It was the 2nd anniversary of my father's death on 25th August 2014.
I'm still dealing with the mixed feelings that come from my father's death 2 years ago, but I am proud of how I created my own boundaries + how I have kept myself safe as an adult.
I'm also extremely proud that he got the message before he died that I wasn't keeping silent any more and that what he did was not ok.
I mourn all that never was and could never be.
I also have relief that he is dead and cannot hurt anyone any more!
This anniversary has also caused layers to lift away which had protected me from the reality of what he did to me.
Those layers had protected me from how I really felt as a child about what he did, how he did it and what it all did to me.
Those layers had also protected me from how I really feel about him now. How I hate what he did. How I hate the anxiety and confusion he caused me, both as a child and as an adult.
Those layers also protected me from the details of the things he did and said to keep me silent, compliant and afraid.
Those layers also protected me from the very deep and profound physical, emotional, mental and body shock, trauma and horror throughout my system from what I endured.
Those layers also protected me from the false sense of safety I developed inside me watching him abuse other children, photograph abuse, orchestrate abuse but never on me for the first 9 years. I truly believed deep inside me that he would never do those things or anything else, for that matter, to me. Then when he raped me on the night of my 9th birthday all that was shattered and I've never recovered.
His abuse of me throughout my childhood under my mother's instructions came under a different category in my mind. I truly believed he would not choose or decide to do anything to me without Sheila's instruction. When I realised at the age of 9 that he was capable of and willing to abuse me of his own choice, of his own volition it was an immense shock. A shock I've not recovered from.
That is probably why I never feel safe as an adult, not even when I'm alone with the door locked and curtains closed!
I hated how one moment he could be "Mr Nice Guy" then suddenly turn and be someone totally different. I hated the confusion that caused me too. I also hated the "never quite knowing" which side of him he was at a particular time. I hated how I never knew if and when he would turn and why. I was always trying to be good and do everything he wanted to prevent him from turning while also knowing somewhere inside that probably I couldn't prevent him from turning. But it was a way I tried to keep myself as safe as possible.
I hated how weak he was towards my mother. I hated how he did everything he told her to do. I hated how he never stood up to her and said "I'm not doing that to her" when I could feel he didn't want to carry out her orders.
I hated the excuses he came up with for doing what he did.
"Oh, all daddies do this with their little girls"; "There's nothing wrong, this is quite normal"; "I'm doing this because you're daddy's special little girl, you can give daddy what no-one else can give him"; "Mummy is quite happy that I'm here with you doing this"; "I'm just getting you ready for when you'll be married"; "It's your birthday and I have a special present for you."
And so on...
I hated the times he threatened me to keep me compliant too.
I hated that he abused me while being Mr Nice Guy as well as when being really mean and nasty.
I hate that he was not ever a real father to me.
I also hate that he never took responsibility for what he did or even acknowledged that anything was ever wrong.
I hate the fact that I have blamed myself for all of this for so many years.
I am relieved that I'm now able to slowly begin to blame him for the things for which he was solely responsible.