Betrayed is how I felt. I don't know how anyone would have helped me understand. Betrayal is a tough thing to get over. It is kind of hard to admit I felt betrayed.
I knew there were people who should have been there to help, to protect me. I don't know if anyone knew but it seems like someone should have suspected. Mom was so focused on making it through to the next day and trying to protect the first child that when things that happened to the next two they seemingly went unnoticed. I don't blame her. She had a lot on her plate. I had so much going on with me and I was trying to be there for my sister that some of the crap that was happening to my brother went unnoticed by me. Feeling the way I do I hate that I wasn't there to protect him better.
I never thought back then about the impact the things going on with us individually had on us collectively. I now see the damage that was done. The betrayal we all probably felt.
It is hard when you feel like everyone around you had betrayed you. Even when there is no possible way they could have known. It took me a long time to forgive the inaction.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Just a Matter of Time
We were loving that he was staying away more and more. However when he returned the incidents of his rage seemed more powerful than ever. The full on violent abuser he had been with my mother turned on all of us. It seemed like no matter what was said or done it was taken as disrespectful in his eyes. We didn't stand a chance against his rage.
I was certain it was just a matter of time before one of us would die at his hand. I prayed I was wrong.
I was certain it was just a matter of time before one of us would die at his hand. I prayed I was wrong.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Guilt is a Heavy Burden
My life had enough misery without adding the burden of guilt. I was getting a guilty pleasure out of the misfortune I was adding to my persecutor's life. Did I have the right to feel pleasure at the misery of another, even if the other was my tormentor?
At first I didn't see the harm in feeling the way I did. At first I was so elated he was getting some of what he gave. The scale was not in my favor but every bit of pain he suffered was a relief to my pain. I could think of nothing else but how I could make his life as miserable as mine.
Then like a big red brick it hit me. I began beating myself up for feeling pleasure I gained from his misery. How could I stoop to that level? How could I become like him? I began to fear I would become him. I vowed I would never to be like him.
It took everything in me but I fought the urge to find revenge. Was real revenge even possible anyway?
Still the guilty burden weighed on me. Holding me down, burying me in deep despair. Even with the guilt I felt the pleasure his pain brought was still there. The thought that I could find pleasure in his pain even with my guilt gave me a new sense of fear. I had an uphill battle on my hands but persevered until I was able to stop the urge to torment my tormentor. I found it impossible to not find a glimmer of happiness at his anguish. I longed to hear he had found pain through means other than my own. I knew if I were to survive I would have to overcome the feeling of pleasure at his pain.
I needed to unload my burden but I again I had nobody to unload on. So I wrote. The guilt held me in it's grip long after I had given up on my revenge. I believe I carried my burden for many years.
At first I didn't see the harm in feeling the way I did. At first I was so elated he was getting some of what he gave. The scale was not in my favor but every bit of pain he suffered was a relief to my pain. I could think of nothing else but how I could make his life as miserable as mine.
Then like a big red brick it hit me. I began beating myself up for feeling pleasure I gained from his misery. How could I stoop to that level? How could I become like him? I began to fear I would become him. I vowed I would never to be like him.
It took everything in me but I fought the urge to find revenge. Was real revenge even possible anyway?
Still the guilty burden weighed on me. Holding me down, burying me in deep despair. Even with the guilt I felt the pleasure his pain brought was still there. The thought that I could find pleasure in his pain even with my guilt gave me a new sense of fear. I had an uphill battle on my hands but persevered until I was able to stop the urge to torment my tormentor. I found it impossible to not find a glimmer of happiness at his anguish. I longed to hear he had found pain through means other than my own. I knew if I were to survive I would have to overcome the feeling of pleasure at his pain.
I needed to unload my burden but I again I had nobody to unload on. So I wrote. The guilt held me in it's grip long after I had given up on my revenge. I believe I carried my burden for many years.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Survival Instincts
When I gave up writing I started to picture in my head the things I wanted. Not just the things I wanted to happen but also the things I wanted to stop happening. I had a clear vision of how things could be. How I believed things should be.
I visualized having peace. Having time without fear. I needed uninterrupted time I could use to figure out who I was. Up until this time in my life I was in survival mode. I knew nothing but survival. There were times when we had fun but even in having fun I was cautious of my surroundings and possible causes of a meltdown. Anything could set him off but some things were certain to set him off every time.
As these visualizations got better, more focused and clear. I began to see opportunities where I had seen none in the past. Opportunities to be proactive in the changes I needed. My fear had always been what helped me survive and now I had more than fear. I discovered I was clever and at times cunning. By cunning mean I found ways to get back at my abuser. Like wetting down the slippery walkway when I knew he would soon be home or taking down important messages wrong. It all seemed innocent at first but I began to feel guilty for feeling good about my hand in his misfortune.
I found out that for me survival was trying escape the place I was in without adding to my misery with guilt.
