The Poisoned Tongue of Deception
Incest is born and then covered up. It’s what makes the territory so treacherous to walk out of.
My parents feared my voice. I could ruin them with it. So, they hide me in their lies. They told me time and time again I would be unable to withstand them and tell the truth. No one would believe me. They continually covered me in their blankets of sin through the tortuous journey of making me feel like a bad, small person.
I was terrified of them both.
I never heard a good report about myself from either of them. I now can see that was their fear, not mine.
I believe my mother could see some kind of Godly strength in me that she did not possess though she earnest tried to mimic it. As a result of that sight, she mocked my integrity day in and day out.
I believed her.
My mother met a practicing witch. This woman terrified her to a point that she could not go into a dark room alone. She called me one night as a child and asked me to go with her upstairs to her bedroom because the room was dark. I was terrified, too, because she told us the story of her meeting with this woman. They were having lunch and suddenly the entire room went black except for this woman’s eyes; her eyes filled with fire bearing a slit cross opening. It was the only thing visible in the restaurant to my mother.
I have thought of that story from time to time.
When I was three they had the courage to rape and abuse me, but now a woman who had a demon reveal itself to her terrified her?
They themselves had shown their demons to me. Their eyes bore the same witness as this woman she described. I was not the only person to see that in them.
I show the courage my mother, herself, could not find. The courage to be who I am. The courage to stand in face of all their lies and find the story. They didn’t want me to do that — not now, not ever.
Deception wasn’t a result of my fear, it was a result of theirs.
It took me years to unlearn what they had taught me. When I would just be opening a window to escape them, they would talk to me and tell me their story. I wanted to believe them, it was what I knew and I longed for their acceptance. Often I would give in, but only for a minute.
I used to be so confused.
I have learned a very valuable lesson I keep with me: don’t listen to them. They only ha ve words. It was only their deceitful tongues that kept me stuck. I have learned to pray, to listen to God’s direction and then let my own voice guide me.
My next path would then be illuminated for me.
Originally published at http://prisonerbynocrimeofmyown.com on October 15, 2020.
