For the first time in my life, I told someone that knows my father why I left his house when I was a teen…

Bare with me, that one is still one sinking in. This isn’t the first time I have ever told anyone – all my friends know, and I have no problem telling people who do not know him. However, it is different when they know him. Knowing that what I was saying had impact on this person’s view of my father made it feel awkward. The main thing that kept running through my head was that he would find out – then I would have to deal with him. It’s not that I can’t deal with this, I have dealt with my pain. What I cannot reconcile is that he will always be the victim – even though he was the aggressor. I guess that is what keeps me from telling people who know him about what happened. Deep down, I know that, by telling my story, he becomes a victim. Not that I victimize him, but he sees himself as the victim of my “lies” or my inability to understand his type of “love.”

The funny part is that I never really even said abuse, I mentioned his anger and inability to let it go. I mentioned asking the counselor not to make me go back to his house. I am sure the person I was speaking to could deduce the rest, but I still never actually said the words. There are so many things I could have said, but I did not.

One day, I’m going to say the heck with it and tell my whole story to everyone. On that day, I will make the accusations have held back for so long – and I won’t care if it “victimizes” him or not. But for now, I really prefer not to have to listen to it or justify my point. I shouldn’t have to justify it, but I still feel like I have to sometimes. Maybe one day soon I can reclaim that part of myself and stop feeling so wrong about justly laying the blame where it belongs without regret.