Nietzsche’s Eyes

(The words in quotes are from Paula Cole’s “Nietzsche’s Eyes” from “This Fire”)

“How many times did I have to hear you say to me

Self  obsessed artist Center  of your universe

Well I believed your every word

And I believed you were my god”

This is often how young girls feel about their father, especially if they are the only daughter and if the father is  handsome, smart, funny and incredibly charming to the point of being charismatic. Charisma is an important aspect of this story. Remember this word. This is how I felt about my father until I was six years old and alone in the house with him when my mother was in the hospital giving birth to my sister. He came into the living room when I was watching television, stark naked, and asked if I had ever seen a grown man naked before. I had been warned about men who might try to show me their “privates” and who might try to touch mine.  And there was this sinking feeling of my heart going into my stomach, and realizing, “Oh, my God, it’s you. You’re going to be the one who destroys my innocence.” It was pure seduction, so to speak.  There was nothing I was “forced” to do. He used my natural intelligence and curiosity and led me by the hand-literally. The farthest we ever got, for the most part, was your basic hand job.  But later, as I began to mature, it began to become more intense. Then, one day, when I was 12, he licked my breast. It was then that I realized that this wasn’t a game. This was when I stopped it. After I stopped the sexual abuse, the mental, verbal, and emotional abuse started.  So much so that friends and family were wondering why I was such a target for his rage.  When I was sixteen, he was preparing to leave for a year long tour to Iran ( he was in the Navy) and just before he left the violence escalated into the physical when he shook me and threw me up against the wall.  After he left, which was in September, my mom got a letter from him the day after Christmas sayng he didn’t want to be married to her anymore. Later, after she found out what happened, she said that he left because he was afraid that I was going to tell what had been going on.  I got the distinct impression that she was blaming me for the break up of her marriage. Thanks, Mom. A few years later, as the divorce was dragging on, the tragedy in Guyana made the news. As they were describing Jim Jones, I got the insight that my father had the personality of a cult leader.  Intelligent, charming to the point of charismatic, he was able to persuade just about anybody to do anything and believe anything.  After reading the account of one of the members of the cult who escaped before that massacre, I knew I was right. With a little more ambition, that could have been my father. I have been in and out of therapy since I was 19 years old. I probably will be in therapy until I die.  This sort of thing will never go away. There’s no leaving this behind.  What happened to me colors every thought, emotion and decision I make. I am currently receiving disability, being diagnosed with major depression, anxiety disorder and agoraphobia. The hearing  for my disability was incredibly difficult for me, because about 25 years ago, I was given the gift of a work ethic by a supervisor. It was  a very hard thing for me to go up in front that judge and say I couldn’t work anymore. I cried so hard I could barely speak. In December 2010, I finally moved into my own apartment.  Shortly after, I got news that not only did the family dog pass away but that my father passed away on the day after Christmas My father didn’t force me to do anything. There was no penetration. So this is my question.  Was this a “legitimate” rape?  I know what happened.  I don’t need anyone to tell me what I went through, because I remember all of it. Forever. “You were not my Superman.”