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Aftershock

20 Nov

When something like an earthquake happens, it massively upsets the whole crust of the earth, shaking and quaking, shifting and grinding. There is inevitably an aftershock of such a rough event. Things have to settle and it causes a little more shaking and quaking in order to rest. I am comparing that to having a psychological blow like I had when remembering repressed memories. There is no rhyme or reason to these things, but the dust has to settle. I am still quaking. I am fuming to the brim with the uneasy feeling in my gut. I even had a dream last night that a random man came to me and started to beat me with a hammer. I am so enraged right now, that even in my dream, I wrestled for the hammer and beat him about the head and back with it. I could not physically hit him hard enough. I wanted death. This says a lot about the way I am feeling right now!

I am not right today. I don’t know if this hatred will ever leave me. This abuse, just happened. The memories that have been suppressed for 34 years have come back now, when I am 39 years old, I am having memories of being molested as a toddler. Yes, a toddler, a little baby girl. I am feeling all of the feelings I felt then. Only now, it is worse. Now, I think as a mother, with all the pain of the child locked up inside. It is an absolute terrible feeling to feel. Physical pain withstanding, the mental anquish that I am facing right now is debilitating. It has knocked me down. Forget living healthy, forget the money problems, forget it all. There is the selfish feelings of despair, anguish, mourning. I am mourning. Mourning for my memories that have been tarnished. Mourning for the self that I have never been able to meet because he destroyed me before I had the chance to live for me, to be who I was meant to be.

I have now talked to his ex wife and his mother. I love his mother, she partially raised me, and I know that I have not really faced her or talked to her while having so much rage directed toward her son. I thought I would spare her, but I can’t. She should be able to know how I am feeling. She should have an idea of the possibility of more victims, more of his prey that are out there thinking that they are the only ones. Wounds heal, but the scars last forever. I have a giant gaping wound right now, and there is no healing for me as we speak. I must do this, blog. I must get it out there. This is my healing process. But, I got off track. I sent his mother a message letting her know that I feel hatred towards her son, this is why I cannot face her and talk to her since the memories have reared their ugly heads. Well, I can tell you, I have no idea how to respond to what she is telling me. She wants me to find God, to have faith and let my anger go. She is not saying anything about how bad she feels about what her son did. She is just addressing me and telling me to let my pain go. I am so freaking sorry, but I NEED to feel this pain. This is the death of my childhood. This is the murder of my innocence and it was taken, never to get it back. This was the beginning of the terrible path that I would go on, trying to torture myself for the pain that was mine, but that I did not cause. I don’t see him with any apologies, I see him, far away from here, living life high on the hog, with a girlfriend who knows nothing of this. I wonder how high he would be sitting if she were to find out. I wonder how confident in himself he would feel if he were on the sexual assault list, if he were to have to announce to his neighbours that he was a convicted child molester. Where is Karma now? I am sorry, but I want him to feel the pain I feel. I want him to go down the road I have been on. The self hatred I have gone through for the last 34 years. The masking of emotions with food. The pain, pain, pain, pain, pain.

Talking with his mother, left me in even more pain. Just talking about God and being free from the pain, and full of peace. I don’t buy it. I don’t get it. I cannot see it like that. It is bad to say, but I just see it as talking in circles and not making a definite statement about anything. It does not address my situation, it goes right to her and what she sees. It seems like I am not being heard by her. I love her, but I cannot talk to her right now. I will not be able to connect with her until I am adjusted. It is just a disappointment to learn that there is no talk about justice, about the way he preyed on me and the others who have come forward. Me and two others, I am pretty sure, there will be more.

I am broken. I have no more strength to keep talking to her about this. I am not being heard. I am being talked at. I am being placated. Like being patted on the head and told to shuffle off now.

I know she must not mean to come off this way, but this is how it feels. I know I must be lucky to be able to talk to my abusers mother, and family, but it is really hard. These are people that I love and looked up to all my life. This is people who told me they loved me and I believed it.

I want him to pay. I want to feel peace, but right now, I think all I will feel tomorrow, is a hangover. Don’t think that I won’t self medicate! I’m going to eat crap and drink a bottle of wine. I am going to hug and kiss my kids super hard and tell them like I have before, to not let anyone touch them, Hands off or tell an adult. I am a great mother, and I am not going to be wearing rose coloured glasses. I am going to be vigilant and only let them around trusted people. I know we cant be with our kids 24-7, but I can damned well try.

This may have made me stronger, but right now, I feel weak, sick and I want it to go away. My reality is bent and I have no way to straighten it right now. Like, a Salvatore Dali painting, all melty and weird, things aren’t as they should be. Ugh, it’s so weird right now. This is my aftershock. My second shake to settle things down. The hard look at the reality of everything before I can comprehend it is actually happening, and that it actually happened. Things were so much worse than my first memories. I am sure there are more to come. But for now, I wont will them to see the light of my eyes, I will just let what I do remember soak in and find a place in the person I am right now.

