Though groggy from a double dose of Xanax, it is not a wasted day. I sent a few letters that having been in me for 60 years but only now have been sent. To Don and Seth, the two older ones who have managed a mismatched brotherly friendship ever since Seth moved here from California a few years ago. And Stevie, my younger brother.
To Don and Seth.
You say you love me. But how can you love me when you are brotherly with a person who almost destroyed me? If Tom had done to Trista (Don’s daughter) what he did to me, you never could be such friends with him. Same with you Seth. Would Tom be your best buddy if he did that to Jennifer? But if it’s me that’s OK? That I am nothing?
I could have recovered from the horrific sexual act he inflicted upon me at such a young and tender age, but it was after that shattered me.
The innuendos, cut-downs, making me look to others in that group of people I was unfortunate to be born into as next to nothing. He did it in my fifties sitting here at my table at this house while we all sat around it.
Saying to Stevie what a dummy I was that I needed his help to make the sale because the realtor was so inexperienced and making fraudulent mistakes. No one said anything to defend my intelligence or integrity.
That has been how it was since he sexually attacked in the night at 8 or 9 years old. After that he did all he could to make me look less than a real person around all of you so that what he did wouldn’t seem so bad.
It was bad. It was horrific, and forever changed me. To have that done by someone I loved and trusted so much broke me. I only trust my cat.
Not you, not Samuel, not my sons, no one. My cat and grand-kids, but only when they were young enough to maintain that childhood innocence… something I lost at the very first attack. And that one? What about that one? Danny? I know I was raped. But only remember before and after. When he slipped in my bed saying, “We’re going to play mommy and daddy. You’re the mommy, I’m the daddy.” Then blank.
That memory’s repressed, but causes such dysfunction in my life and my sleep even now. I am still very hypersensitive, jumping at every little sound, the cortisol bursts over a life time draining me so that my energy has become very limited permanently.
You came into the bathroom because I was screaming. “It hurts down there,” and my vagina (at 9 years old) must have been ripped up from the rape.
But you seemed glad no emergency seemed imminent, almost disgusted with me, turned around and left.
No one ever helped me, nurtured me, held me, told me it was alright, or protected me from more.
I told Seth ‘DENNY FUCKED ME.’ His eyes looked shocked making me feel so much worse, that I horrified him not what I told him. He also did nothing.
Mom seemed to blame me, kept working, and left me there alone with those monsters who kept coming one by one.
Those that continue friendships with Tom are not trustworthy. .
I thought I could have a relationship with you but can’t seem to move past fear of you, fear of fatherly disapproval. You stood in as one early on. You are one of the few people who saved me from quite possibly death at my own hands.
But can we build from that? From indebtedness? I will always be indebted to you for stepping in and helping me build a life. You did save me. And I love you for it. But love is also loyalty. To also love those who committed such horror upon me are not to be trusted.
And to Stevie:
Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all. (I suggested a visit to see him at his new home in the Adrirondacks) Sorry. I am having such misgivings about family Stevie. To me what you call family is just a group of people I was unfortunate to be born into.
You were spared much of what my young life was like. It took till just this year to tell you to keep me off any emails that included Tom. Tom committed a horrific act upon my child’s body. But no one seems to care.
I protected you from it, never telling you. I watched over you best I could which wasn’t much because staying alive took all I had. It still does. The traumas of childhood meant a life of daily cortisol bursts and hypersensitivity that have drained me making energy permanently limited.
I don’t think I can really manage another trip this year. My mind says yes, my body says no. I have to accept that.
It took a lot out of me to go to Cory’s, and I’ll be gearing up to do it again in spring after the baby comes. As much as I’d like to see you, you’ll have to do the traveling.