Thoughtful Thursday

It's a hard life, coming from an abusive home and living in society trying to be all normal like. It's never easy to feel like you fully fit in with those smiling happy people who all  talk about their wonderful parents and siblings. There are many days that I truly wish I could of had a normal life too, a life where my biggest complaint is that my parents grounded me for staying out too late with my friends, a life where I got into trouble and my punishment was a time out. Yeah, I have my moments where I feel like having a pity party and wish I could just smack someone, fortunately those moments are becoming fewer and farther between.

It's this time of year where I find myself feeling it the most, the few weeks before my birthday. I tend to reflect more and think about where I was, where I am, and where I want to be. I'll spend this week thinking about where I was, where I came from, my horrible nightmare of an existence. I'll spend the following week thinking about where I am currently both mentally and emotionally. That week will be a good week I am sure, since I know I am in a better place than I was last year. The week of my actual birthday will be the week where I think about where I want to go and what changes I want to make before my next birthday. This is where I make my New Years Resolutions, I don't make them on January 1st, I make them on MY new year, my birthday.....it just makes better sense to me.

So this week...Where was I? Where did I come from?

I came from a really bad life...plain and simple. I grew up in a home where I was raped by my sperm donor, my evil older brother, my uncle and my egg donor's boyfriend....and I was beaten and abused by the egg donor as well. She even tried to kill me! I was constantly reminded by her and my siblings that I was supposed to be a little pill, I wasn't supposed to be born, I wasn't supposed to exist. I was the bane of their existence. My life was a living hell! It was the kind of life that most people don't even believe exists because they don't want to believe that there are those kind of people in this world, no one wants to believe that a child of 2 years old can be raped and they want to believe that maternal instinct prevents people from beating the children they give birth to.

I remember one year in high school, I think it was 9th grade but might have been 10th, where we were assigned a paper in English class. We had to write a speech and present it to the class, I don't remember what the full assignment was exactly but I remember the paper I wrote. I wrote about child abuse and I personalized it. I don't remember the exact words but it started like this:

"Imagine you're a two year old little girl and your daddy just came home from work. It's late at night and everyone else is asleep"

I told the class to close their eyes, then told them to imagine themselves as a 2 year old being raped by daddy, a 4 year old being raped by your brother, a 6 year old being raped by your uncle, a 10 year old being raped by your mothers boyfriend. I took that class into my world, I told them the details, the smell of cigarettes, the weight of the man you were supposed to trust crushing down on you to keep you quiet. I told them about the beatings at the hand of the woman who gave birth to me, her words echoed in their ears.  I took that class into my world.....then I said this line:

"You have just imagined my life"

I'll never forget their faces when I said that. There were students in that class who grew up with me, who knew me before I went into foster care. The same people who watched that nice lady with the long brown hair take me out of my classroom that next to last day of 5th grade. They had known me and thought me a weird kid. They had laughed at me and picked on me for being weird...and now they understood. Some looked shocked, some looked appalled, some had no expression and I wonder if maybe they too had suffered a similar fate. That speech was a HUGE step in my healing process, it was the first time I had fully disclosed my abuse to anyone other than the people directly involved in my case or my therapist. I recall standing at that podium literally trembling and on the verge of tears. A part of me was worried about what they would think, how those in the class would treat me afterward once we left the classroom. I recall my teacher whispering in my ear:

"That was really brave!"

and thinking that I didn't feel very brave at all. I felt small and scared, I was worried that maybe I had gone too far and maybe I shouldn't have done that, maybe I shouldn't have taken them into that world. The speech was meant to explain that 1 in ever 4 girls is sexually abused by the time they turn 18, 1 in every 9 boys is also sexually abused. The majority of those cases happen with someone the child knows and trusts. I wanted to make them aware that there was a good chance that the person sitting next to them could be suffering inside because of their life, I wanted to take their teenage blinders off and make them aware that bad things do happen and that's why we need to be sensitive to those around us. I wanted them to understand that they should think twice before laughing at the weird kid because that weird kid probably needs a friend more than they will ever know and that one friend can make a huge difference in their life. I wanted them to see that teenage bullying and cruel jokes aren't funny and that maybe they need to think twice the next time they spy that weirdo in the hall. I also wanted anyone in that class who might be getting abused (or who might have been a victim of abuse in the past) to know that they were not alone.

Now that I look back to that day, I think it really was pretty brave to do that. To stand in front of my peers in high school  and lay out my heart to them...it was either brave or crazy....or maybe it was a bit of both. I realize that it made people not only look at me differently but also my siblings, but at the time I felt it needed to be shared. I was tired of hiding who I was, tired of trying to put on a brave face every day and wear a fake smile. I wanted people to know me for who I was on the inside and how I got that way. I wanted them to understand, to see beyond the facade that myself and all abused kids put up. I felt it was important for them to hear because maybe in hearing it they would become more sensitive as they ventured out into the halls of our school and then out into the world outside our small town. I truly hope that I made a difference in at least one classmate, if I did, then it was totally worth it!

Halloween, the happiest and scariest time of year. A time to be scared for the fun of it, a time for haunted scary houses and thoughts of dead people coming to suck your blood or eat your brains. Halloween is the one time of year where it's ok to be scared of everything.

When I was a kid, I was scared of everything every single day of my life. I was scared of getting the beating that I knew I would get. I was scared of the boogie man who was actually the sperm donor. I was scared of the dark, I was scared of the light. I spent every waking moment scared of something. On Halloween night we would dress up as scary things like ghosts or pretty things like fairy princess'. Then  we would grab a pillow case and our little orange box from school, the UNICEF box that we received every year at school. People would have bowls of candy and another of pennies to put into the UNICEF box. It was a tradition that we did every single year, we would take the box of pennies to school the next day and hand it in. The teachers would send the money off to help poor children who had no food to eat or the opportunity to get an education. Anyway, we would head out trick or treating....the egg donor often driving the car and letting us out here and there to run around through the streets pretending to be something we weren't begging for candy and pennies. 

Before walking out the door we were always warned "No funny rhymes like "Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat" and no eating the candy! We were warned not to touch a single piece, never open a wrapper, never eat anything given to us because someone might have put a razor blade in it and it would cut off our tongues and we would bleed to death and die! 

OH THE TEMPTATION!

As we rode in the back seat we would try to sneak candy into our pockets so that she wouldn't know. We knew what was going to happen once we got home, we knew that once we entered that house with that candy we would never see that candy again. See the egg donor had to "test" the candy to make sure it wasn't poisoned or that it didn't have razor blades in it. If it looked tampered with (aka it was a piece of candy she didn't like) then it was thrown into the trash. If it looked like it might be ok, she would take a bite to be sure and then she would have to be 100% so she would eat the rest. She would sit there and eat the candy in front of us, torturing us by eating our candy and not letting us have a single piece. Sometimes I would sneak to the trash barrel after she went to bed and steal pieces of candy out of it. I had a spot in the back of my bureau where I stashed my candy, in my underwear where she wouldn't look or find it.....and I knew my siblings wouldn't go there either. The candy was safe from all. 

