This was originally not supposed to be something for the blog, but it feeds the fire in me where the matter of dinner table criminals are involved. I'm from a place with a wretched double standard; and in my mind, those who enable abuse knowingly are just as bad as the abusers.
"Enabled"
I think I'll throw this out with the trash, because Flashbacks are a thing, and there is no greater displeasure than waking to a morning full of them.
They never tell you that they can be almost anything. For me, today, it was just seven words.
So maybe I'm a bit angry, and perhaps I'm harsh, but what remains is the fact that the people I haven't cut from my life yet are mostly still connected to me here.
After doing some deep meditation, I have come to the conclusion that I really do not care who you are.
If you know, or suspect, that something is wrong, and then do nothing about it? You are truly the worst kind of person I can imagine, and I will walk you to the gates of hell myself. I say this from a place where I can acknowledge that I have been this person as well and I loathe it, but I've grown.
Overgrown, perhaps, to the point where I am comfortable with my thorns, my scars, comfortable with my truth and trauma. There was a time where I would wallow, where I would set myself aflame in the kerosene self pity... but I've grown.
I've grown and matured into someone who pours her rage into Molotov cocktails, enraged messages she never sends, left to burn out. Left to wither, die.
I have grown into someone who confronted an enabler of one of her sickest abusers... and was asked "Did she touch you?"
As if the suspicion had laid in their mind.
As if they had been okay with the potential of my molestation as a Child.
As if it was lesser because "she" was not "he".
As if. It was. Okay.
90% of sexual abuse cases involving children are family or guardians.
Throw in the fact local judges don't give a damn, and it's a wonder that our society functions as well as it does.
Survivors, I speak with undiluted ire from my own experience, are talked down at often, so I might just be the salty one here.
It's also worth note that in many cases, especially in cases involving family members, some members of the family will defend the offender and enable bad behavior.
Those who speak out are made into villains, and the ones enabling bad behavior will just whine and point the blame somewhere, and often at someone, else.
Because God forbid I have my own opinion, be my own person, have my own life.
If just one thing in my situation had been inverse, maybe the perverse would at last take their last ride in a hearse... but as things lie, I'll just wait, and I will dance the day they die.
I'll just end with a quote from a conversation that still stirs fire and ire in my soul, because it's the line I woke up to, ringing in my head. It's the line that leaves me eagerly awaiting the day someone is dead.
I leave you, with those seven words.
"It's not like she touched you... right?"
