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Not Another Post!

15 Mar

It is true, I post alot and I post things that I think in everyday life. I share my innermost thoughts and share some very sensitive things that not everyone wants to read. I know how some of the things that I say must feel to others, some roll their eyes and think that I am sharing way too much and care not to read about my life, while others (I have heard) think that it is inspiring and brave to share my story.

Now, Anxiety plays a roll in my life DAILY, while depression comes along every once in a while. But the true fact of the matter is that I cannot get out of my own head. Every day I refer to my abuse as a child, every day I wonder who I would have been without it happening to me. Every day I worry about the same thing happening to my children, which causes panic in me. I worry the most about this. I have little “worst case scenarios” that play in my head every time they go play outside. I think of someone preying on them, taking them and abusing them and worse. I shudder every time and it takes everything that I have in my to not call them back inside where I have constant control of the environment.

Today while I was preparing supper, I was thinking of how they will turn out when they are grown, how they will look, what kind of men they will be when they are older. I daydream things like that while I am alone. I predict what they will look like and what career they will strive for. Then, Mr. Anxiety shows up and I start wondering how I am going to cope letting them go….letting them move out of the house and be their own people. Having their own homes and going off to university, and their safety. This is what I worry about the most. Who is going to be there to keep them safe? Car accidents, freak things happen, and even murders. What the hell would I do then? I don’t know if I could bear it. I know, it turns selfish, it sounds selfish as I read what I write, but  I cannot help it…..this is the monster called Anxiety. This is catastrophic thoughts. This is a disorder. I cannot switch it off.

I am trying. I am really trying. I meditate and I am looking in to learning Reiki. I want to become a Reiki master. It would fit well with my husbands Holistic Nutrition and I dream that we can have our own little slice of “heaven” and do things the Holistic way and be able to sustain our finances while doing it. Ah, to dream!

But,I do think it’s  getting better, I seem to have  more of a grip on reality, which is what it feels like I have a lack of when having an anxiety attack.

Yes, it is yet again, another post about anxiety, about my struggle…..but it is real. It never leaves me.

I was trying to explain to my husband how it feels every day to be in my head. What I think of and how I cope. I told him this ” the first blowjob I ever gave was when I was 3 years old”. That is a hard pill to swallow. That makes you imagine it, to see it and fills you with so many emotions. Yes, it is true. I remember what it looked like and I remember how I felt and the hesitation and ultimately the trust that I put into that one person who I was raised like a sister to. It fills me with all sorts of emotions, and to let someone know how it feels is impossible unless they have been through it, but this is the only way that I could  verbalize the actual brutality of what was done to me. Plus, I think that it is a way to start getting prepared to tell my story to someone else who could really help me. Yes, Mark made me do  all sorts of things and he touched me where he shouldn’t have. The one good thing that I can say is that he did not mess with my virginity. He abused me from the time I was 2 or 3 until I was 5, and then again when I was 10. Only to have my first real sexual experience end up in rape, that was another story with another abuser.

Yes, anxiety is in my life forever. Yes, I will talk about it again. No, I will not shut up. It is real. Yes, it is REAL. I am jumpy, I scare easily and I feel like I am always scared. I try everyday to be better. I suffer everyday. I see the depths of my own hell as no one else can see.

I have taken you on a little voyage of my reality. The glasses are far from rose coloured. I feel better when I know I am just listened to. I feel justified in my fears and weirdness and quirks when people know my story. They see the “why”, not just me as I am now, as the result of the past, the pain. It’s a hard story to tell, but I know it must be hard to read as well. People are either disgusted and don’t want to read it, or are sympathetic and want to know my story or they are disaster whores, the ones who love to see the gore, who dive right into other people’s pain to feel better about their life.

I am okay with it all. As they say, everyone has a story, this is yet another post about it, but it is my Story. My Life as it is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cons and Cons

9 Mar

Lately I have been inspired to get out of my everyday routine, to do things that I don’t normally do on a day to day basis. I posted it on facebook to see if my friends had any ideas that I wouldn’t think of. I got a few responses for me to volunteer. I thought, that is perfect! Now that I work part time and I am more relaxed, what a great way to give back, to fulfill my everlasting need to help anybody (animals too) in need. This inspired me to get apolice request from my children’s  school to be a volunteer. I had to get the request form and go to the police station to fill out the proper paper work and pay the $11 to get the police check done. Well, while I was there, the thought popped into my brain to make a statement to the police about being molested when I was young.

