Perverts 'R' Us

You Own It

By Danyealle ( abuse )

Dad,

How do I even start this? I guess every letter in the world starts with a simple sentence so here it goes… You and I haven't talked in many years, Father, my choice not yours. So out of the blue you are going to get this and probably wonder why I am writing it. But as you read along you will understand why, so shall we go on?

There is so much I want to say to you, but I am not sure I can do it in one letter. So, I had best make it clear and concise, hadn't I? To say I hate and loathe you would be an understatement. I hate you so much that it is like a physical thing to me, a black cloud that seems to swirl and cling to me. If I even hear anyone mention you or your name I start to shake with rage. It's bad to say that you hate your father, but you have earned it!

You are the most repulsive human being I have ever met in my life, Father. For those that don't believe in true evil, well they never met you and heard what you have done. I know you well enough to know what you are doing right now as you read this; you are glaring at it, snarling slightly, a grimace on your face and your eyes ablaze. I'm also being called every foul name you can think of. So what? It isn't like you haven't said them to my face.

For the longest time I thought I was responsible for all that you had done to me, that I was a bad kid and drove you to it. Wrong! YOU are at fault Dad, YOU and YOU alone. From the time mom died until I left home life was a living hell for me. A hell that you created and stoked the fires of. Sure, for about a year we had kind of a honeymoon period, for lack of a better way to say it, while we dealt with our grief and tried to put things back together but after that it was a downhill slide. How it started I really don't remember, it was such a gradual thing that it is hard to pinpoint where it actually began.

First it was just a slap here and then you started with objects, whatever you could lay your hands on; finally it went to where broken bones were not uncommon. The whole time you heaped mental abuse of all kinds on me, telling me how stupid I was, that I would never amount to anything, that I couldn't do anything right, things like that. Then the sexual abuse started. To this day I really don't believe it had anything really to do with sex, but was more of another way to punish and degrade me, make me hurt.

Through it all, you told me everything was my fault, that because I was the way I was that it was happening. Sad part of this is that I believed you. I felt like trash and honestly believed I was at fault for all the things that were being done to me. Not only that, I was actually covering for you when people started asking questions about bruises and such, telling them I had an accident of some kind or another. But you had counted on that, hadn't you? That is why you laid the guilt on so thick, so I wouldn't tell. For me, it was like a no-win situation, if I told they would take me away from the only parent I had left, and who knows where I would have ended up? If I didn't tell, the abuse would continue unchecked and possibly get worse. What kind of choice is that for someone who is 11 or 12?

By the time I was 13 I knew you hated me, I know that most kids feel that way, but I was sure of it. All anyone had to do was look at your face and the expression on it to know. By this point things were very bad indeed and I was a wreck. At breakneck speed I was heading down the path of self-destruction and I was powerless to stop it. In all honesty I wasn't sure I wanted to. Every day it seemed I was thinking about death and dying. At night I laid there, hoping against hope that I wouldn't wake the next day. You see if I died, I would be out of pain, or least that is the way I saw it. It felt as though I really had nothing to look forward to, that all that was stretched before me was more pain, both physical and emotional.

This was also the point in time that I started having problems with sleeping, staying awake for 48 hours at a time, then crashing. It really isn't much of a mystery as to where that came from; I was terrified of nights because I was always afraid of waking up with you in my bed. I though that if I was awake, it wouldn't happen. But it did, with alarming regularity at that. Always, there was some kind of physical pain with it; you didn't care how rough you were, just so you got your rocks off. At these times I shut my eyes and pretended it wasn't happening, letting my mind wander to somewhere else, hoping to shut off what my body was going through. Sometimes that worked, sometimes it didn't.

Now I know what that was. It's called disassociation, and is quite common among abuse victims. To this day I can't tell you what the particular act was, just that we had sex, because I became quite adept at being somewhere else while my body endured you. The aftermath of all these encounters was that I felt dirty, like I would never be clean again. I took long showers trying to wash it away, but it never did any good. That dirty feeling always remained, like an invisible coat that I was sure everyone could see. I was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that everyone could see just by looking at me how horrible of a person I was, that I was worthless, useless, and didn't deserve anything good to happen to me.

