Not editing. Not rational. Not safety. Not sane.

We were at my brother’s marching band parade. I was 8. I got separated from my mom. I couldn’t find anyone. We were 70 miles from home and I got separated from everyone before cell phones were a thing. As I began to visibly panic my dad appeared to save the day. I think. I thought. I don’t know. I don’t know! I was relieved but that passed quickly.

I know this isn’t real… I know this isn’t real… I know this isn’t real!

He never promised to protect me but he still did more than my bio dad. Right? I’m so confused.

My bio dad left when I got sick. Oh well. My stepdad moved in that same year. He was at every important event. And people I grew up with thought our family was perfect. They wanted my mom. My mom who let her husband ruin me! We had material things. He took me on special putting a with my friends. Ohgodineedsomewheresafetolandrightnow!!! He called me his pumpkin. I know he never promised safety. I just wish if he was he’ll bent on destroying me and taking of me he would have done what’s necessary to get his daughter pregnant. Take take take take and I feel so bad for feeling upset! I know he is sick. I know she is too. That doesn’t make it hurt less. I still feel just as dirty unclean completely wretched and vile. How many years will it take to scrub myself clean of the mess that my dad left upon me? Iwillneverbecleanbecausetheonlypregnancymywombevercarriedwillbehisandimforeverstainedbecauseofthat

I turned the corner and my relief quickly turned to confusion as I saw we were approaching our van. Ugh. Idk where my mom was. Probably with the other moms. I was 8. I was 8. But I could be overreacting as my mother said. Too sensitive. Maybe I am. I am easily triggered. Don’t touch me ever if you’re male. I’m sorry. Hashtagnotallmen hashtagnotonlywomen etc. Etc. I’m sorry.

We returned to the van for a little bit before finding mom. I’m so embarrassed. Ashamed. Other gross things. I feel defeated. Defiled. Disrespected. Distorted. I was 8!



I feel so alone with this right now. Nothing can change this unsafe feeling. I know I’m a cliche. I wish I could hide. Or run. Something. Idk!! F#$@


2 thoughts on “Not editing. Not rational. Not safety. Not sane.”

  1. I am so sorry for what you had to endure as a child, and it’s devastating effects that you are now experiencing. My heart goes out to you. I’m glad you’ve found a safe space here to write it all out, to get it out. I hope it helps you process things a bit.

    Liked by 1 person

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