As I write this, I know there will be those who will be angry with me. They will call me a liar, they will say I am out to do nothing but slander my father’s name with the means to get somewhere. There will be those who doubt me, having known me growing up, and would never believe the hell that was my child hood. But it must be said, before all else, what I write is the truth, word for word, frozen in my brain, no part embellished, fabricated or exaggerated. Only the plain, cold truth. I expect this anger, and I am prepared for it, but it is time the truth was said.
I knew a long time ago, even as a small child, that I was the story keeper, that it would be my job to remember this story. I grew up in a family who seemed to live in a life of pretend and fantasy, never acknowledging, always excusing. It is from them I expect the most backlash, but I am too much my father’s daughter, in all of the right ways, to be silent forever. I am speaking up now, for the three children lost in that ghostly existence of a childhood. I am speaking out now, for the adult in me who wants enough justice, for the words to be read on paper. For it to be impossible to turn a blind eye when it is written out in black and white.
It must also be noted, it is unbelievably hard to write this. In order to bring forth my tale, I must delve into the past, put myself back in that moment. Relive each happy, painful, and emotional moment to be able to give it to you, the reader, in an honest account. To dive into this darkness to pull out these murky memories tends to be an exhaustion of both mind and body, and each time I worry I will be sucked back into it, unable to find my way back
So I invite you on this journey with me, it is dark, it is tangled, it is shockingly true. Maybe after feeling the cold tendrils of the darkness, the light will be all that much more comforting for you.
I share this tale, not only for myself, to help heal past wounds, but to speak out against the travesties that were my childhood. To also speak out, for those who are too frightened, or too trapped to speak out for themselves, whether they be child or a spouse.
Before Reading On
This blog is a work in progress, telling the dark tale that was the childhood of my brothers and I. This blog is an advocate against domestic violence as well as child abuse. Some posts in this blog may be graphic, violent, and use harsh language.
As I write this, I know there will be those who will be angry with me. They will call me a liar, they will say I am out to do nothing but slander my father’s name with the means to get somewhere. There will be those who doubt me, having known me growing up, and would never believe the hell that was my child hood. But it must be said, before all else, what I write is the truth, word for word, frozen in my brain, no part embellished, fabricated or exaggerated. Only the plain, cold truth. I expect this anger, and I am prepared for it, but it is time the truth was said.
I knew a long time ago, even as a small child, that I was the story keeper, that it would be my job to remember this story. I grew up in a family who seemed to live in a life of pretend and fantasy, never acknowledging, always excusing. It is from them I expect the most backlash, but I am too much my father’s daughter, in all of the right ways, to be silent forever. I am speaking up now, for the three children lost in that ghostly existence of a childhood. I am speaking out now, for the adult in me who wants enough justice, for the words to be read on paper. For it to be impossible to turn a blind eye when it is written out in black and white.
It must also be noted, it is unbelievably hard to write this. In order to bring forth my tale, I must delve into the past, put myself back in that moment. Relive each happy, painful, and emotional moment to be able to give it to you, the reader, in an honest account. To dive into this darkness to pull out these murky memories tends to be an exhaustion of both mind and body, and each time I worry I will be sucked back into it, unable to find my way back
So I invite you on this journey with me, it is dark, it is tangled, it is shockingly true. Maybe after feeling the cold tendrils of the darkness, the light will be all that much more comforting for you.
As I write this, I know there will be those who will be angry with me. They will call me a liar, they will say I am out to do nothing but slander my father’s name with the means to get somewhere. There will be those who doubt me, having known me growing up, and would never believe the hell that was my child hood. But it must be said, before all else, what I write is the truth, word for word, frozen in my brain, no part embellished, fabricated or exaggerated. Only the plain, cold truth. I expect this anger, and I am prepared for it, but it is time the truth was said.
I knew a long time ago, even as a small child, that I was the story keeper, that it would be my job to remember this story. I grew up in a family who seemed to live in a life of pretend and fantasy, never acknowledging, always excusing. It is from them I expect the most backlash, but I am too much my father’s daughter, in all of the right ways, to be silent forever. I am speaking up now, for the three children lost in that ghostly existence of a childhood. I am speaking out now, for the adult in me who wants enough justice, for the words to be read on paper. For it to be impossible to turn a blind eye when it is written out in black and white.
It must also be noted, it is unbelievably hard to write this. In order to bring forth my tale, I must delve into the past, put myself back in that moment. Relive each happy, painful, and emotional moment to be able to give it to you, the reader, in an honest account. To dive into this darkness to pull out these murky memories tends to be an exhaustion of both mind and body, and each time I worry I will be sucked back into it, unable to find my way back
So I invite you on this journey with me, it is dark, it is tangled, it is shockingly true. Maybe after feeling the cold tendrils of the darkness, the light will be all that much more comforting for you.
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