Unsent Letter: I Learned To Speak Again

I am sharing with you some of the unsent letters that I wrote many years ago. This is highly emotionally charged and triggering as it mentions child abuse, rape, and all around emotionally triggering content.

Although I am nervous to share it, this is a part of me and it is real and it is not going to hide in shame like some out of place piece. This is my mosaic. I now find the humor in where I am now, I never expected a self fulfilling prophecy, now I speak.

My hope is that it will resonate with someone who has come to the same understanding. This is a very raw part of my experience, and you are not alone, and neither am I.

April 26th, 2016

This is the letter I will never send because I will transform this pain into messages of wisdom when I can forge it properly even if it takes a decade or close to it. I am in shambles, I barely speak, although I know in my mind I can. I know I am capable of speaking, but I lost that ability due to severe trauma and abuse. One day I will speak. I promise myself, I will speak, even if no one believes me or my story of the horrific abuse I have endured. I will learn to speak again.

Mark my words, the world will hear me. I have been completely alone No one, NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON. I don't think anybody would believe me, that I, could face such atrocity and be this alone. No one will believe what I went through....it is so dark....it sounds like a conspiracy or made up.

I am 24 years old. I need to start unpacking my thoughts and unraveling the web of trauma now that I am in a safe place to do so with my husband and my first child, a son. I hope that if there is at least one person that knows they are not alone in this world in this kind of situation, then that gives me a sense of peace. I have been isolated from my childhood well into adulthood, I do not even have dental records. I am a lost child, but I will be found.

First and foremost, I would like to write a letter to my family who like the obedient humans they are to the God of abuse, passed down to me the torch of trauma in perfect family tradition.

An honorary mention to the jack-ass who has contributed to me having seizures monthly since I was 17, which has taken much of my freedom and what could have been seeing that I cannot even obtain a drivers license until I am seizure free for at least 6 months.

Never mind the moments they steal. Complex-Partial temporal lobe seizures from Early Childhood sexual abuse, been having them since I was in kindergarten as the foundation was laid, and ever since being raped by this jack-ass they became ever more consistent. Every fucking month now, how many years? How many seizures? And NO ONE HELPED ME. NO ONE.

Yeah, that night, the one where I ran down your street terrified with no pants on as you were laughing because you felt I deserved it. Sick fuck. Picked me up off of the street and had your hand on the back of my neck like I was a fucking dog with scruff.

You have been the gift that keeps on giving. But all gifts can be unwrapped.

You have had plenty of time with my name in your mouth. For all I know, you could kill me. I always thought you would, you know, the evil in your eyes that night said it all.

This letter is also to those who have, and continue to, enable their abusive behavior and listen to the vile venom that comes from their mouth, assassinating my character to protect them and yourselves.

And so I persist.

Trauma isn’t built in a vacuum. It is a generational, whole-family issue.

I think to myself “If I can choose better, why couldn’t you?”

I understand having children. I understand the weight of daily life, and everything it takes to raise our children whole. I understand that it takes a lot of introspection, and having a depleted emotional capacity from PTSD and childhood trauma, some days it feels like it takes all of me. Because it does.

So with that said, “If I can choose better, why couldn’t you?”

Is it strength or lack there of? No.

Some days I feel the weight of this trauma crush me and incapacitate my ability to breathe, feel, think, and live. I do not have the strength to carry it, I do not care about the amount of strength it takes to carry it, I do not want to carry it. And even if I did decide to carry it, then it wouldn’t break me, because I am “strong,” right?

You also did not have the strength to carry it, and instead you laid it on that child’s chest like a blanket of osmium, and I am left with the scars of that weight, and my body does not work the same because of that blanket that you placed on me, and it fully remembers that weight.

Is it “by the grace of God” as you like to say? No.

Even in the version of events with the God you believe in, a human being already suffered the immensity of abuse until he was murdered, you know, he was groomed as a child to believe he needed to sacrifice his life, a fucking pagan ritual still going on MODERN DAY as we all parade execution devices around like its fucking normal. This is a damned demon laughing in our face. How would you feel if a rapist wore their victims underwear around their neck for the world to see and then worshipped it? Oh wait....

If you invalidate me, fuck you. This is real. If you can't handle the reality of what the truth is I really don't care because I have to live this reality every day. It is mine.

I will NEVER accept that a man should be groomed as a child, abused, mocked, assassinated by character by a narcissistic smear campaign and then murdered brutally and mocked again. WHILE EVERYBODY WATCHED. This is in our face and they call it divinity AND WE ACCEPT IT?

