It's not depressing kevlarsjal, it's the truth, and I didn't report it either. Too scared, too in shock. I didn't even know I was in shock, too young. After I got myself home my parents were waiting up for me and my father punched me in the face because I was covered in dirt and leaves, missing my handbag and only one shoe. My mother stood by and did not intervene, nor come into my room to comfort me in any way. Neither asked me what had happened. I remember falling to the floor, seeing stars but with enough wherewithal to promise the gods I would never tell anyone, ever. Years later I got really drunk and blubbered the truth to my mother who refused to believe me. If it had not been for my brother, (with schizophrenia) who was not as unwell as he is now, standing up for me I would have had no one on my side. This is part reason why I have tried so hard to help my brother, have him housed and looked after medically these last few years. He helped me in his own crazy way. When my Mum refused to believe me I ran to my father's urn and cried over his ashes. My Mum promptly organised to have Dad's ashes scattered and failed to tell me so I never got a chance to say goodbye to Dad. And now I am helping her in her dotage and it makes me SO angry. Why would I help the old crone, she never helped me? I am bursting with unexpressed anger.
And now I can't say anymore because it still makes me crazy, anxious, powerless.
All I can say at this point, and I've probably said too much, is that we WILL get our power back kevlarsjal. Not drinking and proper work with my therapist is the only way this will happen for me. Not a day at a time, but forever. A way of being. And now I'm scared to press send. Geronimo.