Perhaps she meant well, trying to protect us from harm. Perhaps she really did, in some sick weird way, think she was doing the right thing. Perhaps she thought it was good to keep us feeling helpless and under her control...I really don't know. All I do know is that my son will never experience that kind of Halloween night! Oh he'll get to go out trick or treating with his pillowcase and zombie costume, but he won't carry that UNICEF box (because the schools don't do that here) and he will not have his mother eating all his candy in front of him. I do go through the candy looking for anything that might be tampered with, I am smart enough to know  that there are people out there who would find it funny to drug kids or whatever. So I check, anything that looks iffy I toss. I take one candy bar for myself and all the dark chocolate goes to Hubby because he's the only one in the house who will eat it. I put all the rest in a bucket and it gets given out one or two pieces at a time when earned. I do have to limit him, I just don't have to take it away. 

This year, as in years past, I look forward to carving pumpkins into jack-o-lanterns, I look forward to going out with the boy as he trick or treats around the neighborhood, watching him be a child and gather candy from his neighbors. I look forward to hanging out with him afterward handing out candy to the stragglers and pumping up on sugar bombs. I don't really look forward to the sugar bomb battle (since it will be a school night he is going to need to go to bed at a descent hour regardless) and I don't look forward to the battle of the bulge as the candy sits in the house calling my name and teasing me lol. 

Personally, I think the egg donor, in her own way, thought she was doing right by us. I think she thought she was making good decisions regardless of how we felt about it. She could often be heard saying "Spare the rod, spoil the child". I guess she didn't want us to be spoiled, she just took it too far. I can now see these things because I have let the anger go, I have decided to not live in fear and to move forward in my life. For me, this is like the day after Halloween. I don't have to be scared anymore because the monster has been revealed as the sad and pathetic person she was. She's not so scary anymore, the sperm donor isn't even scary anymore, I now fully realize that the only way they can hurt me now is if I choose to allow them to haunt me. I am choosing to know in my heart that it's all just a memory.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Halloween Folks and please.....be safe out there. Have some fun trick or treating, going to parties, whatever you do to celebrate this fun holiday. Just be sure not to eat the candy in front of your kids.....cause that's just plain mean!

Life is what you make of it

I don't know who originally came up with that saying, but I used to hear it from my foster parents a lot and I never fully understood why they would say such a thing to me. First of all, how did I make that life? My life was not what I made of it because I had no choices that I could make on my own. I was just a kid. Even though I had been placed in foster care, I still felt helpless and like I was nothing but a victim of circumstance. I couldn't make anything of my life because the beginning was so horrible, so unimaginable, there was just no way for me to make any kind of decent life. Afterall, you can't make something from nothing....or can you?

As I grew older I began to realize that we all live an average of 75 to 80 years, that means we get to spend 3/4 of our lives trying to make something of ourselves, we get to make our lives. Once we become old enough to go out there in the world on our own we get to begin to make the choices that will determine who we are and what kind of life we will lead. We get to choose our destiny. We take what we have learned and we make our choices based on that, good or bad we make our lives from that point on. Our past, our upbringing will definitely influence our decisions but we get the final say and we make our own choices in the end. So what happens to those, who like myself, have grown up with nothing (or worse than nothing)? How do we make decisions that are good and wholesome and make for a good life? How do we take nothing and turn it into something?

My personal answer to that is I take that nothing and I do everything I can to make opposite decisions. Am I perfect? NO! I am far from perfect and sometimes I make a wrong decision in the heat of the moment. I will yell, I will lose my cool and say something mean and hurtful, I will copy what I learned out of instinct because I still have trouble controlling my emotions. I never hit, never physically follow the path that was taught to me. I do not lock my child in his room, I do not strike him except occasionally with my words. I know it's wrong, I know I need to control that urge to yell and call names, but it's not always easy. I struggle with this part every single day. My son has ADHD and ODD and he is a HUGE challenge most days of the week. I can't remember the last time we had an entire 24 hours where he didn't push my buttons to their limits. He's active, he's loud, he's defiant and challenges everything you say out of instinct. The ODD (Opposition Defiance Disorder) makes him want to challenge authority. The ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) give him impulse control issues along with the attention and hyperactivity issues. The impulse control makes it hard for him to control the defiance urges and therefore we battle a lot. It's not even the big things, it's the little things like taking  out the trash or recycling. It's things like taking a shower or doing his homework. Lots of times he will do all his homework except for one problem and he'll leave that one because it gives him that little bit of defiance. Of course then I have to fight him, I have to win and make him finish that homework or take out the trash because he needs to learn. It's hard to not become my egg donor with my words and lose my cool. I start yelling, I start raising my voice in frustration and then I lose my emotional control. In my frustration, I too lose my impulse control to a certain degree. So what's the difference between me and my egg donor? How am I so very different from her?

There are really two major differences between me and her....The obvious is I never strike my child. I maintain my control enough to know when to walk away and not allow that evil to grow inside me. If I have to I will tell my son to go to his room for a few minutes or to sit on the couch while I walk away and take a few deep breaths. I know when I am so frustrated that I have to separate myself from the situation. I can feel the darkness boiling up inside me, I know how easy it would be to strike the child down and make him comply, but I also know the cost of that compliance and I refuse to allow myself or my son to go down that road. I make the choice to do the right thing, to know my limits. Second, I feel majorly sorry for yelling and I immediately apologize for my poor choices. I show my son that I know I am not perfect, but I know how to make the right choice in the end. I know my faults and I am willing to admit to them. I show him that the stronger person admits their faults and does their best to fix them. I know I will never be perfect, I know I will forever make mistakes, but I will do my best to show my son that life is what we make of it, life is about the choices we make once we have the power to make those choices.

I know, I know, children can choose between right and wrong. Children can choose to be good people with their friends and family, and as parents it is our job to teach them which choices are the right ones to make. But in all reality, children do not have a ton of power over their choices and for many kids like my son, they're simply wired differently and it's even harder for them to make the right choices even when they are taught right from wrong. Their brains tell them one thing but their gut tells them to defy, to fight against authority, to stand up and be acknowledged  regardless of what may come. They do not comply, they do not simply do as they are told.  They need to be approached differently to get what you want and I am slowly learning how to get what I want without him realizing it. I still give direct orders here and there, he needs to learn to deal with life and fight that urge to defy authority, but he will not learn by constantly fighting. So I work hard to change my tactics, to explain his situation to him and help him understand why the battle is worth it in the end. It's hard for him to look into his future and see a good man that people want to have working for them and with them. It is hard for him to imagine what life could be like if he learns to control those urges to fight back. It was just as hard for me to look forward and see a life without abuse and I need to remember that when dealing with my boy. I need to remember that he is young and he doesn't understand the saying of life is what you make of it. I just need to work every day to help him make the choices in his future that will help him understand it when he's 40 like me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I wanted to take a moment to explain something about Thoughtful Thursdays. Lately I haven't been writing stories about specific events, I have been more about my thoughts in general. This is because I feel the events of my life have been just one horrible tale after another and it does no good to hash them over one by one. I feel that in doing so I am only prolonging my pain and I do not wish to do that any longer. I have come to the point in my life where I am ready to just have thoughts and not have to remember specific events in full detail. Life sucks and then you die....that's what I used to say. It's true to an extent but at the same time it's not. It can be that way if you let it, if you hold onto that pain and relive those memories over and over again. OR you can chose to make a change for yourself, for those you love, make a change for the better. My old saying needs a rewrite...Life sucks and then you heal!


Let the healing begin!

When I was a little girl I had a few places that I loved to go to....School, Grammy's house, and the grocery store.

