Slash me with your sloth…father, and I will prevail with my GOSPEL
‘Too tall to feel this small’
‘Wholesale dysfunction…one size fits all’
‘Love a dangerous drug’
‘Who died and made you King of anything’
Often I am so afraid of writing…of…the shit. The abuse, the excuse, the reasons, the life that had been laid out for me.
Sick and tired of being…sick and tired.
My family is such that ‘preferential treatment to undisclosed bad behavior’ should and always will remain…not discussed. That through rite of passage, someone else’s poor choices and illness of soul…should be our cross to bear. Like a second-hand pair of worn sneakers. Needing repair, lacking in luster and essentially, useless to the human race.
We find our true selves on the road to avoiding it.
Seems to me…many of us…were sent to a church in order to purchase a receipt of absolution. Confession of the sins of youngsters. Weren’t we barking up the wrong tree?
I had been sent to a catholic church every now and again, by myself or with my siblings…Not a parent to be found…within secular sight.
I wonder, now, had we not been sent there to be freed of childhood sins? Or, had we been instructed to lose the sin of handy me down crimes?
Indeed, childhood transgressions of white lies and false alibis…were only a shielded veil to the catastrophic family affairs that lay in wait.
By chance, I had entered a non denominational church, last week. A Reverend with a smile. Prayers and meditations of eternal life being a friendly experience. Thoughts of… who and whatever greets us at the end of this the ‘tunnel of love’ is not angry.
I walked away with a sense of peace never derived from the Icon/Idol/Image that would leer down upon me…as a child.
Also, by chance, I discovered a list of requirements to be checked off at will…on the bathroom wall.
How common is it for those who are abused to continue on? Why do we? And, how do we break the chain of fiendishly foul family non fiction?
Dear Mom, dear sister, dear wife, dear…everyone and anyone who is a victim:
Do you feel threatened?
Are you constantly being criticized?
Are you being told how to act?
The list is ongoing. But my question,is…Ruth, why do you have to continue the family tradition of…pretending, defrauding, masquerading…the fact you were abused. Why must, from the angry God to years of neglect, you carry the rosaries on?
Am I scared? Will I be alienated? Would others who once pretended with me…never forgive me?
I am the problem…with past, present and future domestic abuse…if I do not seek a solution. Half of my baggage isn’t mine to begin with.
From the time I could crawl…I ran! From the time my mother could cry…she lay in a fetal position…before my eyes. From the moment my father would quarantine my siblings and I with his persistent and constant remarks of belittlement…I had been told to HUSH!
I cannot remain HUSH any longer. And, possibly, the most vocal critic will be those who wrote the lines to my youthful play.
I am now the writer to this line. I am the orator to the ‘Ghost’ story. I will no longer be ridiculed into silence. The Buck-et of Abuse will stop only be the means of one single strong voice…one by one by one. We need to stand alone to rise together. Break the silence!
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