Family schmamily

I'm writing tonight in perplexity. My last post was shocking to some. It contained taboo subject matter. It was hurtful. Grotesque. Ugly. I knew that it would bring pain to some. And I knew it would set parts of me free. 

I know who my biological father is. I've checked him out at the grocery store numerous times. And at my Grandma's funeral, one of my uncles introduced me as his brothers daughter. But I was never his. 

When my mom got married I got a whole new family. Cousins, aunts, uncles, nanny and papa. I loved them. I still do. Very deeply. We've all been mad at each other for various reasons. And then forgiven or at least tolerated the other person. They are mine. Or were. 

Fifteen minutes after my last blog post I received a phone call from an aunt. I let it go to voicemail. It was astounding. I was kicked out of the family. I understand their pain and disbelief. They were aware. Cried with me when they found out saying they would have saved me. And now because I broke the silence that has entrapped me, I got the boot. 

I was deleted from facebook accounts. Told "even if" those things happened I didn't need to tell the whole county. Appearances in the community are taking precedence over my healing, my journey. 

Here's my conclusion. Fine. Go for it. Disown me. I'll still be me. I'll still love you. I'll still want healing between us. However, I won't be silent anymore. I won't be held under the bondage. I now know who I am. I'm fine with it.  My family has no shame to bear. If the entire world knows the baggage isn't theirs to carry. 

And here's some more of what I've learned. Family is who loves you for you. Who comes when you need it. When my darling Shelbie had her seizure there was an army of people from OB waiting for me. Organized by my soul mate Hil. After my recent surgery they were the ones who called, sent pizza, texted, and came by. That's my family. Then ones I want in the trenches of despair and on the hills of happiness. 

I still stand.

My story

Last Saturday my dad had been gone three years. I went to work. Had a normal day. Memory of that day flitted through my head but didn't really make me sad. That makes me seem cold and heartless. But I'm really not. This is the hardest post I'll ever write. 

My mom got married when I was five. The man she married adopted me. That's when my life changed. He was a fun loving caring individual. People liked him. He worked at a local garage and drove a wrecker. He was damn good at it and helped at many motor vehicle accidents. But he was also a sick man. 

The first time I was molested I was five. I told. It was a big deal. And it was never supposed to happen again. But that's a darkness and a sickness that never goes away. Through the next decade those episodes happened repeatedly. The depths of depravity in my childhood aren't for the faint of heart and I still have trouble telling them. 

I became an insecure mess. I believed that it was my fault. I thought that I made him feel that way. I was afraid to tell anyone because I didn't want anyone to not like him. I knew his family wouldn't believe me, and I was afraid I'd never see my mom again. That's a heavy burden for a child. 

I've often said that I ate my way to safety. No one wants a fat girl. The more depressed and abused I became, the more I ate. I'm still a nervous eater. A habit I'll probably never kick. 

As the years went on I became the most socially akward teenager ever. I didn't take care of myself. I didn't shower often enough. Changes in my body freaked me out. When hormones hit I became attracted to boys it felt dirty and wrong. I was clingy and desperate for friendship. I thought everyone one knew I was a dirty whore and didn't like me. None of those things were true. I hated going home and tried so hard not to. 

It's strange how all your life you want out. Away from the hell you live in, but when I became old enough I was too afraid to do it. The world is a scary place. I'm still afraid of the dark and have just recently been able to sleep alone in my house. The damage abuse does stays with you. It's like layers of an onion. Even when you peel one away, there's more. 

I had no idea how to deal with boys. I still don't. I can talk to anyone, anytime, anywhere; But if a man approaches me I become instantly stupid and crazy. I have trust issues before I can even remember their name. 

The anxiety that has consumed me from my experiences is hard to shake. The fear of being molested and raped is something I deal with on a regular basis. I swear sex offenders can instantly tell that you are "their" type. Memories every once in a while pop up in my mind and make me a mess. I even still dream about it. It never ever heals. 

Most of my family and friends know. It all came out a few years ago. It was just as traumatic as my childhood. It changed my whole life. Now my family understood why I didn't give Johnnie my dads name even though he was named after his other grandpa. And they knew why I eloped. I just couldn't let my dad give me away. Or why I refused to breast feed my children. It made me feel dirty. And why I was so weird. I didn't know how to be normal. 

I didn't write this for sympathy. I wrote because it frees me. I loved my dad. I grieved for him. Part of me misses him. I forgave him years ago. If I didn't let it go, it was going to kill me. I've only been to the cemetery once since he passed. I hope his heart was right with the Lord. 

I'm sure I'll be disowned by a few family members. I'll hear how the internet isn't the place to air your business. It's really not. But I don't care. This is my story. This is my life.