I am doing well. After I sent that letter I felt great. And I still feel good, but there is the trepidation knowing that he�s probably going to get that letter today.
When your father figure is a violent narcissist, you are loathe to do anything to anger him. So you spend your childhood tiptoeing around him. I dared not EVER talk back to him, lest he repeatedly smack me on the face or worse, grabs me by the hair. I only did that once, I remember.
When I wrote that letter, I admitted I knew he existed in his imaginary kingdom where he was ruler over all and could do whatever he wanted. When I was a child, I was stupid, non-important, exasperating, boring, dull, and irrelevant and the list goes on and on. I knew without a doubt he could kill me if he wanted to. He just had that�that�simmering going on inside him. You knew if you scratched the surface at all you were asking for it.
The violence was constant. There was maybe, on a good week, two days a week where there wasn�t some sort of violence against me and my sister. He said it hurt him more than it hurt me, but I swear; sometimes there was a smile on his face when he told me how he was going to make me pay for what I did. For a little while, there was even a night once a week, where all our offenses for the preceding week were tallied up, and on that night we�d get it all. He�d leave bruises on our arms, our legs, our calves, our thighs and our backs. I think he was smart enough to not ever punch me in the face because that would surely leave a visible mark, and he might get in trouble. It occurs to me that the reason he never allowed me to wear shorts and tank tops was because of the bruising.
During gym once, my sister Renee put on shorts. Usually, she�d find a way to get out of gym because she was so ashamed someone might see the bruises. But this day, she was not ashamed and put on her shorts and shirt.
The gym teacher saw the bruising and turned my uncle in to DFS. But I was so terrified of what was going to happen to me and my sister that I lied to the lady I talked to. My uncle had told me that if anything ever was discovered, I�d probably go to a girl�s home, where it would be horrible and I�d want to die.
I was also afraid that they�d remove just one of us, and the one left at home would go through absolute hell and terror to pay for it.
DFS was called once again, later, but I lied again.
I was just too scared.
The sexual abuse was the worst. I�ve repressed most of it but I do remember some. I remember enough to get depressed and to feel dirty and ugly. But the strongest emotion is anger.
That is why I wrote the letter. I was angry.
It has taken me more than 15 years to undo the damage of that relationship. It has affected every aspect on my life. Believe me when I tell you it has infiltrated every area of my life and has very often stolen my happiness.
So even though I had a wide range of emotions and ineffective coping mechanisms, I sent the letter.
Doing that was like flipping the bird to the Queen of England. It�s something that you just don�t do. You let sleeping dogs lie. You don�t beat a dead horse. You don�t talk about those things. You don�t approach a dog when it�s eating. You don�t approach a wounded animal when it�s baring its teeth.
I did it. It�s scary and wonderful all at the same time.
Now, the fallout is going to start happening. But I have to live my life for me and I have to do what is necessary for me to heal. I cannot live in silence. I cannot go along with the family legacy of not talking about my pain.
A lot of people will probably be mad at me. One in particular, him. But also, my aunt Rabby. I thought we were cool. I remember telling her about the abuse, and I felt she was sympathetic.
But when she was talking to my cousin on the phone, who had told her two weeks ago Darwin was trying to get my phone number, she had the gall to say, �She�d better talk to him. He�s got items that belong to my two dead sisters in that house. She�s better do it!�
I am furious. Does she not realize that nothing he has is of any value to me anymore? I have memories of my mom and my aunt Rachel, and I tell you, I don�t need material objects to make me feel closer to them. It would be nice to have those things but at this point in my life, it is no longer necessary. It�s just his way of exerting power over me, and I�m not going to me manipulated any longer.
I mourn a lot. A lot of people who I have loved are not who they appeared to be. I am sad about that. But the people I truly treasure are the ones I can talk to and they are supportive of me, and we have a healthy relationship. That�s what�s important to me now. My dysfunctional family always says, �Blood is thicker than water.� I used to believe that crap.
But I tell you, some of the people I�m closest to and who love me the most are people who are not biologically related. And for that I�m thankful. God has blessed me with much, and many friends, and strength and hope and faith. And because of that, I am grateful.
11:31 am - February 09, 2006
Recent entries:
What you missed - January 16, 2012
%%older_entries%%From hell - October 19, 2010
%%older_entries%%a rant from a few weeks ago - August 17, 2010
%%older_entries%%Tired - June 20, 2010
%%older_entries%%A beautiful lie - March 11, 2010
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