I’ve been on antidepressants and back in therapy for a little over four months. It’s difficult to remember how tired and apathetic I was. How disinterested. But slowly over the past four months, I’ve begun to emerge from the pit I had dug for myself. Not entirely, though.
You see, the pit has a certain allure. It’s an easy place in which to live. I get to feel numb. Feeling numb is great when you’ve got more shit to deal with than you’d like. Seriously. Who wants to deal with a sister who stayed married to her pedophile husband after he molested their daughter? The whole world seems out of kilter when you’re faced with that shit. Deep dark holes are where it’s at.
But I’m not hunkered down in the hole any more. And the pedophile is still here. He was at my brother’s memorial last weekend. He consoled my mother. I fantasize about choking him. I think I’m making progress, emotionally.
Now that my mother has acknowledged that he’s still wasting space on this earth, he’s exhibiting a sense of entitlement. The man glared at me across the aisle when I turned around to look for my brother, Seth. I kid you not. He glared at me. He glared at me for having the audacity to say out loud what he is. A man who sexually molested his daughter. For years. How dare I tell my mother and brothers what he’d done? You’re supposed to keep that kind of behavior a secret, don’t you know. So he glared at me at my brother’s memorial and made no effort to keep his distance from me. Yes, he’s feeling emboldened. I wanted grab him by the hair and shove his face into the holy water, holding him under until he begged for mercy. And then dunk him again, just to be sure I’d made my point. Yep, the medication and therapy are working.
If he had molested someone elses daughter, he’d be in prison. Not hanging out in churches.
But if I’m shining a light, I may as well shine it on my sister, too. If it wasn’t for her, the man wouldn’t be around any more. What kind of woman stays married to a man who molests their daughter? What kind of mental gymnastics must she perform each day to keep her head from exploding? What does she tell herself? What could she possibly say to justify his behavior, and hers?
My sister is a horrible person. No way around that. And the co-dependent cycle continues with my nieces hiding their father’s secret, as if his shame were theirs. I really don’t get it. I don’t understand how she could stay with him. Does she have her own holy water fantasies? Does she imagine beheading him and putting his head on a spike in the forest for the crows to pluck out his eyeballs? Or does she block it all out with the contents of her plastic travel cup that she carries with her wherever she goes?
I’m guessing she finds her redemption at the bottom of a travel cup.
You know me (well abit) and I have to speak my mind.. Besides the fact that your BIL molested your niece (That alone is barbaric) but your sister till has sex with him.. Oh I’d bamboozle him to my bed one time and then have no qualms with spitting in his face & clawing his eyes out.. or the old southern trick, a pot of hot grits.., I would calmly get up, pack all my bags and hit the door. He could have the entire, tainted house..
Remember, their history is not yours.. leave it over there on the garbage pile.. break the dysfunction cycle b/c as long as you give them your thoughts they win.. Besides, you have ITALY 🙂
LikeLike
Ha! I love the grits. You’re so right. That’s the goal: Let them go. I moved away physically years ago. It’s time to move away emotionally.
And I have ITALY. Saturday!
LikeLike
Yes, ask Al Green (the singer turned preacher about those grits..lol)
Oh Saturday.. Lucky!! Lot’s of pictures, ok?
LikeLike
Too many, probably. 😉
LikeLike
Sounds like progress ( Hey it would have been great to shove his face in the holy water – maybe it would have started boiling and turn to acid like it does in the movies!) There is no understanding of this or the people involved – it’s not you. Just go for distance…Italy sounds lovely. Hang in there
LikeLike
Somehow, I missed your comment way back in the merry merry month of May. I do think the water would have started boiling. There is no understanding it. You’re right. To understand it, I’d have to think the way they do. Distance indeed is the best cure.
And now I shall go look for a new post about the German.
LikeLike
Hmmm, May was just last week right? Seems that way – summer went way too fast
the German saga continues mixed in with the others…shortest way to find them is the sidebar cloud “German Shepherd”….but RC is about to respond to the German’s letter….
LikeLike
Oh, I can’t wait!
LikeLike
Thanks for sharing your recovery in this way…
LikeLike
Thanks for stopping by, Todd.
LikeLike
Oh, you have a black kitty, too? Here’s mine; http://toddlohenry.com/2012/05/12/my-boo/. Finally got her to sit for a decent face shot… 😀
LikeLike
She’s beautiful! I have two black kitties. Like yours, they’re both little princesses.
LikeLike
My cat has taught me more about healthy detachment than anything Melody Beattie ever wrote! How fortunate you have two to help you with your recovery… 😀
LikeLike
I needed a double dose! 😉
LikeLike
Make that two shots of black cat. Gotcha!
LikeLike