…i would never have believed you…I Would Never Have Believed You…I WOULD NEVER HAVE BELIEVED YOU…I WOULD NEVER HAVE BELIEVED YOU…
What I have has a name. It’s called post traumatic stress disorder. Every now and then something triggers me and sends me into a tailspin of emotional darkness. I shut down. I can’t cope. Until I can regain emotional stability I do the only thing I know how to do in order to keep me safe…I go to bed and I sleep and sleep and sleep. Taking to one’s bed…it’s melodramatic and reminiscent of Regency England…an old fashioned cure-all for what ails one. It’s a life interrupted, at least for a little while. I know I’ll get better though…I always do.
During these episode I’m drawn back to the worst night of my life, the night I was nearly raped by my stepfather. He would have succeeded if not for my mother intervening. Her coming into my room that night and kicking my stepfather out of the house should have been my saving grace…it wasn’t.
She had been watching him in bed with me. She was holding my baby sister in her arms and standing just outside the bedroom door…she had been lingering in the hallway. The entire time I was being terrorized she had been there just a few feet away. She’s wasn’t being a monster. She was in shock and praying that what she was witnessing wasn’t real. She desperately wanted to be wrong and so she hesitated and hesitated and continued to hesitate. Only when my stepfather rolled on top of me, when she could no longer deny what was happening right in front of her eyes, did she step in to save me.
What should have been my salvation only ended up being a continuation my nightmare. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, if you had told me I WOULD NEVER HAVE BELIEVED YOU” she told me. This man had been abusing me in front of her for years but all she could say to me was “I would never have believed you.”
…i would never have believed you…WOULD NEVER HAVE BELIEVED YOU…never believed you…never believed…never YOU.
I love my mother…faults and all but that night I hated her. I hated her for hesitating in the hallway. I hated her for not wanting to see and not wanting to believe. I hated my baby sister who was being held in her arms safe and sound and I hated my little brother sleeping below me in the bottom bunk dreaming his happy dreams. I hated their normal lives as compared to my nightmare one. I lived in constant fear and terror while they lived in peaceful, ignorant and safe bliss.
Most of all I hated that my stepfather moved back home within six months of that night and that life returned to exactly the same as it was before. It would be two more years before my mother divorced her husband and it would be because of my sister’s safety, not mine.
My mother’s best friend convinced my mother that my sister was in harm’s way and that divorce was my mother’s only option of keeping her safe. Apparently my sister cried every time her father picked her up and according to this friend this was a sure sign of abuse. My sister was not being molested by her father because I watched the both of them like a hawk and my ever-present and watchful gaze missed very little in our house.
However it was enough for my mother to initiate divorce proceedings. This still leaves me dumbfounded to this day. My mother catches her husband IN BED with ME and yet did almost nothing about it yet she divorces this same husband based on the flimsiest evidence in regards to my sister. I don’t know if I will ever come to terms with this enigma. On good days I don’t care about this stuff. On bad days, during really bad episodes, it’s all I can think about.
Tomorrow…tomorrow is another day though and another chance to get back to good. I just hope I can get to good and find a way to stay there before my tomorrows all run out.