Thoughts on the Discovery of Lies on the Gravestones of a Couple of Cruel, Drunk, Drugged, Weak, Lying, Violent Failures

Sometimes even bastards get gravestones, but at least this one isn’t covered in lies.

CAUTION: discussion of violent and sexual abuse of children

I don’t want to get all woo on y’all, but I’ve learned to pay attention to dreams.

So, as a result of a dream about doing so, I got up this morning and researched one of my abusers whom I haven’t looked up online before. I was beaten, verbally abused, sexually abused and repeatedly threatened with death by both parents and an older brother from as early as I can remember up until I was 14, when I “went public.”

People always ask “Why didn’t you tell anybody?” I did. It was 1974 and nothing happened. I begged to be fostered out, but, because I would have aged out at 16, I was left in the house where all these crimes occurred. Fortunately, my abusers were all glorious cowards, and my telling the County was enough for them to back off a bit, although there was still sporadic violence after that. My last beating was from my father when I was 21. I tried doing “interventions” for a few years, mostly because of leftover ex-Catholic guilt, and finally told the whole crew of fucked-up drunks, drug abusers, batterers, perverts to go to hell in 1990. Nothing’s changed, apparently. One of them was arrested for domestic violence again in 2007. The beating goes on. My only regret is that I didn’t get them out of my life sooner.

They’ve tried contacting me periodically over the years. In one case, it was immediately after the “brother” who beat and sexually abused me for years was going through a foreclosure. (He’d rather buy ridiculous motorcycles than pay his mortgage, apparently. Yeah, they’re on Facebook, all smiles. Nothing about the fact that the guy liked to wave his erect penis at his sister, immediately after beating the shit out of her. And, yeah, I’ll never know to what degree my neurological disabilities are related to being beaten, and sometimes knocked unconscious, by this guy.) Apparently, they were actually dumb enough to think I’d give them money. Seriously.

So, I wound up finding a photo of my “parents'” tombstone. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s full of sickening, effed-up lies about how “loving” they were. This is apparently what I was called to find. I knew they were dead, of course. Good riddance. Zero mourning. Zero trauma. Just looking forward to the day when my third abuser keels over. But, while puttering around on search engines, I found this sickening grave marker, full of lies.

I also found an obscenely presumptuous obituary that has what used to be my name in it as a “survivor.” It’s the old non-name that hasn’t applied to anyone on the planet for 29 years. When I left them behind for good, I also did a legal name change. It was pre-Internet, and I hoped that it would help get them out of my life. It worked, for about a year. I’m still glad I did the name change, even if they continued to ignore my right to be left alone. All I can tell you is that I let them finally murder that other person the way they threatened to do over and over and over. Fine. You killed her. Now leave me the fuck alone. Funny, though, that they would list the name they killed in a list of survivors. How the fuck can anyone be that messed up, that cruel, that much of a domineering asshole to put the name of someone whom the deceased threatened to kill, beat, abused for over a decade in a list of “surviving family members?” I’d been free of their toxicity for over 16 years at that point. You’d think they’d get the point. But, then, we’re talking about violent, pervert drunks and their “loving,” fucked-up offspring, so why am I surprised?

I’ve sent out a couple of emails to lawyers and advocates asking if there’s any way I can require the grave marker be changed to remove the bullshit. I have police and child protection documentation going back decades. There probably isn’t, but it’s worth asking. Meanwhile, I get to at least post here with a reminder that, when you’re looking at a tombstone full of praise, you may be looking at the grave of a rapist, a batterer or a cruel, perverted abuser. The advice holds; don’t believe everything you read.

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