Scars of Abuse

This is my life and my past that I write here. It’s been a long time in coming out and dealing with it. If you are a person who is easily upset and disturbed, perhaps you should move on and not read.

Abuse takes many forms, not all are recognised in the general public and there are some abuses so hidden folks can refuse to believe. The hurts inflicted on me are both. I am a survivor of childhood sexual molestation. I am a survivor of verbal abuse and emotional neglect. I have never been a victim. I am a SURVIVOR.

My  own flesh and blood father raped me, not once but many times over the course of several years. He didn’t stop with me but abused my sisters as well. This man has been in jail and served his time and living his life in our old home on probation. Four years in jail and six on probation isn’t and will never be enough justice. However his age at the time of arrest and his medical problems did influence the courts to make such a ridiculous ruling.

I was only eleven at the time this abuse started and it has only stopped when I broke all contact with him. The rapes stopped when I learned to say “no” which was around age 14/16. Why that had an effect I don’t know. I have often felt it was more due to my age than anything that I could say. I believe he preferred prepubescent children. I was only 14? when I could say no. My birth father is a self-centered, bible thumping, hypocrite of a man. He didn’t rule us with an iron thumb but used instead emotional blackmail and threats of withholding love and the total isolation from society and family. Even when I became an adult and could vote for the President I wanted, he told me who to vote for. As if I didn’t have a mind of my own and was incapable of making a decision. There is good reason why the ballot is secret. I am forever glad that it is. I voted for who I wanted!!!

Some things in life never changes, my birth father isn’t one of them. The moment my mother died when I was eleven my life has never been the same. My birth father just became what he was, which he had hidden from all of us. A child molester.

Families shouldn’t hold secrets like these. I found out later that there were rumors that he had did the same with a younger cousin too. Way before he was ever married and way before I was ever born. For me it’s my answer to why he insisted on keeping the family away from us. Oh he used religion as a wedge between him and his folks. He drove it deep and has ever persisted on driving it deeper. In this I am lucky that I don’t deal with him. I’d never hear the end of it because I am Pagan.

I am scared, but scars are wounds that have healed. There is no way to live life fully and escape without a few scars to tell how one has lived life. Such is the way of the living.
A few Resources for others like me:

National Center for PTSD
Survivors Healing Center
Adults Molested As Children
Adults Molested As Children: A Survivors Manual for Women and Men

One Response to Scars of Abuse

  1. verdandisif says:

    I am so proud of you for standing up for yourself, and in turn you are helping other abuse and trauma victims realize they too can make the transformation from victim to survivor. I myself am a multiple trauma survivor and no matter how long I am on my healing journey or how many steps into recovery I take, I will always get goosebumps when I read someone else’s story of becoming a phoenix rising from the ashes. You are awesome, strong and wonderful!

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