It's All Make-Believe, Isn't It?

I remember being twelve. I had the biggest dreams, the biggest sparkling brown eyes, and the happiest smile. I was naive in all the right ways but wise beyond my years. I was headstrong and motivated. Despite all of the things I had been through, I remained hopeful and optimistic. Then, my entire world shifted. I became a victim, and one without a voice. Many forms of abuse were consistently prevalent throughout my life, but the one I will write about today eats at my soul; it destroyed me. 

I remember that night like it was yesterday. Every gentle touch his limbs made against mine felt like knives piercing my very existence. He robbed me and he took advantage of me. His body forced itself upon mine and in that moment, I lost myself. I lost what it meant to be Kami, because after that day, I was shattered and hope for something better to come around became a vision of the past. 

I felt disgusting in my own skin. My thoughts of self harm and suicide intensified. I felt like a coward because I wanted to shout from the rooftops what my stepdad had done to me, but I couldn’t find an ounce of strength or courage in me to reveal this dark and haunting secret.

I was overcome by fear, and for three years his abuse continued and worsened. 

(This is a picture of my biological dad and me. I am 12 in this photo)

I see this picture and I remember that my stepdads abuse had already begun. I look at the innocence in my smile and I wonder how a grown man would find that innocence sexually arousing. I see the youthfulness in my facial structure and I get angry. I was a baby. What he did to me should have never happened.

Every aspect of my life was complete and utter chaos. For once I just wanted to have control, so at age thirteen I started willingly having sex, sometimes with guys who were already eighteen. I heard that it was important to have self worth, but to me that didn’t matter. I did what I wanted and I acted out because I was too terrified to audibly say what was happening to me.

I used to think that it was my fault that my baby brother, Eli, no longer has a dad. After all the nightmares, all the time that my stepdad has been gone, and all the people who now know the truth I realized that I cant be the one to blame for my baby brother not having a daddy, because at the end of it all, he was the adult that made the decision, not me.

I could waist my time being angry, depressed, and feeling sorry for myself, but I can’t grant him the power over me anymore. I am dropping my baggage off at the dump, and driving away. Did he think his lies would forever rest in my logic? He pried out what little happiness I had left in my life, and my world was left shattered. Now I’m here picking up the pieces. I remember that empty feeling. When your gut feels like someone has a hold on it and is squeezing as tight as they can, and you feel as if they will never release. I remember that angry feeling too. I remember all the walls I left holes in, the doors I left broken, the house I left destroyed as my feet stepped out of the doorway.

My heart was a mess, my life a living wreck. I felt every step I took was a step in the wrong direction. What happened to me affects my life in many ways. I’m afraid. My relationships are hard to manage. I don’t know what real love is, nor do I know how to find it. Sometimes I feel that every day that goes by is just a waste. I’ve spent the last few years dwelling in my past, but I am not going to let what happened to me define who I am.

My future rests in my hands, and I am going to make something of it. 

So here I am, starting at square one. I am cementing the closure between him and I. I wish him nothing but the best, and I forgive him for every tear that he caused me.

It is mind boggling to me how one day out of 365 days can make a person feel so empty and alone. For years Fathers Day brought with it the obligation to praise and honor a Father who wasn’t merely a father at all. 

When I think of my dad I remember the screaming and fighting. I remember the neglect and the abuse. I remember how afraid I was of him. I don’t remember kisses and hugs or giggles and laughs. I remember destructiveness and evil. 

His actions and words taught me that because I am female, my words wont and don’t amount to much. He taught me that I am sexual property and virginity isn’t important. He taught me that if I “mouth off” to my partner, it is okay for him to beat me. He taught me that I will always be the weakest link, because I am female. He taught me that I shouldn’t have a freewill, I should be controlled. He made me believe those things to be completely true, but because of God and the roll-models in my life, I know that his teachings are false.

He is a liar, an abuser, and a manipulator. 

No matter how much I know this, though, it is incredibly hard for me to be confident. I have taken incredible strides, but it is still hard to overcome labels that he drilled into my mind.

Despite his wrongful teachings I found my voice. I taught myself that I can and will make a difference in the world. I taught myself through the love of others that I’m more than an object to fulfill man’s sexual desires. I am a daughter of God and I am worthy of love:

Love that doesn’t threaten me, love that doesn’t make me fear it, love that doesn’t disempower me.

I needed him to hold me when I cried. To never forget to remind me just how much he loved and adored me. I needed him to tell me how unbelievably gorgeous I am. I needed him to teach me wisdom about sexual encounters and that I was and am worth more than meaningless sex.

I needed him to show me that, despite his stance on femininity, I am more than an object to be beaten up, taken advantage of, and thrown away. 

I felt so alone all the time. I wish he would have protected me from myself. I was desperate for him to love me the way I needed to be loved. I tried my whole life to be good enough, but eventually I hit a dead end road. I stopped craving his attention and approval, because I don’t need it. I reached a point where I don’t give a shit about what he thinks regarding who I am and who I want to become.

Finally, I stopped blaming myself for his lack of ability to be a Dad. I am not the problem. He fucked up, not me. Now, when it comes to me, he is going to have to just watch me fly, because I am. Even without his support, I have managed to get the world at the tips of my fingers. I am changing the foster care system, one meeting at a time, I still try as hard as I can to make sure my brothers get the necessities that they need, and for the last 3 miserably long years I have worked and gone to school. 

Because of my father I am not sure how to fully commit in my relationships. I’m terrified of being hurt, abused, rejected, or neglected. I’m constantly trying to prove my worthiness to those around me, “Please, just give me a chance…” At times it feels like there is a block of ice in my throat: I cry out for help, for love, but the ice wont melt enough for even a whimper to come out. I am emotionless; I am a robot. 

He destroyed a beautiful part of the person I was. I am so guarded and I am constantly having to work my ass off to change that. I need people, but because of him, I push them away. I can’t figure out how to love myself because his actions didn’t prove to me that I am deserving of love. I still struggle with letting God have all of me because my perception of “daddy” is skewed.

I’m fearful and I don’t know how to trust, but I want to. 

So, Fathers Day? That doesn’t exist in my world. I don’t celebrate it and I refuse to praise a dad who has never been a dad. I refuse to let obligation defeat me. I will not, out of fear of what he will do, say things I do not mean. I am not thankful for the things he did to me and taught me. I am, however, thankful for all the shitty ways he taught me what NOT to do.

Cheers to you, Dad. Cheers.