I will never apologize for the way that I feel. I am raw, you read what I write, it is exactly how I feel at any given moment. I don’t speak any truer words than the ones I share with you. Whether or not people I know agree with me or not, it is not my focus. I am sorry that you find my words and ideas offensive, or inappropriate, but nowadays, it is honesty that needs to be present. I will not glaze over anything. I will only be true to me. With that being said, nobody has come to me with mean words, but I just wanted everyone to know.

 

 

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What’s In There?

19 Oct

I am going to give you a look at what happens to a person (me) when they become fat. I wasn’t born this way. I was a mere 7 lbs when I was born. I was a cute blonde haired thin little girl. I only started on my weight gain journey after I had been molested. I think at 5 years old I started getting bigger. I can see it in the photos of myself when I was younger.

Alot of things have happened to me that I haven’t even scraped the surface in telling you. My biological father died 9 days before my first birthday, the pain that my mother feels over this keeps her from divulging any information about him in the first 20 years of my life.I  do not know his family.They don’t even know I exist.To this day, I have not seen his grave. Things happen in your mind when you feel incomplete, everyone who has been adopted can relate to this I think. Then I was molested between the ages of 3-5. My mother was in an accident which, at 5 years old I didn’t understand, except that she was hurt and my grandparents had to come and live with me for a while to take care of me. This caused some abandonment issues for me and within the first two weeks of her being gone, I had already peed my pants at school. This, is something that I do not blame her for. Ever. It is just something that happened in life, that had a ripple effect. During this whole time and it lasted about 10 years that I know of, I watched on as my cousin beat his sisters. He punched them in the face and gave them bloody lips and noses and black eyes. Their father and mother were abusive to each other as well. I remember going with my mother to pick up my cousins because my uncle was drunk and beating on my cousin because he thought she was her mother. There was alcoholism in this family too….not cool. I see my son get upset at seeing anyone being hurt or hearing his dad yell at something and he is in tears. Man, I can’t begin to think about the tough skin that I had to have already to witness all of this abuse.  About one year later, my grandmother, who I had grown very close to, had a heart attack. Everyone in my family was effected by this, not just me. I was very young though, and had gone through ALOT already. But wait, more is to come. So, after grandma’s heart attack or around the same time, my mom got a boyfriend who was a bit mean to me. I remember him hurting my face really bad, I hadnt washed it good enough and he took me into the washroom and wiped my face raw. It hurt and I was all red after that. Well, their relationship didnt last, and after he left, he saw me walking home from school and tried to get me to go with him, telling me that my mom told him to pick me up. I ran of course and didn’t go with him. I didn’t tell anyone ever about anything that happened or anything that I felt. Ever. It’s been locked up tight since this year. After that, when I was 8-9 I was in a very bad car accident which could have taken my life if the doctors hadn’t found my internal injuries. I was in the car with my two cousins and two friends. I can still produce the image of my cousin with her face in the dashboard and my  other cousin laying on top of her with her face in the windshield. It was not a good thing to see at the age of 9. I have not returned to the site of the accident since. Because of that, I had to learn how to clean my own wound by putting a tube into two holes in my stomach and pumping water into it and then putting a bandage back on. I cannot imagine my son having to do that. Torture. After that, my grandfather had a stroke and they had to move to town, my mother and I took on the taking care of my grandparents. When I was 10, I had to spend some nights at my babysitters again, and in that time, my molester started to visit me again at night. He came to me three times to prey on me. I told nobody. I said nothing, I pushed the feelings down and away. I was teased in high school for being fat. One nasty person would yell down the hallway at me and ask me “How much do you weigh this week Amy? 600 pounds?” and the bunch of people he was with would laugh and laugh at me. I felt nothing but hatred for him and I wanted to cry, but I kept walking past him like he said nothing. Another thing to push down and not feel. The teasing started with another person when I was as little as kindergarten. A boy would make fun of me and call me Miss Piggy every single day. School was torture. But I loved learning. After this, I had such a bad self esteem, I was worthless. I was defeated and beaten down. When I was 17 I got my first boyfriend. Which I lost everything to. I didn’t realize that he was a horrible person. I was getting attention and that is all that mattered. This person, raped me. My first time having sex, he raped me. I told him to stop, and he told me that I liked it. I didn’t know at the time I was raped. I do now. Sad. After that I lost about 125 pounds and gained some confidence. But not enough. This was the path for me, trusting everyone and getting beaten down every time. A whole list of men who mistreated me and abused me and never truly loved me like they say they did. Everything changed when I met Gord. But that is another story.

So, that is my story. Not in depth, there is alot of pain and alot of sorrow and sadness in my story, but this is where it changes. It’s like a switch went off in my head. I have spent the last 39 years being a victim, as someone who was full of shame and blame and self loathing. The next half of my life, I will be a survivor. I will be proud of all I have endured and overcome. I will no longer feel the sorrow and shame of that little girl, that teenager, that young adult. I will feel the pride of the woman that I am, that I have become and the woman who I have fought to see, and to be. I am finished with feeding my emotions. Now….I AM IN CHARGE!!! I am going to use my emotions to fuel my strength. I can see the future me, she is strong, full of life, healthy, happy and I can’t wait to meet her!