SO… I’ve pretty much worked through the emotional part of gearing up for my series next month. There is one final stumbling block that I really can’t get myself to address. I’m sitting here poised and ready to share my story with the world at large and I haven’t even really told my family. I’m sure at least one of my younger sisters has figured it out just because she follows me on Twitter where I post most of my private…er… well more private than the blog thoughts. I mean it’s eventually going to come to light so it’s not really an issue so much as the fact that I haven’t told my parents.
They are completely in the dark about it. Nary a clue that something so devastating has happened to their child. Of course just about everything I tell them in my life comes as a complete surprise. They didn’t know I was dating my husband until we were engaged, they didn’t know I was pregnant until I posted it on FB for my friends, they didn’t know my husband and I were struggling with our marriage until I showed up on their door step looking for a place to stay while we worked things out, and they didn’t know we lost our most recent pregnancy until nearly three weeks after the fact. I’m just not close to my parents at all.
My mom was abusive. Not really in the physical sense so much as the emotional sense. My relationship with her is the root of my PTSD and BPD. It all started in childhood, a lot of other things happened in adulthood to pile on to my triggers and agitate my symptoms, but the root of it unfortunately started from birth. Once I was able to get out from under her narcissistic control and get out on my own, it pretty much effectively severed my relationship with her. I talk to her on occasion, but 9 times out of 10 she initiates the contact not me. We also still participate in family functions, and we do still take the Little to visit. I’ve made my peace with her and her behaviors, but it doesn’t mean that I want to go telling her about this tragedy. Mostly because she has a horrible habit of siding with my abusers. Everything is always and will always be my fault, because I’m “troubled”. I don’t want to listen to her lecture me on all the things that I did “wrong” and how I “deserved” what happened to me, because I made “poor choices” blah blah blah.
I used to be able to tell my dad anything, until my mom accused him of incestual lust toward me during one of her jealous narcissist tirades. Pretty much killed any sort of relationship we were able to have after that. OBVIOUSLY it wasn’t true, but being eleven years old, not even sure what sex actually was yet, and hearing my mom screaming at my dad… yeah. The damage was done. I’ve never fully been able to recover from that in regards to telling my dad super personal things about my life. I can still confide in him more than my mom, but nothing on a super personal level. Conveying the story of my sexual assault is pretty damn personal. It crosses WAY over the comfort zone of what I can confide in with my dad.
So… I’m stuck. I know I really SHOULD tell them, but I really don’t want to. It’s already been intensely emotional, and it’s not really going to get any better until it’s over. Maybe I’ll just let them read it and turn off my phone? Yep. Sounds like a plan to me.