I am stuck.  Much like mud in a field that sucks your boots right off your feet when it gets too deep.  I am still not able to write about the sexual abuse.  I’m still not able to talk to my therapist about it and to top it off, when things get too stressful, the images haunt me. My head gets dark, and what I call, black.  I don’t like going to sleep.  With my nightmares, I at least knew that I could wake up from them.  Having these memories now, the nightmare isn’t just in my sleep anymore.

I’m trying to keep up appearances.  I’m trying to be positive.  I’m trying to forget and maybe that’s the wrong approach.  The physical abuse I know I’m over because I’ve been able to face that.  I would have taken that with a smile compared to the emotional and sexual abuse.  I’m facing the emotional abuse and dealing with it… but I don’t know how to face the rest.

Kim, my mother, sent my husband an email via Facebook asking how her ‘daughter’ and ‘grand babies’ were doing.  Kim has no right to call me her daughter.  My girls do not know that she exists, and until absolutely necessary, they won’t know.  For fourteen years, I cried myself to sleep most nights.  I went to school to get away and take a break from hell.

I KNOW when my girls cry, even when they try to do it as quietly as they can, I KNOW!  I know that Kim saw the things he did to me.  She stood by when he yelled.  Went to bed with some excuse when the beatings happened and she was home.  Claims to never hearing me cry when he was in my room at night.  She has no right to call me her daughter.

I am torn on if what Jack A did to me was worse or if watching my mother walk away when he started in on me was worse.