Our book club is reading the book, "leaving the Saints" by Martha Beck…this section was particularly affirming to me when I first read her book about five years ago.
She recounts how her life began to make sense after getting the first waves of memories…
Her memory " I am five years old, my hands are tied, and my father is doing something that feels as though it's ripping me in two. I am stretched on my back, legs spread like a frog on a dissecting table, unable to see or understand what is happening, focusing as hard as I can on the cord around my hands, because it distracts me from what is happening elsewhere….The first horrific flashback was like a nuclear detonation. It felt nearly real as if I were actually experiencing the original event, as though the nerve impulses for perceiving it had frozen into the tissues of my body, never reaching the level of conscious awareness, and were now finally completing their long-delayed journey…"
She also writes about an extremely painful doctors visit that now made sense.
"I am twenty-six, lying in another damned emergency room. The Doctor has just told me that I waited so long to seek treatment for an abscess in the tissues of my perineum (look it up) that he's afraid infection might enter my bloodstream any minute. There is no time to put me under general anesthesia, so he gives me a shot of novocain in a very private place, then hands me a washcloth and tells me to bite down on it. "please don't hate me," he says, and starts operating."
"Numbed by the local, I don't even feel the first incision. But then he sticks a pair of scissors into it, and the pain is just absolutely incredible. I've never felt anything this bad, not in childbirth, not when a dentist accidentally drilled right into a nerve. I am positive that nothing could possibly hurt more than this. Then the Doctor opens up the scissors inside the incision, and I realize I was wrong. And then, oh Lordy. Then he starts to cut."
"Out of all my medical misadventures, this memory stood out most in my mind the day of my first flashback – not just because the injury was related to those badly healed scars, but because the pain during that surgery was the only thing I could compare to the pain my mind and heart felt when the flashbacks started. It wasn't simply the agony and degradation of being raped but, more, the absolute horror of a five year old who has just learned that the universe is ruled by an evil god and that this god seems to have commanded the most beloved and powerful figure in her life to destroy her in a manner much more devastating than death. "We all have our little sorrows," said my Allusion Manager, quoting screenwriter Ronald Harwood even at this awful pass, "and the littler you are, the larger the sorrow." Martha
What I find so remarkable is that the physical pain is of a lesser degree in devastation compared to knowing that your father is capable of doing such awful things.
That knowing is by far worse than any bodily discomfort. The body will heal and the pain goes away….but the knowing who your father is and what he is capable of doing does not go away.
No scar will form over this knowing…it stays an open wound.
What is also comforting in a very horrific way is how she too experienced the time travelers that brought forth the exact feelings from her childhood.
When my niece spoke up stating that my father abused her, my body responded before my mind could comprehend. It shook and was filled with terror in every cell. I knew without a shadow of doubt that she spoke the truth. I too could not stop the mental tumblers from clicking into place and my life began making sense in a horrifying way.
Her husband too was seeing her in a new light, she began to make sense to him…"That is why you space out when I touch you," he said. "That is why you scream in your sleep. That's why you can never really relax."
And while her direct honesty and openness about her abuse may be very disturbing, it is very comforting for an abused child of abuse. It Makes us make sense.
We make sense coming from whence we came…
Tag: truth
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Coming From Whence We Came…
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A False Appearance Called You.
Between the comments, a conversation and reading, it came to me that this isn’t unusual this indirect conversations. And in fact, the bigger the ‘secret’ or point the bigger the fear and the consequences or fall out will be.
There is a payoff for not talking directly, it allows you to be in a pretend safe zone. Get that, a pretend safe zone or a pretend friendship, or a pretend relationship, a pretend love.
A pretend love. What is that?
And how is it that we are more comfortable being a pretend self, than being a truthful one.
I know I was fricking inept when it came to being myself. I had no clue. I was frustrated, anxious, nervous, a mess, a total basket case, BEING me.
How is that possible, that we wear the mask of pretend with ease even if it doesn’t cover up the resentment and fear that lies beneath?
