....no more....

Since I was a child, I have never been made to feel so insignificant, powerless, worthless, as in this past week.   Every insecurity, every fear, every nauseating memory came flooding back.

I grew up with a tyrannical father who saw the female species as less than him, as inferior.   My gender made the act of ignoring what was happening to me, right under his nose, easy.  I was the sacrificial lamb for keeping the peace in my family.   I learned at a very early age that my feelings and needs were not important.  What was important was to keep quiet, do whatever it took to keep everyone happy, and to fly under the radar in hopes of not being noticed.  

Mu heart hurts for the abuse others have suffered and if I could take their pain and carry the burden for them, I would.    I live with an entire childhood of memories of abuse, suffered at the hands of someone who supposedly loved me, with tacit approval from all of those others that supposedly loved me.   This fine, respected, deacon, pillar of the church was given free reign to do as he wished.   I was God's little joke, being the only female born into this extended family.   I was put there for entertainment purposes - when God was having a slow day, I imagined him looking down to see how poorly I was handling my lot in life.   I always wished for a sister or female cousin, but was grateful none were had, for they would have surely had to endure the same as I.  The person that I loved more than anyone else in my life, I realized in later years, was aware of what was happening.   To her, it was acceptable because of Adam and Eve and women being evil and whatever else the Bible said to support her fine church-going husband.  Appearances were of utmost importance.   As long as all looked good from the outside, it didn't matter what was on the inside.  I suppose that is where my need to be impeccably groomed and well-dressed comes from.   What others see is more important than what I feel. 

I've been expendable since the day I was born.   I was the family secret that everyone knew about, but no one talked about.  

Through counseling, I have learned that I was failed by those who were bound to protect me.  Yet I still feel deep within my core, had I been better, had I been worthier, had I been loveable, none of it would have happened.  I also know that many people have had it far worse than I, so I have no right to complain. I had the basic necessities:  food, clothing, shelter.   To ask for more would have been greedy.  Feelings were insignificant.

Being with my husband allowed me to live using the only survival tools I knew.  As long as I kept everyone happy, kept everything looking good, and didn't make waves - my survival was guaranteed.    If I stayed busy enough, the nagging ache in my soul could be ignored, the hunger in my heart could be dismissed.

As wave upon wave of trauma hit me, the strength that I possessed was slowly eroded.  The shoulders that were used to carrying boulders couldn't withstand even the weight of a feather being added.   Where I once was of Herculian strength, I became the weakest of weak.  To me I was failing.  Others were amazed that I was able to go on.   My world as I knew it had crashed around me, and I had no plan, no knowledge of what to do - but I managed to try and hold it together the very best I could when all I wanted to do was die.    It was then that I realized I had to alter my life.   My feelings were important, my needs were important, I was important. 

I attempted suicide when I was 15.   There was no significant event that occurred that made that day any different than the rest.   It was the emptiness inside, the knowledge that this was not how life should be lived. the hunger for love, the shame of not being strong enough or good enough or smart enough, that overwhelmed me that particular day.   Being the failure that I was, I failed at my attempt.   To this day I'm not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Those same feelings drove me to the same point a couple of years before he came along.  Only added to those feelings was the proof that all of my sacrifices for others had been a waste of my life.    The major difference was that I couldn't leave those I loved with the pain of what I might do.   Ironic that the very people I felt I had sacrificed my life to were the ones I couldn't saddle with any pain.   I even worried about the trauma it might cause whatever medical worker to have to deal with my act.   I may be God's little joke, but he did bless me with a kind heart and the inability to intentionally hurt or harm others.    

It would be much easier to give up on believing in people, to give up believing in a loving God, to give up believing that love does exist.   But I refuse to give up entirely.   While 99% of me doesn't believe, 1% of me does.   And it is that 1% that keeps me going.  

The next time someone wants  to throw barbs at me for my lack of worldliness, my lack of experiences, my very limited perspective - they might want to reconsider.    While they were watching cartoons,  I was handling adult situations with the mind of a child.   While they were off becoming wise in the ways of the world, I was struggling with the reality of its ugliness.   While they were living, I was surviving.   I am happy for those that have lived the lives they sought  Please don't mock me because my opportunities were limited. 

Kudos to those for living the lives they led, having the experiences they've had, accomplishing all that they've accomplished, for accumulating all of the wordly possessions they've accumulated.    While all of that may impress them, it doesn't impress me.  What impresses me is what's inside someone - how they treat others, and how they handle adversity, how they make others feel - the core of who they are.

I know its the inside that counts.   The outside is nothing but smoke and mirrors.

I will take all of the blame for my current situation and all of the ugliness that has come out of it.    I've been shouldering guilt since before I can remember for much heavier burdens.    The guilt I've carried around has been boulder-sized.  Anything else is just a pebble - just another little weight to add to the load.

That I trusted him with my heart is testament to my weakness - one of my many faults that he has taken great delight in pointing out.   That I trusted him with my soul is a testament to my 1% belief.  Even though 99% of me knew better, 1% of me wanted to believe in him.   I was proven wrong, yet again, but I still refuse to give up.

Time is all we truly have, and every day is a gift.   Having faced death through the confines of my mind, the uncertainy of tomorrow is very real to me.   I won't live for tomorrow, for tomorrow is not guaranteed.  

I can't change my feelings, but I can change how I react to them.   I don't want him in my life.  I don't want to be considered a part of his life.  

There is nothing more I need to know or hear.  I've learned all I want to learn from this situation.   He's said enough to last me this lifetime.