Tornadic Thoughts
VIP Member
The man who molested me when I was 13 recently passed away. He was a much older cousin, closer to my parent's age. I never told anyone at the time it happened, as I felt I'd be blamed for it. It only happened once. But it started a vicious cycle of attracting even more predators and abusers that lasted a couple decades.
I found out a couple years ago while helping my sister through a severe mental health emergency, who has also suffered greatly through the years with multiple issues, was also violated. We were never really a close-knit or openly communicative family. I was finally able to tell my mom not long after learning of my sister's experience, too.
Mom has always had a real hard time expressing her deepest feelings, but said she wasn't surprised. She had always encouraged us to keep our distance, but didn't say that there was a reason, just a gut feeling. I wanted her to know that all those things me and my sis had been blamed for through the years were prompted by something beyond our control. I didn't necessarily feel any more understood, but I felt lighter in no longer carrying that load.
Part of me has always wanted to tell the whole family and share it publicly so they, too, will know we weren't just "hard-headed kids", or "problem children", or "hellions", or whatever other adjectives folks chose to describe us. But I never did. Another part of me always wanted to confront him and ask him what the hell happened to him to make him want to do that to others. But I didn't.
Now he's passed on, but the weight of those thoughts still remain. Part of me feels like it's a duty to make it known so the other people he harmed can feel safe in speaking out, too. But then I think of all the energy involved in taking on that task and slowly retreat back into my uncomfortable silence. I also fear that folks will think I waited until he died so he can't defend himself. I speak with a T and have a good support system in place, I just can't stop wrestling with my own heart about how I've handled it through the years. Blah humbug.
I found out a couple years ago while helping my sister through a severe mental health emergency, who has also suffered greatly through the years with multiple issues, was also violated. We were never really a close-knit or openly communicative family. I was finally able to tell my mom not long after learning of my sister's experience, too.
Mom has always had a real hard time expressing her deepest feelings, but said she wasn't surprised. She had always encouraged us to keep our distance, but didn't say that there was a reason, just a gut feeling. I wanted her to know that all those things me and my sis had been blamed for through the years were prompted by something beyond our control. I didn't necessarily feel any more understood, but I felt lighter in no longer carrying that load.
Part of me has always wanted to tell the whole family and share it publicly so they, too, will know we weren't just "hard-headed kids", or "problem children", or "hellions", or whatever other adjectives folks chose to describe us. But I never did. Another part of me always wanted to confront him and ask him what the hell happened to him to make him want to do that to others. But I didn't.
Now he's passed on, but the weight of those thoughts still remain. Part of me feels like it's a duty to make it known so the other people he harmed can feel safe in speaking out, too. But then I think of all the energy involved in taking on that task and slowly retreat back into my uncomfortable silence. I also fear that folks will think I waited until he died so he can't defend himself. I speak with a T and have a good support system in place, I just can't stop wrestling with my own heart about how I've handled it through the years. Blah humbug.
