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What Really Happened--Part 7a
Friday, Oct. 03, 2003, 10:42 p.m.
Well, I tried to do this before, and ended up not being able to finish it. I've finally (after starting it all over again) got the letter finished. I've been working on it for the last three weeks... I'm mailing it Monday. I'm scared. I'd like to be excited, to think that this might actually resolve everything... but I don't think it will. I think it will be picked apart and used as yet another excuse not to resolve anything. If you're the praying sort, please remember me in your prayers? I'd appreciate it... if/when I hear anything, I'll post it.
Larry,
I’ve been writing this letter for the last two years. A million times in my head and a thousand times on pieces of paper that were crumpled up and thrown away because the words weren’t right.
There is so much that’s never been talked about; it’s hard to figure out what to say now that I need to. Every letter I’ve tried to write you so far has been stilted and awkward. I’m hoping this will be different.
I know you don’t believe in Christianity, and, based on my behavior, I wouldn’t be surprised if you outright hated my beliefs… but God is the only reason I’m able to write this letter, the only reason I could break free of the web of half-truths and deception. I’m not going to pretend otherwise in writing this, or I would be even less honest.
There are an awful lot of things to talk about. I know the first thing I want to say is this: I am incredibly sorry for the lies, for the damage I caused through exaggeration, and for the hurt it caused everyone involved. I’m more sorry for that than I could possibly express. I know that apologies don’t count for much with you. You always said it was actions, not words, that counted. There isn’t a whole lot I can actually do in this situation, though, beyond what I’m doing now. I’d like to ask for your forgiveness, but, to be brutally honest, I doubt that’s something I’ll ever receive. If we’re ever going to work out any sort of understanding, it’s going to take a lot of time and effort on both our parts. I have no illusions about that. I realize what I did and said probably hurt you badly. For that, I can’t apologize enough. I can’t pretend that nothing ever happened, though, or that there wasn’t some small kernel of truth in the horrid things I said.
I fully acknowledge that, in lying and exaggerating about what happened, I was wrong. I need for you to acknowledge, though, that so was your behavior while I was a teenager. To be totally honest, until just recently, I never forgave you for the morning you climbed into my bed naked and told me you wanted to make love to me. I was hurt and angry, and ashamed that you could think of me like that. But we never talked about it. It was never discussed, never fixed, and I went away from that feeling dirty and ashamed. That didn’t change for the next months, actually, years. In fact, I felt worse and worse because you kept touching me inappropriately. I’m not trying to be rude, but these are some of the things that were always such a shameful secret: I hated it when you bit the side of my neck and told me I’d like it someday. I hated it when you’d grab my inner thigh by my hip and squeeze. This is not fatherly behavior. If I looked at a situation like this dispassionately, objectively, occurring with someone else, I would say it’s wrong. I thought when I tried to talk to Mom about it, since I didn’t know how to talk to you, that you would stop behaving like that. But you didn’t. Having me wash your feet while you were in the shower is not appropriate. Pulling me down to lay next to you on the couch while you’re naked is not appropriate. I felt trapped and scared. This is not normal; this is not ok. It should never have happened.
All these things, things we never talked about, just festered more and more over the years, until it finally exploded 3 ½ years ago. I exaggerated what happened and outright lied about some of it. I have no good excuse or reason for it. All I can say is that I hurt so much, I was so angry at you, and some awful part of me wanted revenge so much that I just kept saying more and worse things until what I was saying sounded as horrible as I felt. That doesn’t excuse it, or make it right, but I do feel that I owe you as much of an explanation as I can provide…
I also feel that you owe me an explanation. Why did you continue to do those things? What prompted you in the first place?
Honestly, I’ve been carrying this around for such a long time. Part of me wants to talk to you, at least on the phone or face to face instead of this cumbersome pen and paper… and yet, I know I wouldn’t be able to find the words. I’ve barely been able to find them this way and I’ve been writing this for three weeks. This is the third revision.
I’ll be honest: I’m trying to be open in this letter, but I keep flinching back and having a hard time doing that. I keep expecting to get hurt. I guess you’re probably feeling the same. I just wanted to let you know that I’m really trying.
I really don’t know how to finish this letter. I guess, in the end, it’s as awkward and stilted as the rest. I’m going to send this anyway. I don’t think I’ll ever get the exactly perfect words.I really wish all of you could have come to the wedding. Not having you there is why I’m finally sending this, even though it’s not quite how I’d like it to be. I guess… I just want for us, all five of us, to be honest and open, and try to actually resolve something instead of pushing it under the rug or burying our heads in the sand.
Theresa Logan