April 10, 2013
I've come to realize that most of the anger I feel and/or express is misplaced and misdirected, either at myself, or at the people in whatever TV program I'm watching at the time, especially if it's something having to do with someone being raped or abused, or being treated unjustly or unfairly in anyway. I also get angry at certain news stories having to do with violence against children or women, or registered sex offenders.
I've come to realize that most of the anger I feel and/or express is misplaced and misdirected, either at myself, or at the people in whatever TV program I'm watching at the time, especially if it's something having to do with someone being raped or abused, or being treated unjustly or unfairly in anyway. I also get angry at certain news stories having to do with violence against children or women, or registered sex offenders.
I've also found it interesting and a bit puzzling that I've never once felt, much less voiced, any anger towards my father for all the awful, horrible things he did to me. I have forgiven him, and I've never ever had any desire for revenge towards him, but by the same token, I've also never felt any anger towards him. I don't know if it's because I'm terrified that he'll come after me or what.
So maybe it's time for me to do something about it. It's not good to hold anger inside, especially for long periods of time, and while I'm getting better at not holding my anger inside, when I do let it out it's almost always directed at the wrong person. So I'm thinking I should do something to express some of the anger and rage that I feel towards my father. My therapist says I should write him a letter, but I wouldn't have to mail it to him.
May 15, 2013
I think it's curious and probably significant that, after I start thinking about writing a letter to my father to tell him how angry I am at him, even if I know he'll never see it, all of a sudden I avoid this blog like the plague. I wrote the first part of this post at the beginning of April and now it's the middle of May.
Up until now I've always avoided dealing with any real feelings about Harry, and I think the reason is because I've been afraid, terrified, actually. Terrified that I wouldn't be able to control my anger, petrified I'll go ballistic and do something I'll regret later--all because I'm panic-stricken at the idea of no longer hiding my true feelings about him. As I was sitting here thinking about what to write, I beat a retreat in the middle of this paragraph to play solitaire. Sometimes it helps me to think. Actually I think it's an excuse to not have to think or write about what I'm supposed to be working on. Anyway, I started playing Solitaire and it wasn't going the way I wanted it to (e.g. I was losing game after game) so I got more and more frustrated, and I ended up hitting myself a whole lot. Which is the point of all of this: I get angry at myself instead of getting angry at the person I should be getting angry at.
So I'm going to step out in faith, and instead of being afraid of the anger, I'm going to get angry at the fear, and I'm going to start writing that letter! So here goes.
Well, thank God I finally got it done! It certainly took me long enough. I started writing this post around April 10 and it's now May 27, though I really need to give myself some slack because it was a very difficult letter to write. Interestingly, there's a part of me that wants to send it to him, though I doubt I'll ever do it. For one thing I don't have an address to send it to because I have no idea where he's living now. But aside from that, I don't know if it would be appropriate to send it to him. I don't know. I'll pray about it and somehow I'll figure it out. Anyway, I'm done!! Yippee! Yay! PRAISE GOD!!!
May 15, 2013
I think it's curious and probably significant that, after I start thinking about writing a letter to my father to tell him how angry I am at him, even if I know he'll never see it, all of a sudden I avoid this blog like the plague. I wrote the first part of this post at the beginning of April and now it's the middle of May.
Up until now I've always avoided dealing with any real feelings about Harry, and I think the reason is because I've been afraid, terrified, actually. Terrified that I wouldn't be able to control my anger, petrified I'll go ballistic and do something I'll regret later--all because I'm panic-stricken at the idea of no longer hiding my true feelings about him. As I was sitting here thinking about what to write, I beat a retreat in the middle of this paragraph to play solitaire. Sometimes it helps me to think. Actually I think it's an excuse to not have to think or write about what I'm supposed to be working on. Anyway, I started playing Solitaire and it wasn't going the way I wanted it to (e.g. I was losing game after game) so I got more and more frustrated, and I ended up hitting myself a whole lot. Which is the point of all of this: I get angry at myself instead of getting angry at the person I should be getting angry at.
So I'm going to step out in faith, and instead of being afraid of the anger, I'm going to get angry at the fear, and I'm going to start writing that letter! So here goes.
Harry:
First, I have to say that there are certain things about my childhood for which I've always been grateful: the piano lessons, and the love for classical music that you and Mom instilled in me, plus the keen intelligence, analytical mind, and desire for knowledge that have given me a life-long love of learning.
I have a lot of things to say to you. A LOT. You're supposed to be my father, at least that's the title they gave you on my birth certificate. I have to tell you, however, that I don't buy it. You've never been a father to me. I've had a lot of memories of things you did to me when I was a child that no father should ever do to ANY child, much less his own daughter--that no human being should ever do to any other human being! Even animals shouldn't be treated the way you treated me. So I have a hard time calling you my father.
