Entry #30

Dear Reader,

Something weighing heavy on my heart today is that my adoptive “family” cant or just wont give me any answers. There is no telling me why. Anytime I ask its always just “I dont know.”

For example. Why when I told my mother about the abuse did she make me confront my abuser? She doesn’t know. Why didn’t she save me and take me out of the situation. She doesnt know. Why did you expect a 5 year old to give you details about the abuse when she didnt even know what a penis actually was? She doesnt fucking know.

At least thats what she says. And when I ask her to help me now. Because she knows the details of the abuse. And we’ve sat down and had many conversations all five of us about the details of his unremarkable sexual interests. She says she wont. She wants to portray me as crazy. Why? Well she actually answered this one. Because I cannot give her the life she wants. She cant have the house she wants without him. Thats literally what she says.

Her home, her car, her nails, her hair and her freaking fake reputation of being this perfect flawless person. Is more important then getting justice for her daughters.

I am guessing that justice will never be served because not everyone wants justice. Im alone in that descision. All of the people I grew up with think doing this serves no purpose. I am just an empty glass jar in my trauma. And all my family holds the key to open my jar. To save me. To tell the truth. But instead everyone wants to drop me…to break that glass. Because my emotions are inexcusable. How dare I decide how far forgiveness should go!

I was raised to forgive. Forgive. Forgive. Every night pray for your sins in case you passed away in the middle of the night. Youd be forgiven. Thats what I thought. Thats what they made me believe. You can make the same mistake…..over and over and over times one thousand and I should always forgive.

The bruises left on my legs, on my back my bare butt and on my heart, from the hands of my parents when they struck me over and over again with a belt, has been forgiven. The tears that stung my eyes that I had to hold back because If i cried Id get another lashing, have been forgiven. The busted lips which was the result from talking back to my dad, has been forgiven. The time my mother smacked me for singing a silly song I made up at 12 years old has been forgiven.

It went like this. I feel like a duck like a horse like a snorting pig. Like a lamb like a whale, like a baluga. Like a cat like a dog like an ear and an eye and a nose and my mouth. I know. Its a stupid song. But it made my brother laugh so hard and I loved his laugh. So Id try to sing it as fast as I can. And as she spoke the words “Do you want to be slapped” ;spitting the word slapped. She struck me across my face so hard that I busted up laughing. To cover the pain I felt in my heart. I didnt know what was so wrong about that song…. for her to slap me like that. So I didnt want to let my guard down and show her how much that hurt. I brushed it off But again. I forgave her.

Every beating. Every arguement every hurtful word they spewed at me. Ive forgiven.

And my mom. I must understand right? Even if I helped pay her bills or gave her a new home. I could never provide her with the lifestyle she wants. So I should forgive her for this….because she just cant possibly see what the hell is wrong with that.

The life I lived because of both of them is invalid to her. It was done at the expense of there happiness. Whats done is done. She will never ever see my trauma as anything more then something that I should forgive them for. Because Forgiveness is endless. And I am a fool for thinking otherwise. Right?

Love Ally