Month: December 2020

What? A crime

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After a sleepless night, I decided to call my therapist’s office first thing Monday morning. What could it hurt? Surprisingly, she answered the phone. She was able to fit me into her schedule later on that day.

I was a mess. I was worried that all the healing work I had done would be undone with one swift traumatic blow. I had been in therapy alone for a couple months. I just started seeing a wellness nurse for my health issues. Would I fall back into a sick game of trauma Tetris?

My daughter was going to report my dad’s crime that night. I felt anxious all day. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t settle down. I couldn’t believe what had happened and was trying to process everything.

I did feel a little better after seeing the therapist. It’s totally crazy, but the only people I feel that can understand me are the people highly trained in dealing with trauma or have been there themselves. Those people are hard to find and are so terribly broken.

The following evening my husband and I met with our pastor and his wife. Our pastor said my ultimate goal was forgiveness. But I was not even at step one, acknowledging the fact that my dad is a pedophile. Anger burned inside my heart for my pastor. I felt jealous because he had the type of parents I wanted. I wanted more than anything to belong to a healthy loving family. He had no clue what it was like to deal with trauma. It wasn’t his fault, but I resented him for it. Although, in his defense, he had no idea what he was getting himself into and wasn’t trained for this.

No one really knows what to say. I don’t either. When your good godly father dies, I don’t know what to say to you. It seems insensitive to say that I wish I had a father like yours. It doesn’t matter if he is dead. Many times I wished my dad was dead. Then, perhaps, this hell will end. But will it if it is stuck inside of me? Maybe I will always carry this baggage long after the train has left. I suppose I will have the answer someday, but it doesn’t make me feel like a good person right now.

Later that evening I received a phone call from the police. By then my nerves were shot. The officer asked me a lot of questions. What are the birth dates of your parents? Do your parents own guns? Did anyone else live in the house and have access to the computer besides your mom and dad? I told the officer that my disabled brother lives at home on the weekends. But I also told him that he cannot read or write which crossed him off the suspect list. I nervously answered all the questions asked of me.

The officer asked me to not have any contact with my parents until they talked to them. I thought I would be getting a call from my mom after my dad got arrested. But that is not what happened.

Survival; the lies I told myself

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I’ve been depressed since I can remember time beginning. Maybe you would be too if you lived in my shoes. I told myself a lot of things that weren’t true. Survival, I thought childhood would never end. I said things to myself like at least I wasn’t sexually abused. If I was I wouldn’t have the will to live. Yet fuzzy memories tickled my mind. But if I couldn’t remember, it didn’t exist. Right?

It was bad enough that my psychotic brother terrorized our house. He was small and by any means did not look threatening. But when the voices in his head called to him he would fly into a psychotic rage. He clawed up my arms, punched, head butted, gave black eyes and bloodied lips, grabbed onto hair, twisted arms, kicked with an adrenaline rushed rage. I was not comforted, he was. I was told how lucky I was to be normal. I was punished if I wanted to retaliate or defend myself. Matt couldn’t help what he did, but I could.

When I was attacked at times I almost went into a meditative state. I repeated the mantra over and over in my head that this abuse was making me stronger like exercise. I told myself that all of the pain inflicted upon my body was good for me. If he punched and bruised my arms I thought in my head that my pain came from lifting weights. I was developing strong muscles and not being beaten and bruised. I think that is why part of my early healing involved marathon running and brutal body breaking workouts. My mind was already trained.

I never learned that touch could be comforting. Not only did my brother physically abuse me and those I loved, my father did as well. He would often squeeze my mother too tightly until she cried out in pain. My little brothers and I would try to get him off of her while he swung at us. I remember him hitting and spanking some of my brothers. He would tickle us until we wet ourselves all in the name of fun. Sometimes he would play ball with my brother for fun too. He would chuck the ball so hard he would hit my brother with it. The game usually ended when my brother came in the house crying while my dad called him a baby. But my dad never flew into a psychotic rage like Matt.

The most difficult thing to endure with my dad was the emotional abuse. He often told us how stupid we were. He had the innate ability to find the things we were most afraid of to terrorize us with. He would taunt us and encourage our siblings to laugh at us as well while we whimpered in fear. We were so frightened by our dad that we didn’t want to be left with him without mom because then he was merciless. If we tried to stand up for our siblings, we were targeted next.

My dad was evil. Does that make me evil too? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I tried to be good like my mom. She would take us to church. My dad would laugh about this as well. God was a big joke to him. But it was a place I could go he couldn’t reach.

I never learned to be comforted by touch or encouraging words. In fact, quite the opposite. Touch and nice words made me feel uncomfortable. It was foreign to me. No one ever said they were proud of me. No one ever said it was okay to feel angry when my brother hurt me. I could never say ‘no’ to make it stop. I wasn’t protected. Nothing was entirely safe, not my body and not my mind.

I couldn’t control the things that happened to me. But I could control myself. I could convince myself of the lies I needed to tell myself in order to survive. It wasn’t that bad. A good beating made me stronger. I should’ve noticed the signs. I was the one that didn’t protect myself. It was my fault.

But hey, at least I wasn’t molested. What I can’t remember doesn’t hurt me. Right?

Late night decisions

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Dan and Angel started going through the pictures on my parent’s computer. It started innocently enough as things often do. My daughter sent me an old picture of myself with long hair. It reminded me of why I kept my hair short.

Paul took a call later that evening. I really didn’t pay much attention until he pulled me into our bedroom. He told me to sit down as Angel was going to share some really bad news. Angel was just home for Thanksgiving. How bad could the news really be? Was she pregnant and dropping out of college with only a semester left? Did she get bad test results from the physical she had at the doctor’s office the day after Thanksgiving? Why would they call her on a Sunday night? Maybe she had a really bad type of cancer and was dying.

