I know it's late....

But better late than never right?

So as I mentioned last week, I have been reflecting. I spent last week thinking about where I was, where I came from and how it effects me today. It was a rough week but I feel I came out on top. I don't like to stay in the past, it's not good there, it's dark and deep and leaves ya feeling like you need a shower. It was extra emotional for me because menopause was acting up and my hormones were all over the place, but I came through, once again, thanks to my cousin Candy! 

Honestly I think I would be lost without that girl in my life...she really knows the right things to say at the right time to make you laugh and feel better about everything. Sometimes I wonder how she can be a member of this family of ours cause she is pretty flipping AWESOME! Pretty soon...my birthday in fact, I am hopefully going to be seeing her face to face for the first time in over 20 years! The Hubby and Wild Child are taking me up to the tippy top of Maine for a snowboarding vacation for my birthday and we just so happen will be driving through her town around lunchtime....so we're gonna try to work it out so that we can meet for lunch...I TOTALLY can not wait! I'll get a picture of her and me together to post on here if she lets me...and I'm betting she'll let me since she actually reads this blog regularly :)

Onward to week two of my reflection....where am I now??

Right now I'm in a pretty good place mentally and emotionally. I have come to fully understand that I can not change my past, it is what it is. I have also come to finally understand that saying that everyone used to tell me "Life is what you make of it" and that's what I'm working on now. 

Life Is What You Make Of It.......so what have I made?? I have made a pretty good life I think, something I can be proud of (or at least most of it) I've made some mistakes that I'm not so proud of, but those moments, those mistakes, my husband and child have helped me through those. Those days when I was in the deepest pits of despair, where I thought life was never going to be the same or was just not worth living, those days my husband seemed to just know that I needed a hug and helped me through. I managed to somehow find a man that may not be perfect, but is perfect for me! There are days when I just feel BLAH and he'll see it. He'll ask what's wrong, I'll say nothing...he'll give me that look and ask again. He asks over and over until he gets the answer because he just knows that I'm trying to put on a brave face when I'm really hurting inside...and he does not like to see me hurting. Even The Wild Child is learning that a hug for mom will go a long ways and the best ones come out of the blue when they are least expected. My little man is growing up, and he's becoming a man that I feel so proud of that it brings tears to my eyes. When I want to know what kind of life I have made, I look into his eyes and I know. I made a good life and I like it here.

I have learned that when I need a more soft touch of emotion, when I need to vent about the things of the past or try to figure out things that are going on around me involving my old life, I turn to Candy more than anyone else. She listens, she talks and she brings a light to my dark path. Although my hubby and Wild Child are awesome at fixing the here and now, I don't like to take them back there. I don't like for them (especially the Wild Child) to see that dark world. They are my light at the end of my tunnel, Candy is my candle that sees me through...because Candy has been there and she knows our genes carry evil. She, like me, has had to work through family crap and since it's the same family...she gets it. She and I seem to have a similar view on moving forward and leaving the junk behind us. When I begin to wander off my path, she leads me back and reminds me to keep looking at the two lights at the end of my tunnel. Candy is my Cousin, My sister, and my Friend! I am very happy to have her back in my life :-)

Next week......Where Am I Going??

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!

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.

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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!

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


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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!

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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!

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

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.


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

As I go through my day to day life, I feel different from others around me. Perhaps it's because I know the darker side of the world, perhaps it's because I tend to be on the shy side and always feel a little awkward, perhaps it's because I was picked on by other kids for being different. Whatever the reason though, it is reality. I am different, I have wounds that are so deep I wonder if they will ever heal, I have emotional and physical scars that are invisible to the outside world but blatantly obvious to me. What I don't think I will ever truly understand though is how people who grow up in a world like mine can find peace with it.

A couple of my siblings have found their peace, they say they handed it over to God and that Jesus took away all that pain and bitterness, that our life was just a part of some bigger picture, some plan. They say that it's not Gods fault, that God did not invite the evil in, that man did. So God let the man have his decisions, whether good or bad, and let man live with the consequences of those choices. But why do I have to live with the consequences of another mans choices? Did I invite the evil into my world? No, I was merely a victim of the situation that was already festering there. I was born into the evil, born from the evil, yet I have to pay the price.

How is that right? 