School was always fun because it was my Monday through Friday escape. I hated weekends and I hated vacations. I even hated summer. During those times I would have to be home 24/7 and that meant so many more hours of risking getting a beating or screamed at or both. We were not allowed to visit friends houses, not even allowed to play with the kid across the street because heaven forbid we tell anyone anything about what was going on in our house, or worse we see that normal people didn't beat their kids for even the littlest infraction of the rules. While at home we had to learn new songs to sing at whatever concert the egg donor had us scheduled to sing at or just learn them because she wanted to record us. She had big dreams of us making her rich off our singing. We were her get rich scheme and if we yelled too loud and hurt our voices, we got a beating. If we didn't learn a song fast enough, we got a beating. If we didn't like the song she wanted us to sing and we fussed or complained, we got a beating. So school was good because she wasn't there and I could play with my friends, I could run around and laugh. I could make a mistake on a song in chorus, I could play with other kids and no matter what I never got a beating. It was a relief to not get a beating even though I knew that once I got home and into the clutches of the egg donor she would surely find a reason to beat me. I tried not to think about that while at school because at school I just wanted to be one of the kids, I just wanted to be free.

My second favorite place to be was Grammy's house. She died when I was 7 or 8 years old so I didn't get to have her for very long but she was very special. She had 10 acres of apple trees and every fall we would go pick apples and then bake apple pies with her. She taught me her special recipe that I still use to this day. She also had these little shoe boxes with kids names on them and in each box she kept some of our favorite playthings. no one was allowed to play with another child's box unless they were given permission from that child. My box was filled with paper dolls and paper clothes for those dolls. I could spend hours upon hours playing with those paper dolls and my whole world of worries would go right out the window. Grammy also had this big grass hill behind her house and we would lay down at the top and roll all the way to the bottom. Sometimes we would get grass stains on our clothes that we knew would earn us a good beating but it was worth it to just let loose and have some fun rolling around in the grass.

Finally I enjoyed the grocery store because I was a very good sneak. I very quickly learned how to snag grapes and other pieces of small fruit to nibble on. I would stuff my pockets with those grapes and happily follow the egg donor through the store eating them. Once my sister dared me to steal a pack of gum....I got busted and not only did I have to take the gum back but I got the beating of a lifetime for stealing. My sister didn't get anything even though it was her idea.I never dared to steal gum again.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Yesterday I mentioned my friend that I found on facebook, I thought today would be a good day to reflect on how my experience with her helped me help my son. This past summer the Wild Child got to experience having a friend move away. This boy has been friends with him since they were in kindergarten together and they both have ADHD. The fact that they have something like that in common has really helped the Wild Child out and gave him someone to talk to about it...someone other than me or his doctor that is. It's nice to have someone your own age to relate to and this is what it was for the boys. They both have struggled in the same areas and so they could talk things through about what works and what doesn't and they could just vent to each other about having a condition that makes things harder for them. Anyway this boy moved away and it was hard for The Wild Child to accept. I told him about my friend Adrienne and how saddened I was that she had moved away, how angry I felt at her parents for taking my friend away from me, and how dearly I missed my friend even now. This showed him that I could understand and I could relate. This opened a door of communication for us so that he could talk about his feelings instead of bottling them up inside. Of course I also pointed out how lucky he is because when I was a kid we didn't have cell phones to text each other and my friend didn't have grandparents to come back and visit with every other weekend. My friend also moved a lot further away than just a 2 hour drive! He got to see that it could be worse, he could have to go 35 years before finding his friend on facebook  and having to catch up then. My friend and I have started messaging on facebook and have exchanged phone numbers so we can text. 35 years later, it's kinda crazy and amazing all at the same time! I am glad to an extent though, because if I had not lost my very first and best friend back then I would not have been able to relate so well to the Wild Childs situation now. I guess everything does happen for a reason, even when they suck!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Have a great weekend everyone and hug your loved ones tight. think how you would feel if you didn't get to see them or speak with them for 35 years and then say all the things that are important to say and none of the unimportant stuff. Be thankful we live in a world of technology where anything is possible and people from your past can be found in the most unexpected of times. Find your happy places and build happy memories to hold onto for those bad days and remember good things come eventually, it just might take what feels like forever.

A new beginning

Here we go, the beginning of 6th Grade!

On Tuesday the Wild Child began his new adventure as a 6th grader. Even though technically he is still in the elementary school, they treat the 6th graders more like middle school students. He has to change classrooms for every subject, he has to do more work and he has a shorter recess. The homework began on the very first day and it wasn't easy stuff either. On the plus side, he has informed me that he likes his teachers, is learning new things and having fun. Doesn't seem that long ago when my little man was starting his first day of preschool, my how time flies when you're having fun!

Of course my little man starting 6th grade takes me back to my own youth, things were pretty crazy for me back then. I was starting in a new school that was at least 4 times the size of the school I had previously gone to. I knew no one there and had no idea where I was going or what I was going to face. I had just been placed in foster care 3 months prior and I was still terrified of my own shadow, say nothing about the looming shadows at that big school with people I didn't know and who didn't know about the life I had just come out of. I didn't know if the teacher knew my story and I was scared to tell them for fear they would treat me differently and think I was just looking for sympathy.  When I met Angel that first day, my world became a little nicer and I found a life long friend. We would spend the years that followed at each others houses, hanging out together, laughing together and leaning on each other for family and emotional support. I don't think I would have made it through 6th grade without my friend, I hope my Wild Child can find such a friend too. If nothing else, I am betting his 6th grade year will be much better than my own and I will enjoy watching him grow this coming year.

This past week we went on a family camping and biking trip to the beach. It was good to get away from the real world and relax with my two favorite people. Of course, as always happens, I found myself looking back on my youth and realizing how much I truly missed out on.

When I was my sons age, there is no way we would have gone camping in a tent and made campfires. We didn't roast marshmallows and make S'mores . We didn't get to ride bikes for miles on end until we hit the beach and then spend hours at the water running and playing and riding the waves. No, my egg donor was not that cool! She was actually afraid of the water and we weren't even allowed to go into the local brook when it was 6 inches deep. I had so much fun watching my son have fun and a very small part of me began to actually feel sorry for my egg donor...can you believe that? I truly felt pity for that woman. She totally missed out on so much by making me miss out!  She didn't get to hear the laughter of her child, she didn't get to see a smile cross my lips, she didn't get to watch her children have total relaxed fun. No, she spent every single day beating us down, keeping us unhappy and sorrowful. She reveled in our misery because misery loves company. She totally missed out on seeing stuff like:

A loving smile from her happy child

Her child roasting marshmallows by the fire looking so tired because of all the fun that was had through the day

Smiles from a loving husband and child at the same time

Relaxing beside a roaring fire

 the list goes on and on

 But most of all, I can guarantee you that she never got to see this

A genuinely happy smile on my face!

All I can say is "It's her loss!" She didn't care to put that smile there and she did everything in her power to make sure it was never there. She didn't allow me to feel happiness and love and in turn she missed out on something amazing. I get to see it and feel it every single day from my son and I really do feel sorry for her for never getting to enjoy that sensation. I guess I must be growing up because instead of feeling only hatred and anger I'm starting to feel pitty and sorrow for her.  

I guess it had to happen sometime!

I know this is a little early BUT:

I'M PISSED!      I'M BITTER!    and   TODAY I HATE MY PAST!

