I was going through my college computer hard drive, and I found this letter on it. I've never showed this to anyone (not even my husband) because I feel deep, painful, unexplainable shame. This could be triggering for some of you, so please be warned. I'm sorry in advance.
Sept. 21, 1997
I wanted to write you because I can't stop thinking about my life and I wanted you to help me and understand what you did to me.
Who am I? What am I doing here? Am I responsible for my brothers death? Was I your disappointment? Are you going to kill me? Why couldn't you love me? I hate you for what you did to me! I hate you for all my nightmares, my memories, my anger. I hate you for giving birth to me. I hate that you stole meaning and purpose from me. I'm going to die like this. Alone and forgotten. Just like you.
"You're not crying because you're in pain, you're crying because you feel guilty for what you did". What did I do?
The sound of the wooden paddle with my name on it. The belt, fly swatter, hand,switch, wooden spoon, slapping against my skin and feeling like it was being violently ripped off. Why would you do that over and over to me?
"Take it off! Right now! Take it off, or I'll give you something to ball about". Do you remember yelling that at me?
"How can you do this to me!? Why do you make me do this to you!?" Through my cries and screams you would say that to me. It's my fault. I feel so guilty.
Do most kids know what blood smells like? I did, thanks to you.
The gun you would terrorize me with. Sitting on the other side of your bedroom door you would tell me that you had a gun to your head and would pull the trigger if you wanted or needed something and I was too slow to get it. You would yell "I'm going to count to five. If you don't bring me that phone, I'm going to pull the trigger...1...2...3...4... I was so scared.
You would burst into my room screaming "he's going to rape me!, he's going to kill me!". I was just a kid. How did you want me to help you?
"Shhhhh, if you cry, he's going to leave me" whispering this after you would beat me--always holding your hand over my mouth. afraid to cry, afraid to make you mad, sad, angry. afraid to make mistakes, I was afraid to be alive.
Whenever you punished me, I wrote you an apology letter explaining how sorry I was for whatever I had done wrong. I carved a hole inside every closet of every bedroom we had over the years, and I would hide the letters between the drywall panels. I am sorry for disappointing you, mom.
"I really hate you sometimes", You'd tell me how horrible my father was and then cap it off with "and you are just like him". "Your brother and sister have the same father, that's why they're so close".
1988. grounded to my room. I was only allowed to come out to go to the bathroom. I ate every meal on my bed for 10 weeks. I talked to my "fish", my only friend.
John paid child support for the three of us every first of the month, but you spent all of it. If I had money and failed to disclose it and you found out, I got a beating for being a liar and a "sneak".
The year Santa never came, remember that? You put coal in my stocking on purpose. I was 11. How could you do that to me?
I'll never be the same. But that's not what hurt me. Your voice, the way you walked, the look on your face, the way you breathe, the way you watch me, waiting for me to mess up. The snapping of the belt. I will hear and see that in my head forever. I'm scared of you. I have horrible dreams that you are going to kill me, hurt me, beat me to death. Just do it. I can't live like this. Just finish the job, mom. I'm done. My life is over because it never began.
I love you.