My biggest problem is that I used to pray....as a little girl I would cry out to God and beg him to please, please save me. I asked him to please make it stop, to please let someone come and take me away....yet no one came until it was too late for so many things. My siblings would like for me to believe that God did save me, he saved us before we were killed by the evil egg donor and that makes it ok. I say it is not ok because although I was not murdered by my egg donor or supposed sperm donor, my spirit was none the less damaged beyond repair. I have a borderline personality disorder which my doctor says is not a true multiple personality disorder but is caused by PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) I have physical scars that caused me to almost lose my son and made it so that I can never have any other children of my own. I have memories that haunt me in the night making my sleep difficult. Sometimes when I am even just walking down the street or through the supermarket I will smell something and it will put me into a full blown panic thinking they are there, hiding in plain sight. Suddenly I become a little girl, scared and feeling so vulnerable that I want to cry. I can't help it, it just happens (thus the diagnosis of borderline personality disorder). My husband raises his voice in an argument and I cringe, it's a reflex that I can not control. The rational side of my brain knows that he would never hurt me, the small child is scared of being beaten, being locked into a closet, being hurt once again.

It's been almost 30 years since we were taken into foster care, but the wounds are still there and I just don't understand why that kind and loving God allowed it to go on for so long. Seems to me that the constant was the egg donor, she beat us and hurt us physically and emotionally. The other damage, the sexual damage was a constant but the source of the torture was ever changing. When the supposed sperm donor left, he was replaced by the evil big brother. When he left, he was replaced by the evil Uncle Deano. Then he was replaced by Evil Mr. P.  So that God saved me from one evil only to replace it with another? Why? Why did he allow these others to enter my world? Why didn't he just leave well enough alone? Why did he allow this plan to continue? All it did was leave me as a wounded bitter person who hates so deeply that I will probably end up in hell. Why would this be his plan? What is the purpose of such an evil plan?  Did he truly allow this plan to continue because Adam ate some apple thus inviting evil into the world? Did he really feel it was loving to sit there and allow me to be the victim of their evilness because they had a right to choose? Didn't I have a right to choose too? Why didn't my choices get taken into consideration? I could have taken the physical and emotional abuse from the evil egg donor, I probably could have survived all the way to 18 years old when I could get out on my own. Why did I have to suffer the sexual abuse over and over again when I clearly begged God to change it? Why would he allow them to continue to hurt me when I clearly could not get away on my own?

So many questions and so few answers.

My siblings say God has taken away their pain, I think it's a different story. Either they weren't abused as badly as me or they are just hiding behind the cross trying to pretend that everything is ok. There is no way anyone could feel it is ok to suffer that way  just because God planned it, that it's ok because God didn't make the choice but allowed our abusers to make those choices. If he is truly all powerful then that God could have saved me the first time I was raped at 2 years old...at a time when I didn't even know who or what God was. He is supposed to protect the small children, but he didn't protect me, he allowed me to hurt because Adam ate an apple.

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As you can see, I am feeling a bit bitter today. I recently had a run in with a relative who tried to convince me that God did save me before the worst (death) happened. They tried to convince me that God put us into a loving foster home and that it was all a part of his plan. I just don't buy it and it just makes me mad when someone tries to tell me that it was all a part of some big plan. I feel the plan SUCKS, I don't like the plan and I think even the best laid plans should be flexible enough to change when bad things happen. When you plan an outdoor wedding and it decides to pour rain you don't stand outside in the pouring rain in your wedding dress , making your friends and relatives sit in the pouring rain watching you exchange your vows. No, you adapt, you change the plans, you find shelter or put up shelter so that no one has to suffer because of your big plan. Humans were supposedly made in the image of God but he didn't have the brains to adapt?  Are we then smarter than God? The story does not makes any sense at all. They like to say that God had to watch his son die, yet they don't see it as wrong that God came down here to earth and raped a young girl because he wanted her to have his baby. I know the story says she just amazingly became pregnant, well that's not how it works so God must have  raped her in order to make her pregnant. Like so many other girls who are raped, she was too ashamed to tell anyone the truth. Perhaps that's why God thought it was ok for me to be raped over and over again...because he was a rapist himself. Now that theory makes sense to me.

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I know that I will eventually calm down, I will eventually push the immediate pain down low enough that it doesn't hurt quite so much. I know that I will spend my time searching for all the good I have now so that I can get beyond the pain of the past. I will do what they all do, only I will do it without hiding behind a cross or a bible. In the end, I believe, I will be the stronger person for having faced my pain and moved on.