Earlier today my husbands best friend came over with his 3 year old little girl. She's a great kid and a lot of fun to be around. While hubby helped his friend with some car issues the Wild Child and I watched his little girl. we took her to the playground at the school next door. We ran around the back yard together, we swang on the swings together and there was a lot of laughter to be heard. But as I watched my son play with this little girl, heard his laughter mingle with hers and heard him say things like  "I feel like a big brother" and "This is one of the best days of my life ever" I wanted to cry! I still want to cry and as I think about those words coming from him I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes.

I'M PISSED!     I'M BITTER!    and   TODAY I HATE MY PAST!

It's those kinds of moments that remind me that I can not give my son what he would be so good at. I can not make him a big brother. I can not give him a younger sibling to play with and it's all because of those sick bastards who had to use me and abuse me! They stole from me, I was taken away from that home but it was too late. The damage was already done and the extent of the damage would not be revealed until years later after I delivered my son. The doctors say that the damage is what caused my placental abruption with Orion and they were amazed I managed to carry him to term. The internal damage was so bad that if I were to attempt to have another child those scars would most likely rupture and kill, not only the baby, but also me. I had two choices after the Wild Child was born, tie the tubes or take my chances. Of course I could never take such a risk since it could possibly leave my son without a mother, so I had no real choice at all. I had to tie the tubes and make sure it never happened.....and it's all their fault!

I'M PISSED!     I'M BITTER!    and   TODAY I HATE MY PAST!

As that little girl took me by the hand and walked by my side I felt a bitter-sweet happiness. I always wanted a little girl, always dreamed about when I would be able to raise a little girl and make her so much happier than I ever was. Don't get me wrong, I love my son dearly, love him with every ounce of my being and I wouldn't trade him for anything in the world. At the same time though, I always thought I might have at least two children, I was the youngest of 7 children and know the value siblings. I probably wouldn't even be here today if not for my siblings and I would love for him to feel that special bond that is shared between siblings. I feel as though not only was I robbed of a special joy, but my boy was robbed too.

IT'S NOT FAIR! 

I'M PISSED!     I'M BITTER!    and   TODAY I HATE MY PAST!

I know I shouldn't feel this bitterness anymore. I know it's not healthy to be so pissed off, but at the same time I do feel it and I can't seem to control it. Last week I was happy and proud to be a survivor, but today I feel like a victim once again! I don't want to feel like a victim, I hate the darkness inside, but I can't help it. When I get slapped in the face with what was taken from me, what was so strongly desired and yet I can not have, I get mad and bitter and just plain pissed off!  I feel a bitter hatred toward those who hurt me, from the evil sperm donor to the evil big brother. From the evil egg donor who kicked me and beat me to the evil uncle. They all stole from me, they stole my youth, they stole my life and they stole my dreams. They stole from my son, they stole from my husband and that fact makes me even more angry. My husband could technically leave me and find some other woman who isn't damaged and can give him more children, there's nothing wrong with him. But he loves me and has eyes for no one else and so he stays with me and has no more children by choice. He's a good man that way and I am grateful every single day that he loves me enough to be satisfied with only one child. I hope my son builds friendships that will be close enough to replace the siblings he can not have. I hope he grows up happy and doesn't feel like he missed out on something by not being a big brother. I hope that I can move beyond this and stop feeling like a victim when my son and I watch another child. But tonight, for now, I can't help it .......

I'M PISSED!     I'M BITTER!    and   TODAY I HATE MY PAST!

Maybe writing in here will help me. My hope is that I will find the peace that I need to find and that I can begin to feel more like a survivor and less like a victim once again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Have a great rest of the week and a nice weekend. For those who have suffered in the past, remember healing takes time and it's ok to feel pissed and bitter and to even hate your past. It's not only ok but it's also completely normal. The choice you have to make is if you want to continue being pissed and bitter and hating or are you going to try your best to pick up the pieces and move forward. Me personally, I'm going to move forward because it's the right thing to do and the healthy thing to do. If I allow this to continue then I am allowing them to continue to rob from me and my family, and that's something I do not want. So I will work hard to look for the good in my life and to reflect upon the things I do have and not what was stolen from me. I will be thankful for the son that I did somehow manage to have and thankful to have a husband who is willing to stay with me even though he only gets to have one child. I will be thankful that I survived to share my life with them and  when I have days like today I will allow myself to feel pissed, bitter and hateful long enough to be healthy and then I will pick up the pieces and move forward once more.

At least that's my goal....I doubt it'll happen tonight because tonight.......

I'M STILL PISSED!     I'M STILL BITTER!    and   TODAY I STILL HATE MY PAST!

Recently my son had a med check at the doctors office. We go every 4 months to make sure he is growing properly, gaining weight and that the medicine is not harming him in any way. ADHD medications are stimulants afterall and they have been known to stunt growth and cause heart problems. We keep a tight eye on the Wild Child so that we can be sure he is staying on track. So far, so good. When he was on Adderall he slowed down a little in his upward growth and the weight was a constant battle, since switching to Concerta he is doing much better.  He is now just over 5 feet tall and weighing in at 81.5 pounds!  Of course my Wild Child likes to compare himself to me and so he asked if I remember how tall I was and what I weighed at his age....I do remember but I wasn't sure if I should tell him.

See when you go into foster care you get a full physical at a pediatricians office. The doctor checks everything including height and weight. Now I knew my height, I was 4 feet 7 inches. I remember it because I had been 4 feet 7 inches since I was 9 years old. At 9 years old I stopped growing in height, I didn't grow a single centimeter, I have no idea why my school nurse couldn't figure out that something was wrong in my house since I had not grown in 2 years, but in any case I remember it bothering me that I was still 4 feet 7 inches tall. So at 11 years 4 months old I was 4 feet 7 inches tall and I weighed in at 42 pounds! Just over half my sons current weight! I was nothing but skin and bones! I always wondered why I didn't have that fat belly like those starving african kids on tv,  it didn't make sense to me since I too was clearly starving to death. I remember hating those commercials on tv because those celebrities on the screen seemed to care more about the starving kids on the other side of the world and they completely ignored the fact that there were starving kids right here in the United States, kids like me.  So yes, I knew my height and weight but I did not tell my son that, I simply said it was 30 years ago. I didn't tell him that I remember being called "String Bean" and people joking about how I could stand under a clothesline in a rain storm and not get wet because I was so skinny, I simply told him  how boys and girls are very different at this age and so it wouldn't be a very good comparison anyway. I will admit this one thing....this conversation with my son made me a little sad.

