Why?

I was too young to understand.
I was too young to be able to accept it.

I love my family. I love my family. I love my family. I love my family. I love my family. I love my family. I love my family. Right?
His hand almost always felt cold. Whether it was around my neck as I hovered from the ground those short seconds, or when I felt them slide underneath my trousers. I loved him. He loved me. One big happy family.

I love my sisters, seeing them search themselves in the tween years. Seeing them throw my violet skin across the room; their screams and hits all so painful. My everyday after-school life. So fun, so much time with my family.

I feel the tears a little warm roll down my face while I write this.
I was loved, I had a home. My life was perfect and I should be grateful.

But I just have to ask, how come when I told the person at the church my daily life and then asked him to keep it to himself, I soon was sat in front of a police officer asked many questions.
He could not live with us for some time, I missed him, I loved him, he was my dad.
I still feel guilty for my dad missing out on the vacation in those months he slept at his brother's nice house. I wonder if he cried or did not care.


Authors note: basically I was being abused from the ages of around 6-8 by my family. They all loved me very much and I now have great bonds with all of them. My dad had touched me inappropriately as that was what his mother did to him and he thought it was normal. Though for the violence I can’t explain as much, all I know is that I recently found out he’s on anxiety medication.
Though for my sisters they conducted extreme physical+verbal abuse that went on for many years but was never able to be dealt with as they were also children; though they’re better now and we enjoy time together and joke around a lot:)
I don’t understand if they’re such good people why that happened though.