He didn’t love me. To him, I was an object. I was there, and he used my body (and my soul) for his powerful lusts.
For me to say I was only a thing was tough for me. I thought I was special (often he said I was). They were lies.
When I told a friend how hard it was to use that word, he suggested I think of myself as a commodity. He used the word to mean an article of trade.
He said, “You were like something he bought by carefully grooming you. It wasn’t because you were special; it was because you were vulnerable and available.”
I hated to hear those words, but they were correct. They helped set me free.
I was a useful object to him;
I am a lovable human being to God.
2 comments:
I remember the first time I began to accept that same concept. I was just the Kleenex he used because I was available. It hurt and I mean really hurt to realize my father was just using me. I really meant nothing to him and there was nothing 'special' between us. I really hated to admit after he died that it was that realization hurt more than anything else.
Same with me, agree, used....BUT not defeated or destroyed by him,,,what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Makes you the strong person you are today. The perpetrators lost... they lost their souls to their lusts and desires.
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