What I know for sure is that we fear a big fall out equal to the level of fear we have IF we were to be ourselves and REALLY say what is on our minds…as well as the size or the extent of the secret.
In my family it was gigantic, earth shattering big.
In other families it is huge and life changing for sure.
But we fail to realize is that it will change the pretend fearful weird exchanges we have with each other to truthful ones.
I recall my sister asking to be my friend on face book (after a four year silence and vast differences)…and being this new frank self…I asked, “why do you want to be my friend and told her she may not like the new me and that she best to go to my blog and read.” She came back and said, “Nope, not that interested”.
While that hurt, it also set us both free from pretending. I didn’t want to begin a second time around with her and leave my frankness behind.
Now it seems quite silly and childish or immature to even entertain the idea of pretending to get along…And that whole sentence is wrong for little children are known for their frankness.
So, maybe it is not silly or childish, but just lingering on junior high, where we will do anything to get along, to be liked, to be part of a group. We pretend to get along and in doing so live a pretend life.
That to me is so tragic, that many many people live their whole lives as somebody else…or for somebody else.
Self loving is not ever having to pretend. I LOVE that.
I used to pretend to have no fear of my father.
I used to pretend that I had no resentment against my mother.
I pretended that she made wise choices or that they didn’t bother me.
I pretended and pretended and pretended, until I lost complete sight of who I was.
I looked up the definition of pretend. “To give a false appearance.”
Yes, I was afraid of my father and I acted like I wasn’t.
Each and every time we pretend or cover up a feeling or not speak our truth, we lose a little bit more of ourselves…and gain more and more of a false appearance.
Who knew that by sparing another you would create a false appearance or false self. And here is the deal, you are only fooling your self that if you don’t address each issue, that they fade away and disappear.
They don’t.
They are with you always.
For your feelings can’t be erased by pretending.
Love can’t be formed by pretending. Friendships are not bonded deeply in pretending. All pretending does is pretend that it isn’t so…when it is.
Isn’t it funny, you thought you were fooling another when indeed you were fooling your self, creating a false appearance called you.
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Point of Conversation
Martha Beck writes (In Leaving the Saints) about the way she was taught to communicate in the Mormon Church, “through continuous indirect communication, I learned that a good Mormon girl doesn’t travel in the dimension of direct communication.”
This is how I believe most of us are taught and then call people who do talk directly and succinctly… bold, brash, cold and even bitter.
Direct communication is scary after talking indirectly and around most sensitive issues, to just say what it is you need to say… feels terrifying.
What I know is that there are reasons we are taught indirectness in our speaking. We are told either by words or actions ‘not to go there’ and we don’t, we learn to talk in a pretend roundabout way.
We say things we don’t mean or feel…and instead say things that are not true…out of fear of getting in trouble if we don’t. Mostly we are taught to shut off our feelings and not to be so sassy and say what is on our minds. We are taught that indirect conversations are best for all concerned, it isn’t good to go to the heart of any issue.
What I know for sure, is that I went along with the indirect conversations in my home and it costs me greatly in the end.
Now, direct open frank conversations are the only ones I care to engage in, the others seem like disconnected words. Words that are not attached to the person or their truths.
I had lived for years believing that words alone were powerful that they had this great impact upon the land, until I learned that unless words are with reality and truth, they are simply just words…meaningless.
Minus meaning or meaning less than what needs to be said.
There is no difference between what I say and what I do, they match.
In the past, what I felt and what I said were worlds apart, like the polar opposites in life. I never felt that I could actually say what I feel, let alone act according to my feelings. I was taught to act against my feelings for the sake and happiness of others, out of love.
If you love someone ‘you spare them your true feelings’ is the gist of what I was taught.
And now I have learned if you love someone they above all deserve your truth.
In the end it boils down to you either have a direct meaningful relationship or you have an indirect one.
Indirect, do you care to guess its meaning? “Indirect, diverging from the direct course, roundabout. Not proceeding straight and to the point or object.”
