no painted desert, no Sedona

So, Arizona.  As I said, I liked it.  I went to school with my brothers and because I was a senior and had my license I actually got to drive us there.  I felt good about myself.  I was with family, getting along for the most part.  I was making friends.  Dad did still have his explosive moments-like on my seventeenth birthday when he threw a plate of food at Mom's head.  Mom never let on though-I was working all day and only found out about it later when my sister told me.  He was still a tyrant, but as long as he had his coffee with Hershey's cocoa and Southern Comfort...or food...and the internet, he was fine.  You really only had to worry about Dad when the internet connection went down.  That's pretty much the only time he came out of his room.

Shortly after my seventeenth birthday everything fell down around me.  Minnie called with the news that DCS was snooping around.  She had filed for full custody before she kicked me out, and the time had come around for the papers to be reviewed.  All of a sudden everybody was freaking out.  The restraining order against my dad was still in place, and I wasn't supposed to be around him.  Next thing you know Mom's on me case, telling me that she, Dad, and Minnie were all going to go to jail and me, my siblings, and our uncle that lived with us were going to be wards of the state-and it was all my fault and I was the only one that could stop it.

That was a hell of a lot of pressure to be under.  I was in the middle of my senior year of high school, was getting ready to graduate and try to find the right college.  I had so many dreams of things I wanted to do.  I wanted to be an elementary school teacher.  I wanted to work with kids and try to help them, do something positive with my life.

Mom was relentless.  She had me call Nathan and ask him if he still wanted to marry me.  A week later my white knight showed up, took me to the court house and we became man and wife.  I was seventeen, not even a high school graduate yet.  I was happy though, so very very happy that I was with him.  We took a few days driving back to Tennessee, on what we deemed our honeymoon.  We went to the Oklahoma City Zoo...had interesting nights in hotel rooms on the way home...drove about 2000 miles with me, him, and his mother squeezed into the truck's bench seat.  We finally got to where I could see where we'd be living-a trailer perched crookedly on some land in Decatur.  That place was interesting, to say the least.  There were holes in the floors and the walls, which Nathan patched up with plywood.  He was very handy with woodworking, that one-to this day I have a name placard sitting on my desk with my name on it that he carved for me, and a big wooden trunk in my closet he built me.

We kept warm by the side of the kerosene heater and our own body heat.  There was always lots and lots of snuggling, time spent just by each others' side.  It was wonderful, being with him....but I felt trapped there.  i couldn't start school in Meigs County because they didn't count him as my legal guardian...so I moved to Knoxville to stay with Delaney.  I'll get to this later....signing off for tonight.

with your heartbeat next to mine...

I'm not sure I'm ready to write tonight.  I'm not really sure where I'm even going with this post.  I will say right off the bat that I'm depressed and having a tough night.  Granted, women aren't known for being chipper at this "time of month," but I'm unusually down even for that.  I don't want to move.  I don't want to watch TV.  I don't want to eat, or to exercise, or to do anything except sit here and click mindlessly at my Spider Solitaire game.

More than anything, I'm lonely.  My best friend lives hundreds of miles away, my sister is at sea (and isn't allowed to tell me where), I'm in a useless relationship...I do have my lovely children, but I can't talk to them about my problems.  You just don't do that with your kids, period.  I try not to speak of my problems in front of my oldest son at all because he is very sensitive and gets upset fairly easily.  I don't want to sound whiny or anything like that but I just...this would be a good night to be somewhere else.  To be at dinner with a friend, engaged in deep conversation.  Something more than shopping, something more than just going to the movies...an actual friendship, something true, something REAL.  I do have a few people in my life that I consider friends-some are very good friends, actually-but due to our conflicting lifestyles/schedules it's hard for us to arrange any time together.  Plus my schedule at work is nuts right now.  If I should get the job I just applied for...I can only imagine how I'll feel when traveling and away from my children.  But you know, I'm ready for the challenge.  Who knows-maybe they'll have a gym in the hotel and I can work out bunches and come back all hot and skinny.  Or maybe I'll meet a wonderful person there that I could hang out with and get to know.

But that's enough of that.  I'm not going to let myself dwell on it.  I just have to trust that by continuing to do the right thing I'll grow, both professionally and personally.  Hell, I'm already improving some-I'm down by 10 pounds since expanding my duties at work/writing.  I'm not as tense all the time.  My breakouts are clearing up.  Between my progress at work and my progress here, I'm feeling better more often.  I used to be depressed ALL THE TIME.  I was on Citalopram, which was okay, but I didn't like it.  I don't want to be reliant on a pill to make me happy-to me, it was "fake" happiness.  I was more complacent than anything-not truly enjoying life, not feeling good about myself or anything like that....more like not feeling.  Just floating through.  It's very similar to being extremely drunk or high-to the point where you can't remember half of it.  I don't want to not remember half of my boys' childhood.  I don't want to forget half of my life. I want to figure out what actually makes me happy, what I'm good at, what I enjoy doing....and with God as my witness, I'll do it.  It will take time, I realize that...but I've never been known for my patience.

So I haven't gone over much lately...but it's not like there's much more to cover.  Before long it will be me just decompressing and getting over any issues I currently have or any flashbacks I might be dealing with.  I can't really do that without having gotten my past out there...it's part of me.  It's who I am.

So.  High school.  I went over a few of the relationships I had.  I had many many acquaintances, but in retrospect, I didn't have that many friends.  People I knew from middle school had better things to do.  This actually includes my best friend Delaney-there was a period of time that we just did not speak to each other.  I'm still not really sure why...it just happened.  And then one day we were talking again.  She has always been the closest person to me and when she wasn't there, it was terrible.  Really and truly terrible.  Since I had a perpetual boyfriend of course I was spending time with the current flavor, but...it just wasn't the same.  The loneliness really kicked in at that point in my life.

Then Nathan came along.  I was completely and totally in love with him.  He was gorgeous, sweet, caring, and devoted.  He was everything I had ever wanted.  We spent every possible second together.  He would come pick me up for school in the mornings and bring me back home at night.  He took me to and from work when I got my first job.

The day I looked up in the hallway and saw him, I got butterflies.  Big, insistent ones that kept trying to push their way up into my throat.  Then he saw me stranded at the foot of the stairs-I was on crutches, trying to make it up to class.  He carried my books and backpack, helped me navigate the stairs, then got my phone number before I went inside. He called me the same night, we went out the same night.  We went to the mall, aimlessly walking around for hours.  We kept asking each other, "What do you want to do?" 'I don't know, what do you want to do?"  over and over.  He looked at me and said "So...." and by this point, I had had it with the questions.  I told him not to ask me that question again.  "Well, I was going to ask you out, but okay."  That was single best instance of someone asking me to be their girl.  From that moment on, we were inseparable.  There was prom again.  There were our separate jobs.  We often sat and played video games together, or watched movies, or read.  We were into a lot of the same stuff.  I felt he was "the one."....which led to me sleeping with him shortly after I turned 16.

I remember it very well.  It was the first time I had willingly let someone have me...and even now, I'm glad it was him.  It was special.  He was gentle with me-he knew my background.  I do admit I didn't see all the appeal at first-I think everybody has to grow into that-but I liked it.  Not too long after, he began spending the night with me, in my bed-I was only 16, yet Minnie allowed this to happen.  Of course I enjoyed it, but as a mom I don't get it.  My own mother didn't get it either when she found out...and the she proceeded to call everyone in my family and tell them her baby was sleeping with her boyfriend.  Just...ugh.  I'm not even going there tonight.

Lovemaking was always special with him, every single time.  It wasn't until later, at night in bed alone, that it hurt.  I didn't tell him this, but....sometimes in my dreams my present got mixed up with my past.  It was confusing for me...and so very painful.  The nightmares of my father would transition into dreams of Nathan....or a dream of Nathan would shift to Dad.  If I was having a particularly bad dream about Dad, remembering his breath in my ear, suddenly it was Nathan behind me, and he was holding me...rescuing me.  Those were the times I woke up feeling okay. But if it was the other way around...it was like Nathan couldn't protect me from Dad-nobody could.  He could get to me no matter where I was.  Depending on the dream I was either terrified or comforted.  My fear of my father just followed me...it was a recurring dream that I experienced for quite some time-but there was never any other guy in it but Nathan.  He was, in so many ways, my knight in shining armor.

