Introspection, what better way to start a week.
When you live in a home of incest, no piece of you lives free. You can’t talk about your feelings, you cannot discuss the abuse and your emotions must be hidden away from sight.
No love in. No love out. No feelings. No discussion. You must live disconnected to yourself. Every part of yourself.
What then remains?
A bullshit life of fake duty.
How do you accomplish this? You start pretending. You create a version of yourself that is so far from reality, you actually fall out of ownership of yourself.
What other choice did I have?
I wasn’t going to be killed. I knew I was going to have to be raped, but at least during the off times of abuse they might leave me alone if I just damn complied with their every fucking notion of what it took to be a good girl in their farce of a home.
On the thought of being a good girl, I don’t remember once being told I was a good girl. They never thanked me for not displaying outrageous behavior but sucking it all up. After all, I was doing it for them – shouldn’t they tell me I was doing a good job?
All of my fortitude to stay alive in that house. All of my denial to not betray them. Did I ever get a thank you, you’re such a good girl. NOPE! Never. Never will.
I believe that when I get back to my eternal home, I will hear, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” Matthew 25:21.
Just that knowledge makes it ok.