Member-only story
My Father, My Phantom
Surviving childhood abuse and trauma
Trigger Warning: I want to preface that everything discussed in this story is true. There is mention of child SA and physical abuse. I want to make sure anyone reading this with PTSD or sensitive to these things is aware before they dive in.
I spent 25 years making excuses. There wasn’t anything wrong with me. It was all their fault. My life is shit because of them. But they are my family. They are all I have. Every excuse you could imagine I made. Hot and cold. Back and forth. I spent 25 bowing my head and submitting to degradation and blackmail. I spent 25 years fearing for my life and my relationship with my siblings. The trauma and horrors of the broken home I grew up in followed me into adulthood. The worst part of it all was the anger and nightmares.
My father’s anger, taunts, and touches lingered in my brain and caressed my skin with phantom touches.
At 28, I still wake up with a racing heart while choking on my emotions and looking at a figure hovering over me that isn’t there. A phantom, a figment of my imagination. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain, he still lingers inches from me. Taunting. Terrifying. Triggering smells, events, and emotions reduce me to the fearful little girl who…