As 13 slipped into 14, things got worse. Literally I hated myself, completely and totally. I couldn't stand to even look at my reflection in the mirror. All I saw was a fat, ugly person who didn't deserve to live any more. Increasingly I let myself delve into very self-destructive behaviors that usually ended with me getting hurt in some way, either mentally or physically.

My self image was so distorted that when I saw myself I couldn't see what everyone else did, someone of normal build and weight. I saw someone that weighed at least 300lbs. That is when the anorexia started, starving, bingeing and purging. Then came the cutting, using whatever I had to cut myself with, always where people wouldn't normally see it. It was odd, from the pain the object made then the red river that came after it also flowed a release of some kind, like out that gaping wound flowed troubles and it reset my dials somehow so that once again I could cope. Also, it served as a form of self-punishment for me, proving to myself how horrid I was, that this is what I deserved. That pain was what I felt I deserved.

As things spiraled down further, the thoughts of death and dying transmogrified into something else; overt action. Repeatedly I tried to end my life through various means, thinking that was the only release I had left from the pain, that someone like me didn't deserve to be alive. If harming myself wasn't bad enough, I gravitated to someone who would do it for me as well, Evan.

Looking from my vantage point, years later, I see what it was, another way to hurt myself, and in picking Evan, that was a sure fire way for that to get done. Again, from the vantage-point of more maturity and age, I shake my head, thinking about why a thirty-something year old man would want a 14 year old girl as a significant other. It sure wasn't out of the goodness of his heart. What he wanted was a playmate that was very naïve and inexperienced to teach to do things the way he liked them and never question anything he did. That was me all over. I was so enamored with the thought that someone like him, so mature and handsome, would want me that I never thought to question his motives. I should have, I know that now. But like the naïve and foolish person I was I let him gradually talk me into kinkier and more bizarre things, never realizing that I could say no to him. Like anyone ever listened when I said that, huh dad?

So I had someone in Evan that would hurt me like I felt I deserved and didn't have to do it myself anymore. How do I explain that to anyone? I really don't know, but I am going to try… To me, in many ways, Evan was my protector, father, friend, and guardian angel all rolled into one. He took care of me, buying me what I needed, standing up to you and generally making sure I wanted for nothing. To someone in my position it was like god had sent me a guardian angel!

No one had ever taken my side against you and told you that you were wrong and that you shouldn't do that! Wow! In exchange all he wanted was a few kinky things from me. Anal sex, BDSM, watersports, all of that he introduced me to. But from my point of view then, it wasn't too much to ask. It wasn't odd after one of our encounters for me to be bruised or even have a broken bone, but still I thought he treated me better than you did. What I didn't understand then was you had trained me all along to accept stuff like that because of the way you felt about me. No person my age should have even known some of those things existed, but I did, not only that but I knew how to do them.

Silently 14 slipped to 15 with me being a total wreck. The anorexia was in full swing and held me tightly in its grip. It is no exaggeration to say that I was dying slowly. No longer was I going to school, they had decided to provide me with a tutor at home because I was ill. Hell, they all thought I was going to drop dead going up and down the stairs between classes is what it really was. And that fear was justified. There was no nice way around it, I was dying.

Still, I couldn't see what everyone else did, someone that was nothing but skin and bones, I still saw the obese person in the mirror, so the weight kept dropping. But even that didn't stop the abuse coming from you, it went on as always. Skinny or not, you were going to do what you wanted to me. Evan was the same way too, didn't matter how sick I was, as long as he got what he wanted. By this time you had pretty much given up on me, hadn't you?