The older my son gets the harder things become. He's curious to know what my life was like and how it compares to his and I can not share it with him. I can't for so many reasons! I don't want him to know the horrors that surrounded my everyday existence,  I don't want him to picture his mother as that vulnerable little girl getting beat down every single day. I don't want him to know that kind of horror even exists in the world! I don't want him to know my shame. I only want him to see the strong person I have become, I want him to see the person I am now and not the path that got me here and then I find myself asking....can he ever truly see the strong person without seeing the trials that I passed through? I hope he can because there are some paths of life that are just too dark to share with him. My hope is that he will simply accept that my parents were bad  evil people who will spend their eternities in the deepest pits of hell! I hope that he can accept that my childhood is one subject that we don't talk about much because it wasn't good and that his life is a walk in the park compared to mine. Maybe someday, when he is older, I can give him a small window to look through into my life. I know there are some windows into my past that will remain darkened forever and I will never share with him. Not because I don't love him, but because I do love him and I just don't want him to know. Those are the windows that no one sees into, the windows that gets written down in a journal and burned because no one, not one single person, needs to know! The evil is too dark, it is the source of nightmares, it is stuff that even I don't want to know about but I dragged out of my head because it was holding me back from being the happy person  I wanted to be. When you know the evil you can let it go and become a better person, when you don't know the evil it festers like a cancerous tumor and it spreads deep into your soul keeping you in the pits of despair and depression without you even realizing it. I knew I had a dark past so I knew the root of my depression and I had the ability to pull those roots out and destroy them once and for all and it has made me a better person. I realize I shouldn't be ashamed of my past, it is what made me the person I am today and in no way was it my fault. I fully comprehend that fact, but it's not the stuff that makes good conversation  and so it stays hidden where others can not see, where others do not know, until I put it here in this blog for anyone and everyone to read. Maybe I can help someone else find and destroy their evil roots, maybe some good can come from all this, Maybe. Just Maybe


~~~~~~~~~~~

sur·viv·al/sərˈvīvəl/Noun 

 The state or fact of continuing to live or exist, typically in spite of an accident, ordeal, or difficult circumstances.

 

It's what abuse victims do, it's the only thing you can think about from the moment you wake up till the moment you fall asleep.  It's in your dreams, it's in your waking thoughts, it's all you desire every single moment of every single day.

sur·vi·vor/sərˈvīvər/Noun 1. One who remains alive or in existence. 2. One who carries on despite hardships or trauma; one who perseveres

It's what abuse victims want to become, it's what you fight for because you know there's something better out there in the world. Once achieved it's something you are proud of, something you desire to share with others so that they can learn to become one too. It's what you become after you accept that you were a victim and you made it out alive, it's what you hope all victims can one day become because you know it sucks to be a victim, it's much better to be a survivor! 

I am a survivor and I am proud of that! 

Although I do not share every tiny piece of my terror, it was there, it was real, and I made it out alive. How much longer did I have? One can only venture a guess. A day, a month, maybe even years. I might have survived to adulthood, after all some of my older siblings made it there and the others were almost there. I stood half a chance, but something tells me if the state had not stepped in when they did I would not be here now to tell you my tale. I would be a distant memory, that's what my gut tells me anyway. My egg donor was evil and she became more evil and bitter by the day. She had evil roots too, I know that. She gave what she got. Instead of turning around and walking away from the dark evil path she chose to continue upon it like some dumb blonde in a bad horror movie. She kept walking right into the grips of evil and I think by the time we were taken away she had walked so far into the darkness that she could no longer see the way out. She was lost forever in her own deep darkness and that is what makes me believe that I would not have made it out of that house alive. That and the fact that she tried to kill me and once my siblings were gone off on their own there would have been no one to save me. Realizing you are a survivor is the easy part, the healing takes a lot longer. There is no bandaid for this kind of wound, all we have is time.

Recently I have been having dreams, I think they are more like flashbacks, but none the less they happen at night when I am asleep so I call them dreams. I don't know exactly why I have been having these particular dreams, but they are disturbing enough that I feel the need to get it out of my head and onto my blog wall. I find that whenever I have recurring dreams and then I put them down here the pain goes away and the dreams stop. Since I don't like having these dreams over and over again, I am all for doing whatever it takes to make them stop.

The dreams always start out with me as a little girl visiting my Uncle Victor and his wife. Now honestly I can not, for the life of me, remember his wife's name, we simply called her Mrs. Chin. Mrs. Chin had this long pointy chin and she always sat in a position similar to the Thinker Statue, you know elbow on knee and chin resting on the hand. My egg donor said that's what gave her such a big chin and I actually believed her at the time.  Anyway, we would go over there and then Uncle Deano would show up. I think he lived in the house next door or something, but I can't seem to picture it so I can't be sure. I just know whenever I went there he came by. He would always volunteer to take me outside to the barn to play or off to another room away from the adults, and my egg donor always was willing to let me go. The first time he had offered to show me the newborn kittens in the barn so the kitten lover in me had no clue what was going to happen. I got out there and he told me that the kittens only showed up with magic tricks. First I had to give him my shirt and if I took it off a kitten would magically appear. Dumb me listened, gave him my shirt and poof there was a kitten. Then if I took off my pants another kitten would appear. I gave him my pants and poof kitten number two. Then he told me if I closed my eyes and took off my panties that he could make 2 kittens magically appear. I took off my panties. Now by this time you can imagine what was going on with me. I was going into that zone that I have told you about before, that place where I become robotic and the little girl comes out and I do as I am told as if I am not even there anymore. I start to see myself from above, like I'm watching someone else from the ceiling. He produced 2 kittens but he produced them from between my legs. He had me sit down so that I wouldn't drop those little babies. With both my hands full he proceeded to fondle me, to slide his hand up my thigh and put his fingers inside me. I just watched the kittens and cried. I really was no dummy, I knew where this was going from my nightly meetings with the sperm donor and so I knew what I needed to do. I lay there and let him have his way with me and when he was done I put my clothes back on and went back inside the house in hopes of getting some cookies and milk from Mrs. Chin. Uncle Deano was actually one of my other uncles sons, he was a cousin but he was so much older we called him Uncle. He was always there when we visited and he always had his way with me. I hated him but what could I do? I was just a little girl and this is what I had learned was my role in life. I was there to provide satisfaction to older men, I was their play thing and I could never stop playing the game or say that I didn't want to play because then it would be forced on me and it would hurt worse than it already did. I was just a little girl, a victim of a cruel evil world.

Goodbye bad dreams!

~~~~~~~~~~~

I mentioned my cousin last night, I know she's going to read this so to her and any other abuse victim I want to say this.  I think you're pretty awesome and (to you cousin C)  I hope that we can build a friendship that goes beyond our genes. I hope you too can learn to move forward and love yourself, that you can find the peace inside. I know it's not easy but writing helps so text, start a blog, whatever, just never let the evil win. You got away so now the healing can truly begin! It takes a lot of courage to write these things out and most times when I do I end up crying before the post is over, but then the tears stop and I feel a small scab forming over the wounds inside me and I know that the healing process for that particular piece of my life has begun. I know you and I seem to have a lot in common so I know you have it in you to do this, to heal and be the person you want to be. You are amazing because you too are a survivor! Never let anyone, not even yourself call you a victim anymore!

YOU  WERE ONCE A VICTIM, NOW YOU ARE A SURVIVOR!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Have a great weekend everyone and remember kittens do not magically appear when you take off your underwear!

Here we are, another week has past and Thursday is upon me. Summer has arrived with lots of heat and sunshine :-) I get to grill outside, which I totally love, and this year I finally perfected the frozen french fries on the grill!! My son requests them every night now as well as the hubby. It makes me very happy that they are enjoying the food I put in front of them and that I don't have to heat up the house with the oven to do it.

