This is the most honest I have been in a long time. I am sorry.
Its more than scary lately to live in my skin knowing the things that it has survived, the things that I knew, the things that I never had a chance to be innocent about. Those things are terrifying to me as an adult woman how in the world did a child deal with those things, I struggle so much with this. I was never an innocent child, ever. I guess there can be no dealing because that is all that was ever known. I knew so much at so little, that I never remember not knowing and those things are unimaginable; truly more than sad. I knew what certain phrases that my father said meant sex. Like lets go make a sandwich, but how he said it and the look in his eyes and why he would look at me, how in the world would I know what that meant!!! Such a struggle I knew and I don't know how. I knew that when they went in the bedroom , I knew that they were having sex. I knew what they were doing. I knew the parts and the pieces. I knew at night when they left the bedroom door opened, and he was on top of her, I knew I more then knew and was scared for her. I knew what my mother was doing as she knelt in front of him in that big brown recliner. When she would say she had to make him happy. Was that our jobs to make him happy??? That was the worst for me, what I hated the most because I often thought I might die. I couldn't breathe and he didn't care. He would always threaten that I better not get sick, even sometimes kicking me out of his bed. I knew that when he couldn't get an erection, there was something inside of me that was grateful because I knew I wouldn't be hurt so bad, my body would get a little break and there would be no blood to clean up , no sneaking to the trash, that was so scary as a little kid bleeding and not knowing why not fully understanding. I knew he would be angry and probably a little rougher but I knew for that night I would not be fully raped. Those things more than bother me, how I knew those things; how I in my little mind when I should have been worrying about things that children worry about I was worried if my father was going to be able to rape me or not. That was my reality and that is more than disturbing ,terrifying and unimaginable. and my life, that was my daily life.
How does a child live like that. Those are the things that break my heart. There was a huge piece of me that was more than worried for my mother going into the bedroom with him. I worried that she would be hurt the same way that I was. The problem with that is that she was an adult. Her body was prepared and able to consent to sex. Me, My little body was not ready and never wanted those things to happen , yet there was an anger when they would go in the bedroom that I was left alone. That I was the one worrying about her. Where was the worry for me, where was the concern for my little body.....my heart my feelings, my soul that was being torn to shreds and yet I was the clean up specialist . Clean up the mess and keep moving. Pretend that your body isn't damaged, pretend that your heart isn't broken and get ready for school. That was my life. That was my everyday, just doing the things that I had to do to survive. There was Albert and his threats and his big black boots stepping on my tadpoles, I knew even then to just go away he was going to get what he wanted and instead of being angry for my little bleeding body and what had just happened to me, I was angry that I bit my nails and couldn't save my tadpoles. That was the life that I led. Clean up, throw things away don't let anyone notice. My body hurt all the time, ALL THE TIME and it was something I learned to live with. There were always times that it hurt more when there wasn't enough healing between assaults. Most of the time I went away because I just couldn't be in my own skin.
Today at 45 I can not get my head around the things that I knew the experiences that I had and the life that I lived with those people who were supposed to be keeping me safe. Even all of that; I still find myself thinking was it really that that bad......that is still a thought I mean sometimes I wonder if I am making a mountain out of a molehill. I think it was just sex, yes in the beginning it was awful terrible, it was always awful terrible but later it didn't physically hurt most of the time not like when I was 5. At least I could just leave in my mind and go somewhere else, anywhere but there on my bed, or his. At the same time I think it was that bad that you couldn't even stay in your own little body you had to go away leave and find a place to be safe at least for the time they were on top of you. The reality of her little life, its more than I can bare. I try to find reasons and excuses, I try to make it make sense and have meaning that somehow will make things less terrible. The scope of the things that went on as a child are so overwhelming and I will always come back to the fact that people didn't notice, that no one stood up for me that if all those things were so terrible why didn't I break, why didn't I crumble and have someone else sweep the pieces. I want an understanding of the strength that it took to survive that life. I want to find those things deep inside of me that was somehow still able to notice the rainbows and the simple kindnesses in this world. In my world full of violence and hate and so much hurt , how in the world did I survive ...how did I hold on to kindness and make sure that everyone else felt it. I want to understand that. I want to understand that in spite of all the things that have happened me I still win, they hurt they are terrifying but I still win. I could have died, but yet I am still here fighting. I am still here still fighting and I want to be proud of myself for that, and there is a part that isn't because I place the blame on that little 5 year old for picking out a shirt for knowing what he wanted with no words being spoken, for being angry when they went in the bedroom, for being jealous of my mother, for for just cleaning up and pretending that everything was ok. For being gang raped and just handling it.
For 5 men taking turns for hours and hours and hours doing the most unimaginable and I just kept breathing. Often during that day I went away repeating their names, watching the fan.The times I was there and conscience All I could think about was fixing the fringe so everything would look like it was in place. Making sure that when they were done, there was no evidence of what the walls had seen. I had to pull myself together and make it all look pretty. When they were done, I pretended that I was fine, I kept telling myself though I couldn't walk that I was fine, that I crawled to my bed and even the sheets hurt my skin. I didn't go to school for a few days every inch of my body hurt, my body hurting was something that I got used to. I knew that others weren't there and that this was my life. And later in life, when I knew what was going to happen to my body, to my soul I didn't wait around and I just left. I couldn't tell you what happened or what words that he said, his sandles came off, my words didn't matter and I went away. This was my life, this was what I was good for and this is still what I fear every every every single day. I knew so much before I could fully understand it, and comprehend what it all meant. And today I still struggle I know now but there is still so much that is so confusing. I was just a little girl I just wanted to be. To be loved and cared for and to be special and important. I was never important to anyone. So much honesty that I can't hold in my heart, I can't hold it all in and be ok anymore. These things are hurting me and I can't hold them by myself. They are just to heavy to bare anymore. These things are not my fault. If I don't get them out in the light, if I don't let them go, I will never believe anything other than the gross and disgusting. I have to believe that I am so much more than this. I want to believe that I am more than this.
I heart your heart.
I heard someone say this and my heart sank. This fits me. I am not a viable wife, no I am not. I feel too broken I feel too needy I feel like the things that have happened have made me something other than wife materiel. I feel like I will never be loved and never know what its like for someone to care for my heart in my own home. To wake up from the nightmares and someone to hold me tight until it all feels ok again. For someone to gently touch my face because they see strength and beauty. For someone to hold my hand and give a little extra squeeze to know that they are there by my side. To have someone to sit with and watch my favorite show to have someone who will pass the tissue and it make no difference in how he loves. To have someone say I love you because of my love for whales or look at my heart and think I never want to be anywhere else. To come home to dinner made and lovely candles on. To take the kids out for presents because of the special person that you are. To say he loves you across the hall just because he can. Someone who holds me a little tighter on those anniversaries that tear my heart. To want to keep me safe and sound and show me with their words and actions. When the memories come and I can't see anything else, but its not seen a problem , he just sits in my space and lets me know I am not so alone and he is here now.
I want all those things and yet I am not a viable wife. I am not sure that those things exist I am not sure, I can be loved I am not sure that I am worth all the things that I long for. Sometimes I worry about what will happen when I get old. My children will have their own lives and there will just be me. I wish there was a way to stop the longing the ache the pain of things that I feel that are just not made for me. 
