Category Archives: Flashbacks
I am sorry it has been so long since I have posted. I know some of you may have even forgotten about this little blog of mine. Yesterday was 19 years since the first time that I was raped. This year I had to take my hubby to the airport up in Indy so that he could go visit with his family in Georgia. This year I came back home and went back to sleep for a while and then got up and started cleaning house (as best I could with my back injury, which I will tell you all about soon). I had some friends come over and they kept me company. One friend came over and helped me clean…then the others came over and we had a girls’ night and we talked and made Vision/Inspiration boards and we had a good time and I did not feel sad or helpless or lost once. THIS year, I won.
And they are not pretty. When I was a small child my mother and father were together. From the stories I have been told, he beat on her a lot. I was far to young to ever remember something like that. But I have it on good authority that he is an abusive man and an alcoholic. I do not doubt that she suffered a great deal at his hands.
Some background for any of you that don’t know these things about me: I am a middle child. I have an older sister and a younger brother. We all three have different fathers. When I was about 6 my stepdad adopted me.
I have come to realize as I have gotten older that the only reason that this happened was so that my father would not access to me and would not make my mother and sister scared anymore. It is possibly so that he would not hurt me like he hurt them, but I don’t know. I have to assume that they did what they thought was in my best interests.
When I was 5 my brother was born. My sister is 8 years older than I am. Mom and Dad went out a lot and left my sister in charge. Would have been great except that my sister resented me for having been born and making her not be the only child anymore and she resented me for being “his” daughter and the reason mom kept him in our lives for so long. She told me once when she was 16 or so that she really hated me when I was born. People say that sticks and stones can’t hurt you but these words play back in a person’s mind and they do something horrible to the soul.
As I was growing up my mother would use my father as a threat. If I did not go along with what she wanted me to do or act how she wanted me to act then she would threaten to make me go live with him. From the horrible things that I was told about him, I did not want that.
My sister and her Daddy were always very close. My brother was the son my mother had always wanted. I was the middle child and all I had was my mother. I was not my dad’s child by blood…just the one that he had to take ownership of. Of course, I am sure, he resented me for that. So here I was this middle child with no one in this world to intervene for me but my mother.
About the time that I was 8 or 9 is when it started. My sister moved out and moved in to live with her Daddy. Mom and my sister had some really bad arguments but mom never beat on her. My sister had a Daddy she could count on and who would defend her. My brother was only like 3 or 4 so he couldn’t possibly do anything to warrant a beating. But I could. I was the daughter of the bastard who beat on her and no one could or would stop her from beating on me. Belts, paint stir sticks, hands….whatever was handy. It started and was worst when I would bring home bad grades. Looking back now, I am absolutely certain that I had some form of learning disability or even possibly have Asperger’s Syndrome, but she never cared enough to try to figure out what was going on, just the “what the hell is wrong with you?” and the beatings. She would even tell me sometimes that somethings I did reminded her of Chuck (my biological father) and when I did those things she just wanted to kill me. My mother told me she wanted to kill me. I was just a child. Sticks and stones DO hurt. And they replay over and over inside of a person’s soul.
When I was 13 we move to Cincinnati. It got worse when we lived there. It got much worse. When I was 14 there was an incident where my mother’s cousin was coming to visit and my mother got angry with me for eating the last honey bun. I had not, but she called me a liar and beat me with her belt. She left welts and bruises up and down my legs. She will swear to this day that I over exaggerated it and that this did not happen how I said it did, but she lies. She doesn’t actually lie, but stretches it so far that she might as well lie.
She was always angry with me. There would be brief periods of time when I would feel like we were finally going to get along and that she would protect me, but then she would turn on me again. Almost as if she got off on the bait and switch she was playing with me. When I was in 6th grade “dad” called me a bitch because I had teased my hair up and had it in the current style. We were going to the father/daughter dance and I was getting ready. She defended me on this. Then she never did again. There were so many times he would call me that name under his breath and she would say it did not count if it was under his breath.