What I have learned in the past six years is that very few speak directly to the point…most are speaking in roundabout ways, they are trying to skirt the mountain of truths, to spare their feelings and the feelings of others.
In fact, when speaking indirectly you will avoid feelings and miss the point of the conversation.
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Eyes of a Child
While mowing the grass last night it came to me that the attacking and jousting for position isn’t about whether there is abuse or not abuse, what was right or wrong, or even the way it is treated or not treated, but rather a more subtle yet ferocious component, it is the fear of no love.
I have mistaken this for the strength of love, but it is actually velocity of fear.
Many of the old Masters and wise teachers have all alluded to this; you get to live your life based on fear or on love.
What we are experiencing is as old as time, the two energies showing their true natures, two sides meeting and clashing, the polar opposites opposing each other.
Fear is False Events Appearing Real, so what we really have is the battle between the truth and what is not the truth.
Don Miguel Ruiz writes, “You know, most people around the world believe that there is a great conflict in the Universe, a conflict of good and evil. Well, that is not true. It’s true that there is a conflict, but the conflict only exists in the human mind, not in the Universe. It’s not true for the plants or the animals. It’s not true for the stars and the trees, or for the rest of nature. It’s only true for humans. And the conflict in the human mind is not between good and evil. The real conflict in our mind is between the truth and what is not the truth, between the truth and lies. Good and evil are just the result of that conflict. The result of believing in the truth is goodness, love, happiness. When you live your life in truth, you feel good, and your life is wonderful. The result in believing lies creates what you call evil; it creates fanaticism. Believing in lies creates all of the injustices, all of the violence and abuse, all of the suffering, not only in society but also in the individual. The Universe is as simple as it is or it is not, but humans complicate everything.” Don Miguel Ruiz
Life is really this simple, it is or it is not.
What we are arguing about is what is or what is not.
Who is or who is not.
It isn’t complicated or deep and children do this well.
Don Miguel writes, “"As little children, we are completely authentic. We never pretend to be what we are not. Our tendency is to play and explore, to live in the moment, to enjoy life. Nobody teaches us to be that way; we are born that way. This is our true nature before we learn to speak."
This is what I believe Jesus meant by believing like little children; to be in the truth, to walk with the truth, to see the truth, to be authentic.
Read more from Don Miguel on this subject in Carl’s blog,
www.messyguru.typepad.com Titled, "Being Effortless."
What Don Miguel stated, “The result in believing lies creates what you call evil; it creates fanaticism.” Fanaticism is the key component that makes up cults or extreme religions; they are not based on extreme love.
Fanatics are extremists, and from my experience of the FALC they all believe in lies… Lies, which create evil.
The lies I am speaking most generally about is, that they believe they can wash away reality and that it will no longer exist, and that is one major lie.
The mother of all lies that follow.
They have complete faith in something that isn’t real, their faith and trust is placed fear.
And this act alone creates the fanatical responses, the evil energies we feel attacking us. We do not feel the energies of love, but the biting words of fear.
And sometimes after they bite us, they come back with ‘love’ words; they try hiding their fear with kind words, for even their own evil scares them.
What I hadn’t considered or understood was the level or degree of evil and lies they had faith in, and how frightened or terrified they are to have it disclosed and revealed…
However, I recall vividly the moment all my true lies collapsed, when all I had faith in evaporated and the terror it left me standing in…and yet in the exact same moment when my world collapsed a grand new one was born, the world of truth.
And I truly became like a child again. I didn’t hear what people were saying, but I watched their actions. Words became meaningless, actions was the true path I followed.
This world of truth became a spectacular landscape which was very easy to walk in, it was steady and never changing, and there was nothing I had to learn, do or believe in, it was all there in front of me.
I gave up all past beliefs and thoughts, and simply walked in life with eyes of a child.
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Resolve to Stay the Same.
While we all know that my father transformed into a monster many times, over many years with a variety of girls, what we fail to recognize or even consider is the lack of changes in the lives of others who knew and did nothing.
