Friday, August 28, 2009

half of me is glad the monster of my childhood is gone

I'm currently 22 years old, my stepfather died in 2001, and half of me is glad the monster of my childhood is gone. From the ages of 3 1/2 to 12 my step dad fondled sodominized and me me. I was also to perform oral on him. He liked to touch me when I was trying to sleep at night and when my mom wasn't home from work yet, I think that could be why now I have trouble sleeping at night without being scared of the darkness but scared of someone coming in unannounced who didn't belong there. After that he wanted my virginity and when I told him "NO" and told him I was going to go to the teachers or some authority at school he began beating me. Taking out his frustrations out on me through violence since I wasn't going to give him what he wanted. I used to hide the bruises under my clothes and hide the ones on my legs during Gym class claiming I "forgot" my gym suit. At one point I had social services come in the house because of my dad's verbal abuse when he got drunk and to wake up my mom who is also an alcoholic and it just didn't wake her up. It made them angry at me and I was told to be glad I wasn't going to be sent to an orphanage. At that point of age 16, I think I wished for it to be sent to an orphanage so I wouldn't have to be beaten anymore. I didn't tell anybody of the beatings because I was scared he was really going to kill me like he threatened. He already broke my mom's nose when I was a wee little girl, what's to say he wasn't going to kill me too. In 2001, he told me he was ashamed to call me his daughter, I remember sitting up all night crying falling in a depression so far because I spent so much time trying to make him proud, and I was never enough. I turned to poetry to get my anger, frustrations, and tears out. Because under his cardinal Nazi rule nobody could cry - it equaled weakness. Tears equal strength, and I couldn't cry it.

He was diagnosed in 2001, with lung cancer of the lymphnodes and it was terminal. After he spent so much time breaking me apart where I was so fragile inside I was about to commit my own form of emotional suicide barely feeling anything, let alone feeling for anyone, he wanted me to cry for him. I couldn't, he was already dead in my eyes, my innocence gone, and my heart torn apart. I felt broken. Yet when he was in the hospice bed in the middle of the living room, I told him it was okay "to go" because I wanted to be the one with the upper hand and show him that I was still me under the dirt and grime of his hatred of me, I still had a big heart. I showed compassion where I thought none was left inside. And he died. My monster gone and I watched him go. Half of me is torn, I loved him when he was sober and he showed me the ocean. And half of me hates him for the monster he was to me when he hurt me. I guess I'll always be this way. I can't escape it. Just don't know what to do about it. How to move on from it.

I've started to move on though, I've got a bigger heart and I've uncovered the child within who still likes to play. I've uncovered the true me and pieced her back together with super-glue. I just wanted to share my story with everyone and let you know that you are not alone. *gives big hug to everyone*

by Aikoon 21 Sep 2005

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