I’m angry today. I’ve been angry since Thursday night. A situation with Kat, which ended up under the realm of normal play, upset me. It upset me as a mom, worried about how my daughter was playing, that she wasn’t over her ordeal with the little girl who touched her inappropriately and traumatized her. It also sent me back, into a bad place in my head. And later, hours later, it made me angry at all the people from my childhood.
Where the hell were they? I understand, I get it, no one wants to see, to realize, to face ugly truths. Their inability to face the truth allowed the abuse to continue. It allowed me to continue being hurt. My mothers inability to hear emotion, to be there emotionally, to accept me for me, made it unsafe to go to her and tell her the truth. The fact that she was sick, her eating disorder, her fragility, meant I couldn’t tell her because she needed to be protected so she didn’t make herself sicker. It meant I had to be the perfect daughter, to help her be okay. My father wasn’t any better. I believed he could fix anything, fight anyone, was stronger than anyone or anything, and yet, I couldn’t tell him, either. He needed a perfect child, as much as my mother did. He couldn’t love an imperfect child.
And what of HIS parents? Of course they couldn’t see that their son was deranged. They saw perfect, great, helpful. They kept him close, and kept their younger daughter close, too. The oldest was a wild child, and she set the precedent that the parents turned strict and expected a lot from their children. They wouldn’t have a repeat of their eldest. So was it that they couldn’t face having another messed up kid? Did they not see signs that he wasn’t right? Did they ignore anything they did see? I don’t know.
What of my pediatrician, who treated me for bladder infections multiple times a year, even as a child who was too young to be getting infections that often. Never was the possibility of sexual abuse raised, as far as I know. And I’ve read my childhood chart. I was blamed; not wiping good enough, then it was bubble baths, scented soap. I would be accused of using scented soaps or taking bubble baths when I knew I wasn’t supposed to.
How did no one know? How did no one seem wonder? How did they not think something was wrong? And when I finally broke, and lost it as a preteen and teen, no one asked then. I was just the problem to fix. Even if I could have talked about it, faced that what happened was sexual abuse and not just a game, I couldn’t. My parents had already withdrawn from me because of my craziness, my brokenness. They wanted me fixed. I couldn’t say anything that would make them more disgusted and mad at me; it wasn’t safe to tell.
And HIM. What the hell? Why? What was so appealing about a 5 year old little girl? I was fucking 5 years old the first time he touched me, and he was nice then. I was confused, I didn’t understand. I still don’t. I can’t face so much of what happened. There’s still so much shame and self-blame. But it’s shifting. Because what did he see? A curious 5 year old? No different than my daughter? And he used that, twisted that into something ugly and gross and harmful? Why? Why? That’s what goes through my head. WHY? What did I do?
I’m mad in present day life. I want to throw this bomb at my family, at his family. I want to scream and yell that I hate them all, that they didn’t take care of me, that it’s not fair. I want to hurt them, the way I’m hurting.
I won’t. Good girls don’t get mad. Being mad makes me guilty, and afraid. It makes me feel bad and wrong and naughty. So I go between frozen, dissociated, mad, guilty, crying, trying to fake “okayness”. My world feels tilted again, and it’s tipped me down another damn rabbit hole. I’m tired. It’s not fair. Why is something that started 26 years ago still hurting me? And now it’s hurting my family– Hubby and Kat because I’m not “here”, I’m not really okay. I hate this. I’m confused, my head is twisted and spinning. I don’t know which way is up, or where the blame falls anymore. I don’t know where the truth lies. I had it worked out in my head, it was my fault, me, all me, I’m bad, I did it. Now……I don’t know. I just don’t know. Something has changed in my thinking, and it’s scary and confusing.