not for the faint of heart
I am not doing so well. I am having trouble sleeping and transitioning to my new doctors. They cant see me for several weeks and I am almost out of meds. I am not sure what to do.
Here is a writing I did. It is definitly the most coherent piece. I wouldnt read it if you are already sad or angry.
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I know when I lost my faith. My faith in God, family, good, humanity. I don’t remember the day but I remember the moment. I remember my purple pants. I remember sharing a recliner with my dad while watching TV and hearing and feeling the zipper of my purple pants unzip. It had many sounds- my last shred of innocence pleading for mercy, my rage against all that is wrong in the world, and then the mental prison shutting its door. I can fear no more, feel no more. I see through the bars the horrors visited upon my body, but he can’t reach me in here. In here I do algebra, remember Shakespeare, and recite the periodic table; in here I process information that can be logically processed.
Why did I lose my faith at this moment you ask? I was finally back from many foster homes and a group home and our family was whole again. My father was “cured” and completing his probation and other court terms. I had just regained my life, my family and for the first time in my life I was coming to terms with myself as a victim and was struggling to be my own being. That day began the descent into deceit, shame, guilt, lies, and hatred.
That was the day my mother could have saved me but didn’t. That was the day I hated purple, lost love and respect for my mother and through that breakdown lost my faith in God, family, good, and humanity as a whole. With a 10 to 11 year olds reason, I felt that if my mother couldn’t love me enough to protect me and she stood for and espoused faith in God, family, human good, and humanity then what choice did I have but to protect myself from the very things that have hurt me, may hurt me, and will not protect me?
After I told mom about the purple pants incident she kicked dad out for about a week or two. There was a lot of screaming and crying and promises of it never happening again (besides the 5 year period before when it happen on a consistent basis). She took him back again. I for some reason became grounded under very vague terms and was disciplined for every infraction and perceived infraction. This went on for at least six weeks until one night dad came into my room and talked about he always wants to be my friend and that if I ever needed to talk to him I can. He says he is sorry for everything he has done to me throughout my short life but wants us to be friends because he loves me.
The next day the discipline at home and the teasing and basic middle school garbage drives me to seek a friend. I have few if any friends because I am afraid to share. Sharing means giving power and information to someone else, who could then hurt you to your very soul with the information you so freely gave. That night while going through my parents room to get to mine, I made the decision that I wanted to talk to dad because I really needed someone to talk to and mom wasn’t really available.
In a matter of minutes, I discovered he had something completely different in mind. I don’t know why I didn’t make him stop then or scream for help or at least tell someone the next day. I wanted so badly for someone to love me. I knew he didn’t love me and that he was just using me as you would a toy, but it felt better than being left on the shelf. I am still ashamed to this day to admit part of me liked the experience- it felt good and it meant someone knew I existed.
The next day I felt like I was drifting-no drowning-definitely drowning. I could see how I got here but there were ripples across my vision. Day after day he molested me, raped me, encouraged a sexual appetite, and encouraged deviant behavior. At first I enjoyed it from my mental prison. I would view parts of it and block out what I couldn’t or didn’t want to handle. Every incident locked me further and further into my mental prison. I quickly came to realize that I was nothing but a toy to him and that there was no love lost between us.
I closed my mental prison and did what was ordered of me. This continued for about 2 years. Most of this I don’t remember. I feel like I went on autopilot when it came to the abuse. My most stark memories are the fighting and discipline. Hate and deceit permeated the entire house. My younger siblings could feel it but could do nothing but hide from it. My mother knew in her heart what was happening but did not have the strength or courage to stop it. Or maybe she didn’t care to stop it. She had multiple opportunities when I reported abuse directly to her to stop it once and for all. The only thing I ever received was a token gesture of reform and the story of how one member of the family must sacrifice for the betterment of the rest of the family.
I lost faith in my mother over the purple jeans. I found hatred for my mother over standing up for myself. I was 14 and was constantly under pressure to have sex with Dad and suffer mom’s cutting emotional and mental abuse or suffer his ill will and foul temper and preserve what remained of my mother’s love for me. Most often it was easier to deal with mom’s assault than dad’s, so my days were filled with mental and emotional abuse and constant fighting with my mother and at night my dad raped me. One day my mom and I were arguing about something trivial and she slapped me. That slap turned a hatred on inside me like I have never felt before. A plan formed very quickly. I could use this slap and hatred to get me out of both heinous situations. I immediately broke down and told her everything that was going on with dad. She was distraught because of course deep down she knew but didn’t know. She met with dad at the other property they owned and several hours later I was summoned.
I did not know what to expect. I guess I was hoping for one of two things- that I could go live with relatives or that she would finally divorce dad. What happened next forever sealed me in my mental prison. My mother decided because of my “willingness” to participate it wasn’t abuse it was an affair.
I am immensely thankful that there were no weapons in the near vicinity or I would be writing this from a jail cell rather than my own study. This is the moment I perfected numbness. My mother doesn’t love me. I was so absorbed with that thought that I don’t even remember if I defended myself or not. My mother doesn’t love me. She is picking a convicted child molester, who has molested repeatedly over me…her daughter.
My first suicide attempt was two days later. I don’t know what it was but it was a chemical used on a farm and tasted like wintergreen. It made me look like I had the stomach flu and I have never liked wintergreen again. Every day seemed like a devaluation of my life and standing in the family. I felt worthless and began drowning again. This time there were too many ripples to see clearly. My mind slowly came back alive and I developed a plan. I would graduate early and get the hell away from my so called family.