When she beat me that time about the hunny bun, I wore shorts to school. The school called CPS on her but they did nothing to protect me. I went home with a friend because I was scared to go home. I was terrified she would play the perfect mother and call me a liar and they would let her off the hook, so I ran away. Well they found me and CPS did let them off the hook and they chose to make my life worse because of this.
From that point on I had to hear her tell me how I called CPS on her and that I was not abused….that those kids whose parents do things like burn or scald them or cut on them or all of these other horrible things, those were the ones that were abused. She would tell me I had it so great compared to them and I needed to appreciate it.
We moved back to Indiana when I was 15. We moved to Terre Haute which is where we lived when my boyfriend at the time raped me. My mother walked in on that and did not even consider that it could have been anything other than her no good worthless daughter being a whore. And she treated me accordingly.
There is a pattern of abuse throughout my life but she refuses to acknowledge that she has ever done anything to harm or hurt me. It is very possible that I have Asperger’s or some other condition. Whether this condition is something that is genetic like Asperger’s or something that is resultant of her abuse of me, I don’t know. I do know that I have PTSD. I have a severe case of PTSD from the abuse, the rapes and the miscarriages. I have a pattern of letting people be mean to me because I am afraid. Not because they scare me but I am so conditioned to be afraid.
She stole my son from me when he was just over a year old. She was pushing me and I sent him to his father’s for the night so that I could have the night to figure things out. I went to my best friend’s house and my mother showed up there with her best friend and my sister and told me to get my “shit” out of my car, which was in her name (another control mechanism she used on me) and left me on my best friend’s doorstep telling her that I was her problem now. She stranded me and got his father to bring him to her and then never let me have him back. In effect, she kidnapped my son. I was so terrified of her that I could not fight even though it was tearing my heart out.
I had lost my job and I had lost my apartment and when I needed my mother to help me, she cast me to the wolves and took the one thing that meant anything to me. I want to hate her. I want to cut her out of my life, but here is the thing….even though I know that I am much better than that and I KNOW I do not need her approval or even really want it, I still long for her love. It makes me so very sad because I know that she will never love me. She will always punish me for the blood that runs in my veins. She takes that tone with me and I feel how much she doesn’t care. I feel her lack of love. She can say I love you and make you very aware that she does not in the same breath. These are the hurts that I carry in my soul. These are the things I have in my mind when I lay down to try to go to sleep at night. I am so tired of feeling so very worthless and unloveable. And I am tired of no one listening to me or believing me that she did these things to me.
I told my sister recently and she did not even believe me. My mother has the family so convinced that I am a drama queen that no one will even listen to me, much less take me seriously. I have realized that my mother is an evil person. I just don’t know how to fight her and her money and lawyers. But I will say that the day my son turns 18 and is graduated from school I will tell her everything that I have held back.
This is copied from the Huffington Post site. This article was not written by me. This was written by the brilliant Ms. Eve Ensler. I read this and had to share it with you guys. I am over it too. I agree with the OCCUPYRAPE part. Countdown to Vday 2013. I will be sharing this with my support group when it gets started. We are getting closer to that time!
I am over rape.
I am over rape culture, rape mentality, rape pages on Facebook.
I am over the thousands of people who signed those pages with their real names without shame.
I am over people demanding their right to rape pages, and calling it freedom of speech or justifying it as a joke.
I am over people not understanding that rape is not a joke and I am over being told I don’t have a sense of humor, and women don’t have a sense of humor, when most women I know (and I know a lot) are really fucking funny. We just don’t think that uninvited penises up our anus, or our vagina is a laugh riot.
I am over how long it seems to take anyone to ever respond to rape. I am over Facebook taking weeks to take down rape pages.
I am over the hundreds of thousands of women in Congo still waiting for the rapes to end and the rapists to be held accountable.
I am over the thousands of women in Bosnia, Burma, Pakistan, South Africa, Guatemala, Sierra Leone, Haiti, Afghanistan, Libya, you name a place, still waiting for justice.
I am over rape happening in broad daylight.
