The great falling together.
Last night I had a new revelation. Only this one was different. This one took me a few years to realize it completely. And it took me completely off guard.
When I was sixteen, and moved away from that man to live with my mom, I wasn't sure at the time what I was running from. I just knew I had to get out. Something was wrong, and even though I couldn't tell you at the time exactly what it was, I stuck to my plan, and eventually was just thrown out before I even meant to leave. Over several months. Even over a year or so, I slowly put things together. Understood the picture and saw what I had left behind and felt scared ashamed of what I had dealt with for so long. Many lights went off in my head over these years and I was able to discuss and come to terms with what I had went through and escaped.
I became fully aware of the fact that in all of this time I never had a real father. No positive dominant male role model in my childhood to be proud to look up to. I came to terms with it, and dealt with it solemnly and quietly. I even began to accept everything that he had done to me. That I was abused and unfairly had my psyche slapped around. And I tried to brush it all off as the crap everyone goes through. Everyone has their sad story. I'd been piecing together mine. It's effects are still apparent to those that know me well. But, it's just the muck everyone has. And I could handle it. I cry over everything, but I never cried over this. I just nodded to myself and understood more of what I'd put together.
But last night a bigger piece fell into place. Something that actually affected me more than just laughing at how stupid I'd been. I guess it isn't huge in the big picture, but when it really came to me, it hit harder than anything else. The fact is, that in all likelihood, I was never a daughter to this man. I was completely and utterly used for the majority of my childhood. I was something more like a toy to be kicked because I was easy to control. He could put my mother's likeness with me and use me as a sort of voodoo doll to torture. It may not have been apparent in the front for him, but in the back of his twisted mind, I was a small malleable thing to be bend under his pressure. And I would. I'd cave, and cry, and then turn around and act just like my mother to give him the incentive to use his totalitarian methods on me. His sociopath behavior wouldn't have included me on his list of people to protect. People like him are incapable of caring for anyone that isn't his own. And I wasn't his own. And last night, I really realized the effects of being a scapegoat for so many years instead of a daughter. To this man, I was nothing. Nothing but a small version of my mother. And being a child, he could control me better than he ever could her.
The big picture has hit me in a wave. And though I always remind myself that everyone has their crap, worse crap than me, I'm just trying to deal with mine. I think I have that right.
When I was sixteen, and moved away from that man to live with my mom, I wasn't sure at the time what I was running from. I just knew I had to get out. Something was wrong, and even though I couldn't tell you at the time exactly what it was, I stuck to my plan, and eventually was just thrown out before I even meant to leave. Over several months. Even over a year or so, I slowly put things together. Understood the picture and saw what I had left behind and felt scared ashamed of what I had dealt with for so long. Many lights went off in my head over these years and I was able to discuss and come to terms with what I had went through and escaped.
I became fully aware of the fact that in all of this time I never had a real father. No positive dominant male role model in my childhood to be proud to look up to. I came to terms with it, and dealt with it solemnly and quietly. I even began to accept everything that he had done to me. That I was abused and unfairly had my psyche slapped around. And I tried to brush it all off as the crap everyone goes through. Everyone has their sad story. I'd been piecing together mine. It's effects are still apparent to those that know me well. But, it's just the muck everyone has. And I could handle it. I cry over everything, but I never cried over this. I just nodded to myself and understood more of what I'd put together.
But last night a bigger piece fell into place. Something that actually affected me more than just laughing at how stupid I'd been. I guess it isn't huge in the big picture, but when it really came to me, it hit harder than anything else. The fact is, that in all likelihood, I was never a daughter to this man. I was completely and utterly used for the majority of my childhood. I was something more like a toy to be kicked because I was easy to control. He could put my mother's likeness with me and use me as a sort of voodoo doll to torture. It may not have been apparent in the front for him, but in the back of his twisted mind, I was a small malleable thing to be bend under his pressure. And I would. I'd cave, and cry, and then turn around and act just like my mother to give him the incentive to use his totalitarian methods on me. His sociopath behavior wouldn't have included me on his list of people to protect. People like him are incapable of caring for anyone that isn't his own. And I wasn't his own. And last night, I really realized the effects of being a scapegoat for so many years instead of a daughter. To this man, I was nothing. Nothing but a small version of my mother. And being a child, he could control me better than he ever could her.
The big picture has hit me in a wave. And though I always remind myself that everyone has their crap, worse crap than me, I'm just trying to deal with mine. I think I have that right.