This week coming up includes Independence Day, we already went to a fireworks show last week and I think after that experience I have had enough for awhile. See I got to have my first experience of not knowing where my child was and it scared me to death! See My wonderful wild child did not listen when I reminded him to bring his phone with him so when he said he was going to be over by the basketball hoops and I couldn't find him I also couldn't get in touch with him.  He had decided that the playground was too "little" for him so he went over to the basketball / swingset area to hang out. After like 1/2 hour it was getting dark and I started getting nervous so I went looking for him and could not find him. I tried calling him but he didn't have his phone with him. I called hubby to see if he had returned to the area we were sitting and he wasn't there. I walked all over the place looking for him to no avail. Hubby went off to look at the "little" playground thinking maybe he went back over there, I found a couple of police officers and showed them the photo on my cell phone and we went looking for him. They broadcast over their radios his name and description and I had the whole force out looking for him.  There was probably 1000 people there and we could not find him anywhere. The police officer and I went back to our blanket to see if he had returned and sure enough there he was. I hugged him and cried! Apparently he had run into a couple of boys from school and went off with them for a bit, he just neglected to tell us where he was going to be and since he didn't have his phone he couldn't call.  I told him if he EVER goes anywhere without that phone again there's gonna be trouble cause Mama's heart just can't take that kind of thing!

Of course that incident got me to thinking about my own relationship (or lack there of) with my egg donor. I can't help but wonder what she would have done in that situation. Would she have bothered looking for me? Would she of gone to a police officer in tears asking for help to find her lost child? Somehow I doubt it. I don't see her caring enough to bother looking for me say nothing about trying to get help to find me. I also can't help but wonder what kept me from wandering away from her. I had plenty of situations where we were in large crowds and I probably could have slipped away and disappeared yet I stayed with her and my siblings. I never wandered away from her, never disappeared, never would I have dreamed of hanging out with friends and forgetting to let someone know where I was going to be. The egg donor knew where I was 24/7 because I never ventured far enough away for her to not know. But why? I think it's mainly because I wouldn't have known where to go or what to do to take care of myself. Besides the point if the people who are supposed to love you the most beat you and hurt you in unimaginable ways, what's the rest of the world going to do?? I think that's what kept me there, the fear of the unknown, the fear of even worse than I was already getting, the fear made me stay.

I guess in a way I am happy to know that my son doesn't feel that kind of fear. That he is comfortable enough in his world that he doesn't know true fear. He doesn't understand the evil that lurks in crowds and I really am happy that he doesn't. He has been taught to holler, scream, punch and yell you're not my dad or you're not my mom. He has been taught that there are bad people out there and we won't know who  the bad ones are until they do something bad to us, but he is comfortable enough in his world to venture away from mom and dad and not be afraid like I was. That is truly a good thing and it makes me smile...at the same time it scared me to death to know that there are evil people out there and that he was not where he was supposed to be. It opened a door of conversation for us and it taught us all a lesson. My son learned to carry his phone with him when  he's not with me and I learned to trust him enough to find his way back to me. Hopefully there isn't a next time, but if there is, I don't think I'll send the police out looking for him after an hour, maybe I'll wait for an hour and 5 minutes lol

~~~~~~~~~~~

Have a wonderful holiday and take this time to talk to your children about safety and about strangers. No matter how old they are, they are never too old or too young to get snagged or lost. Make sure they have cell phones and that they have the phone on them before they wander out of your sight, modern technology is an amazing tool and it should be used.  Hold them close and love them because they truly are life's most precious gifts!

Just some updates:

First, I haven't heard back on the job completely. Apparently the person that I would be replacing is having a hard time selling her house and may not be moving afterall. She was given 1 more week to figure out what she wants to do because if she doesn't move, she will be keeping the job and the position will no longer be available. I'm a bit bummed out by that, but what can I do? Not much, so it's a wait and see and I'll know more on Tuesday. I was told I would have a definite answer one way or the other on Tuesday so there we are. Not much to say and just keeping my fingers crossed because I really wanted that job.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Second, as you probably have guessed, my son has finished 5th grade and he is still in my care. He is actually out with his father right now, but he wasn't taken away by some police officer and a nice social worker. He came home with me and I took one more step forward in my healing process. Although I have found very few people who understand why this was so important to me, why it felt like a landmark, I feel it within me and honestly I don't care what other people think anymore. This was a big deal to me not because I felt like a failure as a mother, not because I was worried even, it was a step for me emotionally and I am sure that I will continue to make emotional steps to ensure my healing. Something like this, this life that I lived, it's not something that you can just walk away from unscathed. It haunts you whether you want it to or not. No matter how hard you try, it's still there and all it takes is a smell or a word or a certain tone of voice to send you spiraling backwards into the depths of a nightmare that you have already survived. You're supposed to be awake and free of the terror, yet it's right there hiding and waiting for you around every corner. You see it in the eyes of others, you hear it in tones of voices, you want to run from it but it is always there, like your shadow. Sometimes the sun comes out high in the sky and you don't see it, there's no trace of that shadow in sight, but eventually the sun will begin to set and the shadow becomes long and dark and it follows you wherever you roam. There is no escaping it, it is a part of you and once you accept that and take those little steps, find the minor milestones and rejoice in them, that shadow becomes smaller and you feel bigger than it. Once you are bigger than your dark shadow, you begin to feel like you can live again, you can breathe again, you can be "normal" like everyone else. So yes, I felt my milestone and I felt the glory of doing something better than my egg donor, I felt a small piece of the pain fall away and I don't care if no one understands that, I do and truly that is all that matters. I am the one that needs to heal, I am the one that needs to grow emotionally, I am the one that needs to beat this shadow down enough that the sun in my life never sets again and that shadow can never grow long and dark again. My hope is that one day that will be the way it is, that I can look behind me and see no trace of the shadow because it fell away so very long ago. I hope that in writing my blog that the shadow will be lost in my words and will stop haunting me. If others can't understand that, well screw them, because quite honestly I don't care what they think anymore. I need to do this for me, I need to find these little things that seem like nothing to everyone else and make my healing process about me and not about anyone else. The only other person remotely involved is my son, he is the reason I do this afterall. I don't want him to see a weak sad mother, I want him to see a strong mother who can stand up and speak out. I want him to see me as a person I would be proud to be and a person who makes him proud to have as his mother. I can't be that person if this shadow keeps following me around darkening my world. So if you don't get my milestone, I really don't care to hear your opinion. To me  it's important and that is all that matters.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Third, I want to share with everyone my awesome sons report card for 5th Grade! Just a quick note on our grading system...they give an overall grade and then some parts of math and English  are broken down into Advanced, Proficient, Needs Improvement, and Below Standard.


Mathematics Overall Grade: B+ ....I also want to note that his algebra and geometry portions of the math grade were BOTH advanced! Everything else was Proficient :)

Social Studies Overall Grade: B+ .... This is up from a B-

Science Overall Grade: A .... This is up from a A-

Reading Overall Grade: B+ ....This is up from a C+

Language Arts Overall Grade: B+ .....This is up from a B

Composition Overall Grade: A- ......This is up from a C-!!!!!

The biggest thing to me is that the teachers also point out how much effort they believe the child is putting in. The last two grading periods Orion has had nothing but an S (meaning Some of the Time) for his effort. This term, every single effort went up to an M (meaning Most of the Time) EXCEPT for Science and Composition where his effort went for an S to CO (meaning Consistently) For a child with ADHD to pull out these grade and put in enough effort for the teachers to actually see it, it's amazing to me. He did awesome and I am so unbelievably proud of him!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Have a great weekend, I know I will. This Friday evening I will be taking Orion to the bowling alley for what they call Rock N Bowl. They turn the regular lights down, turn on the strobe lights, disco lights, black lights and smoke machines. They blare rock music and we get to bowl! It's what we do the first Friday after school lets out every single year, our celebration of the end of the school year and the beginning of summer. Remember to celebrate the little things and find the milestones that will make your shadows a little smaller because eventually those milestones will add up and the shadow will be gone and you'll find you can look back and still smile.

The other day I volunteered to help out for the 5th grade field day events. It was a lot of fun and I enjoyed watching my son run around with other kids having the time of his life. It was well over 90 degrees so I chose to do the water sponge area where the kids line up between two buckets, soak a sponge in a bucket and pass it over their head to the next person inline until it gets to the end. The last person wrings out the sponge (if there's any water left in it) and then runs it to the front of the line where they dunk it in the bucket of cold water and start the process over again. The line that has the most water in their end bucket wins. The kids enjoyed wringing out the sponges over their heads and over their friends heads and dumping the bucket of water over their heads when the sponges just wasn't enough. I stood there watching my son and his classmates and I couldn't help but think about my own egg donor and wonder why she never volunteered to do that sort of thing. I find no greater joy than to watch the wild child run and laugh and be a kid with other kids. To see that well rounded happy child makes me feel so good inside that nothing can bring me down, nothing can make me feel badly and above all else I feel like I've done a pretty good job. I saw some other kids who had to be pulled aside by teachers because they were out of control, my boy (thankfully) was not among them. It was good to know that, at least for that one day, he was making me proud by being on his best behavior.  I can't help but wonder if the egg donor had taken the time to volunteer at my school and watch me play with my friends, maybe then she would have seen what a great kid I was too.

I like to think I was a pretty good kid. All my teachers liked me and a few of them are my "friends" on facebook even now.  I tried my best to please the grown ups in my life because the ones that were supposed to matter didn't seem to care. I can't help but think that they were blind when it came to me and my siblings, they were selfish and cared only about themselves. The egg donor and the sperm donor, they couldn't see beyond what they wanted and what made their lives convenient. As for me, I go out of my way to make my sons life everything it can be. I make sure I take time out of my day to read to him every single night because he likes it, I go to field day events to watch him shine, I help him complete school projects because it will make him feel good to earn a terrific grade and I know he can't earn it unless I make sure he stays on task. Is it easy to do these things? no it's not, but I am a mother and I chose to make these sacrifices when I chose to become one. When I made that decision to conceive a child I made the decision to help that child grow up into a responsible human being. I chose to make the sacrifices for his sake and to no longer do things for myself. I chose to be a mother and being a mother is so much more than simply giving birth.