I am over the 207 clinics in Ecuador supported by the government that are capturing, raping, and torturing lesbians to make them straight.
I am over one in three women in the U.S military (Happy Veterans Day!) getting raped by their so-called “comrades.”
I am over the forces that deny women who have been raped the right to have an abortion.
And I’m over CNBC debate host Maria Bartiromo getting booed when she asked him about it. She was booed, not Herman Cain.
Which reminds me, I am so over the students at Penn State who protested the justice system instead of the alleged rapist pedophile of at least 8 boys, or his boss Joe Paterno, who did nothing to protect those children after knowing what was happening to them.
I am over rape victims becoming re-raped when they go public.
I am over starving Somalian women being raped at the Dadaab refugee camp in Kenya, and I am over women getting raped at Occupy Wall Street and being quiet about it because they were protecting a movement which is fighting to end the pillaging and raping of the economy and the earth, as if the rape of their bodies was something separate.
I am over women still being silent about rape, because they are made to believe it’s their fault or they did something to make it happen.
I am over violence against women not being a #1 international priority when one out of three women will be raped or beaten in her lifetime — the destruction and muting and undermining of women is the destruction of life itself. No women, no future, duh.
I am over this rape culture where the privileged with political and physical and economic might, take what and who they want, when they want it, as much as they want, any time they want it. I am over the endless resurrection of the careers of rapists and sexual exploiters — film directors, world leaders, corporate executives, movie stars, athletes — while the lives of the women they violated are permanently destroyed, often forcing them to live in social and emotional exile.
I am over the passivity of good men. Where the hell are you? You live with us, make love with us, father us, befriend us, brother us, get nurtured and mothered and eternally supported by us, so why aren’t you standing with us? Why aren’t you driven to the point of madness and action by the rape and humiliation of us?
I am over years and years of being over rape.
And thinking about rape every day of my life since I was 5-years-old.
And getting sick from rape, and depressed from rape, and enraged by rape.
And reading my insanely crowded inbox of rape horror stories every hour of every single day.
I am over being polite about rape.
It’s been too long now, we have been too understanding.
We need to OCCUPYRAPE in every school, park, radio, TV station, household, office, factory, refugee camp, military base, back room, night club, alleyway, courtroom, UN office. We need people to truly try and imagine — once and for all — what it feels like to have your body invaded, your mind splintered, your soul shattered.
We need to let our rage and our compassion connect us so we can change the paradigm of global rape.
There are approximately one billion women on the planet who have been violated.
ONE BILLION WOMEN.
The time is now.
Prepare for the escalation.
Today it begins, moving toward February 14, 2013, when one billion women will rise to end rape.
Because we are over it.
Now don’t get me wrong….I do not feel this way now. I have in the past, though. Randomly, out of the blue, I would just start feeling like everyone was talking about me. Like they were all out to get me into some sort of trouble.
I know what you are thinking (see still a bit paranoid)…You are thinking “This chick has lost her mind!”
What you might not realize is that I am not alone. As a survivor of a crime perpetrated by someone that was a friend/aquaintance/love/partner it is not uncommon. I have found, through talking with other survivors, that we do tend to have a bit of paranoia going on. Some would even say “A healthy dose of paranoia keeps you safe.” But when is it too much?
I, personally, have had times when I felt like I could lock myself away from the entire world because I couldn’t trust anyone. I know that this is not a healthy dose of paranoia…this is more like OD’ing on paranoia.
I would like to invite you all to open this discussion up. I would like to have an open dialogue with you, my readers, to know your thoughts on this and share my own. I feel that it is important to openly communicate on this one. I think we could learn alot from each other.
Love and light,
Well I am glad that you asked. I am actually feeling pretty good. I am sorry I have not posted a lot lately. Things have been CRAZY busy. The month of October usually is. I finally finished my son’s blanket (which is fracking awesome!). I have started saying Frack a lot instead of Fuck in an effort to curb the cursing. I have gotten put on new medications which will hopefully take care of my lower regions medical woes and get me back to feeling better. I am going onto a new med which should facilitate weight loss (YAY!) and the world seems to be looking up.
