The morning is working out to be sort of awful. It didn’t start out that way. I woke up groggily, but on time, and went and cleaned the bathroom because yesterday I was too tired to do it and on Sunday my houseowner finally redid the drain so that it won’t leak into his storeroom. The bathroom was a mess. Anyway, this might also mean that mushrooms will stop growing on the ceiling, but we shall see. And it is clean now.
There seem to be so many layers of grief to deal with. I was thinking about my dad. That seems to be what I am thinking about.
I have decided to ask to stay here. It was simple, in the end. C’s family is going to another state, but she will go to boarding school here. She said, “If you stay here, you can help me.” I don’t know what I am doing for any of the other students, but I know I can help her. I know it helps just that I am here every day, believing in her in a way she can’t dismiss or ignore.
I think it underlines the lack in my life, that there is actually very little for me to go back to the States for. I have friends, of course. Some of them very good ones. But I realize I have a “family” feeling for C that I don’t have for anyone else and that I haven’t had since I was 13 years old. And that I stopped even hoping to have quite a long time ago, although for some years I did have that hope.
Part of what I keep having nightmares about is the fear that my dad was taking Ksymcia’s body to rape it. I don’t know that he would do that to a corpse. I don’t know that it was his thing. It might have been. But I think my dad was raping Ksymcia when she was alive. Or she had to service him, which is the same thing, but probably forms a different picture in one’s mind. It’s a different kind of rape, one that extends all the way to the soul.
It creates a degree of reality in my mind. Yes, my dad was really that evil. He raped little girls. Not just me, but other little girls. He was that evil. He is that evil.