One of these days you will die. Someone I love, and hate greatly. I will never shed tears for you. After all your violence and your hate I will fight showing relief when you die. It is not my fault for hating you so much, I fought this feeling through many years. I just cannot forget, and thus, can never forgive you. I prayed often when younger that the gods would show mercy on my mother and kill you. I prayed that she would find the strength to leave you. You are a person full of hate and violence. I know a great deal of that is the only thing that you know. I know your life was full of violence before your family came to be. I had years of memories, not all terrible. You were a father to me occasionally, between drinks. But I cannot forget. Thus, I can never forgive. When the day comes you die, I will fight the relief. The violence will end with you. If I must not speak ill of the dead, then I will speak of the violence now and (hopefully) be done with it. How would I ever tell anyone then? To not worry about the tears and sorrow, that there is one less abuser in the world. How would I ever tell my sisters or brother, my nieces and nephews? They will all see me coldly not grieving. I will just lie and tell them I’ve lost too much over the years to shed any tears for the dead. When the abuse started my mother let her love of him and fears of my little brother losing his father hold her there. She somehow felt that a screaming alcoholic rapist was still a father. Even before the drink he would yell and scream at us every day. I was not use to it and it affected me most. My younger brother pretends that it never bugged him, but he grew up with hate in him and it twisted him for many years. He never learned how to treat people; it took him until he was nearly 17 to make a friend for himself. When our father wanted to yell at you, you cannot escape. If you feared him and tried to hide, we would kick down doors to scream at you. Worthless little fucks like us need to listen. Don’t look too far away from where he is but don’t make eye contact. Either will cause him to fly into a fit of rage. He would drink and fuck anything around. I believe that all of the kids caught him at least once. My sisters friends dangerously looked up to him, I still don’t know if he ever did one of them too. My mother wrecked his chances when she would catch him hanging out with them. ~A warning that this gets detailed and very violent from here on and so you know when I refer to my ‘father’ from here on in, it does not mean my birth father for my mother did not ever stay with him. It refers to the man that has had a deal of time in our family and was given right to be father figure. You cannot undo what you will read and know if you do read the rest of this blog post. Most of my friends I have resisted telling because I feel that once known that no one can look at him without hatred, that it makes my siblings look uncaring and ignorant, and because the hatred it can cause in a person could cause someone to seek out ending our fathers life. If someone did do that, it would be because they couldn’t stand to know such a person would be allowed to live, and because of such, I wouldn’t want them to go to jail for it. This is where Connors, Whit and my birth father (though highly unlikely to ever read this) specifically need to stop reading if you ever get to this point, because I know these things will honestly make you physically ill. If my sister or brother(again quite unlikely) ever read this, it is up to you whether you want continue, I am sorry however if you ever do even get this far, this will put the pieces together for you as well and its hard understanding what was going on. I love you guys. To help with curiosity, In a nutshell, my ‘father’ is a very bad person and my mother has taken the brunt of it.~ If you wish to continue, the just click the Read more button right.............below.........................Here......... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My sister would never believe anything ill about her father. She was there to see, but she chose to be blind. It took me years to understand everything I saw. I never knew someone could hurt someone as much as he did to my mother. It was always too late when I understood things. Even if I did understand, I am not sure if I ever had the heart to put myself in their messes when I was young. If they were getting intimate and I heard sobs and ‘No’’s would I have been able to do anything? Enter the room and tell him to stop hurting her? Shamefully it happened once, and then I let it be, making distance from that situation ever again. My mother was full of shame and embarrassment. She used it to get him off of her then but I could never get myself to do it again. Their relationship disgusted me. As an adult now, let me explain it. When people talk about no means no, they usually talk about the instances in which consent cannot be given. We often see rape as something a stranger will do, not someone intimate with us. It seems completely surreal the instances mentioned. When you are being intimate with someone (having sex, a kiss, or even just foreplay) and they won’t listen to your limits. They won’t listen to you say no. This is the type of rape he did most often when he would come home drunk. He would kiss or cuddle, then ‘No’ wouldn’t matter. His reasoning was that she would want it after a while anyway. If she wouldn’t remove her clothes he just would, she was easy to over power, no matter how many times she tried to hit him away. I remember so often him laughing at her saying no. I remember the blood and pain she had after. I didn’t understand it all then. I didn’t understand the blood and tears. In a moment of weakness she would try to explain to me that he didn’t believe her that he was going to hurt her, that she couldn’t fight him. In my adulthood I know how badly him repeating this screwed up everything below the belt with her. There was a lot of damage. She lived with so much pain. In my adulthood I read up on what had happened and explained why there was so much pain. I explained that she could have died many times over from the internal bleeding that came often enough with it. I don’t know what she ever told the doctors. She had so many problems from what he had done. I tried to tell her that it was wrong. That it was rape. That the system knew it and would back her up, that she needed to act because it killed me to see it happen. She told me that I was often not the only one praying for his death.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Kris
I am a Bi+Trans geeky student who is all about Gaming, Music, Drawing, Writing, Anime, Comic books, and Web comics. Categories
All
Archives
April 2016
|