My daughter was sobbing. She told me she was really sorry. I honestly didn’t know what for. Angel wasn’t the type to get into trouble. She told me that they found porn on my parent’s computer. Still not very surprising. My dad was a porn addict since I could remember. I relaxed a little. I’m sure it was shocking to see porn on your grandparents computer. But then my daughter threw a punch. But mom, there were images of children.

I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn’t imagine what my daughter had to see. I was in a state of shock. Time moved slowly. It was hard to decide what to tell them to do. I called my brother Luke. He fell to the floor and sobbed in front of his children. What were we going to do? What a mess!

It wasn’t like I had it in my repertoire of traumatic experiences yet. What to do when your child finds child porn on your parents computer. I couldn’t really ask anyone because I never knew of anyone it happened to. I certainly did not want to google it. Frankly, I am a little frightened to even talk about it now a year later.

We could all pretend it never happened. We could protect my dad. We could destroy the computer and never talk about it again. They could return the computer and tell my mom to never show it to anyone again. But then we would be criminals, just as bad.

My daughter decided that after she was finished with school on Monday and Dan was done with work, they would go to the police department. Angel was going to file a police report against her grandpa, my dad. I knew it was the right thing to do, yet no one was comforted by the fact and slept well that night.

I was devastated. I thought my life was over from his mistake. I thought I would never feel joy again. My demons rejoiced in my suffering. I couldn’t even comfort my daughter because she was attending school 4 hours away. She was hurt. She would never be the same. My heart burned with hatred toward my dad.

I thought because I was no longer a child that my parents could no longer hurt me. Boy was I wrong. Childhood ended before it even really began, but the trauma didn’t. Now it was spilling down the generations onto my children. I could no longer protect them from how things really are. It almost destroyed me. But I am stronger now, strong enough to tell my story. I know it won’t be easy. I’m afraid. I feel sick to death about it. I mourn the hurt and crying children who deserve so much more…

Gratitude week 49

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  1. I finished my detox diet this week. The first thing I ate was my best friend’s homemade pumpkin pie. Yum!
  2. I’m grateful that my appointment with the wellness nurse went really well this week. I’m going to do the allergy and hormone testing in a couple months, then will start visiting yearly. I’m grateful I stuck with it because I do feel a lot better.
  3. My daughter came home from the hospital this week.
  4. I took my son to the ER today. I’m grateful that all his tests came back normal. He is having muscle pain in his neck. Thankfully all of the serious problems got ruled out. I’m glad I could be there for him and that he doesn’t have any significant health issues. There is never a dull moment.
  5. I’m grateful I had a really good phone conversation with my brother Luke yesterday. Sadly, we are not getting together as a family for the holidays this year. There was a bit of a misunderstanding about this but thankfully we cleared it up.
  6. I’m grateful that my husband passed a huge test to be licensed for a new career.
  7. I’m grateful that we were able to celebrate his success with the family by going out for Indian food. The food was great!
  8. I’m grateful for a warm fire, Christmas lights, and watching my favorite Christmas movie.
  9. I’m grateful that I am pretty much done with my Christmas shopping.
  10. I’m grateful for a really nice church service today in a church decorated for Christmas.

Where it all began…

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Next to my mother’s side of the bed was a well worn Bible passed down from generations. Next to my dad’s side of the bed was a girlie magazine. I grew up in a house divided. We all picked our sides.

I’ve read the Bible cover to cover. I’ve also read many articles from porno mags. Did you even know they had more than pictures? I figured that out by the time I could read. Once when I was in 2nd grade I showed my cousin. She told her parents and I got in trouble. But was that really my fault?

My dad had a Playboy calendar hanging in the basement. He kept the same image up for 20 years. Although I have forgotten the month and year, I don’t ever think I will forget the girl.

Sometimes my dad’s greasy friend would drop off movies. Sometimes my dad would leave them in the VCR. Sometimes my brothers and I would watch them. Then when my brother was 12 or 13 my dad gave him his stash and told him not to let our mother know. Great dad, right?

It’s not as if my mom would’ve done anything about it anyway. She buried her head in the sand. She didn’t have any boundaries. The only time she ever got upset is if she thought someone was hurting Matt. Ironically, she usually got really worked up if Matt attacked someone and he got injured in the process.

My brother Matt was psychotic and violent. He heard voices that told him to hurt/kill little girls. I think most of my childhood trauma revolved around my autistic/schizophrenic brother’s attacks on me and the others I loved.

She did try to have boundaries with my brothers and I when we were teenagers and failed. Mark and I were the obedient children. But Luke did whatever he pleased and no one could stop him. But if we had any question as to whether mom would say ‘no’ we would ask dad. Dad didn’t care. If I asked him if I could shoot up heroin with some sleaze balls twice my age his answer would still be yes. It made my mom angry.

Sometimes I wonder if Matt didn’t physically attack us if I still would’ve suffered trauma. Looking back I don’t think a lot of what I experienced was in any way normal. I would like to think that if a parent chooses to view pornography, they would not leave it lying around for their children to see or give it to their children. I think that is pretty messed up.

I would like to think that most families develop healthy boundaries of what behavior is acceptable and what is not. I would like to think that all parents would protect their children. Not just the weakest and let the strong fend for themselves.

I’ve learned in life that I had to take care of myself. I was pretty good at it too. But I am no good at trusting others and accepting help when I truly need it. It was great for survival but it really doesn’t suit me well now.