I ask for no pity. I survived.
How does someone heal from the past? How can I breathe? I waited so long to tell someone about it. So scared, I was, because I didn't want to be ostracized.
Family would call me a liar. To hear that I am then label me that over and over only kills me inside. This is how my cutting started.
The screams silenced by a pillow, a gag, tape or a hand. Throttled, choked and beaten. Yet I still stand here. No longer capable of ever being friends to women. Too hard to trust.
So long ago I was a child. So long ago I was lost. Not ever sure I was wanted. I just remained silent to everything.
Then to experience a ravage. A drunkard. How does any child move forward? How do I trust? Just as I did. Block it all out of my mind. Including all the verbal degrading remarks. I stood silent through it all.
My mind wanders off to how I projected I am okay. No words were ever spoken. No one understood why I retreated, started cutting more but then excelled. The back and forth.
Then never really understanding what love meant nor the need for people to exploit to the highest level.
Never will I understand why my sister was more important nor will I understand how my birth was a fault for many issues.
I cannot begin to explain the freedom I gained when I told my mother I would never set foot in her house again as long as my sister was there. Never once did my mother ask for the truth. Only she thinks I hold this great disdain, hatred for my sister.
No just escaping the abuse. Escaping the cutting. Escaping the terror.
No my mother never has asked about the depth of my pain. She only reminds me, in her heated grievances, how much she wishes I was the deceased child not my sister. Just how much more wonderful life would be if I were dead, instead. Then she recants, almost ignoring that those words fell from her lips seconds ago.
And still I say nothing. I let her grieve. I let her rant. If she only knew my dad wasn't the only evil one in the family.
Now in all my postings of life I don't mention that possibly I am a deceiver like my father. So many years of hiding. So many years of being silent. Is that not the same thing as being one who deceives others?
What if, once, just once I had spoken up? Would I have still been labeled "crazy". I will never know.
The only things I can hope for is the opportunity to express what happened to me. To explain.
Yet even still I carried my baggage from one dysfunction to the next. Helping so many people see how blissful marriage was. And the ONLY thing I did right was be a mom. Yet I am sure my children will say that is false.
Ah so much of my life has been a struggle until I vowed to survive. Abuse. Rape. Poisoning. Manipulation. Control.
Yet, does it mean anything??
I really don't know. Life is unique in the sense that each day gives us new pieces of the puzzle. Our job is to apply it and find the light in all the negativity.
See people, my life is just a story of me. No inspiration saved that of survival. All I can say is it is Jehovah that kept me going. Long before I knew him.
The day I entered the world screaming and unwanted. Jehovah has taught me how to survive.
Family would call me a liar. To hear that I am then label me that over and over only kills me inside. This is how my cutting started.
The screams silenced by a pillow, a gag, tape or a hand. Throttled, choked and beaten. Yet I still stand here. No longer capable of ever being friends to women. Too hard to trust.
So long ago I was a child. So long ago I was lost. Not ever sure I was wanted. I just remained silent to everything.
Then to experience a ravage. A drunkard. How does any child move forward? How do I trust? Just as I did. Block it all out of my mind. Including all the verbal degrading remarks. I stood silent through it all.
My mind wanders off to how I projected I am okay. No words were ever spoken. No one understood why I retreated, started cutting more but then excelled. The back and forth.
Then never really understanding what love meant nor the need for people to exploit to the highest level.
Never will I understand why my sister was more important nor will I understand how my birth was a fault for many issues.
I cannot begin to explain the freedom I gained when I told my mother I would never set foot in her house again as long as my sister was there. Never once did my mother ask for the truth. Only she thinks I hold this great disdain, hatred for my sister.
No just escaping the abuse. Escaping the cutting. Escaping the terror.
No my mother never has asked about the depth of my pain. She only reminds me, in her heated grievances, how much she wishes I was the deceased child not my sister. Just how much more wonderful life would be if I were dead, instead. Then she recants, almost ignoring that those words fell from her lips seconds ago.
And still I say nothing. I let her grieve. I let her rant. If she only knew my dad wasn't the only evil one in the family.
Now in all my postings of life I don't mention that possibly I am a deceiver like my father. So many years of hiding. So many years of being silent. Is that not the same thing as being one who deceives others?
What if, once, just once I had spoken up? Would I have still been labeled "crazy". I will never know.
The only things I can hope for is the opportunity to express what happened to me. To explain.
Yet even still I carried my baggage from one dysfunction to the next. Helping so many people see how blissful marriage was. And the ONLY thing I did right was be a mom. Yet I am sure my children will say that is false.
Ah so much of my life has been a struggle until I vowed to survive. Abuse. Rape. Poisoning. Manipulation. Control.
Yet, does it mean anything??
I really don't know. Life is unique in the sense that each day gives us new pieces of the puzzle. Our job is to apply it and find the light in all the negativity.
See people, my life is just a story of me. No inspiration saved that of survival. All I can say is it is Jehovah that kept me going. Long before I knew him.
The day I entered the world screaming and unwanted. Jehovah has taught me how to survive.
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