This idea brings forth all sorts of feelings. I want to do it, I want it on the record that he is a pedophile, I want it to be hard for him to live anywhere and to maintain a job with dignity. I have that hatred still….but I also want to do it because the other victims of his senseless acts can have a voice. I know of two and possibly three others who have been harmed by him. With this being said, it would knock open a huge door that has about a dozen different doors behind it. My caregiver who is the molestors mother, was a foster parent. I don’t even want to think about how many other children he has harmed and of those, who had been previously harmed and then subjected to more harm? Oh, the pain just keeps going.

1366505-68386-img-648-a542d8629a-1484648097I think about the lengthy statement I will have to give and subject myself to the harm all over again. To relive it, to tell the whole story. The whole story…. the unrevised version, the clear memories which put me into a deep state of depression for months on end. I have to tell that to someone, who will write it down and ask questions. It makes me feel queasy just thinking about the feeling of telling it and reliving it. Then I think about my family. I don’t know how these things go, so, would there be a court hearing? Would I have to publicly testify in front of him? Would his mother be there supporting him and how would I face her? Which leads me to more questions than I ever thought of.

Did she know? Did she really know in the deep recesses of her brain and just brush it off like she was being paranoid? How could this happen, to not only me, mind you….but to others without anyone knowing about anything?

I remember a time when I was about 10 or 11 and he came to me at night, three times in a row. The first time I told his mother, she cried and said it was her fault and that if I told that I might not be able to go back into her care. I was young, I loved her like a second mother and I couldn’t bear not going back to her…..so I said nothing. Now that I think of it, I don’t think she spoke of it either. I can’t recall, but if something was said, do you think that I would be let back into the house with HIM? NO! At this point, he was around 20 or so and was dealing with demons of his own and abusing drugs and alcohol and creating demons in children, like me.

I don’t want to blame her. And I didn’t mean it to be portrayed as so, but these are the honest questions that are coming to me while I debate with myself about going official with everything. I know this is a heavy burden to bear and I get it. Sometimes the effects that it will have on other people’s lives is just too much. By him doing that to me and others, and if I go to the police about it, could rip apart so many lives because I said something. I know in the first place it was him that has caused all of this, but really, the weight is on my right now. I have two other people who are ready and willing to stand up if I chose to do it. They have given me all of their information which I can pass on in  order for him to be charged even further. I have this option.

If I don’t do it, am I weak? Am I going to be the one who doesn’t stand up and then others like me will feel like they shouldn’t either? Do I hold that responsibility? Is that on me? Am I a source of strength for others? If I don’t go through with this, am I then a source of weakness? Look at Amy, she was weak and didn’t stand up and say it, she didn’t have the intestinal fortitude to believe in herself and the justice system, she didn’t stand up for all of the others who either have been or could be harmed by him again.

I know that opening my mouth to the officials can made drastic changes in a lot of lives other than my own. Alot of pain will be brought to the surface, alot of anger and relationships will be shredded. With my sensitive mental state, could I do it? Could I endure it? Which also leads me to another honest question….. am I using my anxiety as a crutch to not deal with everything else? Is my anxiety a product of the abuse? Am I dealing with mental and physical anguish by creating a mental disorder? Was my mind just not strong enough to deal with the truth? Who am I really?

questionSo many questions. So many truths to find out and so many hurtful realizations of myself through reasoning whether I should do this or not. It seems like every option is a con. There are no pros and cons here, only cons and cons. I know it seems like nothing good can come out of any option I choose, and I am not sure there is anything good in a situation like this.

At work this morning, it was all that was going through my mind. All I can do it to let you know how it feels, what I am going through in hopes that it helps someone else. If even one person understands or is going through the same thing, that thing you are going through becomes a “normal” feeling and response. Hearing someone say something that you feel has such a forceful effect on your emotion, it can bring you to tears.

I still don’t know what to do, but that is my struggle. My maze of thoughts, feelings,justiceactions and reactions to find my way through. I will make a decision, with a couple of professional opinions and some friendly advice, in the end I will make the decision that is right for me. I refuse to make a decision that I will be unhappy with. I need to think logically and not emotionally about this, for justice is blind and I have vision. So I must close my eyes and think long and hard.

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.

 

 

Hatred; The true struggle

19 Nov

I thought I had it good! I closed the business and thought, hey, I am going to be a stay at home mom. I am going to organize the house, make the kids breakfast every day, do all the housework, make all the dinners and take the kids everywhere they need to go. Well….its not that easy at all first of all, second, I had to really look into how our finances are! Not a good sitchyaysion! Behind payments on some things have to be made, outrageous utility bills needed to be payed, and I don’t have an income. Great. I can tell you that this Christmas is going to be pretty damn slim. So, I keep on, like I have to. I make out a budget for us and go to get a job. The first place I went, I went in without a resume to see just by chance that they needed someone. They hired me on the spot, and I was to go in the next day for an orientation. Well, looking through the pages the manager gave me, I saw that the busy time is on Saturday and Sundays. I had to do some figures, and I knew that this wouldn’t be worth it. I would start at minimum wage, which is something like $11.45 per hour and I would need child care for every shift she put me on Saturday and Sunday. Child care is $10 or more per hour for 2 children. I am damned if I am going to go to work for $1.45 per hour. Just ridiculous.

