As I've stated before, this entire incident is like an onion. Peel back one layer and you find an equally stinky layer beneath.
I've been here before.
I was sexually molested by my mom's boyfriend when I was a pre-teen. When I was 19 and struggling with not slitting my wrists, taking a bottle of pills, or driving my car into a concrete abutment (all before noon every day), I told my mother what had happened. Her boyfriend had died years before and was no longer an issue.
My mother looked at me and said "Well, you always were a slut."
The funniest thing about this situation was that I wasn't. Aside from the fact that a mother would accuse her eleven year old daughter of seducing a senior citizen, I was a hopeless, well behaved kid. She had known all along that something wasn't right. She had her suspicions. And when her suspicions were confirmed, she sided with a dead man.
Now, twenty one years later I look in the mirror every morning. Not only as the girl that was thrown away by her mother but now, as the mother that was clueless. The mother that was unable to protect her own child even when it was ingrained in every cell in her body. I was the one that ranted in front of the television when a story about a pedophile came on. I was the one that suggested they should all be publically castrated. I was the one that would feel such anger and nausea at the thought that anyone could hurt a child. And my own child was being hurt.
I'm fighting ghosts this morning. Ghosts of my perpetrator. Ghosts of my mother. Ghosts of the happy, normal childhood that I wanted to give my children. Ghosts of who I thought I was married to. Ghosts of every night of my childhood, laying in the dark, not able to sleep, not able to breathe.