The Explanation

Recent events finally brought the perfect words from my mouth- one of the most mysterious and indecisive things about me that I have never been able to explain, to quantify before. It has managed to explain a lot of fairly big things that have happened in my life, and how I dealt with them, why I reacted the way I did. At this point, I’m just begging to be understood. To be listened to. Because I realize that I have been emotionally alone all of my life. Everybody I have known has asked me to listen, asked for my empathy and my understanding and my trust. And time and again, while given, my trust was inevitably betrayed, and the boundaries I made clear in order to be able to feel I could live securely were not only disrespected, but broken. Even today, those boundaries have been broken. And I am tired of being lied to.

 

I fantasize about selling everything, taking the car, and just driving and never coming back. These fantasies started when I was 17. And I think I’ve had them ever since. I’m still not sure that I shouldn’t have given in to that desire at least once in my life. Then I could have at least tried to make a life free of the consequences of the lives of others.

 

I was born to a single, poor parent who had five children in 8 years. Of those five, only four survive. Of those four children, only two share the same parents. My Mom worked relentlessly, and depended 110% on school programs, friends, and what supportive family we had to help babysit when she wasn’t home. At times, we had to look after ourselves. Just little children raising each-other. That meant that she had to have implicit trust with those people in order to leave us in their care. But desperate times forced her to do what she had to in order to get us all by. Taking on renters who were sometimes left to take care of us, or having boyfriends move in sooner than perhaps they might if she didn’t need help. These desperate times are what eventually led to the complete destruction of my childhood. Eventually, Mom trusted the wrong man. He would later refer to my Mother and her three daughters as his own personal harem. He molested two of us (the two youngest, of which I was one), and at least at one point made an attempt at the third.

 

I recently realized that though I have mostly come to terms with my molestation, and with my Mother, despite what that cost me, it is with my younger sister that I have issues I have never been able to resolve. While I know that isn’t fair, to some extent, it is in others. I am resentful and I wish I wasn’t. When I was molested, nobody believed me. Counselors told my Mother that I was schizophrenic and having a psychotic break. Thanks to a program being launched in Elementary Schools (“Good Touch, Bad Touch”- to help kids reach out if they were being molested) the Police accused my Mother of allowing me to watch too many movies that were not age appropriate. I knew it was true. But only me. My family was disbanded. My Mother left the country for almost 10 years, with my Step-Dad in tow. All of us children were given to different guardians. I did not see my little brother or sister for 7 years. And all because I cried for help. Imagine my surprise when 11 years later, my little sister started crying rape. My 8 year old sister.

 

After 12 years of being told that I was mad, that what I remembered was a lie, that my nightmares were a figment of my imagination, that I was going insane, after 12 years of being completely disbelieved and unacknowledged, I had begun to accept that my mind had lied to me. I had begun to believe what I was being told. I began to trust my molester. When I discovered that my growing trust had allowed him to attack again, I punished myself. I blamed myself. And so did she. My sister still blames me for not protecting her. She will not accept that I was just a kid, and that I was a victim myself. She refuses to see things from my point of view. And she has on everything ever since.

 

My sister has been a victim. And the crime that was visited on her was so much worse than what was visited on me. I know undeniably that I would have faced the same fate she did if it had not been his first run when he attacked me. She was older than I was, and had far longer established trust in him. They were on a road trip, completely alone. She had nowhere to run, and it was so easy. What she went through was so, so much worse. All the same, I have been resentful. She was never made to question her sanity. Everyone believed her. She had 100% support. My Step-Dad was prosecuted (despite her unwillingness to testify against him- I did for her). She was not forced to live with her rapist the way I was. I never really got over that nobody ever apologized to me, for the traumatizing mind abuse that I was subjected to. Differentiating the real from the fantasy had begun to seem to difficult. My molestation was never prosecuted. The statute of limitations prevented such a thing, but my testimony was enough to have him arrested. My sister never faced the Police concerning her rape.

 

People in her life have always babied and protected her. Every man she knows has this uncontrollable need to “save” her. Even my husband. She has not had to make hard decisions and grow up because she has always had someone there to do things for her. Their constantly coming to her aid, robbing her of her ability to grow, has only served to make her that much more tantalizingly helpless. With no license, she has still almost never had to take a bus. Her grad dress was paid for (at least in part) with money from my stolen recycleables. Friends of the family paid for her grad photos (I never got any), and her braces. At 11 years old she was allowed to have her bellybutton pierced. At 21, she has slept with more than twice as many men as I have at 26. She tried to commit suicide on my Birthday, which, incidentally, everyone had forgotten anyway. She then had a week long succession of parties that amassed hundreds of dollars in gifts.

