Struggling with reoccuring memory
Swear and slight mention of drugs
They've come to His house again. Fishing haul is over. My brother is shut outside in the Bunker. He already had the belt and one of His friends 'accidentally' went the toilet on him. We hid some food in there when He went away to work. Its just me and my sister. There are bottles everywhere. Ash and smoke smothering the room. They are loud. He comes into our room and tells us to be good or He would hold us under the sea. That He tries to love us and our mothers left because we were and are so bad. He pushes me down to the floor when I cry. My sister is strong and does not move. He drags me up by my hair, leaving strands attached to His fingers. We have to hold his hand, not each others. We are only little but we need to make sure our faces were all made pretty. The lipstick has to be neat.
His friends are watching things on tv that we are too young to see. He pulls us into the room they are in and introduces us. My sister, well used to the routine, smiles and twirls (I know it was her fake smile). I am scared. I know my sister told me to go along with it or I won't get hit or punished but I can't move. He is angry but sounds embarrassed. How can He sound embarrassed?!
The men pick which one of us they want to be friends with. He sits in his chair by the fire, smoking and drinking. The man takes me into another room. He tells me that I am pretty and that I can sit on his knee. For some reason, I like this man. He is kind. He even asked me what sort of things I like. We are talking and he puts his hands where they shouldn't go. I know it is wrong - but he was kind before. It hurts more. And more. I didn't mean to cry but he got mad. He covers my head with a cushion and climbs on top of me. I keep kicking him - I can't do this. He is heavy so they can't kick anymore. I can't breathe. I really can't breathe. It hurts more. It hurts more than Him. But he was kind. That's what I'm thinking about before it goes black.
I am sitting with my mum and everything is happy. Then the colours start to come back. He must have taken over the place of the man. He puts it near my face. When He is finished, He covers me in it. He rubs it more over me. That's when I realise my sister is with the other man in the same room. He is behind her all the time. She cries silently but does not look at me.
They straighten their shirts and try to push the creases out of their trousers. Dusting away the dirt. He holds his precious camera. The man says he has a nice camera and talk about holidays. I am dirty. My sister is cuddling herself in the corner. I go to her. It has to be over. I should of stayed where I was. The man gets excited and whispers in His ears. Patting each other the back. He tells us sisters should love each other very much.
I just can't forget. He made us feel so disgusting. Such filth. He still makes me feel like that. I don't believe for one second, he even thinks about us now - about the pain he caused and still is. How we lived on the streets. How I lost my little baby. How he legally challenged me, years later that I had assaulted him. How he led to my brother's substance abuse and my sister's eating disorder. How he led to both my brother and sister's suicide.
But worst of all, I still blame myself. There's too many what ifs - what if I had told someone, why didn't I stop it, why didn't I rescue them, what if I hadn't of frozen, why did I think it was normal, why didn't I run away sooner. I could of done something and I failed too. Did they know I loved them? Or did they think I was monster just like him? They were not even blood related to me. I miss them with every, every part of me. They made me complete.
I'm so angry. I'm so so sad. I'm so utterly disgusting. I don't know if it makes sense but I feel like I'm grieving for a childhood that I never had. That I wished I had. But then I feel so selfish to believe I could deserve that. I'm f***ed up.
I can't stay in one town long enough because I'm so scared he will find me or something will remind me of other supressed memories. All I do is clean and clean. Ritual after ritual. If one little thing in the flat, caravan, house or whereever I stay is wrong it has to be started again. I can't contaminate it any longer. It started to keep my mind off things, because I would of been punished (by my step dad and ex bf), too sleep, too stop the eating habit and sh. Now it stops the sleep and its taking over. Taking over my life and my partners. But its me who made that decision to ruin it all. I can't blame Him.
Drinking and weed would stop it. Well, quieten it. Until it came back with avengence and more powerful horrible memories. I try not to touch either again. I keep slipping up. But I promise I'm trying but I can't fight it all any more.