So here we are, another Thursday. I had debated not even writing a Thoughtful Thursday post today but I decided it would be in my best interest to just do it. See in a few days I'm turning 40...yep the big 4 0! I figure what better time to set a few things straight and get this crap off my mind!

As I find myself approaching 40 I can't help but remember back to past birthdays and what a disappointment most of them were. I never even had a birthday party until I was 12 years old in foster care and since my Big Bro #3 was born just 4 days before me, generally I never even got to celebrate on my day...it was always on his. I remember being so jealous and upset that he got to celebrate on his special day but mine was barely recognized because everyone had already wished me my happy birthday days before it happened. That's why, when I went into foster care and my foster mother planned my very first ever birthday party I was elated! My day, my own day and I didn't have to share it with anyone! It was AWESOME!

This is me that day with my best friend of the time Angel, I know the photo got messed up and all, but the memory of that day keeps that photo looking great in my eyes. This was taken outside the ice skating rink where my foster mother took us after we had cake and stuff.

 And this is the whole group of friends she had invited. My foster mother invited kids that were in my school that she knew because I didn't know too many and I was exceptionally shy and if it had been left up to me I probably would of invited maybe 2 people LOL In the back row is my friend Angel and Dori, the next row down is a girl named Heather, then Lisa, Missy and Leslie. In front is me with a smurf on my head..NO COMMENTS ON THE SMURF! It was 1983 ok! and next to me is a girl named Lenore...wow I can remember everyones names...that's how special that day was!

The gold hats had been bought by my foster mother along with all the tootsie pops.  I was so happy to have my own party and not have to share with Big Bro...my first HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

But before that birthday there had been many unhappy birthdays, no presents, maybe a cake if I was lucky. The one thing I could count on was my birthday beating, everyone called it a birthday spanking but it was not fun, it was not good and it was something I would never do to my child. You got one hit for every year of your life and then one to start you out for the next year...one to grow on they called it, I hated and dreaded the birthday spankings. I would get chased around by the entire family until I was caught, then I would be forcefully held down  so that I couldn't get away. They would all take turns "spanking" me, making sure they used the most force they could. I would cry and cry and cry and I often had trouble sitting down afterward.  My bottom would be so red and so sore that I couldn't sit down or lie on my back without pain. It was torture...so glad my family isn't around me now that I'm turning 40!

One thing I do remember quite clearly though....I remember thinking I would NEVER make it to 40. I honestly thought I would be lucky to see my next birthday, say nothing about 40 where I would be free of the torture, free of the pain, free of the life I had to live. I never dreamed I would be able to be here, a mother of a wonderful child, a wife to a tolerant husband, a woman looking at her 40th birthday! Even in that photo up there, I had no clue what life was going to hand me, I feared getting sent back and that would be my one and only birthday party ever. I had been in foster care for less than a year and everyone wanted me to visit with that evil egg donor they liked to call my mother so that we could grow a bond and build a relationship...the last thing I wanted to do. I didn't know I could survive to 40, I didn't know it was possible to get this far.

As I sit here now, pouring out my heart on the internet for others to see, I think WOW, when I was in that photo the internet was unheard of. I wrote in a journal and hid it in various spots so that no one (especially Sissy) could read it. I hid my emotions, I hid  my thoughts, I hid everything possible so that I would not get hurt. I feared life, I feared the people around me, I feared my own shadow. And now here I am, turning 40 and I'm still scared of a lot of things, still scared of meeting new people, still scared to let my heart open to others. BUT I'm not as scared as I used to be, not that timid little girl that hid in the corner in hopes that no one would notice me. If I were to see those school bullies who taunted me because I was weird...I would probably let them have a piece of my mind. I would stand up for myself because it's not my fault that I am who I am...I'm me because I was beaten down by an evil tyrant that everyone called my mother. I may be weird, but I am still a human being. Their taunting made me stronger in the end, the beatings taught me to survive, the life I had to survive rather than live, it made me who I am.