Being a teenage girl though I couldn't be happy with that.  I wasn't happy with myself and I tended to project that into my relationship.  We did break up temporarily...and it started a major change in my life.

Before I get to that, let me first say this-sometime after having met Nathan, my family moved back to Arizona.  I don't remember why, I don't remember the details...and I didn't really write about it.  This time it was nothing new, this abandonment was no big deal-I was kind of used to it by this point.  I wanted to add this in so the rest of it made some sense.

I've already discussed my inability to be single, so of course I was looking for that next relationship immediately after my breakup with Nathan.  I found it in a friend I'd known for a couple of years-in this case, a black friend.  Minnie and I already argued about everything, but this she was extremely unhappy about.  She always claimed not to be racist, but she always used racial slurs and made derogatory comments-including washing my sheets and spraying air freshener on all the furniture after a friend of mine that happened to be black spent the night.  When I announced my plans to date this particular guy, the shit hit the fan.  We had a full-on screaming match, resulting in her telling me she was going to place me in foster care.  She wound up making me call my mom and ask her to come get me, saying that if she didn't then the state would have to come get me.  Mom said she'd be there, but I was allowed to finish out my junior year of high school.

I didn't really tell my friends why I was leaving, just that I was going.  I said my goodbyes and got my transcripts, quit my job.  I reconnected with Nathan-I went to Rogersville with him for a bit, and next thing you know we're together on the couch, clinging to each other like there was no tomorrow.  I already didn't want to leave, but now it was worse.  All that drama, having to leave for dating a black guy for a couple of days, not even but about a week.  Now I was back with my Nathan and she still wouldn't let me stay.

I had a bank account and had saved up $400 towards buying my first car.  I hadn't even been working a full 6 months but had been trying really hard, was determined to make something out of myself.  What happened to that $400? I bought myself a stereo before my parents took the rest to cover the gas to come get me and bring me out to Arizona.  Byebye savings.  Byebye Tennessee.

Ah, Arizona......despite my father being in the house, despite working and going to school full time and never being home, Arizona is where I first started learning to be myself.  I got my bellybutton pierced with Mom's permission.  I got to shop at Hot Topic because Mom didn't care how I dressed.  I spent hours and hours writing in my journals, doing Pilates, talking to Nathan on the phone.  I experimented with hair cuts and colors-sometimes I had blue in it, sometimes purple.  I quit band.  I made friends.  I lost weight without trying-I was down to 143 pounds, which was the smallest I had ever been.  I looked good, I felt good.  Dad stayed in his cave on his computer-he seriously only came out every 3 days or so-but if I was never home it didn't matter.  I shared a TINY room with my sister, my brothers had a room by us, then there was the massive kitchen and living room, and then my parents' room.  Mom usually slept on the couch, so there were lots of barriers.  And really, I had nowhere else to go, so I was willing to take the risk.

I'll go on from here later.  I want to end this one on a happy note...because I was happy there.  Happy and hopeful.  I still believed I would have the future I always wanted after high school.  I was so close to graduating with my new friends and heading off to college back home where I could be with my Nathan.  We talked about what we'd do when I came home, what our futures would be, if we'd ever get married.  I talked to him just about every day on the phone.  We wrote each other letters.  He sent me film and I send him pictures-I still have some of them.  They were pretty good-my sister took them.  It kinda makes me ache a little to talk about him, so I'm gonna stop for the night.

<3

On "Precious"

Okay, so this isn't in my intended order, but I felt very strongly about this and wanted to be able to express myself.  I watched "Precious" tonight.  I was scared, I was anxious, I was hopeful, I cried and cried and cried-but mostly I was LIVID.  It's about a girl being continuously abused and trying to get free.  (SPOILER ALERT) There's a scene at the end of the movie that left me shaking.  A social worker is confronting the mother about what she allowed to happen in her home.  She's talking about how everything was fine when Precious was born, they were all very happy and all of that, but then....Precious was 3.  Her mother would lay her on a pillow beside her in bed while she had sex with the little girl's father.  During intercourse he reached over and touched her.  This of course escalated over many years and Precious bore two children by her father.  When the mother was asked why she allowed this to happen, she started to cry, saying that she didn't want it to happen, and then that she hated Precious for it.  "He was MY man"..."That bitch took him"...."Who's gonna love ME?"..."I had a man, and I had a baby, and I had to take care of both of them."

I was infuriated.  I ached for the girl.  I absolutely CANNOT understand, as a mother, how someone could allow that to happen to their THREE-YEAR-OLD child in the first place.  And then to hate the child for it?  Throw things at her? Hit her? Verbally and physically abuse the granddaughter with Down Syndrome? Throw a newborn baby on the ground, throw a TV set down a stairwell at the baby???  There has to be some kind of mental health issue lurking there for a mother to behave that way to begin with, but as both a mother and a former victim, I was incensed.  She didn't "steal your man," he RAPED her.  I haven't felt this strongly watching a movie in ages-since "The Color Purple."

And there was HOPE.  While being attacked or raped, Precious would black out/have little day dreams.  They involved her at a glitzy, glamorous event or being loved by her mother.  It was heartbreaking to watch.  It was done in such a way that I'm not sure all viewers would have the same reaction-it might seem like a distraction to someone that was desensitized to this type of thing.  For me, it was definitely moving.  I liked that it ended on a positive note; that's pretty rare in those situations.

It made me think.  In this movie, in similar movies and books and magazine articles, in my own experience...there are so few people willing to help.  I'd like to help, in whatever way I possibly can.  Beyond Project Linus donations-most of those go to smaller children, although there are a few that go to sexual assault crisis centers.  Maybe I can find another way to volunteer.  My schedule is a little hectic right now, but who's to say they don't need volunteers on weekends?  I'm going to try to find something.  I'll let you know what's up.

Somebody To Love

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Feel free to skip this blog.  It seems very mundane and unimportant to me, but it did help me to write it nonetheless
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Tonight I'm not going over my past.  I went through the rest of the journal I had been working, on the way through 2002, but there was pretty much nothing in it.  Mainly it was about boys and girl drama and missing my family on a high level only.  The only real detail in there came from this entry:

06/14/2002

I love Lisa to death.  The other day, she asked me if we'd always be best friends.  Smiling, I just said, "Forever."  I wish there were more things I could do for her.  She's truly precious.  I hate the circumstances that keep us apart.  But they won't even let her spend the night! Any of them! Those three kids mean the world to me, and it kills me that I can't be there for them when they need me.  Lisa calls me every day, but that isn't nearly enough.  She's about to reach middle school and puberty, that really tough time in a girl's life.  I need to be there for her if she comes home in tears-be there to hold and reassure her.  I needed that at her age, and she probably will too.  Family sucks when it's divided.  She says she can't wait until we're both 18, because then we can see each other whenever we please, or even live with each other if we feel the need.  My heart goes out to her tonight.

A real entry.  Something of my emotion showing through.  And all of that is true-my sister means more to me than anybody save my children.  She's wonderful.

I can't concentrate on the details from what happened when and where and why and how tonight.  Tonight while reading through the journals I could only focus on the people I'd had in my life.  Good memories, bad memories, whatever they may be, that's what stuck out at me.  Looking at my entries I saw how my home life colored  most of the relationships I had been in.  In a way I wish it didn't-they could have been so much more had I not been such a paranoid freak that needed constant confirmation of her worth.  I'm not really looking at the "could have beens" here though...just sort of analyzing myself and how I responded to the people in my life.

