Roughly two years ago I inadvertently saw a picture of my mother online when doing an internet search. I was repulsed in fear and panic that lasted for hours. Recently I repeated this search, and I saw pictures of all of them–my parents, brother and sister. I was not afraid of any of them–I felt no panic at seeing these ugly, pathetic human beings, as much as I would prefer not to see them at all. But what I did see was my older brothers wedding pictures from the beginning of 2012, featuring my parents happily celebrating with him. And the worst of all, the picture of a tiny baby–my ex-brother’s child who he is sure to abuse if he is allowed to.
My most recent flashback of being raped in my parent’s little orgy of pedophilia has turned something in me. While I still hold what I said at the end of my ‘Night Of The Brother’ entry to be true, I feel a stronger motivation today. I’m not going to look for validation or a relationship, but I am not going to let these people go and live their “happy,” deluded lives of denial either. I want to drop the atom bomb on their sick little family celebrations and see who disintegrates in the resulting mushroom cloud. It isn’t enough anymore to simply have a plan of my posting my explicit truth under my new legal name online. I don’t give a damn if they deny it or what they say to me in response, but they’re all going to hear what I know today. No more secrets, no more lies, no more hiding.
The emotions unleashed upon discovering the depths of their perversion, arrogance, and entitlement have been an intense rollercoaster; it’s been difficult to calm down enough to eat or sleep. What is so incredibly disturbing is that they actually talked about it; it wasn’t something they just wound up doing in the moment from an unconscious urge, they thought out, discussed, and planned how to sexually abuse their sons. That disgusting exchange of words between my former father and mother…obtaining consent from one another to help themselves to my body, my mother telling my father to ‘go ahead’ and fuck me, a small child. How dare they! And the tone of voice they used to say it; so light-hearted, but mockingly so, intentionally ignoring me, threatening me with their speech. They knew I could hear them. But this wasn’t the only time they used this tactic. Around 5-6 years old I was wetting my bed due to just this sort of abuse, and I was punished for it. One day they took me to the grocery store, and my father picked up a package of diapers, asking my mother “should I get them?” She pretended to stand there and think about it, ignoring me as I pleaded no, please don’t put me back in diapers… So humiliating, so demeaning, manipulative and hateful.
That my parents would dare to do this to me and then expect things from me, expect me to make a list of achievements to please them, to say ‘I love you’ at the end of long phone calls filled with insults, to cough up grandchildren for them to abuse. I refused all of that, but the way I’ve been living the past few years, has not been in my power, and it’s because of them. Because of my amnesia I believed they had the upper hand, they had a claim…but no, they belong in jail.
It becomes confusing to look through my memories and incorporate this new knowledge. But I realize now that these people were not integrated themselves, they dissociated, they had different personalities. But it is not my job to integrate them–I can take the abuser as the ‘real them’ and discount everything else. My only interest is in integrating me. They were mentally ill, of course they acted in contradictory ways, but my memories of abuse are absolutely real and the truth of what happened.
I guess in truth I’ve felt that a confrontation is inevitable. I have no public presence online or otherwise right now, but soon that is going to change, and for various reasons I know that may former relatives will be on the lookout for it and will be set to attack. I have a wider plan, and my intentions for confrontation will have to fit inside that, but it will happen. I live on a different landmass over five thousand miles away, so nothing will be in-person. My three point plan is for a) to write my aunt who had once inquired about incest a letter telling her everything (but without providing my physical location), to b) publish everything publicly online, and c) to respond to any confrontations on the part of my parents with disclosure of what I know. I think this will ensure my safety and keep the situation under my control.