~~~~~~~~~~~

As I mentioned before, my big day is rapidly approaching and I am getting more and more excited by the minute. I am enjoying helping my son wrap up these last minute project ideas for his class and as I watch him put it all together I am feeling so proud of him. He is really becoming such an awesome little man and as my day approaches, the day where I can say I have surpassed my egg donor, I feel not only proud of him but also proud of myself. I have become a pretty good mother, regardless of her failures and lack of teaching, I have succeeded. I have become the loving attentive mother that I always wanted as a child and I did it all by myself! I had no example of what I should do in these early years, just my gut and instincts to guide me. I have turned to hubby many times when I felt I had no clue what I was doing, but for the most part it has just come to me and I just go with the stride. I am sure I have made parenting mistakes, perhaps been nicer than I should have and haven't punished when a punishment was due. But regardless of what mistakes I have made my son is still my pride and joy and a child that I can feel proud to say "THAT'S MY BOY!"

~~~~~~~~~~~

Have a great weekend and be sure you hug those little ones, even if they've grown quite large. Tell them that you love them and apologize for your mistakes. Make your parenting decisions by what you feel is right and when it comes right down to it, you'll most likely do the right thing....and in the end your children will also be children that you can feel proud to say "THAT'S MY CHILD!"

Once upon a time.....it's the way all fairy tales start, it's also how I often think about my childhood. It wasn't a fairytale, but it was a different world, a different time, and it often feels like it happened to someone else. I am not that small helpless child any longer, although pieces of her still remain inside of me she is not the person I am now. I have grown up, I have moved from victim to survivor, but then again have I really??

Once upon a time there was this little blonde girl who wanted nothing more than to grow up and escape her living nightmare. She spent her days dreaming of being someone, anyone, just not herself. She spent her nights dreaming of flying away. Somewhere around midnight her supposed sperm donor would come home from work and he would have a small bag of circus peanuts with him. He would give those to her in exchange for being quiet while he did unimaginable things. Her tiny body was smothered by his weight, was torn apart and bruised by his desires. He had been caught before with her older sister so he had to be careful to not let the egg donor hear him as he mangled another life. The thing that truly bothered her was that she was never listened to, no one ever believed her.

When she was in first grade she held back at school, she didn't want to go home because she knew what was going to happen sometime in the night. Her teacher looked down at her as she contemplated what she so wanted to say. She needed to tell someone, maybe if she did they could save her. She told her teacher what had happened, how her father did things to her "down there" and she hung her little head in shame. The teacher looked at her kindly and simply said " That's how daddy's tell their little girls they love them." There was no safety there, no one was going to save her that day.

Years later, when she was already in foster care she told her egg donor what had happened...the egg donors response was not what should have happened. It was cold, it was painful, it was just plain wrong! The egg donor looked at the child and told her she needed to stop fantasizing about  things! According to the egg donor, she had caught the supposed sperm donor with the older sister when she was 8 years old and after that the egg donor never left him alone with any of her girls. She claimed she never trusted him after that and he never had the opportunity. Although the little girl explained that it happened at night, when he came home and everyone else was asleep, she would not be believed and would again be told to stop fantasizing. That's the exact word she used...fantasizing...and all that little girl could think was "Why would anyone FANTASIZE about something like this??  How could anyone think that any child, any person, would fantasize about being raped as a two year old baby?" The girl did not understand why the egg donor would not believe her.

The girl was in college and still thinking about that comment from her egg donor. She thought maybe she was wrong, maybe she had just heard the story about her older sister enough times to think it was her instead. She sat down and wrote a letter to the supposed sperm donor, she asked him if he remembered doing it? She asked him if he knew what he had done so very long ago. She waited for over a week for the reply, half expecting it to never come. Finally, one day, she opened her mailbox to find a letter inside. the letter that she had been waiting for was there and finally the truth was revealed. He had written that he did know what he had done to her, that he was aware that he had ruined her childhood and that he was sorry. She stared at the words "I'm so sorry for all I did and I hope someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me" and she cried. She grew angry, he wanted forgiveness? How dare he hope for any such thing! She replied that she hoped he burned in hell forever for what he had done and that he could go to his grave knowing that there would be at least one person in this world that would not forgive him for tearing their life apart! She was bitter and angry, but now she had the proof that it was not a fantasy, it was real and it did happen. Sadly her proof was laughed away and she was again told to stop fantasizing, that the letter meant nothing. The egg donor believed the supposed sperm donor had written what she wanted to hear plain and simple, that it was not possible that it was the truth. The girl ended up trying to kill herself when she realized that even though he had written "I know I touched you in a bad way, I know I was wrong for doing those things to you" she was never going to be believed by the one person she felt needed to believe her. She needed her egg donor to believe her, she didn't know why, but somehow if she believed then it would show that some small part of her loved her youngest daughter.

Luckily the girl was found, she got the help she needed and she grew to realize that the egg donor was simply in denial. This was the point where she was diagnosed with a borderline personality disorder, she was told that she had a lot of stuff locked away and the therapist offered hypnosis to help her discover all that was there...the girl refused, she had enough trouble dealing with what she knew, she did not want to face whatever her mind had locked away from her. Surely if her mind had locked it away it must be very bad and she did not want to face that, not then and possibly not ever. She moved on, began to dream of a life without fear and she found the man of her dreams.

The girl grew into a woman and she knew there were two distinct people inside her. there was  a victim and there was a survivor, she just needed to decide which to be. She chose to be the survivor because that one was the more desirable. Although the victim still comes through every once in awhile, still reminds her that she was a victim once, the woman has chosen to tell that victim that she has nothing more to fear and that she can be a survivor too.


