Let me correct that... I feel guilty for not feeling guilty.
I feel like when I was told that he was just handed a death sentence that some human part of me should have felt compassion for him. Sadness for his son. Empathy to his family. But I don't.
Hell the news was even delivered to us with a smile by a member of his own family. They, themselves... relieved.
Maybe there is some truth to the accusation of me being a "mean person" -- in this instance, fuck it, I'll take that accusation and wear it like a badge of honor because I feel sheer happiness at the thought of his death. And I have no idea what to do with that emotion. I want to be the bigger person. I want to feel bad. But I can't force myself to be fake.
I feel like Karma has been served up on a platinum platter since he was given a slow, painful death sentence. One in which his body will be repeatedly violated and tortured and it will slowly deteriorate as he fearfully watches..... helpless..... wishing someone could help him or save him from this horrible, painful life he's living. Karma doing to him what he did to us.
Because that's how I felt. I'm sure that's how my sisters felt. How my mother felt. How his niece felt. How any other woman or child that he ever violated felt every time he put his disgusting hands on us. Every time he penetrated, touched, fondled, or beat the living shit out of us. The moments felt like they lasted a lifetime. Sometimes so bad that we prayed for death to escape his sexual predator ways. I was about 13 years old the first time I swallowed a handful of Tylenol while lying down in my bedroom hoping it would end my life.... so drained from walking around with the emotional scars that were so much deeper than the physical scars that were scattered across my used little body.
We thought he would die in prison, but they let him out almost 15 years early for "good behavior" -- ironic for a child rapist. I guess all of the "good behavior" in the world can't save you from the inevitable.
The moment I was told that my ex-step father.... my sexual abuser.... the man that is the root of all evil in our universe had Cancer.... my first thought was "Thank God" --- my second thought was "I hope it is Prostate... Testicular would be ironic, but it's highly curable.... "
I feel horrible.
Who thinks like that?
I'm a good person. I know that. I am a God-fearing, phenomenal woman. I am a great friend, sister, girlfriend, niece, daughter, etc..... I have devout faith and live by extremely spiritual beliefs.... I have friends and family who have succumbed to, are currently living with or have been cured of all types of Cancers and I would NEVER wish the pain and fear and emotional and physical exhaustion that HORRIBLE disease has caused these people that I love with every ounce of me on anyone.... even my worst enemy.......
Yet those were my thoughts when I was told he has Cancer. The shared thoughts of many.
I don't know what to make of these thoughts. I'm sure some of you are reading this thinking I'm nothing short of a cold-hearted bitch. I guess I'll have to take that and wear it as a badge of honor as well because right now there is nothing anyone who hasn't lived our hell can tell me that will make me feel otherwise. I've prayed on it.... and I still come back to this horrible feeling. These terrible thoughts. This feeling of....... happiness.
I don't know how to feel. I had no feelings when he was sentenced to prison for 30 years, yet was enraged when he was released early. I wrote a long letter to the parole board.... maybe I'll post it.... they let him out despite my plea to keep him locked up and my anger soared. My fear heightened. As I grew older I felt like I had even forgiven him. I think I have written about "forgiving him" --- and maybe I have........ but then why would the thought of his eminent death bring forth such peace in my mind?
Maybe that's it.
We still live in fear of running into him again.... or seeing him..... he lives just 30 minutes from my family as it is. I subscribe to his sex offender file..... I stalk it. I live every day in a silent fear that he will return. I'd be lying if I said I didn't still on some level fear him. I kind of even fear him more now that he has a this disease..... the "what is there to live for" thoughts running through my head. The fear of a victim never leaves. I'm learning this the hard way. Sometimes I have nightmares that's he's come back to hurt me and my family again. I wake up screaming in extreme sweats, dry tears on my face... fearful that he's found us and all of our girls and came back to hurt us again. To seek revenge for us turning him in. For the horror he endured his first nights in prison.... the horror the prison guards happily reported to us.
After the nightmares I spend the day in a daze..... hearing the cries of little girls....
Forgive me for these horrible thoughts.
In Jesus' name,
Freedom... yes, that must be it.
He'll finally be gone.
|This is what a Child Rapist/Molester/Domestic Abuser looks like. |
And these are just some of his victims.