Later on I learned a few things. One was that you had told everyone that if I had chosen to die, that you weren't going to stand in my way, and the other was that you told all my friends to prepare for my death, and that I wasn't going to make it. How do I feel about that now? Honestly, I don't know. But I do think it is rather rotten that you gave up on me, rather than try to get me the help I needed so desperately. Maybe you saw it as a way to finally get rid of the problem in your life, I don't know. Looking back, this is the period in time where my memory is faulty, because all I can get is bits and pieces here and there, nothing concise and in order.

Sixteen comes in and I am dying, even I know that. Lowest weight was 57 lbs. Everyone, that is, everyone but you, Father, is begging and pleading with me to eat, telling me that they don't want me to die. But I don't listen; I am too far down the spiral for that. Then came something that everyone had feared; I had a heart attack. It was a minor one, but a heart attack nonetheless. But if there was any good to come out of it all, it was that the heart attack scared me and slowly I started to eat once again.

But other things happened as well, good things from my end anyway. Somehow or other, all that shit seemed to light a fire under me and prompt me to change a bit. First thing I did was dump Evan. For a long time I had known he was fucking around, but I still needed him in my own sick and twisted way. When I started getting better, enough was enough and he was gone. No, he didn't take it well, but I stood firm.

Then came you… Finally I was strong enough to tell you enough was enough and you weren't going to hurt me any more. I remember quite well the knock down, drag-out fights we had at this time, but I wasn't going to just give in any more. If you wanted it, then it was going to be a battle to take it, because I fought you every step of the way. Eventually the sexual abuse stopped, because I guess it wasn't worth the battle with me over it. Still, though, you were the world's biggest jackass, and as time went on I realized that I didn't like you a whole lot. Yes, you were still my father and I did and do to this day love you, but that doesn't mean I like you at all.

Over the next couple of years I gained some inner strength that I didn't know I had and started changing. Standing back I looked at my life and where it was, then took inventory of everything, sorting the good and the bad out, then settled back and looked at what changes needed to be made. Then I started making them. No, it wasn't easy, but anything worth it usually isn't.

First came men, I realized the horrid choice I had repeatedly made when it came to them. Not meaning to, I chose men like you. So I did what I thought was best and quit dating until I felt I could make a better choice or at least be able to see things I couldn't before. It wasn't that hard really, a lot easier than most other things I had done.

Next in line came you. This was harder because I had to take a long, hard look at what my belief system and values were then go from there. All my life I had been taught to honor thy father and mother, but why should I honor someone that is an abusive asshole? After much soul searching and a lot of thinking I realized that I don't have to. That was quite an epiphany! I realized it was OK for me to hate you, to hate the things you did to me and hate the way you treated me. I didn't have to put up with any of it just because you were my father. Also, because of the way you were and are, I have a choice whether or not to have you in my life. Just because you are my father doesn't mean it's an automatic thing, it really comes down to me, and whether or not I will allow it. I won't and don't.

At 19 I moved out on my own and tried to rid myself of your influence in my life. Still you tried to control my life, but I would no longer allow it. Somewhere I had finally found the strength to make you stop. And I did it. Never again would you hit me or treat me disrespectfully. Enough was enough and it was going to end.

No, you didn't go willingly, but in the end you did go. And I found the strength within myself to make sure you stayed gone. Sure it hurt but sometimes that hurt can be a good thing. For me, it was. Then came more changes. Looking at myself, I saw things I didn't like, so I changed my belief and value system to something that was more acceptable to me. It was hard but I did it.

Still there is work to be done, I know that. A lot of it I know. And no, it isn't going to be easy, but then again what is truly worth it never is. I am in therapy and it is hard work, hard to walk back through all that pain and feel it again before I can sort it out and put it where it belongs along with my feelings about it. Am I almost through with therapy? No, I know that. I doubt I am even halfway through it. I still have problems and sometimes slip back into old behaviors during stressful times, but I am at least taking baby steps forward. It is a slow and very painful process but I am sticking with it.

