Wednesday, April 11, 2012

My Family Gave Me Everything- Now I'm In Therapy To Get Rid Of It!

Looks like the Step-Monster is now denying that he'd ever done anything.  If that didn't make me so fucking furious, it would be hilarious.  Is this guy really that fucking stupid?  He's admitted it to at least two people that I know of, one of them his divorce lawyer!  Dipshit doesn't have a leg to stand on.

What also truly has me wanting to explode in rage is that he's lying to his family.  That just makes me sick to my stomach...

All right, if he is going to be that much of a moron, public shaming it is: Bill Corley, I'm pressing charges against you for at least five years of sexual and physical abuse.  We're doing the research now, finding out what he can actually be charged with, whether child-molestation has a statute-of-limitations (I believe it doesn't), and if I'll have to come up to Canada for anything else other than the actual trial.  Whatever I need to do, I will do.

If it gets this man to face me, to take responsibility for what he's done, and to ensure the safety of others (I am ashamed that I allowed for the potential abuse of others to go on for so long), I'll do what it takes to get him off the streets, or at least on the sex-offender registry.  I know that actual jail-time might not happen for a number of reasons, not the least of which being his health and age.  But, he'll still have to be on the Registry, and any neighbourhood he tries to move to will know what he is.

My brothers are having fits over my revelation of these events, it seems, and while I'm insulted by their take on this matter- with their "just leave it in the past and move on" and "is it possible that you could have mistaken your attacker?" type of patronizing nonsense, completely forgetting that this man has COMMITTED A SERIOUS CRIME- I still feel for what they're going through.  Yeah, even Mike.  I'm sorry they have to hear such bad things about their father.  I'm sorry that it hurts- I wish it didn't have to. I'm sorry that I've kept this mostly quiet for so long.  I'm sorry that I couldn't bring myself to charge him earlier.  I'm sorry that there may be others out there whom he's hurt (I am NOT saying there are, but it isn't beyond reason as a possibility).

But, I am not sorry for standing up for myself.  I am not sorry for speaking out.  I am not sorry for slamming this fuckhead up against a wall when he called me a "thing".  I will not be sorry for making this man suffer what I've had to suffer for thirty years.

I was eleven years old when it started.  I was fifteen when I made it stopME, not his boredom with me, not through anything resembling his decision.  It was me, and only me, that made it stop.  That four-and-a-half, maybe five, years was a third of my-then life.  That's a fuck of a long time for a kid.

And, now, it's been thirty years since I told him not to touch me ever again.  I've tried "moving on", as some idiots have so "helpfully" suggested.  I am in therapy, and I've seen counsellors and therapists since I was eight years old.  Why?  Because I was raped when I was six, and then when I was seven.  I went through one court-case already with a local paedophile- who was convicted.  But, I was still being abused at home with insults, yelling, being slapped and so on.  I was viciously bullied every day at school.  I had virtually no friends.  Then I'd have to go home, and get the same kind of treatment from my parents.  The violent part got worse when we moved to our own house when I was about nine or ten (? I'll have to figure out dates).  I'm pretty certain about the eleven-years-old age for the sexual-abuse because that was when I started going through puberty and growing breasts.

To this day, I hate men seeing or using my breasts as a sexual object.

Two bouts of what the psychologists call "suicidal ideation"- no real attempts, though I did catch myself in the act of climbing up and over the railing on the Osborne Bridge...  That made it all snap- I practically ran home and then went to our family-doctor the next day asking for help.  I have a brain, I know what suicidal thoughts really are, and I took their message to heart: "You need help- you hurt too much to do this alone".

Major depression, medication, more therapy, moving as far away from the source of my pain as I could get... and it isn't fucking ENOUGH.

Don't tell me to "move on"- anyone who says that is so full of shit, I'm surprised they aren't hauled off for compost.  Don't tell me to "get therapy", since you're obviously too out of touch with me as a person to know that I've already sought therapy on my own, twice, without any need for "friendly advice" from ignorant people.  Especially don't feed me Biblical fucktardery- to an ATHEIST, yet- like "let those who are without sin cast the first stone"- my situation and that of the adulteress are in no way comparable.  Trying to use guilt on me- "he gave you everything!"- telling me that I should be fucking grateful?  For what?  This ... person fucked me up the ass when my body rebelled against him so strongly, that my vaginal-muscles wouldn't allow him in, roughly twice a week for four to five years.  Are you seriously trying to tell me that whatever work, time or money that genetic-mistake had put into the family is worth MORE than the third of my childhood he stole from me through weekly/daily RAPE?  That this somehow excuses his being a fucking paedophilic RAPIST?  Are you seriously that lacking in simple empathy, or just that fucking stupid?

By the way, I'm being conservative about how much of my life that fuckwit has stolen.  If I count the thirty years since, with all the nightmares, the paranoias, phobias, sexual problems, Panic-Attacks, anger-management issues, loneliness, misery, ill-health (depression and PTSD are known to depress the immune-system, too), poverty (since anyone going through this kind of thing will find it hard to get work, let alone keep it), living like a hermit escaping my "life" through books and my cats, and utter distrust of everyone I met- even people I liked, this "ugly sack of mostly water" has taken nearly two-thirds of my current years of life.  TWO-THIRDS...

I am not letting him take any more.  I have at least another sixty years left in me, and I am going to do my best to make sure they are happy ones.  And, that includes making that twat-waffle pay me for the time I've lost that I could have spent building a career, raising children, loving someone, being happy, living...

Whatever I can "give" him: court-time, jail-time, public humiliation, being on the sex-offender's list- is nothing compared to what he's done to me, but it will be a good fucking start.  And, if it turns out that he has done this to others, I'll have to live with the fact that I COULD HAVE SENT HIM TO PRISON DECADES AGO AND IT'S PARTIALLY MY FAULT THAT OTHER KIDS MAY HAVE BEEN HURT BY HIM.

Put that in your self-righteous pipe and smoke it- I hope you fucking choke on it.

As for me, to all of those little sociopathic, unfeeling shits in my family who have, over the years, thought I was nothing more than a loud-mouthed, fictitiously-intense, mentally-unstable, money-mooching, drama-causing loser: my "friends", I'm just getting fucking started.  Just you wait until I'm in court, telling the world what a slime-sucking, pustule-ridden, microcephalic, genetic-mistake your relation is.  On TV.  On tapeOn fucking record, where you can't deny it's existence with crap like "he's given you everything" and "move on"...

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