~~~~~~~~~~~

Have a great weekend and remember, when given the choice be a survivor, you don't have to be a victim!

When I was 10 years old, the same age my son is now,  I had no idea how close I was to getting out of my nightmare. I had no idea how much my life would change....and no idea how much worse it was going to get before it got better.  It was down to me, big brother #3, big sister #2 and my Sissy (big sister #3) living at home. The evil egg donor now  had a  boyfriend, a man who was supposedly a Cherokee Indian who lived with us. He was someone she had somehow met while he was in prison...I don't remember the details of that but I do remember going down to Virginia to the prison to visit him once. I don't know what he was in for and truly don't care. He came to live with us after he got out and he joined the band that we had, playing with us and keeping us in line.

His last name was Penwell, we'll just call him Evil Mr. P for blog purposes. Evil Mr. P had a thing for little girls, I didn't know it then that he was messing with my 2 sisters as well. It was a morning after the older kids had all gotten onto the bus to go to school, being high school students they took the bus. I was an elementary student still so I walked to school.  He called me to his room before I left and I slowly walked in. I was terrified for some reason, he always gave me the creeps but it was never this bad. This was the feeling I had in my gut when the evil sperm donor would come around, this was a feeling I did not like.

He was rather insistent so I reluctantly walked into his room and he was laying in his bed with the blankets down to his waist. He motioned me to come to his side, I noticed he had no shirt on so I just stood there scared. He quietly said he would not hurt me (what a big fat liar he was) I slowly walked across the room and although it was only maybe 8 or 10 feet it felt like forever as I walked along the foot of the bed and up the other side to stand next to him. He patted the side of the bed, letting me know I should sit down.

I stiffly sat , barely on the edge waiting, wondering what was going to happen to me. I tried to tell him I needed to get ready to go to school, he said it wouldn't take long. He put his hand on my knee and I cringed. He said relax and slowly moved his hand up my thigh. He worked the button on my pants and I asked him not to, but he said he just needed to do one thing, he said it was a test to see if I would ever have to worry about boys.

He slid his hand down my pants and into my underwear. He rubbed his fingers all over and asked if it felt good. I shook my head but the words would not come out. Nothing about this felt good! He lifted me up and slid me across the bed, I noticed he didn't have any underwear on and he was there, just like the sperm donor had been. He said he needed to teach me about boys and the right way to treat them. He said I was a good girl, he smoothed my hair, he laid on top of me and I went into that zone, that world where I float above myself and watch that poor little girl get hurt once again.


~~~~~~~~~~

Ok I can't write anymore...this took me hours to type because I had to keep stopping and restarting. It's one of those things I don't think I have ever told anyone, one of those things that has been haunting my dreams lately and I am hoping that in putting it into words it will now go away!

 I decided to start my New Years Resolution today so that I can end this year with my first change :)  Thoughtful Thursday, a day to stop and think, a day to get all the dirt out of the carpets and empty the septic tank of my life. Sounds pretty nasty right?? Well it was....my life that is...it was very, very nasty! 

~~~~~~~~~~~

This past holiday made me remember a time when I was young and should have been care free, unfortunately my evil egg donor made it full of care and worry and stress. My hair was so thin, constantly falling out, now I think I know why. For one, I was a hair puller. I would sit and just pluck the strands of hair out of my head. I wouldn't think about it, I would just do it. It was a nervous habit, probably the beginnings of being a cutter, I just didn't know that yet. I remember taking safety pins and pinning them through the skin of my fingers...why would I do such a thing?? I have no idea except that the evil egg donor made me want to control something. As an adult I can see now what I could not see then, I can see that if I had remained there, if I had not ended up in foster care I probably would have become a cutter. I probably would have done more to myself in order to be able to control the pain inflicted upon me. Beatings were a daily thing, like going to the bathroom. You knew it was going to happen, it was just a matter of what time of day she would feel the urge and how much she had held in. Was this going to be one of those days where it was a simple backhand across the room or the day where she grabbed the leather belt or metal yard stick and beat you until you couldn't even feel it anymore...it was a mystery that you could be sure would be solved before the sun had set. 

She was the type of woman you feared, but you learned to out maneuver if you could. You learned her weaknesses...like she couldn't run because she had short stubby legs and she was fat! She couldn't climb a tree and she couldn't climb to the garage roof. You learned to use these to your advantage, get out as fast as possible, get up the tree and sit there waiting for her to realize she wasn't getting you down and then go away. I was the cat and she was the dog, when I came down I would catch hell but for the moment I was safe and maybe, just maybe she would forget why or just how mad she really was and the beating would be less severe. It rarely happened, but I had to live with that hope! I was a desperate child!

Here is an example of my desperation I have never shared!

I was maybe 5 or 6 years old, it was a warm summer day and I was tired from haven been beaten. I had not learned the words to the song the egg donor wanted me to learn and I had received her wrath for my disrespect. I went outside to try to learn the song, I knew that I always memorized better while swinging on the swing, so I walked across the drive to that old swing hanging off the old green boards off the side of the house. I sat there swinging in the swing, wishing I could grow wings and just fly off that swing and to some far away place. In front of me was our huge driveway and in front of that was a clear view of the street. Occasionally a car would drive by and I remember thinking I wish one of those people would kidnap me and take me away from here. Then up on the hill I saw a big mac truck coming. I remembered how the egg donor had told me that truckers were bad people who would steal you if you were too close to the road when they drove by so I ran to the edge of the yard as he approached the corner. There on the corner was a lilac bush, beautiful and full of delicious smells. I ran just past it to where that truck would stop to make his turn......and then I dropped my pants and I took off my shirt and I thought surely he will want me just like my daddy does, this will make him take me away for sure.  I waved my precious parts to him, I tried to flag him down, I flaunted and flirted as best as I could, but the man just looked and then drove away. 

I began to do this on a regular basis, every new truck was a new opportunity. But alas, no pediphiles happened upon my corner except the sperm donor and evil brother #2. Ok, so it's actually a good thing they never happened along or I probably would be dusty bones in a ditch somewhere instead of typing this out right now, but seriously at the time, that is how desperate I was. To stand naked on the corner trying to get a truck drivers attention, how sad and pathetic I must have looked. Why didn't the neighbors say anything? Why didn't they ask questions? Why didn't they say to themselves that something was seriously wrong in a home where a child of 5 will stand on the corner and parade naked for truck drivers? So many why's and so few answers....the story of my life!

~~~~~~~~~~~

And so I will wrap up this weeks issue of Thoughtful Thursday because my son is home on school vacation and he got some really great Christmas presents that I want to play with hehe I also need to get out food shopping before the New Year and today is a great day to do that. 

Happy 2011 to all my blog readers and to anyone who happens upon this post! I hope I have helped someone today and if not, at least I have helped myself, which is the whole point of Thoughtful Thursdays. Enjoy your family and friends and remember, it's not a good idea to dance naked in the streets, you might catch a cold lol