Permission

On 16th January this year I finally realised this:

I don’t need the permission of my abusers; they never sought mine.

It’s taken me almost another quarter of a year to stand in courage and actually say that to the world. Fear and a lack of permission has kept me bound. I do not have the permission of my abusers to speak. In fact, more than that, I have their utter disapproval, condemnation, and forbidding to ever speak one word.

I can hear their voices and their words now:

“I forbid you.” (My mother)

“They’ll never believe you.” (My brother)

“Careless talk costs lives.” (My father)

In a twist that is probably only truly recognised by and understandable to fellow survivors, I constantly seek the approval of those who abused me, because that is what they have conditioned me to do.