I thought I’d do a different water shot today rather than my usual. This is a photo of my youngest daughter doing hand stands in the water.
For photo 101 today we are posting photos of what home means to us. Living in South Africa we have to have high walls, electric fencing and burglar bars. I love nature, so within my walls, in my back yard I have a special little place. It is a lovely water feature where ducks and fish live. I also love all the roses and lavender in my front garden, but I’m sure there’ll be many more opportunities to show those too. I love the inside of my home too, but I’ll do a few pics later too.
For those of you who have been reading my blog for a long time now will know that I suffer from “Recurrent Major Depression.” You will also have realised that I blame my years of growing up with an abusive father for this depression. I suppose I could be wrong, maybe I was just born broken, who knows. It was, for this reason, that I started a blog, I found it therapeutic to write.
I have been feeling very low, very blue, or rather all the shades of darkness anyone could imagine. I’ve been trying to pull myself out of this, but it’s very difficult. Reading helps me a lot when I’m not feeling right, but that sometimes also does not work as I can’t concentrate. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. It’s as if I just can’t be me.
I have been trying to analyse why this depression has hit me so heavily again and then out of the blue I realised…
A few weeks ago I received an invitation on the Saturday afternoon for the birthday of my father that was on the next day, the Sunday. They obviously did and didn’t want me there, but decided that it would probably be right, for appearances you know, for me to be invited, hence the very late invitation. I obviously did not go, because why the hell should I have? What’s more is I didn’t even have the decency to RSVP.
A day or two after the “birthday bash.” I saw photos on Facebook of my father and all the family around him. As if he is so special. There were comments from his grandchildren and the rest of the family which said things like “Oupa, we love you so much.”
I know that I am the only person within the family who suffered his abuse. I think he knew it would be too dangerous to abuse anyone else; otherwise it would tarnish his wonderful image. He has managed to make me look like the bad one. The daughter who does not love or respect him. This is typical behaviour of an abuser. My family, except for my mother, is unaware of the abuse. I was such an outcast already so telling my story about him will just make them shun me more.
There have been one or two cases in the media in which women have taken their alleged abusers to court years later. I don’t think I have that much gumption. I am not strong enough, and I don’t want to relive events. I have however heard on different occasions where people have commented on these cases that are being written about in the media, as to why these women took so long to come forward with their accusations. Somehow it seems that people automatically think that because the accusations came so many years later that it can’t be true.
When an abuser abuses a child or a vulnerable person, or a person who may be an adult but has no power. They use threats, and they know just which threats to use. They will think nothing of telling a child that something terrible will happen to her mother if she tells. Already they are being harmed by this abuser so, in the mind of the abused, they do not think that this is just a mere threat. Emotional blackmail, thats what it is.
So, here I sit again, thinking, hurting, feeling sick and not being able to cope because of that stupid little trigger. I will get better and pull out of this feeling sooner or later, but for now it lingers.
I feel so alone, I know I have some lovely and very beautiful souls around me which I thank God for, but still I feel desperately alone…in my mind.