Who knew and did nothing, means they did not respond or change or transform as a new truth or information landed in their lives.
It is this unchanging landscape that doesn’t match the little girls changing landscape that really really bothers me.
I know that I somehow expected more from my mother after the event than I did my father.
I expected her to save me, to move me away from harm, to change our world somehow.
It is hard to articulate the transformations of my father, but it is equally hard to fathom the no changes in the ones who knew and did nothing.
When I say, “knew and did nothing” I mean have a lifestyle change, have a reaction that mirrors criminal sexual assault.
The ones who lived with my father or near my father had one opinion of who he was. When a new identity comes in it seems that you would then have to reconfigure your world.
It seems that something so huge would not fit into your old lifestyle, that IT would literally change you.
Yet the opposite is what happened in my family. I have heard from a few in my family who said, emphatically that they would not let what my father did change their lives. One is a sheriff…(he isn’t going to let Ray upset his world, and let him win, giving him the satisfaction.)
They were not going to change their worlds because of his sick behavior, it wasn’t going to ‘ruin’ their family, or change their relationships, and they simply were not going to allow it to affect the lives they had.
I have actually been accused of ruining their childhoods and their fond memories…ripping our family apart.
I am the one to blame…more so than Ray.
One sister said she confronted him for a half hour and went to work. Imagine, a half-hour and her world was set back right side up.
What does this say about folks who can let this come in and then allow it to reside there and not have their lives change?
Due to the fact that this time Ray went to jail, to court, hired lawyers, it was way real, and still at the end of the day…it is life as usual.
I am more transfixed on what didn’t change than anything else.
It is the space between my family and I.
I stopped my whole world…when I heard what my niece said.
I sat in a place outside of my life…and looked in.
I saw things I didn’t want to see.
I had to act in ways I couldn’t imagine acting.
I let go of people I couldn’t imagine letting go of.
Knowing what Ray did has changed my life forever.
Nothing remained the same…and I can’t begin to imagine how they are able to walk unchanged.
This behavior seems equally as odd as my fathers transformation, the unchanging resolve to stay the same.
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Back to the Lake of Innocence.
The previous post’s pictures articulate the changes, and how in fact the little girl continues to look the same, but now feels like that dirty lake resides inside of her, by the actions done to her and the lack of response.
Prior to abuse entering into her world, her world is like Lake Superior on a beautiful summer day, calm, peaceful, relaxing, clean, fresh, beautiful, loving, kind, innocent…
And then….
(Recounting from the file)
“He was always very nice, showing interest in me… he casually pulled me on his lap, real friendly like, a real laid back guy…but very strong…he would pull me onto his lap, he forcefully pulled me on his lap and then take my hand, held my hand, and place it over his erect penis that would be out of his long johns…if she tried to pull it away, he would very firmly put it back, rubbing his penis, while Ray would be doing this, other people would be in the room, including his wife. The same scenario happened, over and over again…” Little girl voices…
After abuse the world changes color, it is now darker, scarier and monsters lurk in kitchens and living rooms…friendly laid back guys can transform into monsters and then back again. No one seems to see the monster you are experiencing… It becomes this fluid ever changing landscape.
And from the file, each girl spoke of my father’s transformation, of going from nice laid back neighbor man to a forcible pedophile. The juxtaposition.
What is missing is the transformation of the other adults.
The wife, neighbors and minister continued on as normal.
What is horrific is that they don’t become unglued…and transform into raging indignant people reeling about the injustice of such treatment of the innocent.
We are left with double transformations.
We wait to see our loving caring parent transform into rage at our abuse…and it doesn’t happen.
So we then, watch or feel inside the disappearing love, trust and faith.
It transforms from loving and caring, to caring less.
Our world now holds people who are not who they say they are, there are flipping images and we can’t trust what we see anymore.
The truth is, there is no truth.
This is the awful state to be in, where you can’t trust the kind face of my father for lurking in the background is forcible contact with his penis.
Double images.
You can’t trust your mother’s high morals and values for when it comes to the real tough things in life, she is unable to stand tall, to come out swinging for you.
