My father’s role in this deathly drama

My father, I am told by my God-voice, lied all along about the sexual abuse when I was 17, spreading it around instead that I had attempted to seduce him.  I still remember the look of angry offense on his face when I blurted it out in public at the Johns Hopkins Affective Disorder Unit, “you tried to touch my breast when I was 17.”  I was trying to save my life and my relationship with my son.  My mother also blatantly lied around this time; it was a sensitive matter, me to have an infant.  She said I “burned” him, to the Social Worker at Johns Hopkins.  The Social Worker understood from me that it was an accident, he had put his finger on a burner on low behind me, when I was holding him, and didn’t remove it, and got a nasty blister from it before me OR my mother noticed.

 

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