I gave up my dreams in pursuit of survival. It’s not that I wanted to but the choice was out of my hands and stolen by my father. However, I lost a lot more than that. I lost my childhood and I lost trust and faith in people as a whole. Back then I did not really know about the whole significance of what I had lost nor its importance on my future.
Did he take into consideration the impact his gross actions would have on my entire life? Obviously not. Did he see me as a child…no. Did he realize he was doing this to his very own daughter, the one he call Princess? Didn’t he know how very wrong it was? Just what was going through his mind?
As he entered my soul his painful emotions somehow became mine thereby leaving me with this less than human legacy. Could he not see that his sick twisted desire would be so far-reaching? His common lack of decency was proof that he had no clue what real fathering was about. Because of this I now lack the experience of knowing what it is like to be fathered.
I did not know that at the tender age of eight the horrors that I was experiencing would be revisited decades later in the realm of emotional torment.
I am convinced that the depth at which an abused child turns inward is measured by the length and severity of abuse and further complicated by the lack of maternal protection.
To this day there lives a child craving and longing to be rescued and to be loved. I spent so much time trying to fill voids and to satisfy needs that I should have had. These are basic needs that any child should have and deserve. But the dilemma in all of this is that was then and this is now. We can’t go back in time and fix what was broken or to be given what was missing. There is an eight year old child that dwells deep within its own compartment in my heart. She cries to me but I don’t always listen. I don’t know what to do with her pain. People have told me that I need to become the mother to my inner child that I did not have. However, what I needed was supposed to come from outside myself so how can I do this. Perhaps I will figure it out in time. For now it seems that I can’t possibly satisfy her needs. She is a very difficult child for she bears so many scars. There is so much pain that it seems that my heart can’t contain it all. It spills out into my life now and makes living a real challenge.
We can all be given such precious gifts that make us distinct. We should all stand out. But we don’t. There are situations in life that alter our course like child abuse. When this happens some of us stay hidden. Like rare gems there is a value to us that can not, should not, be bought or sold or taken. But they still do take don’t they…Why?
My Dad once told me, “Your mom and I were given this beautiful baby girl that we named Linda.” Well than my heart would like to know, from him, “why did you choose to destroy that beautiful little baby girls future?” What does beautiful mean anyway. It’s ironic that he named me Linda for it is a Spanish word meaning beautiful. But yet I feel ugly still. It has taken a big part of my life to try to see the beauty. Maybe I was supposed to be beautiful but ugliness was put so deep inside of me and has gotten into every single cell of my being. This is what often happens as a result of childhood sexual abuse. How can anyone feel beautiful with this ugliness inside. I didn’t want it there but it was never the less placed. Completely hidden from any ones sight. Or so I thought. There are people out there who have tried persistently trying to make me see my true beauty inside and out. I would always tell them that I hate mirrors. It’s a mirrors job to reflect but be careful because if you look to deep you might become frightened by what you see. Sometimes I see my father. Its spooky……….. I will continue to be brave and look on my face hoping desperately to see what others see. I have yet to cast my eyes upon the reality of today because the past has linked my esteem to destroy anything good in me.