Many times in an investigation, witness testimony is, while important, sometimes
taken with a grain of salt. The adage is “There are three sides to every story: Your
truth, My truth, and the REAL truth. I have heard so many stories about me that
were hand-on-a-bible/swear to God, the gods, or The Great Spirit truth that were
just that – stories. Friends, mostly former friends now, co-workers, bosses, and the
hardest cut of all, family, have fabricated their versions of truth about me.
For the most part, I really do not care. Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but whips and chains excite me. Or something like that. The only time that it
bothers me overmuch is when someone is trying to cause me harm by their
words. I have walked away from all of the above, friends, employment, and
family to protect myself. I will do so again.
The past few days I have been blessed to be able to speak with someone who shares
a lot of history with me. It has been wonderful. It has been cathartic for me, and I hope
for them as well. There has been much laughter, some tears, and a fair amount of anger.
Comparing our two truths, we have been able to piece together a lot of the “story” that
is closer to the real truth than what others have voiced, much to our collective relief.
There have been many questions answered. There have been many revelations and realizations.
Now, she does not have any shared history with any of my friends, nor my co-workers,
but there is a treasure of shared history with family. Obviously, this was where our focus
has been. We both laughed when we commented that there were a lot of family that
wanted nothing to do with us (often with blatant hostility) and were only “nice” (read
that as courteous or polite) when they wanted or needed something from us. And since
we have both outlived so many of our family members, the ones that are left have no
issue with assigning their hatred and anger with other family members to us. It is almost
as though the ones that have died slighted them once again by not living to be a target
for their feelings.
Blame it on the living, the dead do not care.
As more parts of the cartoon are colored, the picture is more clear. Regarding the laughter,
tears, and anger I mentioned previously, a lot of very ugly truths came to light. The amount
of mental and sexual abuse, along with the neglect and reckless endangerment that
happened of the decades is disgusting. The alcohol and drug abuse that has plagued this
family is abhorrent. The fact that this was all allowed to continue that long is shameful.
Generations have been drawn into all of this. I still have many questions.
She believes she has grown past what happened to her (and so many others) and is
getting stronger every day. She is happy now, and getting happier each day. She also
struggles each day. The trauma, the PTSD, the anger, and the hurt, drag on a person.
She is a better person than she has any right to be.
I, however, am still not a good person, although I try. I try every day. I still fail every day, but
I try every day.
I was asked for advice recently regarding raising kids. I was asked how you raise them, how
to be a good parent. My answer was “Teach them kindness and courtesy. Teach them to
think of others and to not be hurtful or mean. Do not bully. Teach them that if you are going to
do something, do it right.” If you teach people these things and they choose to be a lesser
person, at least you taught them what they should be. Anything after that is on them.