She proclaims strong and comes out weak.
She turns a blind eye towards your abuser, which translates to us, a blind eye on our abuse our wounds…
If you don’t value your children, you don’t value anything.
And when you don’t value the children, the children can’t value themselves. They literally see themselves in your eyes.
What I saw in my parent’s eyes is the Lake of Sins…their sins. I seen me through their eyes of sins…believing those eyes were talking about me, instead they were showing me who they were, and it had nothing to do with me.
Their value became my value…they can’t make me precious and valuable…without it being within them first.
“you can’t give what you don’t have…” seems like a lofty bit of wisdom the therapy world imparts, but I know form experience this is true.
When I discovered my own innocence, I could then see my children with eyes of innocence…but first I had to see the abuse my parents gave to me. I couldn’t hold them innocent, for when I did I was the problem.
And what I know for sure is the girls; the little children who are forced to perform sexual acts are never the problem. Not now, not ever.
Until I held my father accountable, my innocence was not mine.
This is very very tough for a child to do, for we want at all cost to keep a loving parent, a strong caring forceful in love parent, but instead we get parents who become strong in abuse and weak in love.
Even at my old age, I still wanted to have a strong generation before me, I didn’t want to be stronger than the top, I wanted a soft place to fall, someone to rely upon, a warm embrace, a shelter from life storms…
My healing and dealing and bearing the brunt of all ridicule and disdain is giving my children the parent I sought.
I have to withstand all the storms that have been leveled at me to show my children and I how strong I am, that no matter who abuses…I can stand tough.
I have stood against my father, my mother and all siblings who have openly and willingly supported and cared for them. I have let family go for the sake of my own little girl inside and in doing so have secured an environment for my own children.
I have transformed multiple times…innocent to abuse, to innocent again, from strong to weak and weak to strong, from loving to fear and fear to loving, from me to not me to back to me again.
Back to the Lake of Innocence…
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The enemy of Lies.
Who I was the first 46 years is totally different than who I am now. I went from being totally submissive, compliant and eager to please, while a bit of an outspoken person, I spoke for what I then believed…as long as I stayed within the party lines.
I never strove to make ripples in life, but rather was the one who smoothed over the waters; I took out the waves…a calming force, I was the one who would settle the ruffled feathers.
It shocks me at times to see me being the one making waves and saying things I know will not sit well, but I say them anyway.
At times it was hard recognizing me or even allowing the new me to be me, to let her speak and write with such forthrightness.
Sometimes it seems that I myself no longer have a boundary or a line that I can’t cross, whereas before there were many imaginary but firm lines.
Now there is nothing I can’t say, as far as speaking the truth goes, there doesn’t seem to be a topic that is off limits, it is like I have discovered my own personal freedom of speech.
I guess it helped to have my personal wounds splashed across the paper; it really left little to protect or hide…my darkest secret was broadcasted on the Radio, TV, and in the Newspaper as well as word of mouth.
Of course the only ones who knew, knew me, the rest it was just another sad story, a pathetic man doing obscene things…I was the story behind the story.
My life’s details were freely handed out, talked about, discussed with bits of truths and tons of speculation sprinkled with hearsay and conjecture.
I had thought in the beginning that many people would be asking me details and wanting to know this or that, but ironically no one speaks of this.
“It is a hard subject to bring up,” my husband once said.
“It is a hard subject to live through,” I told him.
I blog about my thoughts and feelings, about what I feel and how different aspects have felt to me, how people connected acted or didn’t act and how too that felt to me.
It is like the blog became the friend or tireless family member who would always sit and listen and bounce back ideas that rolled around in my head…we straightened things on the blog. It is like a very intimate trusting friend.
Now, lately my blog has been getting tons of strangers watching me talk and engage with this friend, they get to be voyeurs into my consciousness. Witnesses to my thoughts, beliefs and how I see the world and others…
Lately I feel that there is momentum brewing, sacred connections are joining and creating an even bigger circle encompassing and reaching further and creating a stir…
It is like it was meant to be that my story get written, my truths be told, my life be this open book in order for it to dovetail with a family just beginning this process.
