The last respite

So today has been a long day, starting this blog, working on and off, and then finding out this afternoon that the last person (to have lived in that house of hell with me) died last year.  The rest have died over the years, starting with my uncle, then my aunt’s mother, then my aunt, and then Kenny, their adopted son and now Bonnie Marie.  Twelve years older than me to the day, she and Kenny had joined the ranks of my father’s brother – molesters, tormentors, protectors at times, from my aunt.  It seems so perverted to say this out loud but this is an honesty blog, but my uncle’s wife was the villain, although she never touched me and three people from her household did.  Weird, right?  But it’s true.  Those three made my life a living hell but at the same time, I’m not certain if I would be alive if not for them.  Kenny stole food to feed me, when she did not.  Uncle Kenneth protected me in odd ways from her beatings.  Bonnie protected me in small ways as well.  I’m pretty sure I’ve never mourned for my uncle but Kenny was my savior, my knight in shining armor, my rapist, my torturer.   I miss him a lot.  I’m not entirely certain why I was able to forgive him so easily; maybe because he seemed genuinely sorry once we reached adulthood.

Needing to take a brief respite from long ago memories, my brain is tired after this day.  Thank you for listening to this story that has lain awake in somber pools of silence for so long.


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