I am a caring person who thinks of others, I believe in treating others the way I wish I was treated. I believe in raising a child who knows how to cry and knows how to feel. I believe in being a good neighbor and paying attention to those around me. I believe that many of the kids who grew up around me might have been abused too and so they taunted and teased because it made them feel better and because I was an easy target. I believe they may have actually grown up and felt badly about how they treated me...I don't know if it's true but I want to believe it to be true because I like to try to believe that there is good in most people. I even believe that once, a long time ago, my evil egg donor was a good person. She lost her way, became bitter about life and instead of looking at the world like I do, she chose to be the bully forever. She chose to let whatever happened to her eat away at her. She chose to make herself feel better by making those smaller than her (her children) feel worse. She was a bully, plain and simple. I refuse to be like her, I will not be a bully and I will be a better person than that. I choose to take my stories and make them something useful, something good, hopefully something that can help others who have to simply survive.
I am turning 40 in a few days, and when I do I will live for the day, I choose to realize that I no longer need to simply survive.


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Have a great weekend everyone. I'm off snowboarding with my boys for my birthday, it's going to be a great time. Take time to smell the  (I would says roses but how about snowflakes given the recent weather lol) and take the time to LIVE....don't just simply survive...because living life is so much more fun than just surviving it!

This week I had a situation with my son that took me back to my childhood, it involved the school, him making a bad decision and trying to lie to get out of it. Our situations weren't exactly the same, but as I found myself asking myself "What would the egg donor have done if I did this?" I couldn't help but think back to a time when I was about his age and I made a bad decision and tried with all my might to lie my way out of a hole.

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When I was about 9 or 10 years old I had basically 1 friend. She had been my best friend since 1st grade, we played together at recess all the time, we played together before school and tried to sit next to each other in the classroom when we got to choose our seats. We tried to sit on the rug together, read together in the library and be on the same team when it came to gym class. We were basically inseparable and I loved having someone who actually liked me and didn't hit me or hurt me in any way. 30 years later we still talk (through facebook) we have kids the same age and we are still friends. Back then though, we didn't want to be apart from each other ever and so one day we spent recess creating our master plan to get to play together after school. Her mother would never allow her to have friends over without their parents permission or without knowing the parents. My mother would never allow me to have a friend over ever and besides the point I wouldn't want her to witness the hovel I lived in or risk her seeing me get hit. So we both sat and very carefully wrote letters to the others parent. We thought we were being really smart, copy our parents handwriting, tell the other parent that we were giving permission for (in my case) me to go to her house on the bus after school and (in her case) her to have me over for the afternoon. W didn't think much beyond the fact that we just wanted to play together. We signed our parents names and our big plan went into action. We figured each parent would read the note, see the nice handwriting and agree. We thought we would get away with this and her mother would be too tired to drive me home after work so I would get to spend the night too. I thought my egg donor would love the chance to get rid of me for a day and I would, for one night, be safe from the rape and hurt that always happened there.

We went home that day with notes in hand, handed them over to our parents and then something unexpected happened.....a phone call. Darn it, I knew I was in trouble before she even got off the phone. You could see the manic gleam in her eye as she spoke with my friends mother who was simply calling to verify that it was ok for me to come over. Apparently our handwriting wasn't as neat as we thought it was and it wasn't really believable. As they spoke the egg donors lip got tight like it always did when she was mad, her knuckles around the phone handle began to turn white. Her face became reddened and her breathing began to get heavy. I knew I was in for it, I knew I should have run for it before she could get off that phone but somehow I was there in major trouble and I didn't know what to do.

I tried to lie and say it was all my friends idea, that it was a joke and we hadn't really meant it. I cried and said it would never happen again...but it was no good and I was in some major trouble! I got a good beating for that one and locked in the closet for good measure.

My son will never learn his lessons the way I did, he will not learn through fear.

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This week has also been very special on a good note. When I was growing up I had an amazing uncle, his name was Hiram and he was my all time favorite uncle. He was a great man, so funny and he could play the harmonica so beautifully! I haven't heard his harmonica playing in close to 30 years but I remember it and loved it. Well his granddaughter, my cousin, is one of my friends on facebook and she sent my son some maple candy for Christmas. She told me to be careful opening the tissue because she had put a little something in there for me too and so we opened the box with care when it arrived just the other day. Inside the box we found plenty of maple candy, enough to last the boy almost a year LOL Then, in the very bottom of the box, I found a cd. It was an hour long cd of my uncle playing the harmonica! I burned it into my desktop and my laptop and I sat here listening to his music and I began to cry. I suddenly remembered sitting in his living room singing along to him playing the same songs I was listening to, it was such a beautiful sound. He passed away last year, so I feel very honored to have him here with me now playing his harmonica forever.

