He is a murderer, my abuser. OK, so no, he isn’t your typical murderer where he has physically murdered someone but in my eyes he is a murderer.
Strangely, recently is the first time that this thought has ever popped into my head. I guess I have always thought of murderers as people who physically kill someone else but the more that I have thought about it today, the more I have realised that that isn’t necessarily the case.
You see, my abuser did murder someone. He murdered my inner child. The little girl I was all those years ago.
You might not see him as a murderer but it is what he is. He killed that little girl the very first day that he ever touched me.
I was so young the first time he ever laid his hands on me. That was the day he took her life. Maybe not in body but certainly in spirit. For gradually that little girl no longer smiled. He stole her innocence. Her life as she knew it was over.
Physically he took what wasn’t his to take. Day in, day out, torturing her. Tearing her apart. Using her for his own pleasure, his own needs. Never caring what he was doing to that sweet, innocent little girl. Never stopping to think how day by day he was slowly killing more of her.
No-one would listen to her when she spoke. Every adult dismissed her as a silly little girl. Nobody was willing to hear her truth about the mean man who was hurting her and taking away her life. Eventually nobody even saw her anymore.
That mean man took her life, her heart, her soul. He threw that child down a hole and left her there to disappear while he carried on his years of abuse. Slowly killing more of her as the years went on until that little girl was gone completely.
I grew in body, but that child was gone. Hidden. Never to be seen. For he had taken every ounce of her that wasn’t his to take. I grew and became numb. Numb to the physical pain and torture. Numb to the mental and emotional pain. Numb to everything. That little girl was gone forever. He had murdered her.
For years I grew, living a world of darkness. Too afraid to feel anything. Living in fear of him, for I knew what he was capable of. After all he had killed that little girl inside of me.
But then, one day, I broke free. Free from him and his evil hands. I was finally grown enough that he could no longer physically take what wasn’t his to take anymore. I could finally take control. But I could never bring that little girl back. He had stolen her. Hurt her. Done unimaginable things to her. That little girl was gone.
I am fully grown now and finally healing, but that child is forever unknown. Murdered for his sick pleasure. She will never be seen or heard the way that she deserved because her voice was taken away, but I can live for her and I can speak for her. I can tell her story. I can make people listen the way they should have listened when I was just a child.
That little girl could have been saved. She could have been alive today if just one person had listened to her voice, if they had just listened to me, but nobody listened until it was too late and now my inner child is gone forever.
My abuser is a rapist. A torturer. But he is also a murderer.
And he will forever have blood on his hands.
Thanks for reading.
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