What he took

white-journalCould it be an old warn out idea for me to complain about all my father took from me.  I am sure there is a way, a place, I can get where these things don’t hurt.  But today it hurts again.  This week it has been hurting again.

My white journal is about the struggle with lost innocence.  It is about a young girls struggle with being exposed to sexual abuse.  I hurt for what is written in the white journal this week, because I have talked about it this week in therapy.

Today on facebook I face another pain.  In the LDS community there are few things more precious then the sealing of an adopted child into a family.  It is something very dear to me, because of my own dear daughter that was adopted and sealed to us.  My sister just had her adopted daughter sealed to her.  I was not there.  My mother was there.  She looks old.  I miss her.  I miss having a mother.  I miss my kids having a grandmother.  We would be able to communicate if my father was not still abusing and manipulating her, my mother.

He took family, and the ideal of family from me.

There is somewhere in the future where I am happy to have my life, and I choose to stop giving him my pain.  Where I move forward, and stop looking back.  But I don’t want to be there today.  I want to feel the pain and the loss, because this is real, and so much of my life I was in denial of this reality.

Thriving, it is suppose to look like someone who is excited about life, not letting things gt them down, eager to live.  Maybe I mistrust people like that and don’t want to be like that myself.

I lived in daydreams as a child.  Daydreams were always so much better then the reality.  In my daydream I have a mother, my kids have a grandmother, and we can be together without my fathers manipulations coming in through her.  But she is lost to me, and to her self, he owns her and uses her.

I still have pain from the white journal.  Unresolved pain.  And I don’t want to resolve it.  I just want to feel the pain, to know the truth it tells.

I was seven when he raped me.

When I turned eight I needed to have a bishops interview before I was washed clean at my baptism.  I feared the bishops interview.  I was prepared to confess.  I told my father I was afraid for the interview because then I would have to tell the bishop all the awful things about my life.  Dad told me I did not have to tell those things.  I did not feel clean at my baptism.  I felt afraid.  I was afraid of my father and did not want him baptizing me.  A baptism is suppose to be a day of innocence and celebration.  I felt evil and afraid and confused.

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