June 18^th, 2006

 

Raymond,

 

I have never forgotten the night E was born. You picked me up from Diane’s house, and suggested I sleep in bed with you so we could talk about my new brother. You were my father. I trusted you. I was supposed to be able to trust you more than ANY man on the face of this earth, so I slept in your bed with you. I remember everything you did to me. I was eight years old. I wish it had only been that night, but it wasn’t. I remember the hikes at Seashore State Park. I remember you crawling in the bunk with me when I slept in the tug boat barracks with you in Portsmouth. I remember when mom was away at the DeColores thing with church. I remember the “Mommy Kisses.” I remember our “Special Time.”  I remember the trips to get ice cream to buy my silence. I remember the lies you made me tell. I remember the secrets you made me keep. I remember the trust I had in you. I trusted what you did to me was natural. I trusted all daddies did this to their daughter. I remember everything, I've always remembered. At 8 years old, I didn't have the ability to understand it.

 

Four or five years later, when I was 12 or 13, I learned what it was you were doing to me. Father S sent the EYC group to that seminar where sexual abuse, rape, incest, and molestation were explained. You were there. You gave me a look that said keep your mouth shut. By that time, I had no idea how to make you stop. After 4 years of being molested by you, who would believe me? I had no idea who I could trust anymore, or who would trust me. I was stuck in your world of sexual abuse. You taught me how to lie and manipulate. I was almost as good as you, but because I was caught a few times, I had a reputation of lying. So I couldn't tell anyone. At least, that’s what I thought. The threats you used against me after the EYC seminar were effective in keeping my silence. I remember those too. They had a lasting effect on me. Even now, I sometimes have to fight them off.

 

I remember the day C called. I remember knowing what C was accusing you of, not because I heard what she was saying, but because of how angry mom got. You manipulated and lied to mom, and convinced her C was the liar, the instigator, so mom didn’t believe her. Blame the victim. It’s a classic pedophile move. I believed C. I knew she was telling the truth. I had been experiencing it first hand. When I saw how seething mad mom was at C, how vulgar she was with C, I knew I could never tell her. I couldn’t go through that with mom. I knew at that point how monstrous you were. I remained silent.  

 

I remember the last time. You came home, and mom and I were arguing in the dining room. You came running at me, said something to me about disrespecting mom, and punched me in the nose. I ran to my room. I moved my dresser in front of my door, because I knew you would be coming upstairs. When you did come up, I wasn’t going to let you in my room. When I heard E across the hall, I moved my dresser and let you in. I didn’t know if he was laughing or crying, and I couldn’t risk you abusing him. You came in and apologized, with your hand on my breast. You demanded I give you a kiss. I gave you a quick kiss. You said “Now how about a real kiss. A mommy kiss.” No. No more. You kind of laughed at me, defiantly, and walked out of my room. That was the last time I remember you sexually abusing me. I guess at 15, I was too old for you.

 

You were verbally, emotionally and physically abusive as well. I learned to prefer your verbal abuse over the sexual abuse. Prefer. Nobody should “prefer” any form of abuse. You ridiculed me for being fat. You use to offer me a dollar for every pound I would lose. The problem was, I was better off being fat. I learned to stay fat. The fat allowed me a safety net. It seemed the fatter I got, the less you would molest me. When you would go out to sea, I would lose weight. Right about the time you came home, I would gain weight back. Now I have Diabetes, and an eating disorder because of your abuse. I would say thank you, but it would be as meaningful as you saying you were sorry.

 

I had all the signs of being abused. Back then, they weren’t known as signs. They were just part of growing up. I started wetting the bed. Remember how you beat me the morning after I wet your bed after the first time you molested me? I do. I was lying to mom to cover for things you did. I was having nightmares. I slept with my door closed, and locked when I could get away with it. I developed an evil startle response. I didn’t want to take care of myself. I couldn’t even brush my teeth without gagging! I couldn’t change in front of other girls, because I was afraid there would be something they’d see that would identify me as a girl who was being raped by her father. I had an eating disorders and was self abusing. I had a need to be perfect, and when I couldn’t be perfect, I would get into every ounce of trouble I could. I had boundary issues, and I was controlling! My grades started falling in school. By 8^th grade, I was a horrible student. I skipped school a lot. I was shop lifting. I was stealing from mom. I was even stealing from you.

 

Your abuse of me left me with poor body image and low self esteem. You convinced me I was ugly. You made me think I was unworthy of anything. You made me believe I would never accomplish anything. You filled me with self hate and took any self esteem I ever had. I couldn’t figure out why I should continue to live. I carried this secret with me and acted and pretended to the world around me that there was nothing wrong. Inside, I was depressed and suicidal. I wanted to die. I didn’t want to live anymore. I tried killing myself twice when I was in high school.