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Ok peoples that's it for today. Enjoy your weekend and remember....if your kids lie to you or they do something bad, don't teach them a lesson through fear and violence, teach them instead with love. It works much better!

When you're an abused child you think differently than most kids your age. You try not to think about 10 or 15 years down the road mainly because you're too worried about what tonight will bring. You have to think in the moment, how will this decision now effect my life 5 minutes from now when the evil one finds out about it? How can I do this without getting caught? How can I cover this up so she won't know? You dread the moment she outsmarts you because she does that a lot....afterall you are just a kid and she's got a good 30 years of evilness on you. So you do what you can, what you feel you need to do, and you hope the evil one never knows.

One of the biggest things I did that I hoped she would never figure out concerned her alcohol. She had a bottle of vodka that she loved and no one was allowed to even touch it! You even looked at it and you got yelled at. Not even the sperm donor was allowed to touch her precious clear liquid. Since I knew how much she liked it, but also how mean she was after she drank it, I messed with her without her knowing. After she had gone to bed, or after school when she wasn't home, I would take her bottle from its hiding spot, mark it with my finger and then dump some down the drain. Then I would go to the toilet with the bottle and a cup and I would refill it to the exact spot with toilet water.  I would return it to her hiding spot making sure I set it back exactly as it had been when I removed it. I did that at least once a week, it was great fun watching her drink her toilet-watered-down-vodka! I would find myself having to leave the room lest she catch me giggling and it got me smacked around.  Then there was those bottles of budweiser she hid behind the couch. There was always a 6 pack there and they were always twist caps so you didn't have to use a bottle opener...those I would actually pee in the toilet first then fill them! I know, pretty gross, BUT SHE DESERVED IT!  It was my sweet revenge until I realized that Sissy was sneaking the vodka to deal with the sexual abuse she was suffering and Big Sis #2 was sneaking the Budweisers. After that, I stopped because I didn't want them to get sick and I knew that they were watering down her drinks to cover up what they were drinking. Sometimes it made me mad knowing they had taken away my own bit of revenge, but they were older and so they won. Of course I can't help but wonder just how much toilet water and pee water those two actually drank and how they didn't manage to get sick lol I recently told Sissy about that and she just laughed and said "no wonder that vodka tasted funny" At least she had a sense of humor about it, she could understand. What she couldn't understand was why I poured it down the drain instead of drinking it to deal.

Of course I had my own way of dealing...I was a smoker. The sperm donor smoked camels with no filters and he spent so much time being drunk I managed to steal plenty of cigarettes off him. It all started when I was about 4 years old when the egg donor called us all into the kitchen. She lined us up and handed us each a cigarette. She lit them up and made us each smoke an entire cigarette by ourselves. It was supposed to teach us what a horrible habit it was, it was supposed to make us sick and make us never want to smoke again. Sissy puked something awful, poor thing! Me, I rather enjoyed it. It relaxed me, calmed me, made it easier to deal with the stress of life. I smoked my cigarette and wanted more! I found myself sitting next to the sperm donors chair waiting for him to sit his cigarette down so I could sneak it as he sat in a drunken stupor watching tv. He would always light up and then leave it sitting in the ashtray just burning, picking it up every now and again to take another puff. I was very good at sneaking puffs for myself here and there and as my addiction grew I started to steal cigarettes out of the pack. By the time I was 6 years old I was walking the road looking for soda cans and bottles to take to the store to redeem. Back then kids could buy cigarettes for their parents at the local country store, so I would redeem my cans and buy myself a pack a day. I would steal money from the egg donor and the sperm donor so that I could afford my habit. I was a pack a day 6 year old smoker....pretty sad eh? But it got me through, it helped me deal with the abuse. I would smoke right before bed every night knowing that in a few hours I would be woken by the sperm donor, given my bag of circus peanuts and then taken to the shed. The circus peanuts were to keep me quiet. I was told that it was my special treat...I recently found out in conversation that Sissy was told the same exact thing...it was her special treat. Funny how we kept those secrets to ourselves for so long and we never knew that the other was being abused.

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Have a great weekend, and watch the way you treat your kids because they might just spike your wine with toilet water...and who wants to drink that??

