FB is dangerous for people like me. I grew up surrounded by secrets and omissions, so as an adult I have a dogged determination to know things. Most things I want to know are things people don’t want to talk about, such as why my dad married my mom, just how in the hell does my mother afford her swanky new pad and brand new car on her supposed “paltry” income of bogus SSI and undeserved alimony, and what kind of life does the pedophile who abused me lead? For the latter, I guess I don’t have a really good explanation. Who wants to know this stuff? I do. And I guess the reason is, is that Creature (as I call him) devastated my world and set in motion over 20 years of my parents being in denial and backstabbing their daughter. I needed to see what I could of the type of person he is how.
Is he still the same effeminate mama’s boy that we all know should have been a girl? Can he still spin his BS in a masterful tapestry that one only learns at the knee of a narcissistic mother as he had? Does he still refuse to take any responsibility for any of his actions, instead preferring to blame and wax rhapsodic about pop psychology all in an effort to get you to forget the real topic of the convo? I needed to know this, so I looked him up on FB.
And there he was, in all his fat faced, washed out nelly glory. As soon as his face popped up I felt my eyes glaze over a bit. I had to breathe thru my mouth so the tears stayed behind my eyes. I wanted to see this pathetic excuse for a human being. I didn’t want any tears blinding me; I’ve shed enough of those. I don’t have time for them anymore. They get me nowhere and keep me trapped in a survivor’s limbo I want no part of. Well…I tell myself I want no part of it. The truth is, I was forced to suck it up and deal for so long that at least in this part of my life, I can’t cry. I'm just done with the tears. Sometimes I think that means something is wrong with me. I wonder if I have a dead zone inside of myself, a robot or something. Because when I see his face, after the initial shock, all I could think was “someday, asshole, you will get yours. And I *will* be there to watch you cry in all your pathetic loserness, wailing when you realizing that mommy and daddy can’t get you out of this.” I felt an anger so cold it burned, and a determined patience unlike anything I have ever felt. I felt like an assassin, just waiting for the right time to go in for the kill. And NO, I do not mean that literally, so don’t freak out and report me for saying I wanted to physically harm the freak. I believe in the justice system and the universal laws of nature, i.e. what you do comes back to you magnified.
I do dream about seeing his face when he realizes how many people know what he is and what he’s done. My mom and her sister, Creature’s mother, have told people for many years that I was making a mountain out of a molehill. That all that happened was 2 kids playing doctor. Nice try but no. 13 years old do not play doctor with 4 year olds and if they do, it's called ABUSE. My dad played along. Not maliciously, I don’t think. He just didn’t know what to do and hated confrontation anyway, so what the hell…there’s no harm in selling your kid down the river, is there?
So I’m reading his page, ‘cuz the moron (or maybe narcissist?) has it open for the entire world to see. I see him mention a family reunion, and that’s the kick in the gut. When all the shit came down about NC, when I found out the reason mom shut me up for years was because she had already spun the abuse story to her advantage, when all that happened, that side of the family chose a pedophile over his victim. That’s just asinine. I wish I had stronger words but it is what it is. They are so afraid of image, of rocking the boat, that they would rather believe the lies of a mentally ill woman and a pedophile than the truth from the persons (my bro, sis, and I-we all survived it. I may have been the one physically/sexually abused but the abuse affected all three of us) who lived it.
It’s been made clear to me many times that I will be welcomed back into the fold if I only repent and “forgive” these people. I can’t do that. I won’t do that. And yet…they are still my family and I had some good times with them. To see this freak being able to participate in their lives while I am shut out is the cruelest twist of fate. The truth should matter, dammit. But it doesn’t. People believe what they want and create their perceptions accordingly.
I don’t what this whole experience of looking Creature up means. Does it mean I am stronger? Or that I am still a stupid little girl, looking for someone to give a shit? I don’t know. But I do know that someday, somehow, that report I made to the police will be connected with another police report and another. The dominoes will fall into place and I can look into the eyes of this twisted freak and say “When I was 18 I told you that I’d make you pay. It took me a while, but don’t worry; the party is just getting started.”