And once again I thought I was in this alone.
When I was born, I found out years later, my father was so mad that I was born a girl he left the hospital and wouldn’t come back. My mother found a way home. That was 1958. There’s baby pictures, lots with me and my mother, me and my grandmother, one with me and my father. Could tell with my age my father would be forced to smile with me and my brothers in the pictures. I can remember being 7 years old, thinking if I drank all the perfume maybe I would die. Never did. Then came Vietnam, and hell on earth arrived when my father came home. All the yelling, grinding teeth, frowning, I could have swore some body kidnapped my real dad and sent this thing home. He didn’t even look the same. One night I had the usual ear infection starting, and was crying in my bed. My dad came in my room, asked what I was crying about. I told him. And at 2 am he took me to the ER at the Base. Got a penicillin shot that hurt like hell. Nothing to numb the pain. On the way home, he told me to stop crying or he would give me something to cry about. We get home, my mother is sleeping on the couch, still. I go to bed. 2 hours later I’m awakened with my pajama pants and underwear off and my father between my legs. I guess that’s what the something to cry about was all about. A couple months later my mother says I need to start wearing a bra. She buys me these tight cotton training bras that cut into my skin. I take it off when I come home from school. My mother comes home from work, and asked why I don’t have my bra on. That following Saturday mom says something to dad about me not having that tight bra on. Dad gets his belt off and beats me to the floor. My brother only remembers how I got my *** beat and me on the floor, thought it was halarious. This molesting thing my dad has picked up goes on, until I get enough of it. I tell my mom. And he screams, I’m a liar, I steal everything, she trying to turn me on, Christ all the lies he belted out. Brainwashing at its best, until she doesn’t believe me at all. The final time he comes in my room, me an 11 year old little girl standing up to a 6’4” angry man and told him to get out of my room or I would scream as loud as I could, NOW! And he did. I paid a living hell for the rest of my life. I never had a father to begin with, and he took my mother with him. I was never allowed to have a mother. When I was 19 I had my first son. My mother was convinced I was worthless, hated boys, so she took over motherhood by way of learned constant gaslighting. Then I gave birth to my daughter. And I warned him, my dad, I warned him not to touch her. But he did anyway, and I signed the warrant. His picture and name was put on the list for the worst crime. He was given 5 years probation because I made it very clear no jail time. This man had bills to pay, a job to work, and I would be a sob before he would just sit back in some jail cell and jack off 24/7 while we’re busting our asses keeping above water. Oh no, I don’t think so. And everybody would now know to keep an eye out for dad, because he is a pervert. And they did.
My mother died 2013. We had a few talks before she died. Made up some. She was forced to sign a will that left me out. He got everything. And that was ok. I understood.
Me and my son had a little time together. Made up for a few things, until he found the narcissist straight out of hell. She murdered him July 2017. Took my very best away. The first 4 year graduate, the father of 4. 58 days later they found my father dead in the floor at Walmart. The will said my brother gets everything, and all the life insurance money. Specifically spelled out I was not to get anything.
After the funeral I asked every single girl if he touched them. The answers I got, I’m very sure he didn’t touch anybody else, has they said “Aunt Kathy are you starting that again?”.
Yes, the abuse lives on. I also thought “relief?”. But it hasn’t come. I think mainly because of my sons murder. I grieved over my mother, I cried over my dad maybe a week. Then very quickly returned to my son, and haven’t let go. I’ve never known a greater pain. Makes me think the crap I went through for 58 years is stuck.