People do see what they want to see, and unfortunately, many of the abusers can play the part of normal innocent person perfectly, and know how to make it seem like the child is to blame for whatever happened.

It’s worse when you grow up and find out that your family knew at least part of what was going on, and did nothing to stop it.

An open letter to V…

http://littlemisspi.blogspot.com/2007_04_01_archive.html

Thank you.

I am so sick of people demanding to know about my family, about my childhood. People can’t mind their own businesses. Finally, when someone manages to get me to finally snap at them the faintest tip of the iceberg, to get them to SHUT UP and stop ASKING, the LAST thing I want to hear is that it all ended up ok in the end! IT’S NOT OK! FUCK YOU, PEOPLE! I’m NOT ok!!

“I hope it does his heart some good to read something real for a change and not that Good Will Hunting bullshit.”

I FUCKING HATE THAT MOVIE!

I’ve been reading VA for a long time. I love reading what you have to say; it’s refreshing. Going through the archives, when I ran into your posts about Daniel, and I could almost hear the words “I wanted to kill my Father”. I fought off tears reading about Daniel, and then on to you. That fight was not one I could keep up very long. “I wrote it for the teenage kid reading from a dark room somewhere who is nodding silently to himself”.

“They don’t see the alcohol or the pills or the chronic insomnia. They don’t notice my obvious discomfort with physical affection or the way I tear up very suddenly sometimes for reasons unknown even to me. And that way I panic and claw at my face should anything even come close to covering my nose and mouth? Why, that’s just a funny little phobia!”

They quickly get use to the fact that you flinch at so much as a tap on your shoulder, not giving it a second thought. They aren’t there when you wake up with a panic attack from what you are reliving in your dreams. They refuse to accept that you won’t drink with them, but they don’t know that it’s because the smell of alcohol alone is enough to make you vomit. Or they might even be so determined to stay in their ignorant and “safe” little worlds by that they deem you a liar, and break a friendship because they can’t stand to be friends with “drama queens”, when THEY are the ones who wouldn’t leave you alone about why you never talk about your parents. And they wondered why you wouldn’t “open up”?

V, I know for a fact that things like that really happen. When you can’t even go to your brothers and/or sisters, not simply for the fact that you can’t face the shame, but also for the reason that you know that you cannot handle hearing what happened to them, so you know that they cannot handle hearing what happened to you. You don’t get together at Thanksgiving to “swap stories”.

V, first I say “thank you”, and that I believe you.

But second, I also know that I can be gullible, and that I have fallen for lies before, so while I absolutely do believe you, I want to add that if I am wrong, and that you actually did make all of this up just for kicks, you are far worse than any of the other disgusting scum of people of which you are always writing about. People are so disgusting sometimes that even when I believe you, I can still imagine being lied to, and it’s difficult to fight off imagining someone crack up because some “poor soul actually believed them”.

Third, I understand why you didn’t see Daniel’s problem. He probably would never have guessed that anything was wrong at your home, either. Sometimes it’s easier to assume we are alone.

i don’t think i understand.

i read a story. it was well told. it had emotional pull, and was entirely plausible. it entertained me - not in the lol kind of way, but kept me reading, and wondering and thinking.

….so, who the fuck cares if it’s true? or if it really happened to V?

i don’t think i get why it matters.

i suppose if you want to argue that that type of behaviour and abuse never happens in society, then go ahead and be stupid; but the reality is that crazy shit like this happens everyday.

don’t you have stories? some of the shit that happens to me on a daily basis makes me scratch my head…and for the ‘good stories’ in my own life…well, that’s not the point.

so if rational thinking people can grasp the possibility of this type of thing happening, then why all the arguing about the truth of it? who fucking cares?
even if it was originally a dream that V came to believe actually happened to her, it would totally and utterly effect her - from how she thinks, behaves and acts….seeing how the mind can’t distinguish between the real and the vividly imagined…

i’m getting all tangenty myself; i just don’t think i understand why we’re even discussing the reality of the situation and caring about it’s validity - when we could be discussing the ideas and flavour of the story instead…

/off soap box.