You abused me. You abused me physically, verbally, emotionally, sexually, and spiritually. You made me hate you, and you made me hate myself. Everytime you abused me you told me that you had to do this to me because God hated me. Everytime you abused me you told me that I was as ugly as if someone had thrown acid on my face. I don't know why you felt the need to say those awful and hateful things to me. It took me many, many years of healing before I could believe that God didn't hate me, and many more years after that before I could believe that anyone, much less God, could love me, and I'm still working on whether or not I'm ugly. I've finally decided that maybe you told me those things because you were projecting onto me how you felt about yourself. However, that's no excuse for that kind of cruelty! Do you have any idea the kind of pain just those two statements said over and over into my life have caused me? Agony! Do you hear me? Agony! You caused me years and years of anguish and agony, plus nine suicide attempts just from those two statements, not to mention the torment from all the other horrific and terrible things you did to me.
You abused me within an inch of my life. The only reason I survived infancy is because God gave me the ability to become multiple.
You forced me to lie about what you were doing to me so you could keep on beating, raping, and otherwise assaulting the life out of me. You told me that if I ever told anyone what you were doing to me you would kill me, and then you played Russian Roulette with your revolver between my legs to make sure I believed you. There was no way I could know back then that the gun had blanks in it. I was a child, a tiny girl, so I had no choice but to believe you, and I had to become a liar that no one could trust as a result. You stole my integrity, you stole my childhood, and you stole my hope when you did that, because you left me with no recourse and no ability to seek rescue.
You used rape as punishment for wrongdoing, and you kept changing the rules so I never knew what they were. It didn't matter what I did or how I did it, it was never good enough. So no matter what, I was wrong and had to be punished, which meant you had yet another excuse to rape and/or hit me. I don't know what I did to become the brunt of your rage; I doubt I did anything. I think you just needed a scapegoat, and I was small enough and weak enough that I couldn't fight back.
And then there was the time when I was three when you decided that just raping me yourself wasn't enough; you needed to spice it up by getting your friends involved. So you orchestrated a little gang-rape with four of your cronies. I don't know if maybe you thought you were being selfish by keeping me to yourself, so you thought you should share me with your buddies or what. What a nice guy you were! Well, I wasn't your property to pass around like that!
All I wanted was to be accepted and loved. That's all any child wants. Was that too much to ask? I don't think it was, but you couldn't even give me that. A child is a gift from God, yet you treated me like trash. A child is a reward from the Lord, but you acted like I was your sex slave, to do with as you pleased. I was a child, a small, innocent child! You were nothing more than a cowardly bully, picking on your own daughter, someone who was too small and defenseless to stand up for myself. If you're going to pick on someone, pick on someone your own size!
I think the thing that hurts me more than anything else about all the horrors you visited on me throughout the years of my childhood is that you made it nigh unto impossible for me to have a relationship with a man, or with God. I'm terrified of men and I'm terrified of sex. As a consequence I've never been able to consider even going out on a date, much less anything more serious, because I might have to let him touch me, and ultimately I might have to marry him and have sex with him.
As far as God is concerned, it's only by His grace and mercy that I'm alive, or that I know anything about Him at all. I owe my life to God and to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and it's only because of His healing power that I'm able to trust Him or believe in Him. I will never be able to express enough gratitude to God for all He has done for me in setting me free from all that you did to me. One thing you should know however, is that the same God of Love who healed me won't allow me to hate you anymore.
That's right. Jesus loves you just as much as He loves me or anyone else, and because He's healed me, He's helped me to forgive you for everything you did to me. And yes, I have forgiven you. I don't want revenge, I don't desire any kind of evil to come upon you, and I wish only good for you.
That's all I have to say at the present time. I may have a need to write another letter, or several letters, like this at some point. Your abuse went on for many years so I have a great deal of pent up anger and rage to deal with, and I can no longer keep it buried inside because doing that is destroying me. I need to address it in some way to the proper person ~ you ~ instead of misdirecting it at myself as I've been doing all these years.
Blessings and Peace,
Sarah
Well, thank God I finally got it done! It certainly took me long enough. I started writing this post around April 10 and it's now May 27, though I really need to give myself some slack because it was a very difficult letter to write. Interestingly, there's a part of me that wants to send it to him, though I doubt I'll ever do it. For one thing I don't have an address to send it to because I have no idea where he's living now. But aside from that, I don't know if it would be appropriate to send it to him. I don't know. I'll pray about it and somehow I'll figure it out. Anyway, I'm done!! Yippee! Yay! PRAISE GOD!!!