I visualized having peace. Having time without fear. I needed uninterrupted time I could use to figure out who I was. Up until this time in my life I was in survival mode. I knew nothing but survival. There were times when we had fun but even in having fun I was cautious of my surroundings and possible causes of a meltdown. Anything could set him off but some things were certain to set him off every time.
As these visualizations got better, more focused and clear. I began to see opportunities where I had seen none in the past. Opportunities to be proactive in the changes I needed. My fear had always been what helped me survive and now I had more than fear. I discovered I was clever and at times cunning. By cunning mean I found ways to get back at my abuser. Like wetting down the slippery walkway when I knew he would soon be home or taking down important messages wrong. It all seemed innocent at first but I began to feel guilty for feeling good about my hand in his misfortune.
I found out that for me survival was trying escape the place I was in without adding to my misery with guilt.
Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
Sometimes absence makes the heart grow fonder. I have heard that phrase over and over through the years and until I began to write this blog entry it never occurred to me the double meaning that phrase held for me.
When my grandfather did not move in with us we moved again. At the time I really didn't know why but I am so glad we did. Our new house was big enough to hide in and now there was a bigger yard with things to do outside again. We had a pool, shuffleboard court, in-ground trampoline, and half basketball court. Our driveway had a low half wall that we used as a net for volley ball and tennis. We were never lacking for something to do outside.
The good thing about the new house was not the things to do or the size but the fact that he was not around much. It didn't matter to me where he was but he would leave for days at a time. It seemed like he would come home to have laundry done and then in a day or two leave again. My heart would soar as he walked out the door. I never knew if he would be gone an hour or days but it didn't matter because he was gone.
I found that it was easier to be hide since I had more time to think about it. Sadly when he found us he still found ways to torture us. We tried even harder not to be around when he was around. I had friends to visit and things outside the house to do.
With him gone more I discovered that yes, absence does make the heart grow fonder.
When my grandfather did not move in with us we moved again. At the time I really didn't know why but I am so glad we did. Our new house was big enough to hide in and now there was a bigger yard with things to do outside again. We had a pool, shuffleboard court, in-ground trampoline, and half basketball court. Our driveway had a low half wall that we used as a net for volley ball and tennis. We were never lacking for something to do outside.
The good thing about the new house was not the things to do or the size but the fact that he was not around much. It didn't matter to me where he was but he would leave for days at a time. It seemed like he would come home to have laundry done and then in a day or two leave again. My heart would soar as he walked out the door. I never knew if he would be gone an hour or days but it didn't matter because he was gone.
I found that it was easier to be hide since I had more time to think about it. Sadly when he found us he still found ways to torture us. We tried even harder not to be around when he was around. I had friends to visit and things outside the house to do.
With him gone more I discovered that yes, absence does make the heart grow fonder.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Suspicions & Fear
When you suspect something may be going on it is hard to confront the situation. Do you make accusations and chance being wrong? Do second guess yourself, turn your back and figure you are wrong? Do you ask the child possibly adding to their confusion and shame? In Mom's case it would have been a especially difficult situation considering his violence and threats toward all of us. When your hands are tied suspicions can quickly turn to paralyzing fear.
Mom and I have had many conversations over the years about the situation we were in when I was a kid. Why she didn't devise some plan to escape? Maybe a shelters in those later years. I found out that when Mom suspected he was molesting my sister she freaked out. She knew in her heart she would need help to leave but didn't know what to do or where to start. She went to a church counselor for help. I am not sure how forthcoming she was with this guy. My mom has a tendency to worry about what others might think and may have held back. One of the reasons for the bug eye glasses was her fear of what people might think. In essence the counselor blamed her. Telling her she wasn't taking care of his needs. That she needed to try harder to please him. The counselor told her not to let him be alone with my sister and to tough it out. He said the most important thing was to keep the family together and do her duty as a wife and mother! I could not disagree more. The idea of being intimate with a man who has been intimate with my child sickens me. He would have lost an appendage if it had been me. Thank the good Lord times have changed since then.
If I had known what Mom was going through maybe I could have told her. If I had come clean would things have been different? I don't think I would have been brave enough to tell her. Could we have been a support for each other? I'm not sure I could have been a support for anyone at the time. Did my sister know Mom was protecting her? I have my doubts because my sister has a great deal of animosity toward Mom. Is it because she has no idea or is it because she thinks Mom could or should have done more? Did my sister know Mom was told to keep the family together? I wish I had known the whole story. Would it have made things different for me. I wish I had been braver. I wish fear wasn't so paralyzing!
Mom and I have had many conversations over the years about the situation we were in when I was a kid. Why she didn't devise some plan to escape? Maybe a shelters in those later years. I found out that when Mom suspected he was molesting my sister she freaked out. She knew in her heart she would need help to leave but didn't know what to do or where to start. She went to a church counselor for help. I am not sure how forthcoming she was with this guy. My mom has a tendency to worry about what others might think and may have held back. One of the reasons for the bug eye glasses was her fear of what people might think. In essence the counselor blamed her. Telling her she wasn't taking care of his needs. That she needed to try harder to please him. The counselor told her not to let him be alone with my sister and to tough it out. He said the most important thing was to keep the family together and do her duty as a wife and mother! I could not disagree more. The idea of being intimate with a man who has been intimate with my child sickens me. He would have lost an appendage if it had been me. Thank the good Lord times have changed since then.
