I want to make very clear, I'm not even sure I have the right to be here. To my knowledge (and while my memory is... eh. There are bits missing, but nightmares aside I am reasonably certain. But that's an issue not for here and now...) I have never been sexually abused. And my mother only ever spanked me once, and my step father only ever hit me twice, and both were open handed and I am told, therefore do not count as legal physical abuse. But god that man fucked up my head. Sorry for the language but I can't think of a more fitting term- really really. I am (or was; you know what they say, 'you don't use it, you lose it' and I've rather let my brain rot the past few years. it's been a nice vacation) very smart. My step father was a certified genius. Not the savant type genius, a fully functioning one- he could sit down and look at anything for an hour and just do it, whatever it was, perfectly. Mathematics, literature, any craft, religion, philosophy, psychology... Anyone who knew him, even the people who hated him, hate him, couldn't deny that. And as far as I know, I am the only person who has ever been able to keep up with him. (...maybe not in mathematics, but that's more me is just laaaazy.) For sixteen years I was determined to have a father out of this man. I am told now that he was crazy, schizophrenic; but I do not think that I believe it. I wish I could. Because he was either completely off his nut or just...evil. He had a god-complex. He believed, or claimed to believe, that he was equal to Jesus Christ and was going to be taking his place at God Almighty's side come Armageddon. I believe he used this idea to rationalize throwing away his wives when they did not turn out to be just the perfect woman and setting up for a newer, younger model. Princess 2.0. I'm not sure if I'm explain this clearly. This is the first time I have ever tried to talk about it. Write about it. I can't talk about it. The words stick in my throat and I just end up vomiting. Please understand my mother didn't know any of this for years after she married him, and she believed she had nowhere else to go. I have an issue. I'm not going to talk about it here, because it doesn't really matter I don't think, but he saw it in me when I was very young and I think he encouraged it in me. Subtly. Please understand this was the man who taught me to pray. Who didn't treat me like the thing-child, who talked to me like I was a person and didn't scold me when I asked questions a four year old shouldn't have known to ask or said things that would horrify any parent to hear come out of an infant's mouth. When I was eleven he decided I was old enough to understand that God had decided that since my mom couldn't have any more children, and both his sons had spit in his face and disowned him, I had been given to him as a replacement, to begin again. I lived with this pressure for two years and I left to live with my biological father. But this man had been my only friend growing up, and more a father to me than my own papa (who I love dearly, don't mistake me) had ever been. He was more than my guiding light this man had been my whole world; socially and psychologically. Because no matter how smart I was, might still be, I was a little girl and there were things going on I didn't-couldn't- understand. The arrogance of childhood and the clarity of hindsight... And so eventually, I came back. I didn't tell myself half some shit. 'Oh, he's just sick, it's not his fault. Stress gets to the best of us. I know it's not true, so it doesn't matter. It won't effect me. Mom has always been the barrier between us. He really does love her. She really does love him (perhaps the only true bit in the landslide?). I'm his daughter goddammit. And he has been a good father... That's about what the next few years came down to. He wanted a mistress. I was determined to have a father. The two are mutually exclusive. I destroyed my family when it came down to that final choice. Or maybe I've been destroying it all along? Don't you know what a marysue is? My mom lives with my half sister, off somewhere, we don't talk much. She's always so quick to reassure me it wasn't my fault. Isn't my fault. I don't think she knew him like I did. My father, my real father... he loves me but it's there, he knows I chose my step over him. My sister is a whole 'nother kettle of bloodworms unrelated. I'm horrifically lonely, and I have no one I can talk to about this. I can't even talk about this! I have no friends, I can't relate to people on the level most people define as friendship. I tear them apart; every word, every nuance, every gesture, inflection, expression- You cannot lie to me. I'll let you, sometimes, but I know. An hour with you in person and I will mostly likely have more than just a profile the FBI would drool over, I will know how to manipulate you, insofar as you can be. I can't turn it off. It's one of the reasons I prefer the internet. Everything is just printing. Now I think I'm just bragging. Anyway. What kind of abuse is this? Because it is an abuse, by dictionary terms, but there was never any legal crime committed. I know I can only say this because he never did, please don't boil me for it; but I wish he had raped me- at least then I would have something I could point to and say 'That! That right there! That was wrong!' And then we have the lovely little matter of my virginal miscarriage but I'm not ready to go into that here. Or ever maybe. My issue; here, now. ohgodimissyou. ohgodimissyou. ohgosimissyou. I hope you're dead. Because I think it's the only chance you will ever have of whatever god there is out there forgiving you. And if I ever see you again I won't kill you myself, because I hate you. I hate you for destroying me and destroying my family (what? you thought I would take all the blame?) and still -wherever you are now- you destroy my sleep. You made me know right and wrong and then you made me wrong. And I feel like I'm a coward for not having ended you that day in the kitchen, because what if you've gone out and started it all over again with someone else!? I hope you rot living. I hate you. ohgodimissyou. How sick is that? And how sick am I? I'm going to go get drunk now.