I finally told

I finally told.
I was molested as child by my father.

I told my step mom. Probably should have told her face to face but I did it over the phone.
Big mistake.
It gave him a chance to spin it as I'm crazy, delusional, and ultimately a liar. Whatever he could to make the blame stick to me.
I really thought she would give me the benefit of the doubt but she never called back. It's obvious where her beliefs lie.

I know it was him. I remember the room, the night, the cheap plastic stars on the ceiling, and the absolute terror I've felt. I say it is present tense because it still affects me. I don't need a therapist to decode why I have trust issues, or falling asleep issues, or even sex issues. They all come back to that night.
It explains so much.
Like why I never feel safe enough or trust I'm protected enough to fall asleep at night.
Like why I never feel completely okay when a man takes off my pants, even when I want him to.
Like why my father has never hugged me properly, it's always just a side pat when he will happily throw his arms around my sisters.

I thought telling someone would set me free. But they did what they always do. They told me it was my fault, that I'm crazy, that I'm a liar.

Even my wounds are my fault?

Maybe I've ruined my relationship with my father for good. But honestly was it ever really there? I think I really wanted it to. To have a mentor and hero, even if it meant stashing away the past. For anyone out there who is blamed or shamed or maimed by someone, you are not wrong. You are not the bad guy. You are not a liar. You are loved and worthy and worth being heard. And I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry that it had to happen to you. I love you. I love you. I love you.