Justice of the Heart
a short essay about facing hidden injustices
CONTENT WARNING: SEXUAL ASSAULT ON A MINOR—MYSELF
My mother touched me when I was young—at the very least.
My father knew it—at the very least.
I was always a woman. Yet, when I expressed those words to them through my youngest years, they taught me of me being wrong—of how I was a boy. They thought he did it to me.
There were dreams I had as a child about this. Two of my most troubling memories were waking in the early morning hours on a couch when the only other person awake was my father. He’d been getting ready in the morning both times.
Many other little details of shattered remembrance will not be shared.
Nobody knows the truth but one man; a devil, and one who built a family of lies around a woman who loved him foolishly. Every action of rebellion towards them in my life was driven from a deepest knowing of my heart, and it’s the only place I can find the ultimate truths of the trauma I uncovered finally piecing themselves together.
I know. Enough, at least, to levy the accusation most fully explaining everything I believe without a shred of doubt. The reaction tells the tale.
My parents are the worst people I know. They deserve to face the truth—to have the evil scared from them—if their hearts give who cares.
Despite these horrors I’ve been unpacking in my writing for some time before the revelation came, their traumas have mostly left me already.
Grief is reigning now. They would not accept my identity as a woman—which I always knew I was—when I came out to them at thirty-four years old. They were so guilty about ‘not knowing’ that it surprised me. That was their main reaction to my shared revelation of the heart about my gender, personal guilt. I always thought that was an odd one to have until I realized what happened recently.
My mom’s entire identity is that of ‘mother’. Especially, with her babies. She is obsessed with that way of seeing herself. Always and forever, she’s been the most blindly ignorant and emotionally manipulative person I’ve known. That woman looks right past the truth always.
It’s a function of her greatest lie; she knows who she’s married to.
They won’t ever stop lying, and proof will never be found. I’d drop that fucking guillotine in a second. This entire world is ruled by perpetrators like this man—who hide, and women who stand beside them in conscious blindness. They believe the lack of proof they have provided the world to their crimes can save them.
Not if I have anything to do with it.
