It’s good to be stepping back into the blogging world, or stepping back into the world at all.
Since it’s June, my mind has turned to Father’s Day and just parental relationships in general. Perhaps because my relationship with my father was incredibly messy, Father’s Day doesn’t bother me nearly as much as Mother’s Day. This is a good thing because I don’t spend the majority of June feeling horribly depressed.
Anyway, all of this did get me thinking about the relationship between abused children and their perpetrators (perps). I can’t speak about people who were abused by relatives other than parents, as that didn’t happen to me. SRA is different in that aspect. Yes, the whole thing runs on bloodlines, but my awareness of actual familial relationships didn’t extend past my immediate family. Since SRA really is quite different from other forms of abuse (more on that in another post) I’m going to leave those details out for now.
My father moved to the US when I was eight years old. He travelled back and forth, but his coming back to England didn’t usually bode well for me. Even though he wasn’t around often, he was always a major presence in my life. His bloodline is the one directly connected with the Happy People (my ironic euphemism for the SRA perps in my life) so it’s not hard to blame him for getting us involved in that. It’s probably not entirely his fault; he was, after all, programmed for his role just as the rest of us were, but I’m not ready to stop blaming him for that yet.
The thing of it is, though, and it’s something people who were not abused have a great deal of trouble understanding– I loved my father. Because of the nature of our relationship, dealing with the grief around his death has been easier, and the holidays and things that come up throughout the year don’t typically overwhelm me in that respect. His physical absence isn’t such a big deal in my life since he wasn’t physically present alot even when he was alive until the last bit.
Yesterday I was listening to a song called ‘Ghost Story’ off of Sting’s ‘Brand New Day’ album, and it occurred to me that the song said exactly what I would like to say to my father. It really resonates with what I felt like growing up as his daughter in the midst of things and what it feels like to look back on it all now. Unless someone invents a way to make the dead come back exactly as they were in life, I am safe from my father. That’s changed my perspective a bit. It’s my guess that the lyrics to this song will resonate with alot of other abuse survivors as well. My blog could probably be subtitled ‘Life Set to Music,’ but I’ve found that the work of talented singers and songwriters such as Sting often helps me put into words the feelings and experiences I’ve never quite been able to describe. There is one particular verse that says exactly how I feel looking back on my relationship with my father with an adult’s perspective:
Another winter comes
His icy fingers creep
Into these bones of mine
These memories never sleep
And all these differences
A cloak I borrowed
We kept our distances
Why should it follow that
I must have loved you?
Sometimes it is quite a surprise when we come to the startling conclusion that we did love our abusers at one time, and perhaps after everything is said and done, we still do.