Child Abuse: The Silence
(Laurel, Maryland, USA)
I have not made an entry here in some time.
My Mother is a rage-aholic and I survived sexual abuse and then abandonment from my Father. In some ways I think my Father's crime was the lesser because he left. Which was the best choice he thought he could make to protect me. I really appreciate that now, even though it devastated me as a child. And, he remains no one I'd ever like to know.
My Mother continues to rage - as far as I know. I haven't seen her since my posting about the last episode. With tax season coming up, our enmeshment strands can finally be completely severed for good because money is her last control tactic.
I've been in therapy for the third time now. I'm 42. I've written some essays. I'd say that I feel whole for the first time. I can sleep. I can look people in the eye.
I can't decide if the Parental violation is worse than the societal violation. The fact that no one really advocated for me is something that haunts me a bit. But knowing this site exists sets me at ease. And knowing that the Maryland law says she MUST BE reported to CPS leaves me with a potential sense of something better. It brings up my terror of her. But, I like that the little girl I was has advocates for her well being now. I'm sad that I had to grow up in order to defend who I was as a child because no one else did then. But we are in the "now". It's a teeter totter I'm on. But, I do feel the justice.
I had to divorce myself from the Aunt who I thought was my hero. The person I was named after. I came to realize that I was the accepted sacrificial lamb in the extended family structure. That somehow they rationalized me being mistreated and protected my Mother because she is so pitiful. There was a collective understanding of me not being as important, which is just sick.
I had to say "shame on you" to her. It felt SO GOOD. And when she said, "good luck with your therapy", which was so condescending and passive aggressive and full of "you're the crazy one" I indulged in a reply that I never would have given myself permission to say before. Her piety and Catholicism is so self-serving and arrogant. I said, "Good luck with Saint Peter and all of that." And, I meant it.
Because when we deal in truth we give ourselves and everyone involved an opportunity to grow into something better. To evolve no matter the past. The choice to stay stuck is an active one and it takes a lot of energy to make it. I accept the choice. Because I want my choices accepted. But, it's a stupid one, a weak one.
And according to Christians and most other faiths, you're going to have to pay the piper sometime. So, good luck with all of that you abusers who remain in denial.
I had to admit that rageaholism is a disease that is passed on. That me "trying" to have a little spat with my Mother in the house where I was tortured, is EXACTLY like an alcoholic "trying" to have one beer in a bar at Happy Hour. It's not possible. The disease lives on in me, and it's my responsibility to keep it in a dormant state. To manage it every day.
I had to admit that I really hate my Mother. Hate her. She has spent her life hurting me. Finding ways to hide how much she hurts me. And, that has been the only way she's come to feel power in her own life so far as I can tell. And, I don't care what her sad story is. And, I want my story to be a happy one.
The truth of my hatred for her brings a sharp clarity to everything that I do. I no longer feel like a people-pleaser. Walking in honesty, even if it's not pretty, has been the best choice I've ever made in my life.
I am now working on embracing the silence. Because that's where spirit lives. And her rage caused me to drown out silence at all times. To fill my world with noise so I wouldn't be so shocked by her screams-from-nowhere. Now, in the quiet, I feel the old fear. I feel like she will burst through my front door and attack me when no one else is watching.
It takes courage to sit through that. To trust that there are much more powerful and very positive forces surrounding. There have to be or else I would not have survived. It takes courage to sit through the echoing memory repercussions of her rageful noise and wait for the beauty.
The goal now, courage in silence. Trust in spirit.
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