With each week that passed his time away increased. With each absent day hope that he would stay away longer increased. For so many years our family had been between a really big ugly rock and an even uglier hard place. He wouldn't leave us and Mom couldn't leave him after all the threats he made. He said straight up he would make sure she never saw us again. He would take us away, across the boarder where we would never be found. Sometimes threatening to kill her or us. I heard the warnings and I believed him. I'm sure Mom did too because she never left.
This voluntary absence of his was like a refreshing gift with sharp edges. Moments in time we could let our guard down and be ourselves. Days we could look back on and remember with a kind of gratitude for the solace. I can't say it was a time without fear. It was difficult to know when he might return and what mood he would be in when he got back. We never let our guard down long enough to truly enjoy the time. I longed for a time when we could be ourselves without the sharp edge of fear invading otherwise peaceful moments.
Monday, August 17, 2009
My memories
I saw her fly against the wall, heard the sickening crunch and watched as she slid to the shag carpet lifeless and small. He sat on the floor next to her, pulled her on to his lap and gently cradled her in his arms. For a moment I thought I saw a glimpse of remorse or had I only imagined it. She looked so tiny and helpless in his arms. She wasn't bleeding. Was she breathing? I couldn't tell. Help arrived and he ordered them away. Who had called them? Why did they leave? They just left her there!
After my sister began to stir he got crazier than ever. He blamed her for bringing attention to his violence. He kicked her out of the house and told her not to return. Mom hugged her and told her to go to the backyard and wait. A while later he was settled in the den in front of the TV half asleep. Mom went to the back door to find her as she lay huddled cold and scared in a chair. Mom went in and made sure he didn't notice the sound of the door over the TV as my sister crept into her room. Grabbing a pillow and blanket she lay hidden on the floor shivering behind her bed. We couldn't comfort her, I wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be okay but I couldn't. I didn't know if anything was ever going to be okay. Worse would be if he were to notice we were both missing. He would search for us. If he found us with her in the house things would have gotten worse.
As I write these memories I am reminded that they are my memories of events of that night. My mother, brother and sister may have very different memories of the same event but I don't care. My sister would tell you my mother never protected us. She has even told people my mother was abusive too. Mom did protect us. At times putting herself in great peril. Mom asked for help to escape his abuse and was advised to keep the family together and to do her wifely duties.
Years later I asked my father about that night. I had always wondered why he didn't let the paramedics check her out as she lay unconscious in his arms and he said the event never happened. He said he would never have hurt any of us like that. Hours after his denial that he had ever hurt any of us he claimed that hitting us wasn't abuse. It was okay to beat your children. "I was beaten and it never hurt me" he said. I have no idea if he was beaten or not. I am certain he had to lie to himself over and over in order to live with himself. Surely he needed to do something to bury the guilt or how could he have ever lived with himself. Was he evil enough that the acts he committed didn't cause him to lay awake at night unable to sleep? Did he ever waste a minute of his pitiful life in remorse or regret?
A few days ago my mother and I were talking about his abusive ways and she remembered this event. Her memories were very close to my own except my strongest memory is of my sisters lifeless body in his arms and later her huddled and shivering on the floor with nobody to rub warmth into her limbs or give her the comfort she needed. Moms strongest memories of that night were of standing between them when the fight began and him breaking her nose yet again. She worried that night about my sister after he tossed her out fearing she would come to harm by somebody other than my father before she could safely get her safely back in the house.
I find it interesting that nobody can remember who called the paramedics that night. Mom forgot my sister was out cold and thought it was her. I thought it was Mom. Maybe it was a neighbor or my brother or maybe my sister had called before he hurt her sensing it would be very bad! Perhaps one of us blocked it out fearing he would know who called!
My sister kept well hidden until the next day when he left again. Days later when he returned I don't remember him making the big fuss I feared he would when he saw her in the house. I thought we were all in for it for sure. Could he have silenced all of us? Would it have even been possible for him to make us all disappear?
As I think back to my fathers lack of memory and his half admissions I wonder if that is why my sister and I never agree on how things were. Have her memories changed to help her cope with the pain?
By the time this event happened I was in the habit of pulling out my book and writing about all the big things. That event was a really bad one. I thought my sister would die that night. Either from the injuries he inflicted after he knocked her out or from someone or something while she was outside in the night or even from the cold. My memories were written in my book and because they were I feel they are truer than those of my mom or sister. Or maybe they are truer to me because they are remembered from my perspective.
After my sister began to stir he got crazier than ever. He blamed her for bringing attention to his violence. He kicked her out of the house and told her not to return. Mom hugged her and told her to go to the backyard and wait. A while later he was settled in the den in front of the TV half asleep. Mom went to the back door to find her as she lay huddled cold and scared in a chair. Mom went in and made sure he didn't notice the sound of the door over the TV as my sister crept into her room. Grabbing a pillow and blanket she lay hidden on the floor shivering behind her bed. We couldn't comfort her, I wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be okay but I couldn't. I didn't know if anything was ever going to be okay. Worse would be if he were to notice we were both missing. He would search for us. If he found us with her in the house things would have gotten worse.
As I write these memories I am reminded that they are my memories of events of that night. My mother, brother and sister may have very different memories of the same event but I don't care. My sister would tell you my mother never protected us. She has even told people my mother was abusive too. Mom did protect us. At times putting herself in great peril. Mom asked for help to escape his abuse and was advised to keep the family together and to do her wifely duties.
Years later I asked my father about that night. I had always wondered why he didn't let the paramedics check her out as she lay unconscious in his arms and he said the event never happened. He said he would never have hurt any of us like that. Hours after his denial that he had ever hurt any of us he claimed that hitting us wasn't abuse. It was okay to beat your children. "I was beaten and it never hurt me" he said. I have no idea if he was beaten or not. I am certain he had to lie to himself over and over in order to live with himself. Surely he needed to do something to bury the guilt or how could he have ever lived with himself. Was he evil enough that the acts he committed didn't cause him to lay awake at night unable to sleep? Did he ever waste a minute of his pitiful life in remorse or regret?
A few days ago my mother and I were talking about his abusive ways and she remembered this event. Her memories were very close to my own except my strongest memory is of my sisters lifeless body in his arms and later her huddled and shivering on the floor with nobody to rub warmth into her limbs or give her the comfort she needed. Moms strongest memories of that night were of standing between them when the fight began and him breaking her nose yet again. She worried that night about my sister after he tossed her out fearing she would come to harm by somebody other than my father before she could safely get her safely back in the house.
I find it interesting that nobody can remember who called the paramedics that night. Mom forgot my sister was out cold and thought it was her. I thought it was Mom. Maybe it was a neighbor or my brother or maybe my sister had called before he hurt her sensing it would be very bad! Perhaps one of us blocked it out fearing he would know who called!
My sister kept well hidden until the next day when he left again. Days later when he returned I don't remember him making the big fuss I feared he would when he saw her in the house. I thought we were all in for it for sure. Could he have silenced all of us? Would it have even been possible for him to make us all disappear?
As I think back to my fathers lack of memory and his half admissions I wonder if that is why my sister and I never agree on how things were. Have her memories changed to help her cope with the pain?
By the time this event happened I was in the habit of pulling out my book and writing about all the big things. That event was a really bad one. I thought my sister would die that night. Either from the injuries he inflicted after he knocked her out or from someone or something while she was outside in the night or even from the cold. My memories were written in my book and because they were I feel they are truer than those of my mom or sister. Or maybe they are truer to me because they are remembered from my perspective.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Betrayal
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)