There she sits, alone on the wooden swing. Her bowl cut dirty blonde hair is messy, the dirt on her face is smudged with tears. Her glasses sit perched upon her face crookedly, her shirt is torn and looks as though it hadn't been washed in many a days. She sits leaning over herself, hugging herself as though she has never been hugged by another. She is clearly suffering, in pain, but no one knows why. She will never tell this dirty little secret because if she did that might be the day she dies....and in her heart she knows she must survive!

That little girl wants someone to know her story now


That day it had been a fun one. Her best friend and she had come up with the perfect plan to get together and play after school. They would each write letters to the others mother saying that it was ok for the little girl to ride the bus to her friends house to play for the afternoon. They had signed their mothers names and thought their plan was fool proof. The little girl was a little nervous, mother never let her go anywhere, not even across the street to play with the girl over there. She was always told she had plenty of brothers and sisters to play with and didn't need to go to other kids houses.

That afternoon she gave the note to her mother. She told her mother that her friend wanted her to come over and that it was ok with her mother. The mother took the note in her hand and read it, then she picked up the phone book and found the phone number for her friend. The girl thought to herself "oh no" and she knew she was going to need to hide. She thought frantically, trying to think of a place she could go where her mother might not find her, she knew she was in deep trouble. Her stomach turned as her mother clearly got an answer on the other side of the line, she could feel her heart pounding as her mother found out about the note she had sent home to her friends mother. As she tried to step away mother grabbed her by the hair on her head and held her there...too late she wasn't fast enough!

As the phone was hung up the girl began to immediately beg for mercy. She said how sorry she was, that it had been her friends idea and she just went along with it. She cried out as she was thrown to the floor knowing that the pain had only just begun. The mother screamed at the child, mother was embarrassed, the girl had made her look like a fool and she was not in the least impressed. She was crying as the mother yelled "Stop crying! You cry, you get more!" but the girl could not stop crying and so the mother kicked her in the ribs, in the stomach, the girl curled into a ball hoping she could protect herself. She was kicked  in the back, in the legs, anywhere the mother could kick. Then when it stopped she was picked up by the hair on her head and thrown out the door where she was told to get out of her mothers sight. She staggered down the steps and over to the edge of the house where the wooden beam held the swing.

And so there she sits on the wooden swing, sad and crying and clearly in pain. She suffered 2 broken ribs, numerous bruises and another blow to her self esteem. She would never gt to go to that friends house, nor to any other friends house. She never again attempted to trick her mother like that , she had learned her lesson.


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I've been doing a lot of thinking and reflecting this past week. I have listened to Sissy tell me about her boyfriend who hit her so hard he knocked her over and sprained her hip. She left him, told me she wasn't going to go back unless he got help...she was back living with him within a week. She said all the classic things...he hadn't meant to do it, he loved her, she loved him, she couldn't live without him. She wants to help him get better. I don't know how she can live the life we lived yet live with a man who abuses her and hurts her. I don't understand how she can't be stronger than that.

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And a good thought for today...because  this is a special day to me :) Today is October 15th....15 years ago my husband came home from work, got down on bended knee as I washed some dishes in the sink and asked me to be his wife. I'm so glad I said "YES!"

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Have a great weekend everyone. Remember you don't have to be a victim, you too can be a survivor. It's all in how you look at your life....will you remember the bad things because they make you who you are or will you look at them to know what not to do and how they make you what you are becoming? You can be what you want to be, who you want to be, you are not destined to be the victim unless you make it your destiny.

Here we are again, it's been an entire week since we said good-bye to our beloved Sparky and I must say Orion is dealing much better now. It was a long week and it seems that every advertisement for cat products has a cat on it that looks just like him, but we made it through and are now settled into life with only 4 cats once again. The other animals have been more loving and forlorn, I am sure they miss their friend as much as we do (if not even more) but the biggest thing we've noticed is no on will sit on his perch. The perch in the windowsill remains empty and unused. I guess it's their way of showing respect and thy will most likely start using it in due time.