The other day on TV, I was listening to people go on about forgiveness and reconciling their past. It made me sit back and ponder that for hours, weighing things in my mind about you. Like I am learning to do, I started sorting things into places and looked at them. First thing was what exactly is forgiveness? There seem to be so many definitions of it out there. Is it absolution of guilt and never again bringing up the topic? Is it pretending it never happened? No, when I look at forgiveness that isn't my definition of it. Forgiving someone doesn't mean you can no longer talk about it nor does it mean that you absolve that person of their guilt and culpability in it. Forgiveness is giving up the hate, pure and simple. That is all it is, nothing else.

Then came the question, do I forgive you? That question took a lot of thought and debate within myself. As humans, our first instinct is to say yes, I forgive you, now lets move on. But in the case of you is that in my best interest? Is that going to make things better? I realized the answer to both of those questions is no, it isn't. As I look within myself I realize there is no forgiveness in me for you. Nothing I know of you or about you tells me that there is a reason I should forgive you.

On the heels of that came another question; will I ever forgive you? Not an easy question to answer, not at all. Most of us try to be a stand up person and say at some point yes, I will forgive, but that isn't always right. After much thought and deliberation my answer is this; no, I very much doubt I will ever forgive you for what you have done to me. For a while I was very uncomfortable with that answer and pondered it a lot. After all, isn't one of the basic tenets of therapy to forgive and move on? A discussion with my therapist taught me that the answer is no, not necessarily. In this world there are some acts that fall into the realm of unforgivable, for me what you did to me is there.

Maybe at some point in the future I will change my opinion about that but where I am now, I cannot see myself forgiving you for what was done to me. Part of that is that you have never asked for it, nor have you ever admitted to doing anything wrong. All I ever hear is how horrible I was and what I put you through, never any culpability on your part for anything. Until that happens I won't even think about the topic of forgiveness when it comes to you.

By now you are probably wondering the purpose of this letter, whether it is just to bitch at you or something else. Well, there is a purpose, a two-fold one actually. Firstly, I am unburdening all of this for really the first time. Never before have I put it out in any form that could be called communication. I've talked about bits and pieces of it here and there but never this much of it. So this in a way is partially a catharsis for me, part of my therapy.

Secondly, this is my formal way of telling you that you are not welcome in my life any more. Since I left home you have tried here and there to get a hold of me but I have never returned any of the gestures, thinking it best to leave it where it was.

Now, though, I am strong enough to say what I should have long ago: Dad you are not welcome in my life any more. Do not call, write or in any other way try to contact me. Although you are my father and one of my few living relatives, your presence is not welcome in my life. After all these years, I do not want anything to do with you, nor do I want you to contact me. If there is to be any kind of contact, I will be the one to initiate it.

Dad, I do not wish you dead or any harm to come to you, despite all that has happened I do love you, but I just cannot have you in my life. I have fought long and hard to try to overcome the legacy that you have forced upon me. Although I am not fully over it, I am making steps that direction and will not be sidetracked by you. I don't need your particular brand of love around me.

So this is our official estrangement. If you do try to contact me or get in touch, I will resort to legal means to keep you away. That is an ironclad promise, dad. One I will keep. I am not the child you once knew, I am different and stronger than you ever thought I would be, and from that strength comes the ability to do just that. If I were you, I wouldn't test my resolve.

I do love you dad, don't doubt that. But along with that love is a black hatred. Both can exist together easily, as I have found out. But there is something else there as well, a small part of me feels sorry for you and how miserable you must be in this life. But none of that is enough to bind us together anymore.

As I close I will say that I wish you well Dad and hope that you have made peace with yourself and what you have done. I hope that somewhere you find a measure of understanding when it comes to me, although knowing you as I do, I very much doubt it. I wish you nothing but happiness, Dad, with all you do. Believe that if you believe nothing else in this letter. Somewhere, sometime, before your life on this rock comes to an end, we may be able to reconcile slightly, at least long enough to make peace with one another. If not, it will be both our failings.

With Love,

Tamara