Pieces to the puzzle being uncovered

 I sat across from my therapist as she challenged my thoughts.  She insisted that things didn't add up.  Pieces of my childhood story are missing, huge pieces that would make things make sense.  There are more questions than answers at times. For instance,

If my siblings saw me being physically abused, witnessed me being the object of my father's lust, know that I was sexually abused and have even read the horrific letter my mother sent me on my birthday to condemn me to death for getting counseling as a 32 yr old adult, then why on earth do they treat my parents like they are gold, and condemn me for setting boundaries and saying no to further abuse? 

I wrestled with the many questions that came out of the counseling session and wondered why awful things happened to me that didn't happen to my younger sisters.  Why was I singled out?  Then it dawned on me that there were five girls who lived in our home during my childhood, who were older than me.  While I couldn't remember some of them at all, I knew their names and that they had each lived with us for more than a year. 

I began searching on facebook to see If I could find any of them. Then I came across a name with no picture, it was the name of  a foster sister who had lived with us from about 1976 to 1978.  She was between the age of 11 and 13.

Now, as an adult, I was reaching out.  It had been forty years since we'd last seen or heard of each other.  I sent a text through a messenger saying.  "You stayed with my family for a while when you were young.  I am trying to put together some of the missing pieces from my childhood and am wondering if you are willing to let me ask a few questions." 

To my surprise, she answered quickly.  My first question was bold.  I asked, " Were you abused by my parents?" She responded with a question, " Where you one of Tom's victim's too?" 
I was suddenly stunned. It had never occurred to me that my father would have sexually abused anyone other than me. So with my heart racing, I answered simply " Yes". 

We began to talk over the next 24 hours and memories surfaced, tears flowed and healing began.  I was not alone.  I was not a magnet for my father's lust, he had an issue with pedophilia and I was simply next in line. 

Then she described the abuse and I fell apart.  She said that when my mother would go to get groceries one night per week, he would climb in her bed to sexually assault her.

He told her that he was teaching her how to please her husband like the bible mandates so she could be a good wife.  As he told me that, I froze and began weeping.  I remember hearing those words. I wasn't sure if they were spoken to me or someone else but I had heard them before.

As we talked it became clear.  The abuse she endured started with I was only four years old. We shared a room. I was on the top bunk.  I was there, for every moment of it.  I heard everything he did to her, everything he said to her.  I remember trying to pretend I was invisible, moving as far away from the edge of the bunk as possible so he couldn't reach me, and silencing my breathing so that it was like I wasn't there.  I remember trying to be still and silent with my heart pounding.  I remember grocery days.   

My foster sister stayed with us for only two years.  She was resilient and found a way out. She made it look like she had gotten into drugs.  It was the only way she could convince the social worker to remove her and place her back with her older sister.  She escaped before the assaults escalated to rape, the step the believed was next.

I was relieved to realize I wasn't the only one my father lusted after but mortified at the memories that surfaced.  Most of all I was afraid of what I still could not remember. Why did I need to be invisible, why did I need to disappear? Why did I hate grocery night? 

She remembered things I had forgotten, including the spiritual control that was used against us. It was as if, in order to please God we had to submit to the sexual abuse. It was honoring our father, and being obedient. It was learning to be a good wife since he said that is what the Bible teaches.  He twisted the bible and its teaching to manipulate us into submission for his own sick and twisted perverted desires.

The day after my conversation with Heather she contacted me again. This time with a tough question. She didn't mince words.  She asked if her brothers had sexually abused me.  I didn't want to answer, but she realized quickly that the answer in part was yes.  One of her brothers had sexually abused me starting two years after she left.

I was waiting for her to condemn me or attack me but instead, she affirmed me and validated my pain.  She told me that he also abused others in various ways.  Her own daughter had expressed that she didn't feel safe around him and there were red flags.

I wasn't alone. I wasn't alone....... Finally, for the first time in my life, I felt like I wasn't the only one carrying this heavy load of the disgusting things done to me. I had confirmation that two of the men who sexually abused me had patterns of doing this to others. Therefore it wasn't my fault, as my mother strongly insisted. I wasn't to blame, they are.  They are sick and disgusting vile filthy men who condemn themselves with their own hands and lustful hearts.

I felt guilty for what my family had done to these others.  I wondered if the other girls were abused too. I may never know. But at this moment I knew that my story was validated by the pain of another. My mother had said it was all in my head, that I imagined it but do two girls who haven't spoken about it ever, and who have been apart for 40 years have the same delusion and haunting memory?  It cant be....... it has to be true.  We both survived the cult that was my childhood home. We both endured the grooming and pedophilia that robbed us of our childhood. 

She even offered to testify before the courts and to verify my story to others. she insisted that when more than one person comes forward with the same horror story then people start to listen.  I am not alone and while my heart is aching, and painful memories are surfacing I am relieved to have someone by my side who can validate all I have been through.

For the first time in 46 years a family member is infuriated by the abuse. For the first time someone had decided to confront my abuser and refuse to let him near the little girls in the family. My pleas have been heard.

I am not alone.....