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He died Thursday, March 17, at 3pm, 2005.
When I found out, inside, I felt....funny.
Ok, you know how if you take a shower, and you have the bathroom window open, or you're standing kindasorta outside, and you're still not dressed, and there's warm sun and breezes going freely in places that they dont normally go? Weird like that.
And weird also, like if you had some rope tied up from you to something immovable, and for the longest time, as long as you can remember, you've been pulling, pulling so hard to break free, and one day, unexpectly, the rope breaks, and you stagger a few steps foward, and just stand there, because.... for the first time, you're free. And you dont know what to do.
Feeling these mildly overwhelming feelings, all at once, I realized.
An old guy, a mere mortal, I loathed him - No. I hated him. I hated him enough that I, soft hearted, who profusley cried at the thought of having to kill a mouse/accidently running over a squirrel once, knew I well enough had the capacity, the desire, to kill him, in a violent manner, without any remorse.
I disliked that part of me. It felt ugly, overwhelming, consuming. And at times, it felt...like it had more controle over me, than I over it.
But it's ok, now. It's been ok, for quite a while. For the longest time, I've accepted that all emotions are good, ok, positive. It all matters in how you handle them. Hate, loathing is a normal, natural, and perfectly ok feeling to have. I mean, even something like love can be bad, if you dont handle it correctly, you know?
I felt all this, for a person who sexually abused me from when I had barely turned 12, untill I was 18 and a half. All those years, I was in denial, I lied to myself. It seemed safer; I mean, grandfathers dont do these kinds of things to little kids, yeah? And who would believe me, if I did tell? He might do worse to me than what he was already doing. I subcounsiously made myself heavy, to make him turn away from me, but it obviously didnt work. Sometimes, when I am thinking too much, I wonder if it made things worse, for other people affected by him. I mean, if I didnt make myself fat, then he might not have hurt..other people, younger than me. Not to say that he stopped, but..yeah. Even to this day, I honestly fully believe that if I didnt do that, he would have raped me. Not that me being raped wasnt prevented, but by him, yes, it was.
My god, the things he used to tell me. He used to tell me how pretty I am, among other things. I think that's a large part of why it's hard for me to accept compliments on how I look. It used to always make me feel so dirty and ugly, dirty in a way that I used to cry in the shower, trying to scrub off, but the dirt was too much inside me to wash away by a simple burning hot shower.
What I hated him most, the part I always thought about that made me full know that I really could kill him, end his life without a bit of remorse, was how he hurt innocent others the same way as me, people that I feircely love and would hurt whoever hurt them. I felt responable, for them being hurt. I was older; I could have stopped it much sooner.
Or not. It is the past now. The only thing that can be done is to heal, and love life for what it is. You have to hurt to feel the good.
But he's gone now. He cant hurt anyone anymore.
His death has brough about many other thoughts. But I have to go to class, and I still feel...funny inside.
I leave you all with a huggle.
*huggles*
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