A small treatise on religion and releasing my abuser

Many, many things crowding for the forefront of my cognitive attentions...

Where to start?

I was talking to Mom this morning. R came home, but he was terrified that they would all hate him and Mom would say it was over. That's not the case, and Mom and R have their first marriage counseling session tonight (actually, they're probably launching into it as I write).

I love Bebo Norman. Pandora's on in the background, and a Bebo song came on, and I just (again) realized how much I love and appreciate his music.

Okay, back to our regularly scheduled programming...

Mom and I were also talking about how group went last night (I'll get to that one-- it's super important!!) and I was sharing with her my new views on God. She was gratified to learn that I haven't *completely* gone off the deep end. ;)

How do I describe where I'm at? Well, while I was reading those books on the origins of the Bible and its trustworthiness and whatnot, I realized how incredibly humanity is mixed up with that book. I'm not sure why, but I always just considered the Bible to be a book that God essentially dropped out of heaven, and people didn't have any influence on it at all. Transcribed, rather than inspired, I guess you could say... but the thing is that people did have an influence on it. The authors had agendas and biases and mindsets and backgrounds and all sorts of things. An interesting realization, that was... and I guess it's impacted my whole view of things.

I believe that Jesus existed, and I believe that he was God incarnate. As far as his utter perfection... well... I dunno. I mean, I'm sure he made mistakes, but that's a totally different thing. I think we tend to confuse sinlessness and perfection, and I'm sure that Jesus made the odd mistake throughout his life, especially as a child. But, yes, I believe that Jesus saves. From what, I'm not exactly sure... but apparently I have no access to God except by Jesus, because I just suck that bad at being good... but I want access to God, and I'm sick of hustling for acceptance, so I have to go that route, don't I? Grace sounds mighty fine when you're exhausted from being a Christian. (One thing I don't get, though... I mean, if Jesus was sinless and perfect and all that, why can't I be perfect? Why do I need Jesus? Cause if he was able to tap into God's power and be all perfect, why can't I do that? I know, I know, I've already messed up my chances, but it wasn't my fault that I was born into a family that didn't know how to guide me in God's way like Mary and Joseph did. God handpicked that family, gave Jesus every advantage... which I didn't have, necessarily. So what's to prevent me from being good enough, like Jesus was? Was it just that he was God and I'm not? But if Jesus had something over us that we can't have, then that's not the fair exchange that it's been made out to be, and that whole "you can stop sinning and live a holy life" thing is out the window. That's been rolling around in my head for months, if not longer.)

Okayyyy... anyways...

I believe in a creator god. I'm pretty sure it's Y--W-H, but not one hundred percent positive. I just know he's out there. And I guess I'm more of a deist, now. I used to wait for God to get involved in the nitty gritty ("God, save me from abuse! Why didn't you?" "God, help me to get a good parking space!" "God, please, help me sell these books..."), but he just doesn't a lot of times, and I've had to come to grips with that. I think it's the people around us that are charged with the act of "doing", of getting involved in the nitty gritty and doing what I've always expected God to do. We learn what is right and wrong, what God would have us to do, and then we live it out, and it's the people making choices for themselves that make up the answers to prayers or the curses that dog our footsteps.

G made a choice. A bad choice. He became a bad person,  by his choices. And I have to live with those choices, because I was in his sphere of influence. I have the choice to become a good or bad person, and the choices I make will impact those in my sphere of influence. When I make good choices and give out positive energy (as new agey as that sounds, it's for lack of a better term), that's God working in the world to me.

I guess God just isn't that personal to me right now. I don't buy into that whole "romantic- God is crazy about you" hype anymore. I tried it. I'm sure he likes us, even loves us (enter Jesus-- he must think we're worth salvaging, yeah?)... but I don't see where he's really into a marriage-y type interaction like some people try to make it.

I also think that many of the things we ascribe to being God working are, in fact, the workings of people's choices and decisions. (According to my previous theory, though, that is God working, but not in the "reach down from heaven and bonk someone on the forehead" type of working, you know what I mean?)