My memories about my youth have been quiet as of late, it seems Sparky getting sick and dying put a damper on that, but I do still find myself thinking occasionally about it and wondering how I would be if I had been raised differently. Would I be a better parent, would I be the emotional and sensitive person I am today? Would I have perhaps been the kid in the hallway laughing at the less fortunate, taunting and teasing them for being different? Honestly I would like to think that no, I wouldn't. Perhaps I wouldn't be as sensitive as I am, perhaps not as overly emotional as I tend to be, but I would like to believe that I would still be the good person who befriends the less fortunate and gives them a smile when no one else would. I would like to believe that I would still be a kind hearted person who looked for the best in everyone and sought to make others happy. I can only hope that my kindness is not some weird result of years of neglect and abuse. I do believe I would find some parenting decisions easier if I had been shown the right way to parent, if I had a better example set for me, but I do feel I am doing a pretty good job given the circumstances. I try to make gut decisions and I have learned to ask for help and advice when I feel clueless. Sissy has been a wonderful help of late and having had 3 tough boys (and 2 girls) she has some pretty creative ideas on parenting and discipline. She has dealt with the ADHD boy and so it is to her that I turn to when I need a helping hand. At least the egg donor provided me with a sibling who is not only older but is also smart and wise and has a good head on her shoulders. It also doesn't hurt that we can get along and she's willing to talk to me despite the fact that I call the egg donor just that...the egg donor. Older sister #2 thinks that is wrong, that I should give that anger and resentment to god and be healed inside so that I can forgive and move on. I feel she doesn't deserve my forgiveness and I have moved on anyway. I refuse to forget so that I can always know what not to be and I refuse to forgive....again she doesn't deserve it. I have mentioned before my feelings on god...so you already know that I am not so sure that he is this all powerful being who knows everything that's going on and as planned everything out. Honestly if some all powerful god PLANNED for me to be raped and beaten, planned that childhood for me, then he's an asshole and I certainly don't want to spend eternity with him! What a friggin jerkish thing that is to do to a child....to plan that kind of life for them, wow he's a really nice guy NOT! Don't even get into the bit about him being merciful...hell I begged and pleaded with that unknown god to help me out, to get me out of there, to save us from that life yet day after day, night after night, we continued to live a nightmare all because that merciful god had planned it. Nope, sorry, just can't bring myself to believe in that or to hand my pain over to him.

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Today I also wanted to share a happy memory since I have so few. It's kinda vague, but it's there and I love this memory all the same. Every time we have a big thunderstorm I remember it and it makes me smile. When I was a little girl we always looked forward to a summer thunderstorm, as the rain poured heavily down we would run and grab a bottle of beer and race to the nearest rain gutter. We would get our heads good and wet and then pour the beer over our heads and scrub it in like shampoo, then rinse it out in the gutter. I can still hear our laughter as we fought to get the best part of the roof (just off the corner of the porch on the right hand side) where there would be the biggest amount of water falling. It was so much fun taking our beer showers, and our hair was always so silky and smooth afterward.  Those were the times when I almost felt normal, the times when, even though we were wasting good beer, we were not yelled at or beaten for it. For some reason the egg donor allowed this behavior and occasionally would even laugh with us...although she never joined in on the fun. She almost seemed like a mother at those times, those rare moments that I can remember without an ache in my heart.

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I mentioned the other day that I was thinking of changing up my blog, I've decided that at least for now I'm gonna leave it as is. I don't think I have the discipline to post on 2 separate blogs and I'm not really sure my life is truly interesting enough anyway lol As for Orion's meds, well that's still up in the air and it's mainly because I'm not entirely sure he's actually feeling that way. When I mentioned to him about changing up his meds he said that the adderral doesn't really make it so he can't have fun it's just that he doesn't like taking it. A couple days after that he said he just doesn't want to change meds because he's afraid of worse side effects and  the uncertainty of how a different med would work. I hate the idea of him being depressed and forlorn because of his meds but now I'm not sure that it is the meds. I guess I will have to have the doctor talk to him and see if the doctor can get an honest answer out of him and maybe give him some reassurance that a different medicine may not be as bad as he's anticipating. I know that kids often change meds, I know that quite often people go through 5 or 6 different ones until they find the one that works best for their child, but Orion doesn't get that and doesn't want worse side effects. Unfortunately that could happen and there is no way to know what will happen until we try. I just don't know what to do and feel lost in this matter. I wish I had a magic 8 ball so I could ask it what to do, I wish I knew all the answers, I wish I could just wave a wand and make everything better...but I can't so I will trudge onward in hopes of tripping over the right answers sooner or later.

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Ok peoples, that's it for this week. I hope everyone has a terrific weekend and finds a way to make some happy memories for their children. No matter what kind of parent you are, whether ytou are the tough parent, the soft parent or even the inbetween parent, make sure your children hear you laugh so that when they grow up they will have something special to remember forever!

