Creatures of a Crutch

My father needed me to stay close to him, or so it seemed. He didn’t like to be by himself. He mostly liked to be by me.

I didn’t like that very much.

His incessant concern to know where I was at all times kept me enslaved to him. This was not because his love for me, I think it may have been out of his guilt. Although, I’m not sure a sociopath feels anything but pleasure. Well, pleasure and anger. Anger when they don’t get their way.

When I got married at 18, I wanted out of his house and away from them more than I wanted a husband. The guy I selected choose me and wouldn’t give up until I gave in. He was another abuser. So abusive that one night he threw a glass at my face and it shattered. This was an old thick carnival glass that had made its way through from the 1920s. My face had several gashes that would need to be surgically fixed and my eye swelled shut almost immediately.

After this incident, my father sat me down at his kitchen table and told me a story. He said, “I’ve walked this property and found a spot where I can bury his body. Nobody would ever find it.” With that he stopped and waited for my answer.

I knew exactly what my father wanted.

He wanted me back as his baby girl, play toy — fake wife.

He needed my support for his inability to be a human being. He wanted me to prop him up and hold his inadequacies. He couldn’t stand being alone with himself because his vessel was void of love and filled with rejection.

That’s what he stole the most from me as a child — my unconditionally love.

God taught me different.

God taught me that such evil people cannot fall asleep at night until they devise a plan to carry out evil the next day. He told me that I shouldn’t stay by such people and eat their bread of wickedness with them. God taught me to let them drink their wine of violence alone.

I believe Him and that’s what set me free.

Originally published at http://prisonerbynocrimeofmyown.com on November 12, 2020.