Its purpose was always beyond me.
For often times, the most difficult things to write seemed always to be the most important to put down…and ones I couldn't not write.
Those were the things that others needed to read; those are the crucial signposts along this journey, the game changers, the deal breakers, the key.
There always seemed to be a bigger purpose than just me that I was tugging and pulling on pieces of others stories, that by me figuring out apiece here and there, others would see and shift with me.
And at times even those who passed prior were cheering for me as I righted another wrong belief…we seemed to shift in knowingness.
It seemed some were leading and others were following me.
Follow me to their own truths, not my truth.
To see that this journey I took is possible and that you will never walk alone, you will have angels of all kinds showing you the way forward.
Angels of lies kept me from going backwards.
Angels of truth wrote books that led me forward.
It isn’t my intention to hurt anyone with my truths, but the old adage is there, “truth hurts”.
It hurts the illusion. It hurts the life built upon lies. If it hurts enough, it will propel you to change, to grow, to expand, to raise your consciousness.
Truth arrives to change you, to be your spiritual friend. Truth is only the enemy of lies.
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They speak in Lies.
Don Miguel Ruiz said “There are two kinds of Angels, the angel of lies and the angel of truth.”
Isn’t it odd to look at the two different kinds of angels?
I know that my family does not like to see me as an Angel of Truth; they would love me much better as the Angel of Lies, and the way I used to be.
Oh was I a good angel of lies. I was the best, I would tell you anything you wanted to hear, but never, not ever the truth…for I wouldn’t want to hurt you.
I was a good angel of lies and my self suffered greatly.
For in order to be a wonderful angel of lies, you lose your self. You turn away from your own feelings, and choose not to see others in their true colors.
The Angel of Truth speaks with impeccable words, her actions match and she says what she has to say, no matter how they land upon your world.
I have lived both ways and as the Angel of Lies, I seen the world through glasses that lied to me. I lied and it lied back.
I pretended many things, overlooked much, and didn’t see life as it was in its naked rawness and beauty.
While my journey has been horrific in many places, where the truth is exposed like a monster, I have also seen great beauty, love, peace and joy, that my lying angel refused to see.
When I first began to see without my lying eyes, I saw things that brought me to my knees, okay flat in bed. But those same eyes bathed my body in nature’s beauty.
I seen the sunrise and felt God looking upon me. The night sky was filled with loving angels, the moon another loving presence.
I watched the flow of the river and knew that same energy flowed through me.
My truthful eyes saw God everywhere.
So, while it was hard to get used to my truthful eyes, especially seeing that which prior I covered with lies, it was also the biggest blessing in my world.
I love that I can see now as God sees.
I love that there are angels of lies and angels of truth.
I love that I have been able to be both in this lifetime.
What I know is that many in my family are loving their roles as Angels of Lies, and they are being rewarded by staying close to their mother, their siblings, a family of lying Angels, all resuming life after a bit of truth blew in, they quickly got back to life as it was before.
And it is very different when you begin to see truth; you are set aside from the liars. Our words and actions don’t match; our wings clash.
I flew alone for a while and slowly I am finding Angels of Truth to hang with. We are a rare bunch, seen as mental by some, cold and bitter by others…(hey, isn’t it said that truth is often times a bitter pill to swallow.) We are often depicted as home wreckers, spoil sports, insane, crazy, mad…
What I know to be true for me is that life as an Angel of Truth is magnificent, easy, peaceful, wise, perfect, and it walks hand and hand with God.
I do recognize that when I speak as the Angel of Truth, I will get feedback that isn’t kind or supportive or loving from the Angels of Lies. They are first to spread lies about me, that is their role. They are only doing what Angels of Lies do…they speak in lies.
Don Miguel says there is only one conflict in the human experience; the conflict between truth and lies.
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Sit and hear Why.
