disclaimer: my first ever “Tribute Thursday” was actually to my sister, Ariela. Unfortunately, I accidentally deleted a bunch of my old posts. Regardless, I’ve known all along that I would write a tribute to her again this week, especially given the events of last night.
I’ve been thinking about how to write this post all day. I can only hope you will all read with an open mind. No judgments.
Last night was draining, to say the least. I really am trying very very hard to only look at the positive aspects of being home, but it’s hard for me to even be in the same house as my mother. She has caused me pain in a way that no mother ever should. It’s especially frustrating to me that my dad, whom I love and adore with everything in my being, thinks (or acts like) he is incapable of stopping her. It truly hurts my heart. Last night, I tried to express this to my father. I’ve been feeling some very healthy anger towards both my parents that I never thought I was “allowed” to feel. For the longest time, I truly thought I deserved everything I got. But now, I know this isn’t so. And I am perfectly allowed to feel angry at those that hurt me and disrespect me in awful ways.
My dad, however, thought I was ganging up on him. Thought I was trying to hurt his feelings. Thought I’d gone crazy. I hadn’t. I simply had to release so much anger that I’d held in for far too long. To make the long story short, there were tears, screaming, etc. And at one point, I took a framed picture of me as a baby and my mother and slammed it on the ground, glass shattering everywhere (I’ve never done anything remotely this violent before. And I don’t plan on doing it again). Looking at that picture made me sick. She never acted like a mother to me but something far, far worse.
Immediately, I ran to my sister’s room and slammed the door. I crawled into bed with my sister and she just held me while I sobbed heart-wrenching sobs. My YOUNGER sister. She protected me. She soothed me.
I cannot even begin to explain what my sister means to me. She’s been my rock, my confidante, my partner in crime, my best friend. For some reason, my mother was never quite as abusive toward Ariela as she was toward me. But Ariela saw what was happening while my father couldn’t, or wouldn’t. She saw the pain I was in. She has always, always been there for me. She never ignored me like everyone else.
We are so different. But I respect and love everything about her. Her artwork, her yoga, her inner party animal. She is the definition of someone who will never stop living her life, no matter how hard the circumstances may be. I truly admire that about her.
Is it weird to say that I want to be like my younger sister when I grow up?
I do. I want to be free.
p.s. I will not explain in detail how my mother abused me or how this is related to my sexual abuse because this is something very private to me.
p.p.s. Jersey Shore comes back on today! Woohoo (talk about off topic).
