Mom took me to school because I didn't have a place to live. We worked out the details when we got there. Otherwise she would have popped me on a bus...well, I used to walk to the bus stop, downtown. But I found my own rides back and forth. I never asked for help.
Another choice memory - I had a weekend off, and a friend was going home, so it was no trouble to drop me off. I came home as a surprise. Dad saw me, adopted that disgusted look he usually had when looking at me/us and asked, "What are you doing here?" I felt so unwelcomed. I felt like I had been slapped. I remember thinking I wouldn't do that again!
I like the synchronicity, the universal movement that puts us where we need to be. You ended up where you were supposed to be. Mom and Dad didn't do it, so the universe sent loving hands to place you where you were meant to be. (But these stories always take me back to my basic question - who would we be if we had been raised in a healthy family???)
I remember those moments, when you were at med school and we lived close enough to be supportive, fondly. Remember the gingerbread creations? Ugly, but sweet. If I remember correctly, yours never made it off the elevator. Your fellow students picked it apart and got sugared up!
And I'm sorry about your graduation. We should have all come to that. Graduations are something for families to get excited about. But not in our family. In our family you have to slit your wrists to get any notice. I'm not trying to be callous or to belittle anyone's reactions to their pain, I am just stating a fact of Delana life.
I have often heard of the guilt the child who was not abused feels. They are relieved because they are not being hurt, but wonder why they are different than their sibling. I wonder if S#5 feels that. She knows it was not fair.
When I think of that guilt, I always go back to B#3. Dad was brutal to him. He treated him almost like the twins were treated in our cousin's family. He called him names, slapped the back of his head for no apparent reason. Criticized him frequently. But he also beat him. Brutally. I think he did it because this brother was much like Mom. He had a photographic memory, and a beautiful, clear, true singing voice. He was very talented and friendly and curious - very much like the people in Mom's family. But he had a naivete that left him open to abuse. I think the neighbor kids were involved in abusing him the year Dad was in Vietnam. And it used to really frustrate me, because Dad accepted everything that B#2 did. #2 was definitely favored when he was young. I think that was partly because of his asthma, and partly because he was so beautiful. Even though he was bright, and a good writer, guitar player, singer, tennis player, he made it on charm and looks for a lot of his life. Probably because that was what saved him when young. He was never treated brutally like the others. I think the rest of us loved B#3, felt sympathy for him, wished we were him, were so grateful we weren't him.
When the favored son began getting in trouble, the parents protected him from the consequences. But he lost favored child status. He became no good like the rest of. Luckily there were the two youngest to be sweet and cute and to be Daddy's girls.
He played the game with grandchildren, too. He called my boys names, and praised S#3's son. So I had the one warning rule. Call my son a name and first time I state the rule - no calling names. Second time - it's time to go home. So I'm an unreasonable bitch. Oh well!
So it's a secret that we were sexually abused. Since no one knows, it's okay. It's a secret that they will help some of us, but not others. Since no one knows, it's okay. They visit some of us, ignore others. There is no rhyme or reason. It's just as confusing as when we were little. One day Dad liked us, the next he was vicious. I'm still confused. I still believe I have no control over my life. My choices, my behavior mean nothing. It's still affecting me (started to type infecting - maybe that was correct!) today, but it's a secret, so it's okay.
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