Of course there was my first love.  He opened my eyes to so many new things.  He could talk me into anything.  He got me on my first roller coaster (with the assistance of Delaney), I ate my first fondue with him, rode in my first kayak...he represented for me most of what was good in my life during that time.  We dated for over a year straight, then off-and-on over the course of the next year.  At least 3/4 of that journal is filled with me rambling on and on about him.  We're "FB friends" now.  I've browsed through his pictures like I do most old friends.  I've seen his posts from all over the place.  He's traveled the world, met so many people and done so many things.  He's such a great guy and I wish him all the best.  Even through the saddest entries, the ones where my teardrops stained the pages, I had nothing but love for him.  I trusted him, and this is the only relationship I've ever been able to say that about.

When we split, however...it wasn't pretty.  Since neither of us had been single for so long several of our friends suddenly began asking us out.  That made it pretty strenuous since we were friends with so many of the same people.  Hell, Delaney later confessed that she went out on a date with him shortly after we broke up.  I was suddenly alone.  After all that time of having someone there to hold me when I cried I had gotten used to it.  So of course I immediately began searching for it again.

This was not a wise decision for me.  I was already emotionally unhinged and I was really just asking for trouble by being in so many "relationships."  I was never single for more than a week at a time.  That lasted up through my second marriage-until this year I hadn't been "single" since I was 13.  That's 10 straight years of looking for someone to make me feel alright.

And that's all I wanted-someone to hold me.  I didn't care about sex (I actually did lose my virginity at 16, but I married the guy I gave it up to...I don't know why that's significant to me, I'll deal with that later).  I didn't care about gifts or romance or butterflies in my stomach.  I just wanted someone to be there and comfort me.  

I went on a couple of dates with an older guy from another school.  We had met at a summer band camp I attended, and I thought he was super cute.  That didn't really pan out because it turned out he was really only interested in one thing-and I wasn't ready for that crap.  Yet for the few times we went out I would pace the floors, waiting for the phone to ring, obsessing over him calling.  Because what if he didn't call?  What did that make me?

I was convinced that if I didn't have someone to love me then I was worthless.  Obviously there was nobody at home that I felt I was loved by except my sister, and we weren't allowed to see each other at this point.  People mocked me.  They called me boy-crazy, called me a slut and a whore.  They said it to people that had  no qualms about repeating it in front of me.  It hurt, but not as much as not having someone-as not being wanted.

The next guy I had a "relationship" with was trouble and I knew it.  He'd cheated on everyone he'd ever dated, and he cheated on me as well.  He'd had a difficult childhood himself and we bonded over that.  He lived with a foster family that was not very nice to him.  He showered me with affection though, and that's all I needed.  Sometimes he took it further than I was comfortable with, but hey, he loved me right?  Didn't he tell me that every day?  Didn't he say I was beautiful?

It wasn't a healthy relationship at all.  I knew what he was up to, caught him lying to me several times.  I went along with it, stayed with him.  Sometimes I'd go through the trouble of breaking up with him just to get right back together.  We went to prom together, he wrote me duets to play together, we were both in youth band outside of school...we did have a lot in common.  He's just not the type to ever be faithful.  We're also still friends-he's getting remarried (this is the only one of his wives that I haven't met), and has some beautiful kids that I had the pleasure of meeting.  He finally seems to be getting himself straightened out.  And I'm so very happy for him. :)

The next guy...let's call him Zeke..we only dated for about a month.  I never got to know him that well, but I was infatuated with him.  He seemed like such a bad boy, but he was so so sweet to me.  I also obsessed over his phone calls or lack thereof..  I was suspicious when he was with his friends.  To be short, I was a paranoid, jealous nutjob.  It ended shortly after I wouldn't sleep with him.  But you know, I never told him I was a virgin (well, y'know, consensual at least).  I guess he thought I was just being a bitch.  

My current husband left me last year.  For a little while in September 2010, Zeke and I reconnected.  I hurt him.  I didn't intend to, but my crazy self was even more so at that point in time-I was in fear of losing my house, afraid the ex would take off with the kids...it was just a bad situation.  He hasn't spoken to me since, which bothers me.  We weren't always close, but I've always genuinely liked him.  It kinda hurts to think about him even now, because I wanted to make it right and he wouldn't allow me to do so.  

Anyway, back where I left off.  I broke up with Zeke via email because he had stopped answering my phone calls.  I casually dated up until September 2002.   I didn't just go on a date with this person this time, this person another time-no, I wanted fully committed relationships.  They usually lasted a week or two.  Looking back at it I realize it was a terrible pattern.  The snide remarks made about me only intensified.  I began to hate myself more and more, needed more reassurance that I was a lovable person.

It was September 2002 that I began to date my first husband.  I had actually met him freshman year but I was seeing someone else.  Then one day I was navigating down the hall and boom, there he was.  He's 6'4", so he was pretty hard to miss.  He stopped to help me to class (I was on crutches), and that was it.  He was my everything.  I'll get to our story later, because there's so much more to it and I just can't go over it tonight.  It's hard for me to talk about him even now.  Let's go ahead and assign him a fake name too-he shall be henceforth referred to as Nathan.  

I guess the reason why all this was so important is that it was because of a boyfriend that I got kicked out.  Minnie didn't approve of me dating a black guy, but I was going to do it anyway (this was during a time that Nathan and I had broken up-it didn't last more than 2 weeks).  She threatened me with foster care. She said if Mom didn't come get me then that was it.  I'll go into that more later, but that's the reason I had to move to Arizona right before my senior year started.

Because I was insecure, because I needed to be wanted/needed/loved/held, I gave up a lot of myself.  I didn't spend as much time with girlfriends as I should have, although Delaney and I were together pretty frequently.  The only parties I ever went to were for birthdays.  I was always too concerned with getting my emotional needs met.  That's a problem that still persists.

I dunno, I feel like this particular blog isn't important at all in the grand scheme of things.  Really though my insecurities ruled my life, and this need to be with someone was a major part of my world.  

Tonight, the failed relationships made sense.

Ain't That Some Shit

I've been burying myself in anything but my past for the last few days, taking a "mental health day" Thursday, working yesterday.  I then met up with some friends last night and got completely smashed, danced until 2:30.  My thighs are burning.  Maybe that's a good thing-maybe I'll finally get started towards my goal weight.  


So here we are again.  I decided to take a slightly different approach to this entry.  My journals started making more sense around this time, and I wrote on a pretty regular basis.  I had even finally started discussing my personal issues on a high-level.  So I'm going to copy excerpts from some-there are far more than these, I just found these relevant to the point of my life that I'm currently discussing.


11/02/2000
Mom's gone.  She left for Arizona yesterday morning.  She's gone, and she took my life with her: (insert siblings' names here).  I love them so much it's not funny.  They're not here, and it feels like someone's gouging my heart out with a knife.


They were supposed to go to court and Dad didn't want to.  Rather than faces charges or any other form of consequences for his actions, he packed up my family and moved 2000 miles away.  This entry says nothing of the pain I felt.  Was I worthless?  Why didn't Mom believe me?  By speaking out I had effectively banished my siblings to somewhere far across the country.  How were they going to handle the change?  And what if Dad snapped and killed them all? I'd have no way of knowing.  If he hurt them and Mom tried to escape, where could she possibly go?  I couldn't help them because they were so far away.  Why did Mom abandon me again?  I needed her.  I missed my family.  In the journal I didn't talk about the nights I cried myself to sleep, feeling completely alone.  I didn't talk about hearing the phone ring and racing for it, both scared and excited, wanting to hear Mom's voice and know everything was okay.  It was such a scary time for me.  what if something happened to Minnie?  With my parents so far away how would that be handled?  There was too much uncertainty, too many unknowns.  I was constantly tense.  


I was actually quite lucky because not quite a month before this entry I met my first love.  He helped me through this time in my life-we actually dated for more than a year.  I leaned on him pretty heavily.  He knew a little bit of my background-you kinda have to explain a little when you're so susceptible to emotional outbursts-and he didn't mind holding me when I cried.  He was wonderful.  He and I spent the majority of our time with the person that is still my best friend even now-because I later lived with her and she has been a major player in my life, I'll go ahead and give her a fake name now too-we're gonna call her Delaney.  She was at my side for a huge portion of my life, but I didn't really talk to her about my family.  She knew a little bit, but just enough for explanation's sake.  I spent my time with her and my boyfriend, ignoring the pain and trying to do my best.
  
(Sidenote: this is when the song "There Is No Arizona" came out and I cried EVERY SINGLE TIME I heard it (still do).  It was so painful to hear-I'd have sworn it was written about my mom except in Mom's case she was actually with Dad...but the concept applied in my young mind.  Should you wish to read the lyrics, click here.


11/15/2000
Back to Mom.  I wrote to them all and they just got the letters today.  Mom decided she "needed to hear my voice" so she called me.  Yeah right.


I had dedicated only 4 (incomplete) sentences to Mom out of a 2 page entry to Mom.  That was me deliberately avoiding my feelings about the situation.  I droned on and on about the boyfriend and daily activities but didn't want to put a lot of thought into what I was feeling.  I guess better late than never, right? 


"Yeah right" is the only telling part of that segment.  When Mom said she needed to hear my voice, I didn't believe it.  If she really wanted to hear it, if she cared so damn much, she wouldn't have left.  I felt insignificant.    It felt as if Mom was sending me a message-sure I love you honey, you're just not as important as your Dad.  I hated her so much then...it grew.  It festered.  There was an anger that was building up inside of me but I didn't recognize it. When I was very young I didn't really understand that it wasn't how things were supposed to be until they started talking to us at school about recognizing abuse and all of that.  I didn't really understand that Mom knew how certain actions would make me feel, yet allowed it to happen and/or participated in it regardless.  As  grew I began to understand that generally people do realize that all actions have consequences and having seen my mom carefully weigh them out I knew she understood what she was doing to me.  She just didn't care, or cared more about something else.  I know I talked a little about being let down by her, about needing her in prior posts, but this was the part of my life that I realized that she did all of this on purpose.  It may not have been what she had originally intended, but she weighed the odds and decided to subject her children to all of that pain.  I felt betrayed-Mom had let me cry on her shoulder about what happened with Dad, said she believed me initially, then sided with him and just left me.  Not moving one state over, or 500 miles away, but 2000.  I can't put it into words really-it nearly broke me.  I guess it's because I always believed Mom had a heart, that she cared but just couldn't figure out a way for us to get out of that mess.  I had just begun to discover that wasn't the case.  I expected hurt from Dad.  I felt it so much worse when the hurt came from Mom.


11/21/2000
To explain this one a little-a friend of mine had a dream about me and told me about it.  This was a snippet of my reaction.
Now for her dream.  To make it brief, she wrecked her car into my mom's.  When she woke up (in her dream) she was in her living room. There I was, lying bruised and beaten on her couch, repeating "He's come back" over and over...."he" being my dad.  Could he really hurt Mom and the fam and then come back for me?  That's the problem...I don't know.  And I've got to admit, I'm absolutely terrified, you don't even know what it's like...to be this scared, to live in constant fear.  I keep this "mask" on all the time.  I act like a normal happy teenager.  But that's just it...it's all a facade.  When that mask is removed and people see the real me, they get really scared and totally flip out.  Oh well.  I'll live, I suppose.


Looking at it I think-ugh, why was I so dramatic?  Then I think through it.  I was dramatic because that's how it felt.  The thought of Dad coming back to punish me was nothing short of terrifying.  Having someone else dream about my darkest fears was unsettling.  I don't feel I really need to expand upon that entry.  I was just plain scared.


12/14/2000
The holidays are gonna be really difficult for me to handle this year.  Mom doesn't even want to see me.  She called last week or the week before-I can't remember which.  She asked me if I was planning on going out there this summer, and when I told her that I wouldn't if Dad was gonna be there, she said that's a decision that I'd just have to make.  She's been telling the kids that I don't want to see them, but you know as well as I do that there's not a day that goes by that I'm not wishing to be with them.  I love them so much.  I wish with all of my heart that I could see my brothers and sister grow into adults; I hope and pray that they don't forget they have an older sister that loves them very much back here in Tennessee.  But oh well.  All I can do is pray.


That's a decision I'd just have to make.  Kinda like oh well kiddo, who gives a shit what you do?  When my sister asked why I didn't want to see her I responded of course I did-then she tells me "that's not what Mom says."  What had I done that made Mom want to make me a villain to my family?  Oh wait, I told the truth.  I was seeing a therapist during this time (court-mandated) and had mentioned to the therapist that Dad always said the twins weren't his.  He said it openly, no questions asked.  Somehow my remark to my therapist got back to Mom and I received a very angry phone call one night, saying that I had already ruined the lives of her and Dad, why did I have to drag the boys into it?  She spewed some crap about them not knowing and being hurt by the news.  First of all, I said what I said with a CONFIDENTIALITY agreement.  Apparently that rule didn't apply because of what else I had told the therapist-about the beatings and such-DCS was still trying to interrogate my family but that gets muddy when state lines are crossed.  Secondly, I wasn't revealing any dark family secrets.  All you have to do is look at my brothers to know they belong to Dad; they look so much like him, as do I (and I hate that about myself).  Dad had been lamenting about "raising OPKs" (other people's kids) for all of our lives and openly said the boys weren't his on several occasions.  Mom would always call me to attack me.  I remember her asking "Are you happy now?" and hanging up on me one night, which resulted in me crying in my bathroom floor with a razor blade, then cleaning and patching myself up.  Punishment had been administered, I could continue with the routine.


During this time there weren't friendly conversations with Mom.  I enjoyed talking to my brothers and sister, but not her.  I started dreading her phone calls.  I sent her pictures frequently-one was of me and the boyfriend on the couch.  We were all snuggled up, this is true, but it was completely innocent-Minnie took the damn picture.  She proceeded to call me and go on a tirade about how she didn't want to see me like that again, it was indecent, blahblahblah.  She talked to the boyfriend over the phone and told him he'd better respect me.  She was so far away but she had to keep her claws in me.  The phone calls always ended with tears for me.  I don't think they ever bothered her.


I didn't think I was going to get to this part tonight, but I think I will.  I want to put these diary excerpts in and I might not be up to doing that at a later date, so I might as well do it now.  These start nearly a year later and chronicle one of the most hurtful things Mom ever did to me.  I think I've summed up the loneliness and anger of them leaving.  Let's move forward.


09/23/01
Uncle (name here) got online and told me to get off so he could call because it was an emergency.  On September 11, the day of the tragedies (I did write a separate entry about that), Daddy took off with the only car and money they had, leaving Mom and the kids stranded at my cousin's in Arizona.  So I was told Daddy was on his way back here, and Mom and the kids were coming back as soon as they could rake up $200.  Last I heard, Daddy had called from Texas a few days ago to check on his keyboard, and everybody else was still in Arizona.  But that was a few days ago.  I don't have a clue about what's going on.  


10/27/01
This is a bit difficult.  Uncle (name here) called last night and announced that Mom and the kids had left Arizona...with Dad.  To come to Tennessee.  They're either at a friend's or they're dead on the side of the road somewhere.  I don't know.  I just don't know.  I hope they're okay...


12/08/01
I don't know where they are.  I miss them so much it's almost unbearable.  The pain is overwhelming.  Major stress.


I didn't write about locating my family.  I didn't discuss it in the entries that followed these.  It was a difficult experience for me.  


After three months of worrying, three months of not having any contact with my family, thinking they might be dead, I located them.  I had some help, actually.  The uncle that kept calling lived in South Carolina, but it never occurred to me to wonder where he got his information from.  He called me again about a week after that last entry-I don't have exact dates but it was between 12/08/01 & 12/20/01.  He told me that my family had moved home in September, that they had all been there, that close, and didn't contact me by choice.  I didn't believe him.  He told me Mom worked at Taco Bell in West Town.  A guy I knew from school (who would later become my boyfriend) worked at the Chik-Fil-A right beside it, so I enlisted his help.  I gave him a picture of Mom and asked him to find out if she actually worked there. He called me that same night and verified it.  I was overcome with happiness that they were alive, that they were there.  I was elated.  Then it hit me-I mean that bitch fell on my shoulders like a ton of bricks-they had been here.  Right here, the whole time.  They didn't tell me.  Why?


So I went to the mall, planning to call her out.  I got there, asked for her, and they said she wasn't working.  I was shaking all over, so mad and so nervous about confronting Mom.  I called the next day and asked to speak with her.  She answered, and I said "hi."
"Who is this?'
"Your daughter."
....silence...
Then she started talking like we hadn't missed anything at all, said she'd call me after work and we'd talk about it.  I was so hurt.  Angry doesn't even begin to cover it-I was incensed, infuriated, fuming, livid, insane with rage.  I didn't convey that to Mom, although I wish I had.  She said Dad wouldn't let her tell me they were here-that way DCS wouldn't know. I cried and cried and cried some more.  I still lived in the same apartment, still had the same phone number, but my mother refused to contact me to even let me know she was alive.  Pardon my French here, but what the fuck???  She came over and took me somewhere to eat, I don't remember where, and we talked a little.  Just her though, still couldn't see my siblings.  It was fucked up.    


So that I could actually see her for Christmas I worked at the mall with her that day.  I actually started dating the same guy that located her for me that same day, so it wasn't all bad.  I did it so I could see her.  I still wanted to see her.  Still needed my mom, or at least thought I did.  


It was a while before I got to start seeing my siblings again.  When I finally did, I had to see Dad.  I had to lie to Minnie, tell her Mom was taking us somewhere else so I didn't see Dad.  I just wanted to see my family.  The twins were so big and their voices had deepened.  My sister was so much taller-she was 10 at that time.  My brothers would have been 13.  I had just turned 15.  It was an odd experience seeing them again after all that time.  A year is a big deal when you're that age.  I was never as close to my brothers after that either, although my sister and I grew to be best friends.  In fact, she's aweigh and it's killing me.  Can't wait for her to come home!!!


I think I'm done for the night.  I'll sum up by saying that year is when I started hating Mom-real, honest hatred.    It's a strange night for me to be writing this, because as I've been writing she's been updating her FB status.  


"If you say you don't want to be part of the drama, don't do things that put you in the drama!"


Ummm...hello, you live for drama, Mom.




"Think hard before you wish you had free time from the kids, Your house being loud means your home is rich with happiness, without them the home is lifeless."


That's funny, we weren't allowed to make noise when we were little.  And didn't you just pretty much force my brother to move out because you wanted an "empty nest"??




"I could never put into words how proud I am of my kids and how much I love them.."


Go ahead.  Be proud-but know this: I am who I am in spite of you, not because of you.




I didn't comment on her statuses.  I don't want the fallout that's attached to making such comments.  But I'll sure as hell say them here.  I hate it when she talks about her kids on FB like she never did anything wrong.  Just......ARRRRRRGGGGGHHHH.  SOOOO frustrated about that.


On that note, I'm going to bed.  Night night now.

Liquor Store Blues

FYI-I've been drinking a little tonight, but that's when the emotions really kick it into high gear so this might be as good a time to write as any.  I'm hard-pressed to find time to write here lately because I'm really putting a lot of my energies into work and my family.  I am still trying to learn to make myself a priority, so here I am!


I left off after the "incident" with Dad.  I might've said this before, but I'll reiterate-I was never alone with my father again.  I guess I wasn't technically alone that night though was I?  Something that has bothered me ever since is the nagging suspicion that Mom might not have been asleep.  The woman never did anything to stop Dad from hurting us, so why would that be any different?  It took me years to even mention to Mom that she was there that night.  She said she couldn't believe it and that I should have woken her up.  I don't think that would have ended well for either one of us.


Before I get ahead of myself let me go over what my year of silence was like, and how I finally told the truth.


For a very long, excruciating year I continued to visit Mom's as if nothing happened.  I would sleep in the same room as all of my siblings, knowing Dad wouldn't do anything in front of the others.  I spent less and less time there, saying I had this project to complete or a band concert or chorus concert...anything to get me out of going.  I had a couple of friends that I spent a lot of time with, but I just felt so utterly violated and ashamed.  I didn't want anybody to know.  I was lonely.  I was scared.  I was filled with hate.  Depression consumed me-I haven't been able to shake it since.  I'm often overtaken by it, having blackouts, shutting down, wishing I no longer existed.  I was headed into one such tumultuous state when I let it slip.


We were on a bus on the way home from Chattanooga, returning from a Science Olympiad field trip.  I'll be completely honest-I always felt waaaay out of my league in the Science Olympiad stuff.  I wasn't anywhere near as intelligent as my friends-how could someone as simple as me ever compete?  So I never really got my hopes up, choosing to celebrate the team wins and ignore my personal defeats.  I was pretty damn good at English and Math (with the exception of Geometry), but there was always so much beyond my comprehension.  There always will be because I'm too lazy to study.  It's odd because I excel at work, retaining material fairly well and keeping on task, going above and beyond every single day, all out of a need to prove myself worthy.  I'm a perfectionist in that regard.  But I'm okay with having substandard intellect and physical appearance.  What the hell is wrong with me? Why can't I apply my work principles and ethics to the rest of my life? 


Eh, sorry, got a little off track there.  Anyway, on a bus, returning from Chattanooga.  As usual I was sitting by myself-my friend was all cozied up with her boyfriend and I didn't really have the social skills to make connections with other people on my own.  I don't know where it came from or why-perhaps it was because I was feeling lonely, or maybe because I was bored and had nothing else to occupy my mind (I'll discuss later how I'm incapable of merely sitting and doing one thing.  I must multi-task at all times and keep the brain moving so I don't have to actually think).  All of a sudden I was bawling.  I was feeling it again, particularly his breath, I remember that the most at that moment.  My friend saw me-I saw her roll her eyes at her boyfriend before disengaging and coming over to me (yup, there goes the drama queen crying again)-then she sat and held me, asking what was wrong.  I don't think she knew how significant that was for me, being held-I never got that at home. On the rare occasion Mom actually would play with my hair or just let me lay in her lap I savored it.  This may be why I smother my children with affection, I don't know.


BLARGH.  Maybe writing while intoxicated isn't the best idea.  It might be that I look at this entry tomorrow and hate myself for posting it, but dammit I'm trying here.


So anyway, she kept asking what was wrong.  I didn't mean to say it, never imagined how the words would feel rolling out of my mouth-"Daddy molested me."  She and her boyfriend then took turns sitting with me and making sure I was okay the whole way home.  A couple of days later, that friend and her mom took me to their church.  I'd been there several times before-in fact I really liked it.  Everybody was friendly and I felt like I almost belonged.  If Minnie would have let me join a different church, I'd have gone there forever.  She tok me to her youth minister, and I told him fragments of what had happened.  He then told me that he a responsibility to report it, and the next thing ya know, DCS is knocking at the damn door.


Before I go on to DCS, let me say a couple of words here.  To the friend that helped me "tell"-she isn't reading this and probably never will, but I both loved and hated her for that.  It was the single kindest thing anyone outside of my family had ever done for me.  Unfortunately, as prepubescent girls are wont to do, she told my story-an abbreviated, butchered version-to several of our friends.  Then, for some stupid reason I forget, a feud began.  I found myself friendless and terrified as my family turned against me.


As an adult, I hold no ill will toward the friend-in fact I'm very grateful that she took the time to help me.  I only wish that it would have been kept confidential.  I wish I could say thank you, but things were never the same between she and I.  I've often contemplated just writing it, sending her a private message or some such thing, but I can't.  I don't fully understand it.  Maybe it's because I never felt like I could trust her again?  The lack of trust doesn't come from her going to the minister-it's from the things that were said about me at school.  I know it's all silly middle school bullshit, but it had an ENORMOUS impact on my life.  I never confronted anybody back then though, so I never said my peace.  Now that I'm mature enough to do so it's all old news to her-she has a life of her own and no interest in having me in it.  That always hurt.  She was the first person outside of my family to help me.  I felt like she cared about me-and I think she did.  Then petty girl stuff happened and that was the end of it.


Oh, DCS.  I have a loathing so deep for that department that I just cringe at the sound of those three letters.  I remember the place Minnie took me to.  It had children's toys and was really for younger children, maybe a 3-7 year age group.  Then that woman took me into that damned room.  It was like something out of a cheesy tv cop drama-there were two-way mirrors and she had a flippin notepad scratching down everything I said.  She made me repeat myself several times, growing increasingly hateful throughout the interrogation.  And that's exactly what it was-an interrogation.  Well why didn't you do this? Why didn't you say that? I was terrified of the woman.  She was very pregnant-maybe 8 or 9 months along-and she had zero patience for the job.  I didn't like her at all.  I've never responded well to direct, forceful types of people.  I'm such a little pansy when it comes down to it.  I just continued repeating what she wanted to hear, answering all the questions like a good little girl.  I was so happy to get out of there.  And afterward, Minnie's heart thawed and she took me for my first-ever manicure.  Not sure what made her do it, but I was touched nonetheless.


Minnie let me go stay with my aunt for a couple of days.  She was awesome, and back then I thought we were really close-she had a spare bedroom at her house that he used to say was mine.  That made me feel so special.  In reality, I was hiding from Mom.  I didn't want to deal with her, didn't want to address her questions.  Somehow she found out where I was and showed up.  It's not like my aunt could just tell Mom to get lost-she was my mother after all-so she allowed her to talk to me on the front porch.  She asked me why I didn't come to her, asked why I had waited so long.  It was hard to talk to her.  I don't remember how I finally got her to go away that night, but she eventually did.


That was to be the last honest conversation my mother and I would have for almost 10 years.  The following year was very blurry-it included me graduating middle school and moving on to being a freshman.  It involved me making a new friend-one that I'm still very close to even now.  We haven't lost touch since we were 13-I guess that's saying something.  But what I'd like to talk about here is how the next year went with my family.


People didn't believe me.  Dad was telling everyone that Minnie brainwashed me, that he never did such a thing.  He forbade my mother and siblings from seeing me.  Eventually that began to wear on me, just as he knew it would.  Mom came to me one night with a cassette tape Dad had recorded.  She drove me around the city while I listened to his case, him telling me that he thought it was Mom, he was asleep.  Him talking about how he accidentally molested another guy while he was sleeping when he was in the army.  Him talking about being abused himself.  I didn't really care about any of that.  I didn't buy it.  I just wanted to see my brothers and sister.  In order to see them, I had to see Dad.


So I went.  I pretended to make peace.  He had this irritating habit of calling me "Craze"-I guess he thought it was an awesome nickname for his little girl, but I didn't like it.  He made my skin crawl.  The worst part, the thing I hate and regret most about that year, was that I let them get to me.  I read over an entry from my journal, dated in 2000, talking about how I could back out-how I convince my case worker that it never really happened.  


So here's the plan.  I wanted to go home with Mom, but nobody was listening.  So I got mad at Daddy and used the story this girl told me, about how her cousin in Alabama was molested by her daddy, because it was the first thing I could think of that sounded solid enough to get me away from Minnie.  Why did I want away from Minnie? Well, because we were always arguing.....she was always badmouthing my parents too.  You know, never be in a room alone with Daddy, Mom was the worst thing to ever happen to Dad, etc etc


I actually did relate this story to my case worker, who saw right through it.  I had left her a voice mail while at Mom's (where I wasn't supposed to be-they had put a restraining order against my dad) and she came to school.  It was nothing short of humiliating-we were having a field day and they made me go inside to talk to her.  She wasn't quiet or discreet-I felt like the whole world was listening.  She called me out and recognized my lies for what they were.  She told me that people like Dad had to be punished or they'd go on hurting other little girls and boys.  I finally admitted that I had made it all up at the insistence of my mother.  The case worker was livid and left, leaving me feeling awful.  Mom certainly wasn't going to like that.


Honestly though, looking back as an adult and reading that paragraph, why did I think that would ever make sense? A friend whose cousin in Alabama was molested? I wanted to live with Mom so if i said dad molested me they'd let me do that? The logic of my 13-year-old self was severely lacking.  Interestingly enough, same journal, just a few entries later:


She made the mistake.  I shouldn't have to live with it.  I just got off the phone with Mom, and she just found out I'm not moving in with her.  Anyways, my dad molested me.  They wanted me to say he didn't.  So I said he didn't because they told me it would all be over and I could go home with Mom.  It never happened.  It's their fault I'm here.  They gave me up.  They let me stay with Minnie.  Mom could've fought for me.  But I never thought she cared.  She just recently told me that it "took a lot of love" to give me up.  SHE GAVE ME UP SIX YEARS AGO.  I'm used to living here.  I couldn't live any other place.  This is my home.  So I'm trying to explain to her why I can't move.  It's all really hard on me.  I love my mom.  She's my best friend.  But she loves my dad more than any of us.  She spends all of her time with him.  She believes all HE says.  She believed HIS story, not mine.  After all, she married him twice...she just gave birth to me.  But anywayz, I'm tired from crying.


Ugh.  I would like to go back in time and give my younger self a hug.  I would like to tell myself that it was okay to tell the truth, and it was okay to tell Mom no.  To tell myself that I was beautiful and smart and funny and could accomplish anything that I wanted.  Mainly-this sounds odd, I know-just to comfort myself.  Even now I desperately yearn to be held.  I need to know that the choices I've made have been okay, and that I'm loved.  I'm not sure what this says about me, but I do get that to a degree-from my children.  They love me despite my flaws and so far in life only see Mommy, not her issues and internal scars.  My oldest is my "cuddlebug," as I like to call him.  Nothing leaves me more at peace than curling up on the couch with him, listening to his little heartbeat and watching cartoons.  I hope my children never go wanting for affection.  


It was a year-long struggle for me.  Did I want to take it all back and run off with my parents? Or did I want to tell the truth and try to put my life back together?  I finally decided to stand up for myself.  Nobody had stood up for me, so I figured I might as well do it myself.  Speaking out against each other was forbidden in our family, but for Pete's sake did that mean I had to sacrifice my dignity?  I always prided myself on honesty when really I had lived a big fat lie.


The year drew to a close as I started high school...Mom and Dad took my siblings and moved to Arizona to escape child molestation charges for Dad.  I'll go into more detail on that later...I'm just really glad that I stood up for myself, that I told the truth and while I might have wavered for a moment, I refused to back down in the end.  


Here's to the friend that helped me speak out.
Here's to my 13-year-old self-I wish I could grant you my experience and let you know that you will make it, alone or not.
Here's to my brothers and sister, uprooted because I couldn't keep my big mouth shut.  I hated that.


Here's to me.  Here's to getting it all out, drunk or not.  Here's to finally being able to hold my head up high.


To my 24-year-old self: You are beautiful, intelligent, and funny.  You can accomplish anything you set your mind to.  To quote Pooh Bear:  You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.


And I'm damn proud of you.

F.O.D

Just a reiteration here-please be advised this blog contains adult content.  it will range from emotional to slightly graphic.  Please do not continue to read if you're offended by this material.

I've put this off long enough.  I have only one more day of my long weekend left and I haven't blogged at all.  And I have no excuse, really.  I just don't want to deal with what I'll be going over tonight.  I don't want to relive that.  But as a bit of forewarning, if you're sensitive to rape/abuse please don't continue to read unless you're sure you can handle it.  I don't want anyone having to deal with flashbacks-I still struggle with those.  I do however want to get this out and move on with the blog-I'll only be covering this one time.

Before I get started, I do want to mention that I talked to my sister this weekend.  She ships out tomorrow, and I'm glad I said my peace before she left.  As always, she was perfectly understanding and supportive.  I told her about the blog, told her its purpose and how it was going, and then told her I wasn't giving her the website address until I was finished with the past.  I don't want to inadvertently censor myself to keep from hurting her.  She was perfectly fine and actually encouraged me-"You do what you gotta do Sis, it's time for you to heal."  She said it didn't matter if I ever gave her the web address, said there was nothing I could say here to hurt her because it's done and over with.  She also said that even if Mom did find out about it later on down the line then that's just too bad.  Yeah Mom would be hurt/angry/possibly livid and may never speak to me again, but I'm finally doing what's right for me.  I love my sister.  She's the best person I've ever known.

I'm not going to build this up, make it anything like a story.  I don't think I could even if I tried.  Apart from the social worker assigned to my case-who was nothing short of an ill-tempered bitch-I've never told anyone this much detail.  I didn't tell her all of it anyway, because it seemed like she didn't believe me and had more important things to be doing.  And I'm not putting it all out there-I don't want any perverts getting off reading about what my daddy did to me should they stumble across this.  No, here I'll be addressing my feelings.  How it felt...I've NEVER told anybody that before.  I've only discussed the cut and dry aspects.

The events here happened before I ever even had a boyfriend.  I had never had the chance to experience what a lover's embrace should feel like, what being touched by someone you love (or even lust after) should feel like, what a kiss should feel like.  I'll go into more detail later, but it took that innocence away from me.  Not it-*he*.  My damn daddy took that away from me.  And it's only one of the multitude of reasons I hate him.


**ABSOLUTELY DO NOT READ FURTHER IF DISTURBED BY RAPE/ABUSE SITUATIONS**


Sometime in middle school-I believe it was 7th grade?
I don't remember why I was the only kid at Mom's that weekend.  They were all gone somewhere, I don't even know where.  Mom and Dad's bedroom was at one end of the house, the four of us kids shared a room on the other.  For some reason I had fallen asleep in the living room.  Mom was asleep on the love seat, I was on the couch.  When I woke up, my bra was on the floor.  My pants-maroon jeans-were unbuttoned and pushed down to me knees.  And he was there.  I could feel him behind me, pressing into me-such a repulsive feeling, I can still feel it.  His hands all over me...on my breasts, my stomach, my ass, pressed inside of me...and his damn breath in my ear.  I'm haunted by it.  I've never been able to escape that memory.  I felt so dirty, so used.  I don't remember how long it took, but it seemed like ages, and I was just there, frozen in time.  I waited.  I tried not to move.  I kept my head facing the couch because I could hear Mom moving, not but maybe 10 feet away.  I didn't want either of them to see my shame.  And when it was over things were fuzzy-it's like time sped up.  I ran into the bathroom, leaving my things in the floor.  I locked the door and scrubbed my face at the sink.  I vomited over and over, then would return to scrubbing my face.  It was red and raw and tear-streaked...in the mirror it was slightly blurry because I didn't have my glasses on, I had just left them there.  I remember how I looked-terrified, hurt, and angry all at once.  I remember thinking the reflection was a different person.  The figure there with the distorted features, that couldn't be me.  I grew numb, just standing there staring at myself.  I had never paid any particular attention to my face before.  Now I saw myself for what I was-ugly.  I hated myself.

Then came the knocking at the door.
"Beth honey are you okay?"
Of all the low-down, dirty things I'd heard my Daddy say, I hated him for that single sentence more than anything.  And it was hate, pure and simple.  I'd always feared my father, always been smart enough to at least try to stay out of his way, but that night is when it turned to venomous, passionate hatred.  I managed to choke out a single "yes," then sat in front of the door until he went back into the living room, hoping that if he tried to force his way in my weight would stop him from entering.  Once I heard the springs of the couch squeaking under his weight, I closed my eyes and bolted for my parents' bedroom-it had a lock, and I could change into Mom's clothes.  I never wore those maroon jeans again-or any colored jeans for that matter. They weren't fashionable anyway, but before that moment I had never cared about anything like that.  I hid in Mom's room all night, sitting against the locked door and wrapped up in a blanket.  I didn't sleep.

Once the sun came up, I showered and woke Mom up, taking special care not to wake Daddy.  He was a very heavy sleeper and it was common practice not to rouse him.  I just used even more caution that day.  I told Mom I had a lot of homework to do and got her to take me home early.

I continued on my normal routine.  I didn't speak a word of what happened for nearly a year.  I had never been so happy that my siblings and I all shared one bedroom in that trailer.  I eventually buried myself in homework and band and being at friends' houses so I didn't have to go to Mom's.

Dad didn't say anything either.  I generally avoided even being around him, but also did my best to never make eye contact with him.  I began getting gifts for making straights As (which I had done my entire life)-a $150 Pink Ice Barbie, a $75 Grecian Goddess Barbie, an $80 Glenda the Good Witch Barbie....that was uncommon for my parents, especially since he wasn't working and she worked at Taco Bell.  Hell, our Christmas was provided by the Salvation Army that year.  I recognized the gifts for what they were.  I still have all of them-those three are still in my bedroom.  I paid dearly for my silence, and I'm keeping the damned dolls to remind me NEVER to do that again.  I don't care who likes it.  I don't care who likes me.  Damn them all, I am who I am and I don't regret it.

I was never the same again.  Mamaw found my box of suicide notes shortly after I had come forward...but I hid the attempts well.  I began to cut myself-I know now that I was doing it incorrectly, but I didn't yet have the internet or any other method of looking it up.  I was so young-it was 7th grade, so I'd have been around 12 years old.  I was 13 when I started counseling, I know that much, and it was over a year after the fact.  At any rate, I was certainly too young to feel that way about myself.  I hated myself-sincerely, truly hated myself. I still feel the effects of that hatred-I've worked really hard to get rid of it.  I do self-affirmation exercises as instructed by prior therapists-you know, where you look at yourself in the mirror and tell yourself you're beautiful, intelligent, fun, etc.-but they don't work so well.  Not when the self-loathing is so ingrained.  I wanted to die.  I couldn't keep the memory of his hands out of my brain.  And it would happen at the most random times-a friend would put their arm around my shoulders, someone would bump into me, someone would talk about their father-and boom! flashback.  I've never really liked the word flashback.  It doesn't accurately describe what you're experiencing at that moment.  I have relived that night countless times.  RELIVED it.  Physically felt it, mentally replaying the scene, and going through that emotional tunnel.  I say tunnel because it was like I was trapped there-I could see the light but it was so far away, and it was such a small area with the walls closing in.  I might not have mentioned this yet but I'm severely claustrophobic.  I don't like tight spaces or being amid big crowds of people-I'm so afraid that they'll bump into me.  Generally, I don't like being touched with the exception of my family and loved ones.  Its hard for me to even think of that night without having a panic attack. It's like I'm stuck there all over again, pinned between him and the couch.  I was never-EVER-alone in a room with my dad again, you can be sure of that.

I can't bring myself to go forward with this tonight, can't talk about the night I spilled my guts to a friend and how it all came about.  This has emotionally drained me.  In a way, I do feel a little better.  I'm gonna go recuperate a little-I might write more tonight, maybe tomorrow.  The hardest part is done.

And to my "father," wherever you may be right now-I survived, you bastard.  You did not break me.  I am stronger in spite of you, have made myself into a good, decent person.  You will never know my children.  You will never know the strong, beautiful woman I grew to be.  You will die a miserable, lonely death to match your miserable, lonely life.  F**k you, old man.  F**k you.


my favorite Green Day song-dedicated to Daddy Dearest
You're just a f**k
I can't explain it 'cause I think you suck
I'm takin' pride
In tellin' you to f**k off and die

Have a Happy!

Since I gave up early on the last post, here goes my second effort to finish what I wanted to regarding that point in my life.  If for some reason something comes to me at a later time I'll make the effort to come back and cover that ground.  I'm ready to move forward though, so here's to trying to finish up my early childhood.

I'm going to try to start with pleasant memories again.  Papaw (Minnie's husband) bought me a snow globe with Minnie Mouse in it.  On the outside it said "Have a Happy!" Have a happy what?  Birthday? Holiday? Afternoon? Life?  That phrase has always stuck with me for some reason.