 

Growing up, I couldn’t ask any questions about sex. I had no idea what I should know for my age, but I knew more than I should have for my age. I was always terrified someone would find out that I was being molested. I was so afraid they would find out MY father was a pedophile. MY father was the Chester the Molester in all the jokes. I hated you for that. I was ashamed of you. I was ashamed of me, even though I had no reason to be ashamed of myself.  

 

When I was 17, I was raped. I was raped because I was so desperate for someone to like me for me, he took advantage of that. It was all I was worth. It was all I was good for. Your abuse taught me that. After I was raped, I couldn’t tell anyone. Telling them would mean they might find out I was molested too. I had NO idea how anyone could tell, but I knew they would find out, and I would be labeled a slut. They would think I deserved to be raped. So I dealt with the rape by myself, just like I dealt with your abuse. Guess what. Being raped didn't help with my self worth. I didn't abandon my feelings of being unlovable... or ugly. Instead, it just reinforced my self hatred, and my self abusing ways. I was raped because of you and what you did to me. I would not have been raped if you hadn’t stolen my self worth. I would not have been raped if you hadn’t stolen my voice to scream for help.

 

You have left a long line of victims of your abuse… and I am sure you continue to do so. Mom was a victim. You abused her with your manipulations and lies. You convinced me she was stupid and naïve. You said she could do nothing without you. She has proven you wrong over and over again. You caused such pain and hardship in mine and mom’s relationship, all so you could molest your daughter. E was a victim. You tried convincing him your possessions were worth more than he was. You used him to get to me. You knew I would protect him. Around the time he turned 4, I began asking him on a regular basis if you ever touched him in any way that made him uncomfortable. I had a knife picked out in the kitchen that I would have used, if he had ever said yes. Not many 12 and 13 and 14 year olds think like that. I didn’t stop asking him until he was about 16. He would tell me the vulgar things you’d say to him, and the times you told him you’d put your fist down his throat. I remember that one. I heard it a thousand times too. I am so angry at you for destroying any chance I had of growing up loving E. I hated him for being born, and it isn’t even his fault. His birthday has always meant the anniversary of the beginning of your sexual abuse. You made me feel like a throw away child the day he was born. S was a very innocent victim. I was angry at you for not having the chance to know him. Your needs were more important than his, so you threw him away. I see now the pattern you have. You are always throwing someone or something away, because no one really means anything to you. I was so angry at you for what you did to him, for not helping mom with him. I know now that he was better off. He missed out on mom, E and me, but is lucky he was able to get away from you. S, very luckily, was adopted by a family who is loving and caring, and helped him to grow up to be a wonderful man, one that I am proud to know.

 

You stole my childhood. I had to grow up before I was supposed to. You subjected me to adult situations that no child is ready for. You crossed the healthy boundaries set up between parents and children. You made me feel worthless and unlovable. You killed my trust in other people. You stole any potential I ever had. You swallowed me whole. Your abuse ruined my childhood, my teenage years, and my young adult years.

 

I have carried the shame of your abuse with me every day of my life. I have kept it hidden because I didn’t want it to bring shame or guilt to the rest of the family. I hid it to protect mom and E, and me. I never hid it to protect you. Now, I don’t have to hide it at ALL anymore. The shame is where it belongs; all on you. YOU have wasted 34 years of my life. This letter is to let you know… YOU will not be allowed to waste one more moment.

 

In June of 2005, I began counseling for your sexual abuse. I have spent the last 30 years angry, depressed, even suicidal. It’s normal for survivors. NORMAL! Survivors of child sexual abuse are diagnosed with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). It’s the same disorder that war veterans come home with. It’s the same thing survivors of 9/11 have. Survivors of child abuse have their own wars to fight, their own terrorists to battle. You are my own personal Osama bin Laden. Every feeling I have had, every basket case filled moment, every failed relationship, every single pound I have gained... everything… I can attribute it all to you. I have spent many years in a depression. I had sleepless nights, because you infiltrated my nightmares. I had flashbacks when I least expected them, that literally disabled me. I have written many suicide notes because I didn’t think I was worth living anymore. I couldn’t get away from everything you caused. My teeth are a mess, because I can’t brush them without gagging. I startle easily, scream when someone sneaks up on me. I have a need to be perfect, that drives me insane. I have a problem setting healthy boundaries, and saying no. I thought I was going crazy. I thought there was no help for me. I went through my 20’s thinking there was no way I could fix it. I couldn’t have a relationship with a man. I couldn’t trust any man. I believed they were all like you. I haven’t had children because I believed I would become an abuser. I believed I would become like you. I didn’t understand that abuse is a choice. Now I know I don’t have to make the same choices as you did. Using your abusive father as an excuse doesn’t cut it. (You shouldn’t have used it as an excuse, either.)

