It has been quite a while since I posted any diaries and I must apologize for that. I think the fear I have at exposing myself and the fears I have in facing everything. I have had so much counseling, so many "groups" so much of so much and I know what to do and how to get out of "bad spots". But to put it in black and white is so extremely frightening.
So I guess you could call this an emotional cleansing of sorts. I don't know what to call it. Or if I should even call it anything. I just know I need to get this out. I need to tell my story. I need to tell and share my pain, share where I screwed up, because yes I did screw up many times. I am not perfect. I have lots of warts. Hopefully that wart remover cream starts working soon ;-) If not I will learn to live with those warts.
In my first diary I shared some bits and pieces about my early childhood. Memories from then are few and far between. I always wondered why. I know now that it was a self preservation tactic used by many. The less remembered the less pain, right? I remember the drive home drunk. I remember the knife wielding maniac going after the barking dog. I also remember the fun we had as children racing up and down our street playing tag, riding our bikes. I remember making a rock factory and getting my finger stuck in the bike chain (ouch).
Sometimes I wish I could remember more of my childhood and less of my adult life. The life I had as a child directed me for far too long and sometimes still does to this day. I often find myself trying to please others. I find myself staying silent about wrongs and bottling it all inside. A work of progress, right?
Fast forward to when I was 14. My father had passed away due to a unique type of heart attack, and my mother had met a man and remarried. As most teens, I was very jealous and angry that she could think of replacing my father. And sadly this came with a special new set of problems. Dad was a drunk and abusive and would go on rampages, but my stepfather brought a whole new issue into the light. As a developing young woman, he took special care in pointing that out to me, and trying to help me to develop, especially after he found out that I had my first sexual contact with another teen my age.
Sexual abuse. There I said it. I say it often, but I honestly do not think I have ever written it down. I am not sure what to think of it now. And oddly enough, 30+ years later I honestly believe I have "dealt" with it. I no longer have the nightmares about him. I have forgiven him. And I can actually have a sort of friendship with him for my mother. Its an odd sort of friendship. he knows what he did. He has told me he can never make up for what he took. Most professionals have said I have taken the step of forgiveness. Is it odd to some? Absolutely. Are him and I best buds hanging out all the time? Absolutely not. Does the sexual abuse of children disgust me? Most definitely!!
I am not going to post all the gory details for some psychotic voyeur to get thrills from. I do not know how I have reached a point of forgiveness for me to him. And he never expected it, never requested it, and when he finally faced what he did, he was extremely ashamed. I have some in my personal life who absolutely hate me because I still do acknowledge him and speak to him. In writing this I am not looking for hate, I am not looking for questions as to why I forgave him, how I forgave him, or why I still talk to him.
Why? Because I wanted to move out of the pain FOR ME.
How? I have no idea. It was not like I said to myself, "self, you need to forgive your mothers husband for molesting you". It just happened one day. One day I was hurting from it, and then the next day I was no longer hurting.
Why do I still talk to him? Because of many reasons, just a few here pop into my head. He has tried making amends in many ways. He has acknowledged his horrible actions. He is a tie to my mother (as dysfunctional as she was, she is no longer here and sometimes a daughter misses her mom, no matter what). And I guess because in spite of the horrible there was also good in him too. He taught me the value of hard work. I remember summer jobs with him were hard. But I learned the value of working hard and I made more working with him for one day a week, than my friends did in their 3-5 day a week summer jobs. Many good memories along with the bad stem from him.
There is healing and hope. Everyone has to be in their own space, and nobody can tell you how to heal. I think that is the most valuable lesson I learned from all of that, and from all of my experiences. Everyday I get more hope, more healing. Some days come with challenges (like today which is what inspired me to come back here and write again). I hope I can give others hope and healing, and that everyone can heal in their own time and in their own way. I also hope that everyone knows that your healing and my healing are completely different and what I can do or want to do is different from what you can do or what you want to do. I also hope that makes sense to you, the reader. It makes sense to me, and while I hope that what I said helps others in some way, I write for me. For me to put it out there is to see it and realize that maybe I am not unusual. I am just like many others.
Or maybe I just want to ramble. I am good at that too. And hopefully I can be more vigilante about sharing. I promise the next diary will come in less than 374 days :-)