Fuck you if you believe that, and let hell open up if I am wrong. I will jump in the lake of fire myself. God is wonderful, people are fucking twisted. I will also take the consequence of telling you to go fuck yourself, because God himself knows you will never un-fuck yourself. Keep telling the world why narcissistic abuse and murder is normal. Go ahead. One day, mark my words, that will all change.

I WILL STAND AGAINST ABUSE. NO MATTER WHAT. EVEN IF NO ONE ELSE DOES. I WILL STAND, AND BECAUSE I CHOOSE TO STAND, I WILL RISE.

What kind of God does that? God didn’t stop that child from dying of leukemia, so why would I, specifically, get the ability to handle trauma graciously and without any impact to my physical body, mental capacity, and life? Oh that's right...BECAUSE THAT'S NOT THE CASE.

I didn’t get that ability, and that ability does not exist. This is an excuse for you to relinquish yourself of the responsibility that you had to protect me, to nurture me, and to love me.

 Keep your distorted God out of my vicinity. The God I believe in would never. My God has asked me to live, and he will show me why I will. Maybe not now, but one day, one day.

But do you know what does exist? A choice.

So again, that begs the question, “If I can choose better, why didn’t you?”

Your version of God definitely gave us that ability, starting at the beginning of time. Did you miss that part? The theme of “Choice” is only reiterated several hundred times.

Choice changes and transforms us, even our core, no matter how rotten it is. Even one choice can make all the difference.

I make the choice to reject the version of me you have saved in your head. I make the choice to reject your ideals, abuse, and not only do I choose to reject them, but I choose to despise them. I make the choice to be a better human being, even if the cost is my “comfort” and all that has been familiar to me because that’s exactly the price that needs to be paid when healing yourself and removing yourself from the cycle of generational abuse.

You did not make the choice to pay that price, but instead, however, you chose to pay an even bigger one. You chose self preservation of the worst kind, and you traded for it with your potential to be a loving person to me.

You paid it with my childhood, my soul, my laughter, my love, my joy,  my innocence, and everything else that makes me whole. I did not get a refund, which has left me needing to make the choice to work very hard, everyday, to compensate for that debt you put me in. Then I made the choice to go beyond that debt, because my life did not end where you had no more of me to pay.

You did not choose to be a better person. You only excused your bad behavior with your pain. Meanwhile, I extend a compassionate heart to others because of my pain. Child me feels sorry for you, however, adult me understands the pain, but does not accept your excuse. I do not use my pain as an excuse to be a toxic person.

My experiences are real, my feelings are valid, and you no longer have the ability to silence my truth. You have rejected my truth, you have rejected me, and please remember, that is a choice you made.

You tried to paint a different picture of my life, using my paint, and your own damaged brushes. But were you prepared for what would happen when you ran out of paint? You were so worried about running out of the limited time you had to finish your mural, you must have forgotten that the paint you were using, belonged to me, it was mine.

Surely you have run out by now, and are desperately trying to convince others that your own shit is my paint.

It is my turn to paint over your scene, and show those who are safe, and who love me, the actual picture. I can do this now because I have brushes, and brushes are tools. For over a decade I have been taking on the arduous, painful process of replacing every weapon you left me, and collecting tools to replace them. Unfortunately, you did not do the hard work, you only paid the piper, and remember, it was with my life you paid. Do not forget either, that it was your choice.

You left weapons and cobwebs in my toolbox, and then you blamed me when I held those weapons and when I tried to clean those cobwebs. When I was told I was not allowed to clean that box, or remove those weapons, you gas lit me, and that’s when the worst happened…I gas lit myself. After all, you were my family, you were THE ADULTS, and as any child would believe, you were there to protect me, to love me, to nurture and accept me.

The day I stopped believing the reality of my life versus the lie that you needed me to believe, that you needed me to regurgitate to those who were close to you, and needed me to accept in order to protect you, was the day I not only lost sight of me, but the day I stopped believing I was a person worthy of love, acceptance, respect, and compassion.

You had your 15 minutes of fame, many times over, with my story and my truth. You assassinated my character and undermined my trauma to all who enabled you to do so. One day, I will talk about my journey, even if I can't speak right now, I WILL LEARN AGAIN. I WILL.

I come from a place of love, compassion, and empathy. I did not reject your truths that made you the people you have become the way you have rejected and kept me from mine.

With healing, I have found that the child in me can have the capacity to love you, and adult me can despise your unapologetically harmful nature. I can now keep myself safe from you, and soothe that child in me.

One of the tools I’ve gathered along the way is this…..It is not my responsibility to protect you from the truth that the light from the torch that you handed me to begin with, will illuminate.

I will. My will is powerful, or I would not be alive today, and God's will always be done.