Fear of speaking about the atrocities perpetrated against me was a very real thing. Telling about the murder I witnessed was terrifying for years. Recalling the betrayal of my parents was almost surreal, as it carried with it an intense irrational reality.
My faith in God it what has sustained me with strength, dignity and purpose.
The more I walked against the winds of injustice, the stronger I became. The fear of exposing it all was very real but weakened greatly with time.
Would I be believed? Would it be necessary to defend myself for all of eternity?
When justice seemed to be withheld from these ridiculous, lying human beings that had caused such pain and stumbling for me, I was often left with a sense that no one really had my back. That’s a scary place to be.
Would I be sued by them for harassment? Was I being slanderous?
I was still seeing my abusers first in mind’s eye. My heart beat stronger for their protection than my own. It’s the sting of incest. It’s poison still infiltrated most parts of my being, causing me to walk in misguided roles and reducing summations that just ended up not being true.
Today my faith allows me to speak boldly. I am on pursuit for a righteous judgment and God indeed has my back. I do not fear “them,” those that seek my silence.
Will I see “justice” here on earth? I’m not really sure what that means anymore. I don’t want revenge. I don’t long to see my abusers tortured or mistreated. What I do long for is peace. I long to bring help to the many suffering from the disease-like infection that lives in the soul of most incest victims. That alone is justice enough for me.
I’m not afraid anymore. You shouldn’t be either.