Lets say it’s true that I kept tension between you and your family. Lets say it’s true that because of me, no man will ever want to marry you. Let’s say it’s true that I am killing your love for me.
I’d have to be one very powerful child. Where did I get all this power? Satan? Ok, let’s run with that. He gave me the power and I manipulated that power in my spare time. I could control everything around me, even affect the future so that you’d never remarry. But with all that power over our household and that of your family, I was unable to prevent you from targeting me for abuse.
If I had supernatural, evil powers, wouldn’t I have manipulated events to take you out, you and your family? Wouldn’t I have some clue as to what I was doing to “kill your love “ for me? That’s no small thing ya know, to kill a mother’s love for her child. You said I was capable of it.
With this power and know how, wouldn’t I have some clue as to specific behaviors that keep you and your family divided? Wouldn’t I have some clue as to the exact behaviors that affect you so severely that you could no longer love me?
How did I make friends at school, get good grades and play like other kids during recess? According to your theory, I was a destructive, disobedient, a disloyal liar and thief. I must have left my powers at home so I could giggle like a little girl with my two best friends.
I was bad yet you took me on shopping sprees. I ruined your family, yet lunch and a movie were routine. I was killing your love for me yet we constantly took in a double feature at the drive in movies. Who rewards a wicked child with cash, clothes, outings and trips? No one.
Hollywood creates movies about the bad seed, a child whose head spins or a child hell bent on killing his parents. Hollywood has done a great job of creating scary kids, but this isn’t a movie. My life was real and as a child I was powerless to prevent abuse from you and your family. You used your own brand of evil, your own well tuned manipulative, lying, sick skills to abuse the innocence right out of me.
Every time you raised your hand back. Every time you punched or pushed my face so far in the mattress I couldn’t breath and every time you swung a dowel rod on my naked body, on my feet and hands, every time you beat my lips with a heavy comb it was you with the power.
For a minute there I almost believed I held the sword that cut a wedge between me and you forever. It was you with the sword, it was your behavior that makes contact with you impossible. The wedge you skillfully cut makes me untouchable. You can’t touch me from over here in reality.