Through several avenues Dr. D and I got on to the subject of how I see adultery and my own sexual abuse as one in the same. The level of betrayal seems equal. I said of my own abuse, I’d get up from having my face shoved in the mattress then later sit down to dinner with her and behave as if nothing happened. I held a conversation with her and moved around the house as if everything was okay when clearly it wasn’t. When sitting at dinner with R and his wife C, I’d look at them both as if nothing was wrong when clearly it was. I hated him. I hated how they both called her a dizzy blonde. Funny thing is, she wasn’t too dizzy to be an engineer like the both of them. They all worked together.
Everyday of being abused and acting like everything is okay, everyday you take part as the child of a mistress, it creates betrayal that isn’t easily forgotten. It’s like a never ending lie.
I hadn’t spoken to my aunts in over 25 years yet one jumped in the middle of my sentence and stopped me from what she thought I was going to say. She said, “I don’t want to hear anything bad about your mother, about abuse. People remember things differently.” Oh, oh ok. Again, I’m being asked to sit up straight, keep my elbows off the table and speak as if nothing is wrong. At 45 years old I’m still expected, in that family, to behave as if everything is grand. Sitting at a dinner table with my mother and R required the same type of deceit.
There’s another reason they feel one in the same to me. Didn’t my mother cheat on me? I felt the same type of betrayal when my cousin turned his attention from me to a different family member. I felt that betrayal again when a boyfriend I had my Sophomore year was seeing my sister behind my back. So at the time, my mother is a mistress and I’m made a part of it by being silent around him and his wife. My sister is looking me dead in the face, my boyfriend is looking me dead in the face as if everything is okay. You should have seen the look on my face when he said, “Can’t I have both of you?” I tore off his necklace and threw it at him then turned around to walk away. He moved to get up and follow me. I said, “It’s in your best interest to sit back down.” … I am, after all, the daughter of a sadist.
No, I didn’t want to be abused. No, I didn’t want to be in that situation but 1) I didn’t know anything other than sexual abuse and physical abuse, 2) I was convinced that I’d benefit from certain types of beatings. So I needed to feel the dowel rod on my back because I believed what she told me about it. I believed her lie and wanted the final result of that beating.
What’s interesting to me is the pain I’m most afraid of these days is the pain from the waste down, specifically my legs. The pain makes me panic and sends me in a flashback because again, I can’t separate that pain from the dowel rods I endured starting at age three and well into my late teens.
Loyalty was such a fierce subject in our house. I was always told I wasn’t loyal to the family. That type of allegiance has unspoken specifics, but well known consequences. At this point, I haven’t separated adultery from the pain of sadistic abuse because they were so intertwined, in fact they were among my earliest life lessons.
Jordan January 3, 2016 – 8:27 pm EST