March 29, 2005

• Continuation of March 15 and 19th.

  
  

  A bit more of my history. Words cannot describe the incredible terror and feelings of shame that were my constant companions during this time. I feared for my life as my mom’s alcoholism got worse and worse. She never did tell my father that she knew, but made sure that she put me out in front of my father in ways that I wouldn’t consider ever doing to my daughter. She bought me seamed nylons because he thought they were sexy, she made me model my first bra for him. She left the room when she knew he would immediately call me over to the sofa to paw me. I did not realize just how much she enabled his abuse of me until years later, so I had to work hard at forgiving her as well.

  
  

  In talking with Pastor Don, he pointed out to me options that were available to her. I had been believing that she was helpless too, but she wasn’t, she just wanted to keep things on status quo. I had to forgive her. Perhaps the most important spiritual lesson I have learned from my past is the incredible power of forgiveness. I really rebelled against that because I felt that I was the victim (I was) and they failed me, but I also sinned. I also hurt others. It was only when I made the choice to forgive them that I was able to begin to free the bonds that were tying me up inside.

  
  

  Basically unforgiveness meant that I was carrying them around with me all the time, and they could have cared less that they had inflicted the pain on me, they had long since died, and yet they were ruling me because of unforgiveness. It was explained to me that forgiveness is not absolution for the repercussion of sin, my parents are just put into the hands of God for judgement, they still had to face the fruits of their sin. Forgiveness is an awesome gift for me because it frees me from carrying around dead weight.

  
  

  It is not an easy process for me, and seems to be a bit ongoing as new memories emerge, but oh so necessary. Now if a memory emerges I immediately speak words of forgiveness. It also does not mean that the past is forgotten, it just loses a lot of its power over me.

  
  

  Well my father’s sexual abuse continued until I was 15, and then my parents made a trip to visit relatives during the school year. My sister offered to watch me for the week they were gone, so at one point she asked me, “Has he been bothering you too?” I was surprised that she had been abused too, so I thought here was the answer to my prayer for escaping the hurt of the past. I told her what he was doing, gave her the two notebooks my mom filled out. She and my brother (she is 15 years older than me and my brother is 16 years older) read the notebooks and decided that I had to be taken out of that house. They went to the juvenile courts. I wish the courts had handled the situation differently than they did. I will explain as the story unfolds.

  
  

  We hid out at my sister’s mother-in-law’s house, and they made a phonecall to my parents explaining that the courts were going to be involved in the sexual abuse that my father did. I actually felt sorry for my mom because I figured that she would be severely beaten or hurt because of the two notebooks. I figured she would have to tell him about them. We were scared, did not pick up the phone and I lived in terror for the juvenile court date when I would have to face my parents. Words cannot describe the terror.

  
  

  Unfounded terror though, my parents never came to try and get me back to their house. I wanted so much for them to come and beg forgiveness, to say they were sorry, to say things would be different, and that things would be so much better, kind of like happy ever after. I still hurt when I think that they did not care to fight for me. But I also realize that the evidence, in my mom’s own handwriting, was probably so convicting that they knew they did not have a chance. But I sure wanted them to try. The courts kept those notebooks until I was 18, then destroyed them. That is the one thing I am sorry about, I should have been allowed to get those notebooks back, it would have meant a lot to me as I began to face some of the memories in therapy.

  
  

  The courts also gave me a choice, foster home with a stranger, or my sister offered to let me live with her. For many years I regretted my choice of living with my sister (we have since made ammends) but I also know that statistics show that foster homes are not always what they are cracked up to be too. Day one in my sister’s house she called me to her bedroom and told me that it was my fault that my father did what he did, that I should have fought back. Guilt heaped upon guilt. See I didn’t want to hurt my parents, I felt it was my fault that things came to the point of being taken out of the house, I felt shamed and dirty because of what happened to me, and guilty because I didn’t fight back, so I started spiralling down into depression. Life at my sister’s was also hard for both of us. I was a constant reminder of what she escaped from. And she took it out on me. I will tell this in another entry.

  
  

  It is funny how we think that our prayers are answered when we get the answer we want, and I thought God had finally answered one of my three prayers, to make my father stop. He did not answer it the way I wanted, with my father loving me and stopping, but I figured that being with my sister would help, for she would understand what I went through. Unfortunately she didn’t. See, she forgot that she had my brother living with her, and her trials were a bit different.

  
  

  My father was put into Lexington KY for drug addiction when she was a child, the Marines treated his stomach problems with morphine, and he ended up addicted. My father beat them, drank, and a few times pawed her, but my brother slept with a knife under his pillow to kill him if he hurt them too much. He also beat my father up once, and then both found ways to escape the house early. My sister to nursing school and early marriage, my brother to the army, he signed up a year younger than was legal.

  
  

  I was by myself in that house with no one to turn to. And it took years of therapy to realize that my sister and brother might have been able to figure out that there was something wrong sooner, but they never asked. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Both my sister and brother turned their abuse into anger, and it was the anger that hurt. They also never forgave my father, and it has had repercussions on my sister’s health.

  
  

  I am so grateful that I have found God, because I have been able to shake some of the generational curses that could have followed me from the past. The therapy I received, and the godly counselling from my pastor have helped to free me from much. I also don’t think I would ever have allowed myself to have a child if I felt that I would do to them what my family did to me.

  
  

  I will write about life at my sister’s next, as that also shows some of how wedges were put between me and God. But my husband needs the computer now.

  
  

  Have a blessed day,

  
  

  Heather

  • 1:54 pm
  • 12 Comments