So, that was a bust. I start from before and really think about staying home. Then I start writing my life story. Not fun because of the memories I have to endure and relive. I got to the part about my early days at the babysitters. This is tough. It’s rough and hard to put down every single word. I have to phrase it like I am writing a story, not like I am writing for you. I have to word it differently, I can’t just write what is in my head at that particular moment. I should try, come to think of it. But, anyway, while I was writing about my early years at Janie’s, more memories came to me. The ones that have been repressed for ummmm…. say, 34 years. Wow….they hit me hard. Pardon my French, but it really fucking sucks. The feelings I have, I don’t even know how to manage them. I felt my face getting hotter, I know I was flushed. Alone, with a typewriter and paper, and I was blushing. I remembered some really nasty shit that he did and the way he hid it just makes my skin crawl. Ugh…. I feel nauseous. He would prey on me when I was playing in the basement, or watching tv in the basement. He could hear if someone was coming. Ugh, I want to vomit. What a piece of shit. I am riddled with rage, embarrassment, guilt and shame already, but now I have an unwavering feeling of utter hatred and disgust. I want to protect that little girl. I want to beat the shit out of the asshole who tried this with her before he got the chance. Who the hell did he think he was? Taking someone’s innocence like that, making  her into someone completely different without a second thought. And then I think, didn’t anyone see? Didn’t anyone notice something? Anything at all? Did my behaviour change? I know that I must have followed Janie around more after that. I remember not wanting to go downstairs when Mark was home. I remember, when he came home, I ran upstairs. Oh man, I just remembered some other things. Him, coaxing me down the stairs, and Janie had no idea. She would tell Mark to keep an eye on me when she was upstairs. Oh God. Here it is folks, a mental cap has been opened. I thought it was bad when I first remembered some of the memories….this. is. much. much. much. worse. These memories are lethal. I am so queasy right now. I keep thinking that the memories have to end somewhere, but they just keep going. I never ever ever wanted to be alone with him. A little girl, innocently watching Sesame Street and playing with her little chocolate baby doll (as Janie called it) and then, in looms the darkness, the face of evil plastered with an endearing face and a fake smile. The used car salesman who sells nothing but crap. Trust me. Come sit with me. Here, give me your hand….ugh…..its much much worse than that, but I will spare you.

I know he was a victim, I learned that earlier this year. It might seem bad of me, but I do not care one iota. I was a victim too. I didn’t do that shit to anybody. It really screwed with my head. I was petrified when I had my first baby. I thought, oh man, I hope I never do that, I won’t do that. I was so scared of myself, it was terrible. I never ever have had thoughts of that before. I was scared to bathe my son. I didn’t want to touch him in case it wasn’t right, or appropriate. I know, I am just a loving mother who wants the best for my kids and to love them, I shouldn’t be a first time mother and have these fears. I blame this all on Mark. He did this to me. I was scared. I know who I am and I know I would never ever touch anyone like that. I knew who I was then too…..but it scared the shit out of me that history would repeat itself, maybe because I have watched enough episodes of SVU to know that most molesters are what they are because it was done to them.

I hate him. My day went to shit because of him. I want him gone, out of my life. Out of my memories. He ruined perfectly good memories of me with his mother. I love her. She was a wonderful care giver, and he ruined everything. He made me scared when I was little, he made me scared of loving anyone, really, and opening myself to my husband. He made me scared of real love and intimacy. He made me scared to touch my baby, even to change his diaper and bathe him. He scared me when I had to talk to him daily while his mother was in the hospital, I didn’t want to talk to him. He is a snake in the grass. He has two faces. He hides his true self. He couldn’t even admit to me that he did anything wrong. He has never told me sorry for what he has done. And I doubt he ever will. He does not make me scared anymore, but I am scared of myself and all of the hateful feelings I have towards him and his oily self. I don’t want to hate him because I love his mother.

I love her and I don’t want her hurt. But, I hate him so much. I know she loves him and always will. I know she will always protect him, and I just can’t seem to face that.

Whew, now all of that, that is my true struggle. Day to day life sucks when you are broke, but it sucks so much harder when dealing with these freaking memories, and when storing all of this hatred.

 

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!