 

When I was her age, I was given no sympathy, no help. I am not small, and cute. I have always been amazonian and tall. Everyone who talks about me speaks as though they’re talking about a warrior, someone strong, someone who needs no help- someone intimidating. I don’t know why being 7 inches taller than my sister has made me undeserving. I have always been seen as an adult- no matter how young. I can’t even remember a time when someone said to me, “You’re just a kid.” Yet, at 21, and an adult, my sister’s drug-intensive, drinking parties are all acceptable. I was always a good kid. I never partied, really.

 

When I moved out on my own for the first time, at 18, I did so because my Dad was trapped in an abusive marriage and refused to subject me to a divorce. We have not been close since. I left home to save his happiness. And he has blamed me for his loneliness ever since. When I turned 18 he stopped talking to me. Stopped calling. Stopped visiting. I have seen my Father for a total of maybe 1 day’s worth of collective hours in 8 years. He stops by for two hours (on the dot) every few years, on his way through town. Usually because he needs somewhere to park his car. But there was a time when he was dating my Mom (ironically), and trying to raise my little sister. At the time, he had no time for me, his actual daughter. She has had a lot of things in her life that I was denied. Understanding, support, parents all her life. She had some consistency. I was lucky to be raised by the same people for more than two or three years at a time. She didn’t grow up being mentally abused and physically beaten. I did. Everyone falls for her, even if they don’t fall in love with her (which they do most of the time). She is also extremely judgmental of me. She acts like she’s had so much worse, but is still so much better than I am. And it sucks being the shitty sister of the princess that everyone wants to save. People are fucking blind to reality in her presence and she takes 100% advantage of it. I was never allowed to make the mistakes she is making when I was her age.

 

Because of the life I’ve lived, I’ve suffered from depression, suicidal tendencies, PTSD and a pretty severe anxiety disorder. I’ve come to recognize my triggers over the years, which is how I think I’ve managed to overcome being suicidal. But one thing that is a problem for me, is that I have always had extremely raw, completely transparent and passionate feelings. I’ve never found a way to make my feelings less affluent, to subdue them. Because of how deeply, and wholly I have felt about things, I have been an easy target in my family for relentless mocking, singled out to be picked on by large groups against whom I could not defend myself. I would have all of my triggers intentionally prodded, until I would have a massive panic attack, and then told to stop being such a drama queen. So first, there would be acknowledgement of my feelings, emotional torture, and then condescension and being stripped of my right to feel what they’d forced me to. And I’ve grown up that way. For 13 years. I have been emotionally tortured and stripped of my power all my life.

 

So anything I have experienced over the years, where I have been lied to and told “It’s all in my head”, just to discover that I was right all along- that’s a huge betrayal. That’s the same game my molester played with my head. I didn’t need to go through that again. I have done some dishonest things to ascertain the truth, and I have been honest about that. I have been forthright to those whose privacy I’ve had to invade in order to catch them in their lies. The truth is one of the most sacred things in this world to me.

 

When I have ever felt so low that I didn’t know how to keep myself alive, people just got angry at me and told me to stop being so dramatic. I have huge emotional betrayal issues. And the double standard treatment I receive from people vs how they treat my sister has only made those resentments larger.
Now on to why any of this is relevant:

 

Several months ago my sister got pregnant. She was given support by everyone she knows. She was given the social and familial support to make the decision she wanted. She decided that she could not have the baby- that she was too young and it would ruin her future. It was her third pregnancy. I have never been angry that she did not have the baby, and I understand why. If she had chosen to, once again, she would have had unquestioned and unfailing support.

 

I am 6 weeks pregnant. My announcement was met with anger, threats, complete lack of support and excommunication from my home. So here I am: 26, pregnant and alone. Once again, I get completely opposite treatment from my sister, and to the extreme. My husband does not want this baby. I feel betrayed by everyone.

 

I begged him not to marry me if he did not want children. He did anyway. He says he wants the baby, but I keep waiting for his excitement instead of his status quo. He has privately complained that I ruined all of our plans, just to later make retraction. But I’m not sure if he really meant it or if he just wanted me to not be upset. This is not how I imagined my future. I imagined someone as excited as I am to be a parent to our child- as child that by all rights I should not even be able to have. I didn’t imagine growing up constantly judged, always a fuck up, always a pariah. Two months ago I thought I knew what I wanted from my life and now I can’t even remember why.

 

These days every time I close my eyes, I’m behind the wheel of the car- driving anywhere but here.

 

K.M.
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~ by Kд§$ị (ИovΔ) on 09/17/2011.

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