 

When you sexually abused me, you inflicted on me a pain and a horror that will affect me the rest of my life. All the therapy in the world can not change what you have done. The only thing therapy will do is help me cope with it, and help me to learn to live my life, in spite of your abuse. One of the hardest things I have had to face was the fact that my illusions of a happy, healthy, childhood were delusions. When you crossed those boundaries, my happy childhood went down the sewer. Now, I have to pay the price and spend my time fixing it. I have to build my own self esteem, and find my own identity, and deal with all the issues you gave me. It is a full time job. I have been spending about 4 hours a week in therapy of one form or another, 4 to 6 hours a week in treatment for an eating disorder, every other Saturday morning, I go to a survivor’s meeting, and I spend countless hours every day, reading and writing so that I can heal. I am also working in the community to take a stand against sexual abuse of children and other forms of sexual assault. One day, the laws will be changed, and people in my situation will be able to have their sexual abusers prosecuted and put in jail, which is where you should be. Treatment is helping me not only heal from your sexual abuse, but is helping me become a better person all the way around. It has been, and will continue to be, long hard work, but I AM WORTH IT!

 

I am proud of what I have been able to accomplish so far, and what I plan on accomplishing in the future. My survival has shown me I have the strength and courage to continue on my path. I no longer have to hide. I no longer have to keep silent. And I no longer have to protect you or your identity. My father, Raymond <edited for MY protection>, sexually abused me. I say it out loud, to the world, to anyone who will listen. Many people do listen. Many people want to know who they need to protect their children from.

 

Standing up for myself and breaking my silence is part of my healing. I am healing. Your abuse is not controlling my life any longer. I am finding my self esteem and my self worth. I have a great group of people who love me and support me, and accept me for me. I have been learning a lot about myself, and I am not what you made me. I am a caring and loving, bright and intelligent woman with the potential and the passion and the will to change the world. I am finding myself, and like what is emerging. I am learning to love myself. I am finding the courage and the strength to make a place for myself in this world, and am working to help other victims stand up against sexual predators.

 

Raymond, you are a child molester; a sexual predator; a pedophile. Pedophiles lie, and you are one of the best liars in the world. You know how to put on a nice guy façade, and gain the trust of those around you. Like most pedophiles, you have an uncanny ability to ingratiate yourself to others, and manipulate them to their own end. You are a master of manipulation. Your composed, trusting surface is what makes you the most dangerous criminal of all. The manipulation stops here.

 

I hope you have no other victims. Don’t allow your criminal, selfish needs to create any other victims. You can get help. Treatment is available. You NEED to get help. Admitting the sexual abuse to a therapist or counselor – full admission and taking full responsibility – will help you. Full acknowledgement of the intent, the frequency, the intrusiveness on your victims, and the physical and mental harm it caused your victims, will allow you some freedom from your own conscience, unless you are a sociopath, then you don’t care anyway. I tend to believe that you don’t care. My counselors keep promising me that you will wind up angry, unhappy, physically ill, and always looking over your shoulder because of what you have done. Staying in denial will wear you down. Your energy level will plummet. It will eat you up inside, like a cancer. The lies and manipulations will eventually come back and shove their “fist down your throat”. (Remember how you used to tell us that?)  Eventually, you will feel the shame, the fear, and rejection and loss of family (not necessarily the family you are manipulating now, but your children… all 3 of us). You will die an old and lonely man. I, on the other hand, insist to my counselors, that it will never bother you, because you believe you have done nothing wrong, but they keep promising me it will eventually affect you. I believe you don’t care what you have done to your own daughter, your only daughter. I don’t believe you have the ability to care about anyone or anything but yourself. Do sociopaths have a conscience?

 

You can deny being a child molester, an abuser… a sexual predator… all you want, but we both know it’s true. C knows it’s true too. Mom knows. E knows. S knows. Everyone knows. I broke my silence, and I will continue to yell it from the rooftops. I will be silent no more. I hope you have to think about what you have done to me every day for the rest of your life, as I have had to do. I hope you live a very long time for that very reason. Although, I do look forward to the day I can read the eulogy that I have already written for you. I hope you will somehow hear it.

 

I wish you everything you deserve. Happy Father’s Day.