If I had known what Mom was going through maybe I could have told her. If I had come clean would things have been different? I don't think I would have been brave enough to tell her. Could we have been a support for each other? I'm not sure I could have been a support for anyone at the time. Did my sister know Mom was protecting her? I have my doubts because my sister has a great deal of animosity toward Mom. Is it because she has no idea or is it because she thinks Mom could or should have done more? Did my sister know Mom was told to keep the family together? I wish I had known the whole story. Would it have made things different for me. I wish I had been braver. I wish fear wasn't so paralyzing!
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
My writing became an obsession
I should have had someone I could tell but with all the fear I felt, I'm not sure I would have told anyone. The fear would paralyze me. I sat in my closet and cried for hours after he'd leave my room. I hid under my bed, laying still and quiet hoping he wouldn't find me. I needed to talk about it.
I became obsessed with writing everything down and drawing the truth of my life. The entries got more and more disturbing until I had a hard time opening the book. Every time I accidentally opened the pages to an earlier writing I'd quickly look away to avoid the fear I felt at seeing them. My stomach would knot, my heart would race and my head would ache. I'd begin the shake and cry. I feared for my life as if the event was happening again and again and as if the acts I dreamed of doing were real. I didn't know what a panic attack was then but I recognized the feeling now.
My sister and I shared a room. Going outside was one of the only places I could be alone. Sometimes I'd sit outside and write and think. There were times I hid my book in the yard for easy access for me and less accessibility for others.
I started putting paperclips on the pages so they wouldn't flip open. In time my book was heavy with several paperclips. I ran out of paper and taped a second book to the first. I was afraid if I tried to hide them both separately I would forget where I put one and someone would be able to find it. I didn't want anyone to see something so personal. If it were found and read I would have to explain why I wrote what I wrote and why I drew what I drew. I slit a small hole in my mattress on the side against the wall and slid it in the hole under the mattress. I feared I'd get in trouble for having a hole in my mattress.
As time went on the writing became a daily thing. My obsession to write was taking over my life. I'd wake up in the night and write, write before I went to bed, I'd often wish I had my book at school and then be grateful I didn't when I thought of actually having it where someone might be able to see it. It was like if I could get things right on paper they would be right in my world as well. I needed healing, my world needed healing and I didn't know how to make that happen. I became so crazed with the idea that I could make things change by writing them down. Then the realization hit that I couldn't change anything by writing it down. I eventually put the book away. Hid it is a place everyone would see and nobody would notice. I began to visualize changes I wanted in my mind instead of writing.For a while I was able to stop writing all together. Eventually I'd pull it out to document the really bad things just to help me keep my sanity. The visualizations were working for me. My obsession with writing faded to a manageable level.
I became obsessed with writing everything down and drawing the truth of my life. The entries got more and more disturbing until I had a hard time opening the book. Every time I accidentally opened the pages to an earlier writing I'd quickly look away to avoid the fear I felt at seeing them. My stomach would knot, my heart would race and my head would ache. I'd begin the shake and cry. I feared for my life as if the event was happening again and again and as if the acts I dreamed of doing were real. I didn't know what a panic attack was then but I recognized the feeling now.
My sister and I shared a room. Going outside was one of the only places I could be alone. Sometimes I'd sit outside and write and think. There were times I hid my book in the yard for easy access for me and less accessibility for others.
I started putting paperclips on the pages so they wouldn't flip open. In time my book was heavy with several paperclips. I ran out of paper and taped a second book to the first. I was afraid if I tried to hide them both separately I would forget where I put one and someone would be able to find it. I didn't want anyone to see something so personal. If it were found and read I would have to explain why I wrote what I wrote and why I drew what I drew. I slit a small hole in my mattress on the side against the wall and slid it in the hole under the mattress. I feared I'd get in trouble for having a hole in my mattress.
As time went on the writing became a daily thing. My obsession to write was taking over my life. I'd wake up in the night and write, write before I went to bed, I'd often wish I had my book at school and then be grateful I didn't when I thought of actually having it where someone might be able to see it. It was like if I could get things right on paper they would be right in my world as well. I needed healing, my world needed healing and I didn't know how to make that happen. I became so crazed with the idea that I could make things change by writing them down. Then the realization hit that I couldn't change anything by writing it down. I eventually put the book away. Hid it is a place everyone would see and nobody would notice. I began to visualize changes I wanted in my mind instead of writing.For a while I was able to stop writing all together. Eventually I'd pull it out to document the really bad things just to help me keep my sanity. The visualizations were working for me. My obsession with writing faded to a manageable level.
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