Erased

It is funny what can trigger me at times.  I saw a woman on TV selling bipolar antidepressants.  1.  I don't need them, the Wellbutrin works fine and 2.  I couldn't afford it, I'm sure. 

But her hair reminded me of how I looked back when I was 8.  My stepmother gave me a perm and I ended up with very curly hair.  I didn't like it much after a while, but my Dad loved it because I looked like my stepmother, who always permed her hair in a similar style.  They took a photo of me under the flowering tree in the front yard and put it in my photo album. 

Now I need to go back to my primary abuser.  His father was furious when he found out my stepmother was pregnant and ordered her to abort "it".  She did not, so he left her after the baby was born.  He did not want a third child. 

As a result of the tempest, there were not a lot of baby/toddler photos of him.  He was told his whole life that his father wanted him aborted, and his father left when he was born.  I heard her tell him myself. 

That's got to mess with your head.  I can look at this now and feel sorry for him. 

Anyway, since I was "planned" and greatly desired by my parents, they had an elaborate photo album full of cute baby Heather crawling around in her glasses (I got my first pair of glasses before I learned to walk). 

Every now and then, I would take the book out and look at it.  My abuser would get angry when I did.  He didn't have a "good" photo album. 

The photos really only started after his Mom married my Dad. 

Years later, he became particularly enraged when my Dad gave me a photo of myself, an 8x10 portrait taken of me as a toddler, that he had kept on his desk for years.  He exchanged that photo of me for a "family" portrait of "all of us". 

The photo disappeared pretty quickly.  But I was used to things going missing from my room (constantly, my whole life with them), so I didn't get too upset.  I thought maybe my Dad took it back. 

Then my primary abuser started talking about how "you" could "erase someone" by wetting a photo and scratching at the person's face with a fingernail.  I found that really creepy, but didn't feel it affected me in any way. 

I met Ron, I fled, I cut off contact for a while.  I was sick of the gaslighting and other head games, the constant invasions of my privacy, etc.  I needed a rest for a while and then I wanted an apology.  I didn't get the apology for nearly 10 years, and only then after I forgave them. 

I got back in touch with my Dad.  We met at a restaurant.  He was happy to see me and said I looked well.  He was truly surprised I was happy with Ron, but I was. 

During the course of the meal, Dad asked if he could have my photos back.  He thought I had taken them when I left.  I told him I hadn't. 

And I realized the sickening truth.  The person my abuser had tried to erase, was me.  He had destroyed my entire photo album out of some sick envy.  My Dad had nothing. 

I told him I was quite sure I had left it behind, and "maybe he should ask the other people what had happened to it".  A year or two later, at lunch again, Dad produced some photos my stepmother had found in storage.  Most of them featured me and at least one of her kids.  There were a few that just featured me, including the photo of me with the perm under the tree.  Dad was happy but I was still sick about it. 

What kind of person does that?  Destroys an entire person's life like that? 

After my grandmother died (right after Ron's accident, that was a bad year for me), my aunt got all her stuff, including some photos of me.  She gave me some of the photos so I have some memory of myself as a child. 

But it still sickens me to think of that man, sitting over my photo album, wetting each photo and scratching my face off of every image. 

[shudder]