but I am totally winging this one.
     
    “So, you are telling me that you never told anyone what your grandfather did to you? How old were you? When did it finally stop? Is he still alive?”
     
    I ask so many questions and get so many answers. Jessalyn goes on to tell me the details of when she was six years old her grand-pig violated her for the first time. He lived in their house with her mother and drunken father. He told her that if she told anyone, that they wouldn’t believe her and that he’d hurt her even worse. How freaking scary would that be for a child? Her mother died of an intentional drug overdose in the middle of all of this, when she was only eight. Her father left after that, so she was left with this creep to raise her. Apparently, her aunt moved in to help, but supposedly never caught on to what was happening at night. How could she not know? This old prick sounds like a real winner. He tortured her with threats, and the abuse apparently went on for years until she got her period at the age of twelve. It seems that the pervert only preferred pre-pubescent children, because then it stopped.
     
    “Everyone thinks he’s a hero,” she said. “He was in the military, a war hero. He is well-known around town and has always been active in the church. Still to this day, they all worship him. He’s almost ninety years old, but he’s as alive as ever. Every time I’ve