I wanted to share a post from someone with a similar past.
How does it happen? How do these parents, our parents, look at us as nothing, as toys to be used and abused and discarded?
How does a father look at a his little girl with lust, instead of tenderness?
How does it happen?
Some may say they must have been abused and the cycle continues. I will never know if my dad was abused as a child. But even if he was, I have been abused, and would never harm a child. In fact I know how much words and and actions can hurt, and shape lives. I cherish my kids, protect my kids, lift up my kids to learn, feel loved and love life.
I am of course not perfect. I have lashed out in anger, and hurt people. But I have felt such pain and remorse, and have always taken action to heal those hurts, and take precautions not to do it again.
It seems that the child abuser has no remorse, no feelings for other humans at all. That is why I refer to him as a psychopath. It just isn’t natural. I wish I knew how this happened so we could prevent or treat this problem, and prevent future kids from suffering in silence. But the abusers without remorse, they seek out no treatment. In my case, nothing was ever “proven” and so no punishment came to my dad whatsoever. I was removed to a safe place to live, but he was still in my life, guilting me, controlling me, through phone calls, letters, and then email. I feel he is directly responsible for my plunge into depression, just when I should have been finding myself. I couldn’t handle life. I had no coping skills and thought myself a complete failure. And my dad told me I was too.
I have good memories of my dad all jumbled up in there. I guess that is why it took so long to completely push him out of my life. I didn’t want to give up on him for so long. He was all I had, and my world revolved around him – because he raised me that way – his little worshipper/servant. Yes, I know now he created that terrible world for me, but the little girl in me that remembers him, still actually equates him with safety and warmth from my youngest years. It took years of therapy to wrestle out that those feelings were inaccurate, the bubble he created for me needed popped.
Having my own kids gave me the perspective I needed to understand what he did, how he brainwashed me. I mean, we innocently get children to believe in Santa and such. My dad took that ultimate love and trust and used it for his own sick purposes. And his love was conditional for me in return. He could turn it on and off like a switch.
I no longer wish him dead. Nature and disease are taking care of that. But I do wonder if I saw him about to step in front of a bus, would I save him?