As a child I suffered in silence, drawn into a web that held me so tight, there was no escaping the clutches of my abusers. Thinking back, I can now see that he controlled me by being the "good guy" while my mother was the disciplinarian. He would be there for me, giving me the hugs which I never ever remember getting from my mother. But his love wasn't the right kind of love. Now as the adult I know that, but as a child I didn't. It felt good to be loved, even though it led to abuse. I for so long blamed myself for letting this happen.
As children, we are forced into silence, forced to be quiet because if we told, and I thought this as a child that I would be sent back to the orphanage, and I didn't want to go back. I also didn't want to break up the family unit. I would be blamed for all of this.
I lived my whole life pretending that we had a wonderful family life, that
nothing ever went wrong. Everyone on the outside looking in saw that our family was a good strong family, parents taking us to church on Sunday. Little did everyone know that it was all a lie. That evil lived inside. The only person who really loved me I think was my grandmother. She was my salvation whenever she came over to our house she would always give me hugs and love me. Those were the hugs I longed for, the ones I never ever got. How I miss her.
My father controlled me letting me think that he really loved me, but that was just all a ploy. He used me as his toy, because if he cared for me like a father was suppose to care for their child, he would never have sexually abused me. Looking back I see how quiet and somber I was as a child. Quite, sitting rocking back and forth, something I still do to this day.
I still think about when my father was dying from Alzheimers. Was this his punishment? I often wonder. But I still wonder why, when he was in palliative care, that I had to stay every night in his room. I slept there, then went home showered and changed for work. I did this for 3 weeks. For some reason, I just didn't want him to die alone. I still don't get it. My family didn't get it. Even though I haven't forgiven him, I just had to be there. He never ever did say "I'm sorry." My mother never ever knew.
Today, I am a survivor and am proud to be able to say that. I have come a long way through therapy with a fantastic therapist, who helped me so much, and I know she reads my blog so thank you for all your kindness and hard work we did together. I am a better person today because of it, and because of so many other caring friends and family who were and still are here for me. Abuse hurts a life time, but we can overcome it and leave our past where it belongs, in the past, and move on to our tomorrows.....~mg~ ©