Monday, January 12, 2015

still waiting.

I haven't heard anything from the police other than being told early last week that I will likely need to travel to Pennsylvania to be formally interviewed if/when the case proceeds. I contacted DCFS on Friday and the [very rude] woman I spoke with hurriedly said, "All I can say is we've forwarded a report onto local law enforcement" and then promptly hung up on me as soon as I said thank you. They didn't even ask my name when I called, though, so I'm thinking they aren't a very busy department when they knew exactly who I was when I started by saying, "I called last week about the abuse my [relative] did to me as a kid..." If I've learned anything through this process it's that 1) more people need to have some formal sensitivity training with regard to victims of sexual abuse and 2) more people need to be trained about the processes involved in cases such as mine.

As for the fear, I'm still pretty scared he'll show up. The fear is greatest with the night. Funny how that works, isn't it? As kids we're scared of the dark. We don't entirely outgrow that fear as adults. The nights that I'm most scared are always followed by relief with the daylight. But your prayers... I'm feeling them. I don't feel so overwhelmed. I have a sense of calm that can only be described as divine since I am not calm by nature normally. The uncertainty of everything is heavy, but going into this with the expectation that I will not find earthly justice helps. I just hope one day I get to look him in the eye and let him realize he holds no power over me. I'm no longer the child he preyed upon. I can take care of myself now and he's a pathetic excuse for a person. I won - he didn't.

I think the most surprising emotion I've had is guilt. Guilt for throwing my family into potential danger. Guilt for throwing my parents and sister into chaos and pushing a whole lot at once on them. Wondering if I'm making a bigger deal about what happened than I should be. After all, it happened over a decade ago. My memories are all dreamlike and hazy. What if my memories aren't real? Even though they share nearly identical scenes to others who suffered his abuse? For years and years I've been an advocate for sexual abuse/assault survivors. I've walked along side them and reminded them that they shouldn't feel guilty about ANY of it. None of it was their fault. Now that I'm in their shoes, though, and being told the same thing... I get it. I don't understand why I feel this way, but I get it. And it sucks.

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