You know, i started thinking about this hating thing, and i think it must be a government conspiricy. i thought about it and it didn't take me that long to figure out that in order to get mad at him i must also get mad at my mother. and you know it has been drilled into me that i can't get mad at her. it is my over all lifetime task to protect her and to get mad at her in that serious of a manner would violate my total codependant thing. i know that i have to break this codependent thing with her and in order to do that i have to get mad and to facilitate that i have to get mad at my childhood which, by definition, means getting mad at forrest. and i really dont know if i can do that. but i know that in order for me to take a step toward getting better personally, regardless of my mother's involvement it means that i have to conquer the monster and soothe and calm the child within me. someone has to take care of her, and no one ever did that when she was young, so i guess i have to utilize retrospect to its fullest and i have to hold her hand in those dark nights. i have to become my rabbit. i have to wipe the tears. i have to pacify the desires, and i have to chase away the monster. most children i guess had a few different monsters. i only had one. his name was forrest kent dowty jr. you know, i dont even like to say his name. when ever i think of the word forest i think of his name. i was petrified as a child. literally petrified... i was glued to my place afraid to speak afraid to want afraid to ask. at times i was afraid to breathe. those were the nights he would come into my room and totally assault me. maybe not physically, but the mental torment is enough to drive one insane. i guess kathleen was right when she said that mental trauma is worse cause you cant say... ok here is a scar or... ok i was bruised here. i cant say any of that. i am reduced to memories that stick out like bad dreams. im not even sure anymore if they were real, and i dont know if i can anylyze them to give them a meaning or a place in the scheme of things. i feel like i've woken up from them... but i still just can't shake them. every once in a while they come into my head. and i loathe them.... but i have to loathe him. for the times he made me lie there with him in my bed... this monster in my personal space.... when i usually had so much... he was just too close too on top of me... the one night i cried it was raining outside and the tree was tapping on my window, and the bastard came up to my room and told me that i was such a baby, made me kneel at the top of the stairs. hunched over... it hurt dammit. and he knew it. may be that's why i dont want to get mad at him... he would tell me that the ways that he was punishing me were also the ways that his father punished him. but may be that's why i have to get mad at him now so that it doesn't manifest itself in me with my child the way it manifested in him with me. i was so innocent. i was an easy target. especially when he was loaded... inhibitions are eased when you are inebriated, and his just flew out the proverbial window. i was the possession of what he could not posses- my mother. so i suppose he decided that if he could not control her totally that he was going to control me. and boy, howdy his control has lasted many years after it physically stopped. i dont suppose he even remembers it. or if he does remember it i doubt it is something he would ever admit to remembering. so why do i have to be the one to admit to it? why me? what did i do... so young and innocent to deserve those inflictions? nothing. i did nothing.