I Should Write a Book in Journal

My parents always said I should.
Ironically, that book will be largely a condemnation of their evil.

Larger picture perspective is also deeply ironic. I was encouraged in my writing by my father, while he simultaneously criticized my use of fantasy allegories. Well, Dad, if I were to write non-fiction, you would be one of the characters and I daresay your ire would be far more provoked by an honest portrayal of your person.

I have learned so much. It is incredible to look back. I was depressed, suicidal, self-harmed, no self esteem, consistently chose to re traumatize, I kept those old wounds open; oozing and sucking in a grotesque display of my injuries.
And I suppose the epic tale is heroic not because of the injuries I suffered, since injuries which are not fatal do inevitably heal. The tale is epic in scope and heroic in deed because the evil I overcame was the lie that I was the source of the evil. On the back of that lie rode many other lies. Such as, I was the reason for my suffering, and My good, selfless, hardworking parents were victims, brought down into immorality because of my evil. One can easily imagine in believing such a lie that happiness, fulfillment, virtue, meaning, etc, are all impossible to experience.

I tried to talk to my mom about all these experiences. I wanted to know if she knew. I wanted to know if she cared. But I think, deep down, I already did know.... That’s why I never talked about it in all my 30 odd years. She grew deeply agitated, angry. Still, I wanted to know.
“I need time to process all this!” she protested. “You just dumped all this on me-!”
Hmm. Yes, Mom, I did. Do you remember how old I was when you dumped your childhood on me? I was 11. And I was in no way responsible for your childhood. You created my childhood, Mom. Why are you protesting me dumping some complaints on you when you were the one actually responsible?

Mom once told me that the most valuable thing she learned from going to therapy for 10+ years was that her childhood abuse was not her fault.
She knew that her internalization of responsibility for her childhood abuse was due to the refusal of her parents to take responsibility.
And yet, my mom still refuses to take responsibility even a decade after the fact.
My mom cared for and nurtured and served her mother until her dying day. My mom even advocated to me on her mother’s deathbed; telling me that I should go visit.
So my mom decided that evil gets a pass. My mom let evil win in her life. Mothers who abuse their children go unpunished. Not just unpunished! They receive devoted attention even at the expense of her own children.
My mom tries very, very hard to believe that she didn’t make a decision. She tried very, very hard to make me believe that she didn’t make that decision.

She knew.