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I am sitting here a shell of a person, bleeding from wounds that I thought were long healed.
For so long I thought that I was moving forward but in a family of incest and dysfunction, somehow, I keep getting pulled back in; Allowing myself to be victimized over and over in hopes that maybe someday they will see me, somehow, they will learn to love me.
But unfortunately for survivors of incest like me, the pain will never just be in the past for not only did I lose my childhood but I lost my parents and family along the way, all while choking on the silence and the secrets that I am forced to keep.
Sometimes it’s hard to know what hurts more or if it is all just one intertwined unending ache that will break me forever.
How can I judge whether the memory of my brother raping me is more painful or the one of my mother telling me it was my fault because I wasn’t tsnius enough, when both leave me shattered?
Is the knowledge that some siblings knew what was happening but couldn’t protect me make me feel more alone or is it knowing that even today they are still unable to stand up for me?
Is it the memory of the years of abuse that’s breaking me today or is it being told over and that somehow this is all my fault?
And the silence. How can I know which is more deafening; my parent’s silence when they ignored all the signs of what was being done to me or the silence that echoes now when I’m left mourning my parents alone while they still live?
And those late-night visits, do they make me sadder knowing that they happened or knowing that they were born out of a deep lack of parental love and affection?
Unfortunately, in my case, incest left me being blamed as the perpetrator because the alternative is incomprehensible to those who could have and should have protected me.
I have lost my parents, my children lost grandparents, and I was uninvited to my siblings wedding because of my promiscuity as a child while my rapist is the guest of honor.
Although I have scars, these wounds are fresh and bleeding.
I wish I could leave my abuse in the past, but the unspoken part of incest is the family revictimization.
But that doesn’t mean I give up. That doesn’t mean I stop fighting for the truth.
Just because I was born in dysfunction and pain doesn’t mean that’s where it ends.
But for today there is nothing more than I can do but let this wave of anguish wash over me and know that although this will probably never be over, there will be better days and wounds will scar.
The pain will subside and getting through the day won’t be as hard. There is hope after all.
But for today, the pain is too much.
Today, I just cry.
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