All of these can be fixed, not easily, but they can.

You can view yourself as a sad, abused being whose problems “can’t be helped” because of the abuse you went through, but then you’d be a hypocrite. You’d be seeing what you want to believe. The truth is that with enough effort you can fix all that, many people have gone through that kind of life and turned it around.

“They don’t notice my obvious discomfort with physical affection or the way I tear up very suddenly sometimes for reasons unknown even to me.”

I have a similar discomfort with physical affection, it’s not the end of the world. Don’t worry about it, focus on the good things in your life.

“And that way I panic and claw at my face should anything even come close to covering my nose and mouth? Why, that’s just a funny little phobia!”"

It’s not a “funny little phobia”? What is it then? I’m deathly scared of swimming in the ocean because I think sharks are going to attack me. It’s a funny little phobia I have. Why let it ruin your day?

Other kids in abusive situations turn into criminals, kill someone, and spend the rest of their life in jail.

You, on the other hand, are an incredibly intelligent and strong woman, and in this world of retarded bitches, that far outweighs whatever phobias you have.

I don’t think her friend meant this story was “good” as in “pleasing.” It is a good story in the sense that it details an amazing drama.

I do apologize V for being one of the ones who said: “I would have done something different.” You’re right, I said that being the person I am now, had I been however old you were back then, I don’t know what I would have done. Perhaps I would have remained in that situation like you did. You did run away before though, in less abusive circumstances, and that’s why I found your story difficult to swallow.

Remember though, I can only respond to what you write. I have no knowledge of anything else. You write anonymously, you admitted to stretching the details, and the only reason that I believe you (while questioning you at the same time), is because I truly respect the other things you have written on this site.

People do not simply believe what they want to believe. It’s not that simple. People see a situation, and they try to get some information out of it, for any information that they do not see they fill in the blanks themselves. It’s really difficult to get someone to see and think exactly what’s going on in your head. This is complicated further by the fact that what we, your audience, has to go on is only what you write. We do not know you, therefore we’re incapable of “filling in the blanks” in your story adequately.

Therefore, please, be patient with us, and with those people you meet in real life who respond in a skeptical manner.

That said, your story is remarkable. Notice how this is demonstrated by the large number of remarks above this post. ;-)

I don’t want to hate cops, so I hope that the bad things I hear about them are exceptions, and that in need I would get luckey enough to meet good cops.

Than You very much, V, for the great story.
I still think it is not important weather a story is real or not, if it touches me and makes me a better person.

Having been the victim of emotional abandonment in my childhood, and physical and mental torture at the hands of my callous and evil older brothers, I can honestly say that survival and recovery is a long, perilous road. Progress is made, surely, but it isn’t seen until you turn around and look back at where you’ve come from.

I don’t pity you, V. Nor do I admire you. I’m the guy in the back of your dark room - watching intently as the darkness dissipates and you become aware of the change in the quality of light - nodding my head in a manner of encouragement.

When people ask me why I’m so strange I tell them this: “After all I’ve been through in my life, I’m surprised that I’m still alive, happy that I’m marginally sane, and I thoroughly enjoy the life I’ve made for myself. If that’s a problem for you then you can go fuck yourself.” It covers the basics and the questions almost always stop immediately.

As for your mother - sounds like a classic case of narcissism. It’s hard-wired. I think it’s a tragedy that she’ll never suffer guilt or feel remorse about how she treated you, but that’s just how it is with that personality type.

* * * * *
As for my fellow commentators who think V. should have made better decisions when the cops showed up - here’s a bitch slap from me to you! Whap Whap Whap Whap Whap!

How the hell do you expect a mentally tortured KID to make intelligent decisions? SHE WAS 15! Put yourselves in her shoes — try to imagine what she was going through.

Your “could have should have” assumptions made from the safety of your complacent adult viewpoints make me puke.