[edited to add a content warning for strong responses to childhood sexual abuse/incest and general raging and sweariness]
i really don’t know what the resolution would be for childhood sexual abuse.
i mean, would it be having them say, oh hey sorry i was a pedophile back then or well, kiddo, i’m your dad, it’s okay to jack me off or perhaps, my apologies for putting my fingers up there, i guess that was a bit off-base or maybe, my bad, i thought five years old seemed a good time to introduce you to oral sex…?
what kind of apology could cover fucking up my connections and attachment to people for four decades? messing with my sexuality and my relationship with my body? ignoring the numerous yeast infections and bladder issues and stomach pain and sleep issues i had as a kid, chalking them up to inferior stock? instilling the long-time belief that i am a faulty, wrong, deeply not-okay and just basically inadequate person? colluding and nodding along with the diagnoses of depression and anxiety and panic disorder i’ve received over my life, while whispering behind hands about how pitiful and sad and unfortunate it was?
like, what if they offered to pay for the tens of thousands of dollars worth of therapy i’ve received? or somehow reimbursed me for the years of self-loathing that have resulted in damages to my body due to chronic overeating and, in the past, smoking and excessive alcohol use? would that resolve it?
what about the physical disgust i feel at the thought of my parents? my patent motherlessness, despite the fact that the woman who bore me is alive and well, continuing to send gifts in the mail and texts about how much she loves and misses me? what resolution is there for the incessant, growling, monstrous shame, the shame, the fucking relentless godawful shame? that i can’t get over it, that i am not strong enough, that i can’t hold my little one through it, that i can’t hear any more about it, that i don’t want to do it anymore, that i am so tired of my own goddamn bullshit that i could puke, that i have hoped that i would be hit by a car/have a fatal heart attack/die quickly of a horrific cancer so i would spare the people in my life the burden of me without actually having to end my life at my own hand? that i can’t transcend my pain and forgive them, that i am still an inferior and wrong and faulty human for not being able to extend grace and compassion and understanding to them for their ‘mistakes’?
i’ll tell you the answer. there is none. there is no resolution to what happened. there just isn’t.
i’ve been trapped in the grief of this lately, the shame of it. i have been drowning in the mental and physical experience of being that child, that little, dark-eyed, serious-faced girl, alone and spinning and afraid. this last week, i’ve been pounded by memories of what they did, body activated, brain devolved and hijacked. unable to do anything other than sob and snot and wish i were dead. and terrify those who still manage to love me, despite my brokenness and deceit and despair.
i’ve been desperate to find the anger, anything other than this hurt and this gulf of sadness…and by god i’ve found it.
fuck them. fuck them. for the lack of resolution, for the lack of love, for the lack of safety. i will not actively hate them with this fury for always, because i have better shit to do with my life. but i will never forgive them, not ever, not my parents nor pocketbrit’s.
and i’m going to keep going, i’m going to make it and so is she, because we are a couple of belligerent, hilarious, strong, gentle, soft women, and they are never going to win, not on my watch. no fucking way. just no.
so yeah, that’s my resolution.