broken, healing

There are pieces of me strewn along the office floor. There are parts of me hiding in the drawers of the guest room. Pieces of me hiding under my bed, thrown into the closets, sleeping under my pillow. Each pile of things represents a different part of me, of my life. They are unorganized and unmindful. They are sad and mean. They are kind and empathetic. They are reaching out to be held.

I am all over this house. I am across state lines. I am on the skin of my husband. I am in the heartbeat of my sister. I am through the eyes of my brother. You can find me in the sand, in the whistle of the wind blowing through the trees. My footprints settle on Brush Trail. My blood has dried on the little alleyway near 7-11. There are tears I left behind in the high school locker room. My DNA on the razor living in a trash pile. I am everywhere. I am nowhere.  I flow through the earth. Pieces. Pieces of me. Impossible to gather.

Because of this, I am unwhole. I am little things smooshed together, parts missing. My thoughts are scattered, my memories are needles, my breath is short. I retrace the scars on my skin, and I remember how very little sense my life has made.

Push. Push. Push. That is how I have survived this long. push. push. push. When the pushing stopped, in came the suicide attempts. push push push drown push push push slice push push push pills push push push

You made me this way. You two. All of you. That thing we call family. You did this. And after everything you’ve done, I was willing to just walk away. So you fucked me up, fine, I’ll fight that battle by myself. I still held out hope that you would do better with her. But then my sister comes to me, runs to me. Rotting, neglected. And I see her pieces floating past me. She is unwhole too.

And now I really do hate you. All of you. It has taken me 27 years to truly feel that. Prior to, I have been giving you excuses. I accepted that I was the bad guy. That I was wrong. I would have fucking done anything for you. ANYTHING. But you will never understand that. I never wanted to cause you pain or suffering. I am not that kind of person. But enough is enough. How long can you do this and expect me to just keep taking it?

Here I am, here we are. Fixing up your mess, getting her the help she has desperately needed, treating her like a human being. This is an honor for me, why was it not for you? And then I sit here having to watch her in pain, watching her cry, seeing the way you have twisted her thoughts. Yes, that makes me hate you. And that makes me want you to suffer just a fraction as much as she has. I want there to be consequences. I want you to be held accountable for the state you put her in. I want you to be responsible for breaking her up into pieces. This girl, she is the light. She is everything a person wants to be. Even despite the agonizing pain her disability causes her, she is still a good person.

Yet, you still. You still look at her as some accessory. You do nothing. You have done nothing. You will never do anything. In two weeks, her and I have fixed more than you did in 19 years. You sat pretty and comfortable in your apologies, that were followed by even more inaction. You washed your hands of any responsibility. Even now, we are the crazy ones. The heartless ones. Yes, because I am not okay with sexual abuse. Or theft. Or abuse. Or neglect. I am heartless. Yes, because I actually go to the authorities to make these bad things stop happening. I am crazy. We had to pay the price for your cowardice and silence. You played your game at our expense. And you almost completely destroyed us.

Almost. But not fully. We have formed our own family. Filled with love and respect and support for each other. We will continue to stand up for each other. Us three. My husband, my sister, and me. We are a family. We do that hard things. We do the right things. And while all of your pieces will forever be floating off into the darkness, ours are beginning to come back to us. We are healing. We are breathing. We are becoming whole. We are ridding of your poison.

We are becoming what we always should have been.

Edit June 1, 2018: Unfortunately, my sister decided to go back to our family. She has chosen to be like them, and we are no longer in contact.

5 thoughts on “broken, healing

  1. I’m sorry that you and and your sister had to live this horribleness with your parents, but I am also happy that you are both putting the pieces back together and making a life with your family of three. This is a tragic story, beautifully written, with a hopeful and positive ending. I can only say this because I lived with emotional abuse (ex-husband) for 30 years: I hope that hate will not consume either one of you and that at some point in your lives, you will find peace.

  2. Write it all down, purge it all out. Scream at the top of your lungs, encourage the same of your sister. What matters, in the end, is that you won, not by default, but by being a survivor. Each post you write will help heal a fraction of your torn soul,, but collectively, when read by others, it will help build new and better lives within their world, too.

    Peace and comfort to you, your sister, and to your loving husband.

  3. You two have been through too much, I hope you both can heal soon. Now you’re in a safe place to do that. There are people out there rooting for you both, wishing you health and healing.


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