He was a very well beloved family member. And I mean very well loved. No one ever had anything to say about him that was not glowing and full of affection.
Except me. Because I remember what he did to me, and that memory has burned me for years. I tried to push down the hate for a long time. So long that he is now dead, but the hate remains. It is oh so powerful. I feel sick whenever I hear his name spoken, and always spoken so lovingly. I want to throw up when I see his picture. But of course, I have always kept silent.
Somehow I think I could let the abuse disapear along with him, except for the constant reminder of his sainthood status among those I love. I hate him so much I'm actually angry at him for being dead. His journey is over, but his crime continues to plague me, and to add literal insult to literal injury, even in the grave he seems to mock me with his honorable status.
That's the real sticker. I carry the secret to protect people I love, it would tear them up so bad, and yes, they may choose to refuse belief, or cast stigma. But the truth is, ignorance is bliss, and there is the evil disgusting man who is dead, and me. And everyone else is in content with their memories and reality.
To disturb that and out everything will be a risk. Will they believe me? Will they find a way to cast blame on me? Will they value him above me and choose to bury this???
Him being deceased has only increased my anger. And yet, I am dissatisfied with myself. No one stood up for the little girl that I was. Full of light and smiles. Is it up to me now to stand up for that little girl now? Even if no one stands with me.
Except me. Because I remember what he did to me, and that memory has burned me for years. I tried to push down the hate for a long time. So long that he is now dead, but the hate remains. It is oh so powerful. I feel sick whenever I hear his name spoken, and always spoken so lovingly. I want to throw up when I see his picture. But of course, I have always kept silent.
Somehow I think I could let the abuse disapear along with him, except for the constant reminder of his sainthood status among those I love. I hate him so much I'm actually angry at him for being dead. His journey is over, but his crime continues to plague me, and to add literal insult to literal injury, even in the grave he seems to mock me with his honorable status.
That's the real sticker. I carry the secret to protect people I love, it would tear them up so bad, and yes, they may choose to refuse belief, or cast stigma. But the truth is, ignorance is bliss, and there is the evil disgusting man who is dead, and me. And everyone else is in content with their memories and reality.
To disturb that and out everything will be a risk. Will they believe me? Will they find a way to cast blame on me? Will they value him above me and choose to bury this???
Him being deceased has only increased my anger. And yet, I am dissatisfied with myself. No one stood up for the little girl that I was. Full of light and smiles. Is it up to me now to stand up for that little girl now? Even if no one stands with me.