Going back and asking your abusers to help you is about as much good as a wet match.
I witnessed a murder. I watched a woman leave this planet. She took her last breathe while I was watching. That’s a wretched thing to leave undone.
As I’ve written, my father’s best friend at the time, Craig, was with us in that room. He is still alive. I’ve written to him many times. Here’s one piece of a pleading I sent to him in a letter dated October 17, 2012:
“I saw your response in the car as we drove to the property, crying out to Dad – grasping your face in anguish. I will tell anyone that. The cops have his final words and believe them to be a true confession, by the way. I can help corroborate that you did not do this horrible act. You aided in her burial, but you did not aid in her death. I was there.”
I go on, hoping to lure him into helping me:
“You didn’t do it. Further, it was not a premeditated murder. I think your role helping complete her proper burial is worth way more than any accountability you may have with law enforcement, which won’t be much.”
Of course he aided in the murder! He stood by and watched her be raped. Then, when she was screaming back at them, he walked over and held her arms behind her back. Did he know my father was going to slit her throat? I don’t know. But, he was just as guilty.
I drive to his home a few hours away from me several times over the years in an attempt to have him help.
I send another letter dated March 21, 2019, asking him to write back sometime. Another desperate attempt to help redeem this women’s life and return to her family an answer.
An answer! What a profound concept in life. You know how many abusers are withholding answers from their victims? Millions! I will say that again – millions.
Going back to them to ask for their help is as useless as tits on a bore!
I did it anyway. I had a lot to fight for. They didn’t help me but – by God, they had to listen to me.