Short Life Stories

In The Arms Of Men - Draft - Work In Progress

The eve my step-father died, I felt relief and yet, I still cried. Well into my thirties and still the bastard had this hold on me that tainted my life and made me feel icky and dirty and weak. I cried easily as I had done thousands of times before and especially so after a few cocktails and as the tears fell, my now husband, Sean, simply told me to stop it. He'd witnessed many bouts like that and was tired of it happening and I think it also made him mad. Mad that it happened to me and mad that he couldn't do anything about it and frustrated. So in my infinite, hazy wisdom, I decided to write a letter to my step-dad. He would never get it and the letter would never be seen by anyone and I had to get it out of my head. I wrote and wrote and wrote in a furry that pushed me on. I wrote about what he did to me and my life and how it affected every aspect of my life and everyone close to me and all I wanted from him was an admission and an apology would be nice but just the pure admission that he sexually and mentally abused me. He never did and I carried that with me until that night. I had beaten myself up with questions of why hadn't I been stronger and yelled or fought back or what could I have done differently so it wouldn't have happened.? When I was finished and I had nothing else to write, we went out onto the deck and burned the four-page letter. As it burned and turned to ash, I felt a sense of calmness and ease that I'd never felt before. Why hadn't I done this sooner? Because I held onto the pain and questions so many years, though I was thirty something in age, I was a mature teenager in mind. This is my story.
I defined my self-worth by how I was viewed and thought of by men. My feelings didn't count. I had to prove to myself that I was still pretty and wanted despite what happened. And the very early crush on a high-school boy that ended after a few short months, only made me feel like I was nothing and a girl not worth loving and so I took the pills because it was the easy way out. Life was too hard and I didn't have the strength to live and battle my endless shortcomings. To wake up every morning and wonder if my step-father was going to touch me or what he'd say in front of my mother that would make her look at me funny and go through endless hoops to make sure I was never alone in a room with him. I was exhausted.
To be continued...