You are a selfish, worthless asshole. I thought I was to a point of forgiveness. Guess not. Howe do you forgive someone who won’t acknowledge they did anything? I’m going to have to — don’t worry, I’ll spare you the scene. But forgiveness does more for the one who forgives than for the forgiven. So I will have to do it at some point. Right now I am basking in some anger and doing a bit of pain, knocking off some denial and shame.
See, you don’t remember anything worse than fourteen and sixteen year old boys beating up a 10 year old girl. You were pretty proud of that because you brought it up at Lisa’s too in January, on Dad’s birthday. Remember when you were drunk and trying to tickle me, and I kept moving and leaving the room? What the fuck was that all about? But you were drunk and no doubt you don’t remember that either.
Yeah, well, you have a pretty good selective memory. You remember what you want to remember and the rest you drown with alcohol.
You and Bob, yeah 40, 45 years later I remember and it still bothers me. It is still affecting my life. All my life I have struggled with depression, and self-esteem, self confidence, self worth issues. I let you be because I was certain, I was so sure that you felt guilt and shame for what you did and were suffering. There was no point in beating you over the head with what you did. Long before the pond, I mean. The kind of stuff Bobby started with, hand jobs, blow jobs. The trust was wore with you because I knew you better, we did stuff together we were all around closer.
Oh, the damage. You don’t know. Your assailant was an older brother of a kid you knew. Not your own brother. I am not comparing rapes and rape-damage. Not really. I am saying you can’t compare them. Because it was very different, so you cannot know. You cannot know how I have turned it all inward, how I blamed myself because blaming you was in some warped way disloyal. Disloyal to you, disloyal to the family. So I compounded the damage. The shame.
Someone told me I was loveable a few weeks ago. I said I wanted to believe that so badly. But I can’t. It terrifies me. And it makes me so very sad. The idea that I withheld any chance of being in a relationship because of how damaged I was/am. I know it is a lie, but I can only toy with that knowledge. It is so fragil that a breath of air will snap it.
This thin that happened between us. This incest, it is from the devil. The master of lies. Look how I phrase that, like it just happened, like we were equally able to make that choice, equally guiltyl All you had to say was, “I wish that wouldn’t have happened.” But you did it. Nothing that I did later negates it. No, I did not use force, my age, or my strength on you — THAT HAPPENED. That happened because I was already so damaged, I was trying to fill a void the only way I knew how, the way I had been conditioned to from pre-school.
But the rape and nearly being drowned — that wasn’t something that happened between us. You were older and stronger than me. I didn’t have a prayer. And I trusted you. It was a horrible thing. But I was willing to sacrifice even that — your being accountable for that. Not now! At this point, you would have to accept all the blame and apologize , and offer to py for all my therapy because I know what a tight-wad you are. I can hear you saying, “screw that.”
And, knowing that, I can now give up any ridiculous idea I may have had about you, and move on. I will have to forgive you because anger is destructive, but I really don’t have to care about you. God knows you don’t care about me. It felt like you died after my birthday. And when you do die, I will probably feel bad about this, guilty for my harboring such resentment. I might have to spend a session talking to Karen or Cathy about that when it happens. I think I will be able to live with it.
After my birthday, I talked to a lady from the Cleveland Rape Crisis Center. I talked about you. I asked something and she talked about their policy of confidentiality. I stopped her and told her, “I don’t care if you shout it from the mountain tops, I didn’t do anything wrong.” Well, this is the thing, I’m not spending the rest of my life protecting you. If it comes out, it comes out. If your wife and kid hear about it, oh well. That isn’t my problem. It isn’t exactly dinner conversation, so I don’t foresee it ever happening. But it isn’t my job to keep it neatly tucked under the rug anymore.