I told Mom that, unbelievably, I've almost come to a place of acceptance. What happened to me happened, and I can't change that. I do believe that lessons and good things can come from everything, and while I would avoid what happened to me in a heartbeat, I know that I can use it to keep it from happening to others. Truly, it's total BS that it happens at all, regardless of who it's to, and this world is full of sick, sick people and it really REALLY ticks me off. Gets my ire up. (I wonder if they call it "ire" because Irish have a reputation for hot tempers?) So for now I'm off of the "God, why me?!" question, and more on to the "What can I learn and how can I help other people with this experience?" question. I know. I never thought I'd be here, either.

Anyway, moving on from the religion topic...

I've realized that I've made some mistakes with my group of girls. It's not my fault, per se, because what I really need is training, but there's been no opportunity to train and then get the group going-- I just had to jump into it. As a result, I've had no idea what to do when girls get into crisis mode or get emotional... so I've just avoided that as much as possible, which is not what they need.

I've been too lax on some things, like cussing, and there's been a gradual slide towards chaos and disrespect as we've gone on. Also, I've been too intellectual and reading-focused, but we need to be doing more healing exercises that will help the girls confront their issues and heal. Not everyone learns from reading like I do. We really need practical application, and less reading.

So, lessons learned, curriculum being totally revamped from the ground up, and I'm doing research on the side to learn how to be a better peer support facilitator.

Last night, we did roleplay and confronted our abusers. E came into the class to help me explain some of the changes that will be going down, and she led this exercise.

There were many, many tears, and a few of the girls didn't feel like they were ready, but I don't blame them. It was tough. E took the role of abuser, and she goaded us on with aggravating questions and statements like, "Why did you tell? I thought you liked it? You acted like you did. You know you wanted it. Why else would you have let me do it?" etc.

It was my turn, and my emotions were definitely running high after seeing the other girls go through it... G's face kept floating to the surface of my mind, and memories... gracious, the memories...

I got so angry. I don't even remember what "he" said, but I basically screamed at him, asking what was wrong with him, etc. The girls on my side of the table fled to the other side, and they all hunkered like they were in a foxhole. It didn't matter, because I wasn't supposed to look at anyone but E. She asked, I answered, and oh, I cried.

I trusted him, you know. He was supposed to take care of us, the only dad I'd ever known... I suppose I was hoping he'd be like Grampa. But please, nothing like G1! No, he wasn't that sadistic, I suppose... he never put me in a hot oven, or stuffed wadded up socks into my mouth, or tried to force me to drink his piss, or laughed while he held me in a bathtub of water filled with floating ice cubes... but he threw shoes at me. He starved me. He beat me. He humped me. He touched my sacred, private parts, and he touched me with his filthy, naked penis. He spilled his semen on the blanket next to me, and I had to sleep in it. He gave me Nyquil to knock me out, and heaven only knows what happened after that. He took my underwear off and molested me in the same bed as my sister, as my siblings... more than once. He did things that I can't even remember, that I don't want to remember, that I won't let myself remember.

And still, I wanted him to be my daddy. Still.

How was I to know what a father is truly like?

Hell, I still don't know what a father is truly like.

So I confronted him last night.

I told him that I hope he gets Bubba for a roommate, and that I hope Bubba likes him just as much as he liked me. I hope he gets the same treatment, and worse. I hope that he gets popsicled like Dahmer, and I hope that he survives so they can do it again. I told him that I would say he doesn't deserve to live, but he doesn't deserve to die, either. He deserves a long, slow torture so that he can know what my life has been like since he gouged holes through my very soul and filled them with decaying garbage.

She asked if I forgave him, and I quickly replied, "Hell, no!"

Do I forgive myself? Softer, this time... "Hell, no."

Why? Because I trusted him. I feel responsible for my family, and I let the abuser infiltrate us for how many years without saying a word? It's not my fault, but I still feel responsible.

And the last, the very last thing I said to him was this:

"You can't ruin my life. You don't have that power."

I also wanted to add, "F--- you."
I abstained for the sake of the girls, though.

But it's true. He doesn't have that power. He's too weak, he's always been too weak. He can't control me, and I won't give him that. He deserves nothing, least of all my submission. If I fall to ruins, he's won, you see. It is only by releasing him that I can truly have my vengeance.

As I said my last statement, I couldn't help but smile a little through my tears and rage, because I know it to be true.

He has no power over me.

He hurt me, but I have survived, and will continue to survive. He loses. :)

Seriously, though, I wish I could bottle this rage and primordial fury. I'd sell it as an energy drink. It really charges you up.

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