From Blogger Pictures

Thoughtful Thursday.......................

Let me first tell you a story of a little girl, a girl who was scared and tired of the stuff that was going on at home. She was in 1st grade and thought that maybe, just maybe, if she told someone her story they would be able to help. She really liked her teacher, so one day she stayed behind at recess time to talk to her.

The little girl stood there in the shadow of the teacher, twisting her hands together in nervousness, standing on her own toes, wriggling in the nervousness and shame of what she was about to tell. She had been told not to tell by her evil sperm donor, but this was something that her gut told her she needed to tell about. This was not a secret she should keep. Her blonde hair hung in her face, dirty and greasy it hung in strands covering her eyes. Her shirt was dirty and ragged looking, her pants torn and frayed and nearly 2 inches too short. As she looked down at her feet she could hear the taunts of the others students "You expecting a flood?" they would jeer while laughing at her misery, if only a flood would come and wash her away from this horribly sad world she had to live in. If only they had to endure the pain and suffering she had to, maybe then they wouldn't tease her quite so much.

She looked up at her teacher and said in a quiet voice, barely audible"my daddy hurts me" The teacher smiled her friendly smile and replies "well sometimes daddy has to spank because we do things wrong. He's just trying to teach you to be a good girl" The little girl feels the hot tears welling up in her eye, draws a deep breath of courage and says "no, he doesn't spank me, he hurts me down there" with trembling hands she points to her midsection and waits with bated breath for the teacher to speak.  This is it she thought, now I can be saved. Her disappointment had only just begun. As she looked up at her teacher, she knew by the smile, the pause in reply, the vacant look in her eyes, the girl knew she was not going to get help today.  The teacher simply replied "but dear, that's how our daddy shows us he loves us" With that the little girl put her fake smile back on and walked away, she would not be saved today!

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That little girl grew up with that memory permanently embedded in her  mind. She never forgot those words..that's how daddy shows that he loves us....she clearly had been hurt by her daddy too. I guess it was more common place back then. or perhaps she just didn't want to get involved, I'm not sure. One thing i know for sure.....that was not the right answer and that is why I write this blog! I spent many years trying to figure out why that teacher would tell me such a thing, why would she think it was ok? Even if she had been abused herself, she was now a grown-up, she could have and should have helped me escape. What is it with this mentality of it happened to me so that makes it ok for me to do it to others or to watch it happen to others and turn a blind eye upon it? I know it is now the law that teachers and doctors who suspect abuse must report it, I am not sure if it was back then or not. It was the late 70's so I don't think the law had actually been passed yet. Perhaps that teacher was just living with the mentality of what happens at home stays at home and felt she was only responsible for what happened in her classroom. Perhaps she thought it best that she not get involved. I don't know what she was thinking, but again I say it was wrong and I am glad the rules have changed so that other children can be saved.

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The other day I was reading Harry Potter to my son, it was the 6th book and we were reading the chapter where Dumbledore shows Harry the first Slughorn memory...the one that had been tampered with. I couldn't help but think to myself that is how a lot of my memories feel, blurry and faded, like I don't know exactly what really happened. The voices aren't quite right, the scenes are quite clear, and I wonder once again if there is something blocking that darkness. I know I had my zone that I would go into, that place where I could go in my mind to escape the reality I was stuck in. I know I have darkness hidden in my mind that apparently was too evil for me to cope with so my mind protected me by making me forget. I am of two minds when it comes to those memories...a part of me wants to know and a part of me wants to keep it all hidden away and never know just how bad it really was. That part of me believes that if it was so bad that I had to block it out and forget it, then perhaps I really just don't want to know! Perhaps it truly is best left forgotten forever! But then again, if Harry had not gotten the true memory then perhaps he never would have defeated Voldemort. Perhaps I will never defeat my Voldemort until I find my inner Harry Potter and reveal those memories.

I also think it would be really cool to have one of those pensieves so I could dump my memories that I don't want and only keep the good ones! THAT would be awesome!
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Alright people, that's it for this weeks edition of Thoughtful Thursday! Enjoy your weekend! My magical words of wisdom for the week....find your inner Harry Potter, be brave, be strong and defeat the evil that lingers in the world!

From Blogger Pictures

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