The Final Shift

Throughout the years of my abuse, there were times when the intensity level would have a definite shift - a new line was crossed. In a previous post, I talked a bit about about the last shift. His new level of obsession, more intense anger, my realization that he was not my biological father. There was another part to this last shift that I left out, mostly because that post was already so long. While his sexual interest in me was nothing new, he terrified me when he told me that he loved me. He made it clear that he meant he loved me as a woman, and not his daughter. This was especially upsetting to me. I tried to argue that that was unfair to Mom. A feeble argument at that point, but a valid argument nonetheless. He would cry to me that he wasn't getting any attention from Mom; that she hadn't touched him in years. Somehow he seemed to have justified that he could demand these attentions from instead.

One of my last weekends home, he picked me up on Friday. He brought me flowers and chocolates, as if thought courting me. He kept putting his hands high up on my thigh as we drove home. He told me to hide the chocolates in my bag, but to pretend that the flowers were for Mom, even though they were really for me. I was terrified of what this would lead to. He was taking things to a new level and I was unsure of what that was going to entail.

But I did know I wasn't going to stick around long enough to find out. Every time I went back to school, I would bring back some more of my things from home. I was slowly moving out. I feel bad for my roommate because I had more "stuff" than your typical college freshman. The following summer, I moved it all to my husband's aunt and uncle's house where I stayed for the summer. I don't know what I would have done without them! I knew I wasn't strong enough emotionally to live in my family's house again, even if my step-father wasn't there. After that summer, I moved it all  back to a dorm room, then to another dorm the next summer, then to another for the school year. Finally, I moved it all to married housing at Concordia. The space was tiny, but my stuff filled it up. I felt like a refugee. Most of the time I didn't think much about it, but then the holidays came. I couldn't move back home for 3 weeks for Christmas. It angered me that Concordia wanted to charge extra to stay during that time (especially considering what we were paying for tuition), but I realize most people had somewhere to go. 

As a side note, I later through those chocolates into the Huron River, one at a time, each with a different purpose. I threw them out, just as I was finally able to throw him out of my life.

Well, this has been uncomfortable to recall. I think I'm done for today. Thanks for reading. :-)

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