Posts tagged ‘Sexual Abuse’

August 28, 2011

It bothers me, “the blame game”

It bothers me when I read of people who are stuck in the blame game. I know that it shouldn’t because I lived there for so many years.

I think it bothers me because I know what life can be like when you let the blame go.

I once blamed my bipolar, depression, chaos, etc, on my mother and father.

True, they could have been much better parents. True, I was really dysfunctional because it was the only thing I knew. But I took responsibility for my actions. I took me away from them! I took the initiative to learn a different way to live.

So many live everyday in despair and it breaks my heart.

I read many blogs. Blogs that are authored by people who were abused.

My hope is that they read my blog. Read it so you will know you no longer have to live in chaos. You can make this life the best life ever!

You have to work hard, you have to choose to be real with yourself. You will have to choose to be honest with yourself. You will have to choose to see the ugly truth. The truth is your chaos is YOU! Not your parents, or your abuser, or who ever you blame.

Your life today – the chaos, depression, bipolar disorder is not someone else fault, it is yours!

August 4, 2011

His final words

He told me he would die soon. He said he was ready to die. He said the cancer had won, he hurt all the time. He was tired. He would shoot himself soon.

We made small talk for a moment.

Then…

He told me how much he still loved my Mother. He told me about when they met, what he first thought when he saw her (an injured bird), and how he fell in love with her the moment he sat eyes on her. He went on and on for what seemed like an eternity about Mom. When he finally stopped talking I said,”It is so sad that she died so young.” He replied, “Yes, but that was the way it had to be.” I responded, “She just could not stop drinking, she was so drunk when she died.” And he said…

“Actually Veronica (he inhaled and sighed), when I saw her, she wasn’t that drunk.”

I never followed up. I never asked, “What does that mean.” I never said a word. I just sat there, dumbfounded.

He then changed the subject and asked me if I really thought I had a chance at finishing school. I did not answer right away (still in shock I guess). He then said, “You know Eva (my step sister)… blah blah blah” that is all I heard. Then he said, “Well, I guess so far at least you have a good GPA, maybe you will finish, who knows.”

He took a breath…

I said, in a whimper, “Yes, I think I can finish school.”

He said again, “Well, maybe you can.”

He changed the subject again. He talked about how proud he was of Jake.

And just about that moment, my son, Jake walked in.

He and Jake started talking.

I just sat there, feeling numb, disconnected. It was as if I was watching the two of them from somewhere else.

In that moment, all of the pieces that I had worked so hard to put back together felt as if they were fracturing. Chipping away.

My adrenaline was pumping. My heart began to race. My brain started banging around inside my head. My thoughts were flying fast. I was trying desperately to keep up with their conversation.

At some point, I interrupted their conversation, and began to argue with my father, over..? It had something to do with politics… really? Nothing, it was over nothing. Yet, it was an argument over everything!

He became irritated and ask me to leave.

I did.

About a week later, he shot himself.

July 27, 2011

Before and after my Dad died

I was numb. I was shocked. Although I knew it was coming, somewhere in the back of my mind I just could not process the thought of him dying. Not only dying, but committing suicide. But after he did kill himself I was OK with his death. I was not hurt or angry that he had killed himself. I understood why he would and he had explained why he was going to do it.

But when we got a copy of his will, that is when I became angry and hurt. It is not that I wanted money. It was that he left my step-sister pretty much everything. He left my brother a bug chunk of money as well (which I expected). But me and my sister – $500! And that was not the hurtful part.

What hurts?

1) When your own father misspells your name in his will.

Yes, he did not even spell my name right!

But, two, was the conversation I had not long before his death that hurt the most!

I thought I would have the opportunity to go back to him and readdress what he said.

But that day never came.

July 24, 2011

After the reunion, what I always wanted to be

As I posted in this blog: https://nomorevictim.wordpress.com/2011/06/08/the-family-reunion/ I found that I had become very strong.  I could stand up for myself, I could face challenges, and I could walk away from a situation without feeling defeated.

This was a defining moment in my life. My life became clearer – sharper, and so did I!

Within a year, I decided to go to college. And soon I will be graduating with my AA and transferring to Sam Houston State to get my BA in Education! I currently have a 4.0! I am the student I always wanted to be.

I may have never asked my Dad those 8 questions, but what I did do was become the daughter I always wanted to be even though my Dad would never be the Dad I had always wanted.

I am the wife I always wanted to be. After that fateful day, I no longer leaned on my husband for emotional support. I discovered I could take care of myself. This new sense of self helped me to be the wife I always wanted to be. No jealousy, no anger, and no fear of abandonment.

Today, I am what I always wanted to be, but never imagined that I could be.

Happy!

But I will admit, it takes work and dedication to be happy. Is it worth it? Hell yes it is!

July 11, 2011

8 Questions I wanted to ask. . .

but never had the courage!

  1. Do you love me?
  2. Do you know that you hurt me?
  3. Does it matter to you that your hurt me?
  4. Do you understand that for many years I was actually beyond hurt, I was broken?
  5. Do you know what that means?
  6. Do you know that I hurt so bad that I wanted to die?
  7. Does that affect you, knowing that you are responsible for that kind of hurt?
  8. Who hurt you, why are you so broken?

Instead, I learned to play bridge and he and I would meet to play often, I met him for lunch, I helped him come up with a diet program, I listened to him when he needed, someone other than Elly, to talk about his cancer, I listened when he told me he had bought another miracle cure on the internet and I never – once judge him for it, I took him food that I had cooked or baked, I took him supplies after the hurricane, I cried for him when he told Nanny, his mother, that he was dying of cancer, and I listened when he told me he was going to kill himself: I never criticized him, I never told him not to do it, and I told him I could understood why he would commit suicide.  

What was my payoff?  Today I can tell myself that, despite him, I was a good daughter.  And why that matters to me, I really have know idea.  

July 9, 2011

One Year Ago

My dad and my brother, less than a month before my dad committed suicide.

July 7th was the one year anniversary of my father’s death.  My brother, sister, and I all met for dinner on Thursday.  We talked about that day:  how we felt, what we were doing when each of us received the news, and how we feel now.

Incredibly, I feel no sadness.  For me, my father is not really dead.  Since Elly made the memorial service about her and the fact that we were not allowed to see his body, my father’s death has never felt real.

In reality, it does not matter much to me whether he is alive or dead.  Oh it did for a little while, but today I feel neutral.

From 2008 until his death, I cared. I knew he would be dying sooner rather than later and I wanted to get to know my dad.  And the truth is, I kind of did.  But I was to afraid to ever ask him the questions I really wanted to know.

Being a victim of sexual abuse, I believe, makes you afraid to open up conversations with the abuser.  I was afraid to ask him why.  I was afraid to ask him anything about it.  I was afraid he would tell me it was all my fault!

August 27, 2010

I was born

to Ron and Linda Hard in October of 1968.  Had I known what kind of childhood was ahead of me at the time of my birth I might have just given up right then.  I ask myself now, did my Dad ever just see me as his little girl?  Did he ever really love me as his child and not as an object of his desires?  I also ask myself what his motivation were behind having children.  Did he only want them to have something he could take advantage of?

Does an abusive parent know the moment a child is born that they will abuse that child?

%d bloggers like this: