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Thursday, July 15, 2010


Welcome to Thoughtful Thursday once again! As you can see I created a little box for Thoughtful Thursday and you can feel free to use it if you wish to get some thoughts out of your head. Thoughtful Thursdays are all about abuse survival, when I write my thoughts of my past down in my blog I find that a small piece of my past heals and it becomes easier to survive and to feel like a survivor rather than a victim. My goal in posting these random thoughts is that someone might happen upon these posts and find themselves relating to my words and see that there is life after abuse. I hope that my words will help someone else heal, because that is the only good that can come from the unimaginable pain and suffering of abuse. Whether you were abused as a child or as an adult, whether it's sexual, physical or even just emotional...abuse is abuse and there is no excuse for it. It is far too common place in this world because we grow up with the mentality that what happens at home stays at home, we don't talk about the problems we have at home no matter how bad they are...that mentality is old and outdated and needs to stop! That mentality caused me and many others pain beyond imagination, physical and emotional scars that last a lifetime linger within us and often we end up in situations where it's repeated over and over again. I do not understand that mentality, but perhaps that's because I got out, I got into foster care at an age where I was still young enough to learn that the way we were treated was not the normal way to treat a child, I was a lucky one....my son is a lucky one because of it. He will never suffer because I refuse to treat him the ways that I was taught to treat a child, I will simply do the opposite of my life in the hopes that then he will be ok, that I will be ok, that our life will be proof that the cycle does not have to repeat! There is life after abuse and it begins with speaking out, letting others know what happened and making people aware that it is right there in front of your face. Perhaps my words will be read by someone and they will then look twice when they see their next door neighbors sad face, perhaps they will look deeper than the words spoken when they hear "I just tripped" or "it was an accident" Perhaps they will begin to notice the patterns or see it in their own life and realize it is not ok, it is not right and you can speak out!

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I often refer to my own life as a living hell or a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. I hated my life so much that in conversation I refer to my "mother" as my egg donor and my "father" as my sperm donor. Of course now I know that the man I had thought for almost 40 years was my sperm donor was NOT my sperm donor, but I can't seem to wrap my head around the concept completely so although he was not MY sperm donor he was the donor of my siblings and so his name will remain Sperm Donor. My biological male creator was a creepy next door neighbor that my egg donor had an affair with, someone I barely knew, someone who sat and stared at me while I played in the yard. Why didn't he help? He had to of known that I was his and he had to of known that I was being hurt. To me he is even less of a father than the sperm donor because at least the sperm donor worked a job and provided money for us, taught us how to hunt so we could eat and taught us how to grow veggies in the garden. He may have been a sicko pedophile but he did stick around and teach us a couple of things, he didn't just watch from a distance doing and saying nothing. I hated him (still do as a matter of fact) for being such a sicko, I hated being raped, I hated having to cry in silence as he laid his heavy body on top of my tiny one so that he could have his way with me. I hated how he would pull me aside in the kitchen when the egg donor wasn't watching and put his hands down my pants and do things with his fingers that made me whimper in pain while he shushed me and told me it was ok because "Daddy loves his little blonde angel" That what he always called me, his little blonde angel. He only called me that when he was doing bad things though, never in a casual situation or as I would run off to school waving good-bye. He never called me that while hugging me or tucking me in at night, only at those moments when he was hurting me, only when  he was touching, only when he was the devil was I his angel. He was an evil man, so evil that I can barely think about what he did and I start to cringe. I automatically (even now as I type this) curl up into a little ball, full fetal position. As I type I have my feet up on the chair seat so that I feel a little safer, a little more protected. At night when I sleep I have to be under covers...doesn't matter how hot it is, I must be covered or I do not feel safe. I have to be able to see the escape route, I need to be able to see the path to safely get out of the room or I can not fall asleep. Even now, 28 years since the last time he raped me, I still am haunted by him and his evilness. Sad  I know....sad, but true.

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I'm only posting that one bit today, maybe someday I will be able to post more than one thought when it comes to the sperm donor, but as you can see it's still too painful. Even now I can barely breathe, I feel a tightness in my chest that only happens when I think about or talk about the sperm donor. I can't even begin to talk about specific situations with him because it really puts me into a panic attack...literally! I can't handle that part just yet, someday I will. Someday I will be able to tell that part of my story in more detail but not today...today just going as far as telling you what he used to call me has me feeling ill, I am literally sick to my stomach just remembering that because upon remembering those words I can hear them being spoken. I can hear his voice and suddenly I am no longer a free 39 year old woman but instead I am a helpless 2 year old toddler...yes he started in on me that young! How I survived, how I managed to actually have a child and carry him to term baffles the minds of some of the best doctors in this state....probably in this country. I am a survivor, but I still have scars and today they will heal just a little because I found my voice, I found a way to speak out and be heard. Even if I am the only one to ever read this post, I feel a little more free because of it and maybe now I can start to find a way to speak more, to give more details, to make the nightmare stop and finally wake up.

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Have a great weekend and remember to hug your children and make sure you let them know the dangers that lie out there! 1 in ever 4 girls will be sexually molested by the time they turn 18, it's 1 in every 6 for boys! PLEASE, make them aware, you don't have to go into details but you can make them aware that there are nutjobs out there whose sole purpose in life is to harm small children.




From Blogger Pictures

1 comment:

SMJ said...

What you said about the mentality of what happens at home, stays at home is so true. Although my childhood abuse was not nearly the level you endured, I did experience enough that it affects me to this day. I have never blogged about it, I don't know if or when I will. I believe my abusers intent was more misdirected anger than true intent to hurt a child. Then again, I was taught to smile and stay quiet, so it could be me still rationalizing it all these years later. I've heard it said mental abuse is the worst, but isn't it ALL mental abuse? Because once we are old enough to think and reflect it affects us even more. The bruises heal, but the psyche continues to react. I keep finding myself in situations where I allow people to treat me wrongly and that whole "keep quiet and smile" fake front is to blame. I am in a disgusting job position that I need to escape and yet cannot just quit. But isn't that what a "normal" healthy person would do? Without guilt? Amazing how even knowing we're right still makes us feel bad.
The having to be covered no matter how hot - thats me too. I was not sexually abused, however I was pulled out of bed in the middle of the night to get whooped for stupid reasons, if any reason at all - and so I must have a comforter to wrap up in. And my closet doors HAVE to all be closed. Thank you for finding your voice!!