“The opposite of love is not hate; it is indifference.”

I hate to hear this phrase.  I hate it because it is obvious that my father thinks “the opposite of love” for me.  I sent my father the letter that I wrote a few months back.  I made a few revisions and removed the bitterness but left the anger.  Below is a copy with the new paragraphs added to the end.

Dear Daddy,

Yep, that’s what I called you when you started to come to my room at night to lay with me in your drunken stupor.  At the age of four you taught me to fear your name and also what the worst kind of pain is….the pain of being molested by my own father. You also taught me I never mattered to you.  You never loved me, you never cared about me, and you emphasized that point every time you came into my room.  And I know that you planned ahead of time what you were going to do because you would shut my door in hopes no one else would hear your evil. 

The lies you whispered to me were manufactured to make sure I never told your secrets and your efforts paid off.  You used me for years only to discard me when I got too old to excite you.  What kind of man gets off looking at a child?  What kind of pervert rapes their own daughter?  I hate what you did to me.  You succeeded in not only terrorizing my childhood but also my adult life.  But I am not even going to go into all of how I keep reaping the evil you have sown into my life.  You don’t deserve to know anything about my life.

But, I will say that you never protected me from life….the most minimum requirement of being a father.  You subjected me to terror EVERY DAY of my childhood.  Even after you threw me aside you couldn’t muster the effort to be a caring dad.  Yes, you came to my games but you never held me when I cried.   To actually have a conversation with me was too much of an effort for you.  If you had thrown me any small amount of love I would have caught it.  But, no, to you, I wasn’t worthy of the effort.

I used to wish you would be haunted in your dreams by what you did to me.  But then I realized they wouldn’t be haunting to you.  They would be pleasurable.  How sick that is.

I know what your penis looks like…to this day I have that picture in my head.  I am filled with anger because I can never get that out of my head.  It is burned into my skin and unfortunately my soul.  No daughter should have to live with that.  You gave me a death sentence when you did what you did to me.  Touching me where you did, telling me it was for me.  Lies Lies Lies. 

You had many opportunities to stop.  You had many choices along the way and kept making the evil one.  When I screamed and cried for you not to take me in the car you could have seen and heard my pain but you chose to ignore my dying.  

Did you know that a child molester has the exact same personality as a serial killer?  Yea, you achieve to high standards dad.  89% of child sexual assault cases involve persons known to the child, such as a family member.  1/3 of all prisoners convicted of sexual assault molested their own child.  Looks like you have a lot of company dad.  3/4 of the violent victimizations of children took place in the child’s home.  Research shows that the most common sexual offender is the father.   That is you.    

You are living a shell of a life because you fear being the real you.  You have to put up a careful front to keep hidden your true self.  The only person you can never hide it from, other than me, is yourself and more importantly, God. 

You only experience joy when others around you are aggrieved like you are.  You are a maker of misery.  You use pity as a weapon in your life.  To experience life, real life, you must speak truth.  Not your version of truth but God’s truth.  The honest truth.  This is the only way for you to experience salvation.

You can stop using pity as a weapon to gather fake love from others.  You can stand on your own two feet and speak the truth about all the sexual and physical abuse you inflicted on me.  Only in speaking truth can you then experience what true and pure love is.  Or, you can continue down this road toward hell.

I have been thunderously angry at you for all you stole from me.  You stole my childhood.  You stole joy and peace from my heart and put fear in its place.  You stole my chance of ever experiencing the comfort of a father’s love.  You stole the ability of parenting through your example.  You tried to steal my soul.  Of that one thing you didn’t succeed.  You broke and marred and wounded my soul but it was made by and belongs to Christ.   I am living a life here on earth in such intimacy with God that came about from walking in the REALITY of all the abuse you infected me with.

This same relationship is open to you but only if you can be honest with yourself and are able to speak the truth out loud.

~God’s Daughter

I have no idea if he read the whole letter or if he read the first sentence then threw it away.  Either way, I am sure he thought no more of me or the letter.  I am not worth him expending the effort of thinking about me.  I am not worth the effort of him being angry with me.  He easily disowned me 20 years ago and can’t be bothered to care about me now.  I was easily abused, discarded, and rejected.

But, now I understand that he has a heart of stone.  My heart is alive.  My heart hurts, and the pain is sometimes more than I can carry, but my heart beats.  I feel deep sorrow but I also can feel the joy of a kind touch.  I know heart-breaking truths but I also know deep committed love.  I have fears, sadness, terror, nightmares, moments of panic and anxiety, but because my heart is tender I also have the capacity to feel loving kindness, joyful happiness, and sweet tenderness, and true thankfulness.  My father is not only shut down to pain but also all other emotions in life.  He has no feelings towards me but he has no feelings towards any of life.

Who am I? pt. 2

Not knowing that I have been struggling with who I am, my counselor excitedly wrote on his board:

Passionate
Protective
Pained
Playful

He explained that this is how he sees me.  I felt excitement build as he described each side of me.

Passionate…he sees this when I am fully engaged with a subject and begin to gester with my hands
Protective…Asa, my newest insider
Pained…my 14 year old insider who is very lonely in her pain
Playful…my 4 year old insider

Right now, pre-integration, things are very lopsided.  The pain consumes the 14 year old and the 4 year old wants to play ALL of the time, and the protective part handles life with anger and detachment.  Once we are all integrated, I can now see how we can all work together.  My pain can connect with other’s that are suffering and my passion can fight for justice and protection of others.

My protective side will learn how to set healthy personal boundaries, not walls, allowing love and good in and letting the bad out.

My playful side will be the respite I need to refresh myself so my passions will not become tiring.

Wow! God knew I was questioning myself and losing sight of who I am to Him.  Those four adjectives

Passionate
Protective
Pained
Playful

describe who I am now, although unbalanced, but still who I am.  And, it’s who I can look forward to being fully in the future!