I have been doing a lot of house cleaning the past few days. I spent 4 hours on laundry last night folding, hanging up, putting away, washing, drying….blah. I have been doing dishes more regularly and making myself be up and moving around cooking and whatnot when I get home so that I don’t get as stiff.
I am still looking to start that support group. Any ideas on flyers or posters? I am going to a retreat with my hubby next month for survivors (our anniversary weekend) and am hoping to get some good information there.
I did miss my cultural sensitivity training from INCASA. I had to go to the dentist. Actually, the first time in 13 years. Pretty good though. Only 3 cavities. I knew I had periodontal disease but we are getting that treated and working towards keeping my teeth in my mouth where they belong. So far so good. I am glad I finally decided to go. I don’t know why I was so scared to.
Anyways, I am going to try to get on here more to post about relevant topics to this blog. I just wanted you to all know that I did not forget about you. I appreciate each and every one of you. I keep getting more and more subscribers and followers on twitter. I feel blessed to be doing something that can help make a difference, even if only to one person.
Please give me ideas for posts. If you would like to see me write about something, let me know. You can either leave it in a comment here or email it to me at firstname.lastname@example.org and I will try to write about every topic I get. I will also give credit to the requestor.
Thank you all for reading my blog. Thank you for being there for me. Thank you for letting me be there for you.
Love and light,
P.S. I have recently realized that somehow after all that has come before in my life, my rose colored glasses do seem to be pretty much still intact. Some small cracks and some days I cannot find them, but for the most part I win.
So many times I sat and cried,
Wondering what I could have done…
What could I have done differently?
What would have kept them away from me?
Why did that little girl not have a voice?
Why did they take away her choice?
I will never know the woman I was meant to be.
The me that I would have become had they not stolen her from me.
I will never know that sweet little girl again.
You know, I see her now and then
But she is too scared to come out for long
She pokes her head out when no one is looking
She darts back behind the curtains before she is seen
How do I find a way back to her?
How do I get back the life that they took from her?
How do I find my way home when home is nowhere yet everywhere all at once?
How did I ever get this far from who I am?
From who I was meant to be?
What could I have done to keep them away from me?
It was not my fault.
I will not shoulder the blame and the shame for what was stolen and murdered in me.
One day they will answer for what they have done.
One day they will know that they sealed their own fate.
Until that day I will just sit back and wait.
Ok so in a totally gross turn of events I will say that I have had to do hemacults which are disgusting (slides from excrement from back door) because there has been blood. There has been a lot of blood which was scary and I went to the doc and they made me do these culture thingys. It was thoroughly disgusting and I nearly threw up several times. All three came back positive for blood so they sent me to a gastroenterologist. The gastroentrologist sent me to the hospital to do blood work and prepare for a colonoscopy on Friday. I am worried about a great many things. I am worried about the pains that I have been having and the blood. I am worried that they will find something horribly wrong with me. I am worried that I will go into a flashback.
One of my ex boyfriends raped me anally. I am worried that when I am put into conscious sedation that I will go into a flashback. This is a very real possibility with them going through the back door. I want to talk to my doctor’s office about it but I did not even think about it before hand. I will try to call them tomorrow and see if they will be able to do something different because of my trauma.
To top it off they still have not sent my FMLA paperwork back to my office so my boss doesn’t have confirmation from HR that this will be covered under FMLA and short term disability….so I may have to use my last few vacation days now instead of having time off with my family at Christmas which sucks because I have actually never gotten to take that week of Christmas off and I was looking forward to finally having the seniority to do that. **Sighs**I am freaking out a little bit. I am sad that I have to be freaking out and that I have to worry about my money situation on top of the freaking out part.
It isn’t fair! Dammit I want my real life….The one where I don’t have to worry about flashbacks or triggers and I don’t have to go for gross tests and do even grosser cultures. The one where I am healthy, happy and free from stress and strain. Where can I go to get that life back?