So, let's have a happy, shall we?

Some of my very earliest memories involve Papaw (still Minnie's husband).  When I was very little we lived in a massive house on Cox Street.  Papaw and I split the attic area between ourselves-he got his workshop for his carpentry, I got a play area.  I had a little kitchen set up with the Fisher Price/Little Tykes stove, sink, refrigerator, and accessories.  It took me a while to learn that these were not real appliances.  I remember filling the little sink with water and doing dishes, then removing the stopper.  I was absolutely shocked when the water came flowing out of the "cabinet" beneath the sink.  I had never realized that it was all pretend.  

I always stayed near Papaw if possible.  When we moved and his workshop was in the walkout basement, I'd frequently be in the yard nearby.  If I was in the house he and I were communicating using the vent in the hallway-the duct ran straight down to the basement.  Every single memory I have of Papaw leaves me smiling.  He was wonderful.

I remember when Mom and Dad got remarried.  I have a photo someone, but it's only of me and my friends.  I was very angry that day because while Mom had two daughters they were relegated to the roles of bridesmaid and flower girl only.  It still bothered me that I wasn't her maid of honor.  I know I was young and all that but I'm a very traditional person.  I also remember the fit Dad threw when he found the shaving cream on his dually.

The person that filled the role of maid of honor for Mom was actually her best friend from high school.  Even now we're in contact with her and her three children-they're like extra siblings to me.  We actually all lived together for a while.  I was there for a portion of fifth grade, in a small house in Lenoir City.  Me, my sister, and Caitlyn shared a room, the twins, Jacob, and Gavin shared a room, then their parents had a room and my parents slept wherever.  I actually enjoyed my time there-I was starting to make friends and started noticing boys-and sometimes I was getting noticed in return.  

The rest of what I wanted off my chest is not so pretty.  For example, there was the time my brother came over completely covered in bruises-his face, his back, his legs..COVERED.  Minnie asked him what was wrong and he lied for Dad, said he was in a bike accident.  Granted, our sister broke her arm learning to ride her bike without her training wheels so we were aware it wasn't pretty.  But with this incident it was worse, and honestly the worst shape my brother had been in after a beating.  He never did tell me why he got beaten that time, but I remember him being particularly bent out of shape about it.

I hated to see my brother going through this.  He was very sensitive, a very sweet and caring boy, and it was so hard to watch him suffer.  He got beaten for peeing the bed, for talking when he wasn't supposed to (and he was *never* supposed to), or for breaking things.  The episode that sticks out at me is when he was chasing me around the room with a booger.  Of course I ran from him, it was gross-but then he bumped up against the wall and knocked down the mirror that had been hanging there.  Bear in mind this was a cheap mirror from a thrift store, obviously not worth anything to my parents as it was hanging in the boys' room, but Dad flew into a rage.  He was beaten severely again that night.  He took the brunt of Dad's physical anger.  I never fully understood why, maybe because my brother showed the "weaker" traits that Dad worked so hard to squash.  

That's as much as I'm writing tonight.  My current work schedule just leaves me exhausted.

I am nearly ready to move past my early childhood into my adolescence and the troubles that followed.  I anticipate that it will be more difficult to talk about that time, because as with all teenage girls, my early teens were volatile.  That's not anything unusual, so I'm sure it will be nothing different than any other teen girl angst, but I'll write it anyway.

Before I get to that though, there are a few incidents from my childhood that don't fall in sensibly or chronologically with anything else that I wanted to discuss.  I had scratched several notes in my journal regarding incidents I wanted to rehash, and I didn't address them in prior posts.  It seemed silly to post a separate blog for each of them, so I'm lumping them together here to get them off my chest-therefore this post will be randomly pieced together and might not make much sense.  Because I have nowhere else to file these memories, they get their own category.  I'll at least try to address them in somewhat of a chronological order here.

First up, random happy memories that came back to me.  There weren't many things filed away in my mind that fell into this category, but I did want to give them attention as well.  I don't want to present only the negatives, because the positives also helped shape who I became.

The biggest that sticks out at me was actually recurring, although not consistently timed.  Every once in a while when I went to Mom's, she'd let me stay up all night with her.  These nights were rare but I LOVED them.  We'd paint our nails, "Sweat to the Oldies" with Richard Simmons, and watch movies (Mom is responsible for my love of "Grease").  She also taught me to crochet during this time, which I turned into a lifelong hobby. I remember how much I relished these nights with Mom-I had her all to myself, with no siblings or Dad or family friends to butt in.  Even today I don't get one-on-one time with Mom unless I essentially kidnap her and force her to come alone.  Mom always has an entourage.  And I needed Mommy-daughter time so badly growing up.  Granted, Mom was not very skilled at styling hair, but I never had anyone to teach me how to do anything but brush mine.  Nobody taught me how to do my makeup-I learned that skill through "Seventeen" magazine as a teen.  My friends in school taught me to fix my own hair eventually.  It seems trivial, but that's what mothers are supposed to be for.  She wasn't the one that taught me to shave my legs-that was Minnie.  She didn't teach me how to use a tampon-I learned that from a friend, and it was a humiliating experience.  As many dance recitals and band performances that I was in, she only came to see one performance-my 8th grade talent show.  I remember BEGGING her to come see me march in high school-I offered to pay the way for her and my siblings-and she refused. ..but she never missed my brothers' football games.

I need her still.  There have been times that I've called her crying my eyes out, but she was always busy.  She pretends to listen to me but is holding two or three separate conversations with people in the background a well.  I don't think she gets that I need her full focused attention sometimes.  I still long for her to hold me, rock me, and tell me everything's okay even if it isn't.  Mom says she's there for me now, that she knows she's done me wrong in the past, but she's trying.  Sometimes I still hate her for not being there-for abandoning me the way she did.  I'm 24 years old but still disappointed by my mother.  Only about two months ago, for example, she promised she'd come by my house to see me and my children.  Bear in mind Mom only comes by my house less than ten times a year, if that, so I was excited.  For some reason I didn't tell the kids she was coming, and I'm glad I didn't.  She didn't show.  I waited and waited and finally called her at 9:00 PM-she was at my uncle's house.  It isn't like she was busy, she wasn't working or running errands or doing laundry or anything-she just had someplace better to be.  And it HURT.  There's a distance between me and my mother, and I find that I'm always the one trying to close it.  I call her a few times a week, on my way to or from work so I can concentrate on talking to her without kids in the background.  She rarely initiates contact with me.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.  The biggest betrayal from Mom is yet to come.

Back to tinking happy tots.
Some memories centered around Dad.  For some reason he used to let me name the family pets, and it made me feel special.  We had a hedgehog that I thought was adorable-I named her Mahogany.  Get it? My-hog-annie?  Eh, I was young, I have an excuse. I named our German Shepard Crooked Ear Rachel-and that's what it said on her papers.  I named another dog "twenty bucks," and we also had a dog named "not me," but that was a collaborative effort.  Dad bestowing this honor on me made me feel like I mattered, like I had actually done something right.

Dad would get a wild hair up his butt and decide to have fun with us sometimes.  It was usually when another adult was involved.  For example, when his friend came over for a holiday-New Year's or Christmas or something-he and Dad got completely smashed.  They were giggling and talking over each other.  We actually led Daddy around the yard with a football because he couldn't manage to grab it.  We got away with whatever we wanted that night because he was in such a good mood.

Another time he and our uncle took us hiking at Norris Dam.  We went way back in the woods and found some awesome caves.  It was so adventurous, so unlike Dad.  I had a blast.  The same uncle bought my brothers and sister remote controlled cars for Christmas around that same time, and we spent hours racing them together, as a family.  It was times like those, when he was so out of character, that I could see why everyone that knew him thought he was so wonderful.  This was  the face Dad put on in public.  Too bad he treated us so badly when nobody else was around.

There were more issues that I wanted to write about tonight, but I just can't bring myself to do it.  Yoga sounds like a better alternative right now.  More later.