I managed to make it to 16 with only the occasional grope and catching dad looking in the bathroom window while I was showering. At 16 I went to my freedom at OSU.
Here is a writing I did. It is definitly the most coherent piece. I wouldnt read it if you are already sad or angry.
-----------------
I know when I lost my faith. My faith in God, family, good, humanity. I don’t remember the day but I remember the moment. I remember my purple pants. I remember sharing a recliner with my dad while watching TV and hearing and feeling the zipper of my purple pants unzip. It had many sounds- my last shred of innocence pleading for mercy, my rage against all that is wrong in the world, and then the mental prison shutting its door. I can fear no more, feel no more. I see through the bars the horrors visited upon my body, but he can’t reach me in here. In here I do algebra, remember Shakespeare, and recite the periodic table; in here I process information that can be logically processed.
Why did I lose my faith at this moment you ask? I was finally back from many foster homes and a group home and our family was whole again. My father was “cured” and completing his probation and other court terms. I had just regained my life, my family and for the first time in my life I was coming to terms with myself as a victim and was struggling to be my own being. That day began the descent into deceit, shame, guilt, lies, and hatred.
That was the day my mother could have saved me but didn’t. That was the day I hated purple, lost love and respect for my mother and through that breakdown lost my faith in God, family, good, and humanity as a whole. With a 10 to 11 year olds reason, I felt that if my mother couldn’t love me enough to protect me and she stood for and espoused faith in God, family, human good, and humanity then what choice did I have but to protect myself from the very things that have hurt me, may hurt me, and will not protect me?
After I told mom about the purple pants incident she kicked dad out for about a week or two. There was a lot of screaming and crying and promises of it never happening again (besides the 5 year period before when it happen on a consistent basis). She took him back again. I for some reason became grounded under very vague terms and was disciplined for every infraction and perceived infraction. This went on for at least six weeks until one night dad came into my room and talked about he always wants to be my friend and that if I ever needed to talk to him I can. He says he is sorry for everything he has done to me throughout my short life but wants us to be friends because he loves me.
The next day the discipline at home and the teasing and basic middle school garbage drives me to seek a friend. I have few if any friends because I am afraid to share. Sharing means giving power and information to someone else, who could then hurt you to your very soul with the information you so freely gave. That night while going through my parents room to get to mine, I made the decision that I wanted to talk to dad because I really needed someone to talk to and mom wasn’t really available.
In a matter of minutes, I discovered he had something completely different in mind. I don’t know why I didn’t make him stop then or scream for help or at least tell someone the next day. I wanted so badly for someone to love me. I knew he didn’t love me and that he was just using me as you would a toy, but it felt better than being left on the shelf. I am still ashamed to this day to admit part of me liked the experience- it felt good and it meant someone knew I existed.
The next day I felt like I was drifting-no drowning-definitely drowning. I could see how I got here but there were ripples across my vision. Day after day he molested me, raped me, encouraged a sexual appetite, and encouraged deviant behavior. At first I enjoyed it from my mental prison. I would view parts of it and block out what I couldn’t or didn’t want to handle. Every incident locked me further and further into my mental prison. I quickly came to realize that I was nothing but a toy to him and that there was no love lost between us.
I closed my mental prison and did what was ordered of me. This continued for about 2 years. Most of this I don’t remember. I feel like I went on autopilot when it came to the abuse. My most stark memories are the fighting and discipline. Hate and deceit permeated the entire house. My younger siblings could feel it but could do nothing but hide from it. My mother knew in her heart what was happening but did not have the strength or courage to stop it. Or maybe she didn’t care to stop it. She had multiple opportunities when I reported abuse directly to her to stop it once and for all. The only thing I ever received was a token gesture of reform and the story of how one member of the family must sacrifice for the betterment of the rest of the family.
I lost faith in my mother over the purple jeans. I found hatred for my mother over standing up for myself. I was 14 and was constantly under pressure to have sex with Dad and suffer mom’s cutting emotional and mental abuse or suffer his ill will and foul temper and preserve what remained of my mother’s love for me. Most often it was easier to deal with mom’s assault than dad’s, so my days were filled with mental and emotional abuse and constant fighting with my mother and at night my dad raped me. One day my mom and I were arguing about something trivial and she slapped me. That slap turned a hatred on inside me like I have never felt before. A plan formed very quickly. I could use this slap and hatred to get me out of both heinous situations. I immediately broke down and told her everything that was going on with dad. She was distraught because of course deep down she knew but didn’t know. She met with dad at the other property they owned and several hours later I was summoned.
I did not know what to expect. I guess I was hoping for one of two things- that I could go live with relatives or that she would finally divorce dad. What happened next forever sealed me in my mental prison. My mother decided because of my “willingness” to participate it wasn’t abuse it was an affair.
I am immensely thankful that there were no weapons in the near vicinity or I would be writing this from a jail cell rather than my own study. This is the moment I perfected numbness. My mother doesn’t love me. I was so absorbed with that thought that I don’t even remember if I defended myself or not. My mother doesn’t love me. She is picking a convicted child molester, who has molested repeatedly over me…her daughter.
My first suicide attempt was two days later. I don’t know what it was but it was a chemical used on a farm and tasted like wintergreen. It made me look like I had the stomach flu and I have never liked wintergreen again. Every day seemed like a devaluation of my life and standing in the family. I felt worthless and began drowning again. This time there were too many ripples to see clearly. My mind slowly came back alive and I developed a plan. I would graduate early and get the hell away from my so called family.
I managed to make it to 16 with only the occasional grope and catching dad looking in the bathroom window while I was showering. At 16 I went to my freedom at OSU.