It almost seems like my father’s life and its impact it had on so many little girls is the classic case, the textbook example of what happens when you ignore the truth.
What happens when you feel a certain way, but tuck it away and not address it…for I had very strong feelings of not trusting him and certainly never wanted to be near him…this was just the way it was from the time I was so little. I just never questioned myself or delved deeper in to why.
The truth of my fear was never explored. And in fact I grew to become accustomed to just being a person who didn’t have warm feelings towards her parents. I never questioned why, I just lived this way, it was my normal set point.
My parents determined my set point, and I never challenged why we were this way, it just was.
When you are not able to discuss the whole truth of our lives, you are then living in this weird spot way above truth in a place called pretend.
They pretended to be loving parents and I pretended to feel love…and I never felt I could challenge them, nor was there a great urge to do so, to blatantly just flat out want to lay it all on the table. I am thinking subconsciously, I knew that once I crossed the line of no longer pretending, all hell would break lose…and it would have.
Just by tugging on one little string, the whole ball of wax would have come undone.
While I can understand that inside of our house how we would have had so much to lose by seeking the truth of our fears and suspicions, I am not really clear as to why the outside wasn’t able to be reckless with abandon and come in demanding the truth to be exposed.
How is it that the parents of the neighborhood were not picketing outside of our driveway, demanding his arrest for what he did to their daughters?
What stopped them?
Keeping them away from Ray is what I did. I tried to stay back from him. My sisters tried to stay back from him…and I can understand the kids without an option to just stay away, but I still can’t comprehend how a parent who hears their child’s story…doesn’t take it to the law.
My mother’s reasons were clouded in love and wanting to keep the family together at all costs. Her facing the truth would have destroyed her whole family as she knew it. Her pretend loving husband and untouched girls would have come tumbling down. She would have to face things she ignored for years.
But what did the neighbors have to lose by prosecuting Ray?
What stopped them from taking this to the 9/10’s of the law?
And this is being done in three separated homes and during the span of many years. It didn’t all happen during one bad month…or a particularly awful summer, it went on for years in the same neighborhood. Different girls and different parents same perpetrator and similar reaction. No law was involved.
Again, I can see what my mother would have to lose, she would lose everything…but as a neighbor what would you have to lose?
My father wasn’t the cement that held the neighborhood together to make it this wonderful place to live, he made it a living hell for the girls, and yet the outside wasn’t willing to prosecute…and it just doesn’t make sense to me.
Even the minister… why would he ask about motives for telling on a man who seldom, and I mean seldom sat his butt down on a church bench? And not be stricken by the fact that a little girl is telling him of her wounds…instead to immediately go to the defense of Ray.
Most it seems seemed to care more about what would happen to Ray, than what was happening to the girls, like they immediately swing their heads in the wrong direction, instead of moving heaven and earth to protect the child, they first consider what this information will mean to Ray and even perhaps to themselves.
It is the lack of police reports on this man for over 40 years that is so telling…and I am sure the reasons are varied and complex and believable by each person who did what they each did at the time.
I am sure they understand their decisions.
While I had feelings of being afraid of my father, I had no pictures, so I couldn’t know why…and when I heard that he molested my niece I immediately had my answer…But what I hadn’t expected was that others knew.
I was blown sideways by the fact that I felt I was the last to know, like a wife of a cheating husband, it seemed that everyone knew and talked about what I didn’t know.
No one but me seemed to be too surprised.
While I was sent reeling and tumbling into an abyss others continued on with life as normal, for they had this information now for 30 to 40 years. It wasn’t new news, but just the same old story coming around again.
I was 46, and as incredible as it seems this information had been in place in other people’s homes and minds…the answer to my puzzled life.
And I could tell immediately by the reaction of so many, that I was the last to know…and they now began turning away from me. Which seemed even weirder. We are all on the same page so let’s talk. And yet, by this time…I knew who my friends were and what they kept from me and the cost.
I wasn’t really open to listening…and I am unsure today, I would still want to sit and hear why.
I M Perfect lady 