|
My father died on Tuesday 7/6/21 which also happens to be my anniversary. It was sudden and not expected. I made sure that I got plane tickets for my3 siblings and we took the red eye back East more than half way across the country. Out mom was who I was worried about. I was also worried about all the kids. They are mine to protect and always have been. as I watch each of them morn in their own way I see the divide between me and them. They live in the world on my right where they loved their dad and they are so hurt by his passing. On my left is the land of the angry where you realize he was a horrible father and hurt me deeply. Then in the middle of these two worlds at the cross over point is me. My cage I can’t get out of and have always been alone in. I live in the lines between good and evil. 
0 Comments
I must have been around 8 or 9 and we lived in a wood framed house with a large garden in the lot next door. Behind that lot was a large tobacco barn which brings back fond memories of being free and climbing in the rafters. This was one if my few good memories. Down the dirt road behind the barn was a small country home. This small home had an older grey haired couple, an older tall dark haired man and an adopted girl my age. I don’t remember this girls name but I do remember playing with her. We loved climbing into the pig pen to play with the small piglets, then running when their mom would come after us. It was tough getting in the pen because it was surrounded by electrical fencing. I recall climbing over the fence many times in shorts and hitting the inside of my thigh. On this particular day we were trying to get in and the tall dark haired man came along and offered to help us. By this time my life had already been filled with sexual abuse and the only thing that sticks in my mind was that he picked me up underneath my underarms with both hands wrapped around my breast; Or as my dad would say my “boys chest” which was ok because “anything more than a mouth full was a waste anyways”. This tall dark haired man was quiet and I always wondered if he did things to my friend late at night. I always wondered until I stayed the night one night. One night was all it took for me to never want to go to that country home again. I was excited to stay away from home because then I would be safe from my father. She and I had dinner and then it was time for bed. We had to share a twin size bed but we where both so small that this was fine. It was fine until she reached under the covers and started to touch me. She touched me and rubbed my private area until I had an organism. Not a word was said and I kept my eyes closed the entire time because it was uncomfortable and awkward. Afterwards she took my hand and put it on her private area. No matter the fact that I didn’t want to do this I had been conditioned to not stand up for myself, so I felt obligated to do the same. It was so uncomfortable but after it was done and I rolled away from her I remember thinking about the tall dark man in the home, in the bedroom next door and then I know what he did. No one every had to say a word I knew. I had become adapt to picking out the monsters in my world. I also learned something else very soon after that. I learned to use what I had to get what I wanted. You see my mother and I were working in the garden one day when this man drove up the dirt road and stopped next to the garden lot. He yelled out the window, “I’m going to the store can I get you anything?” Which my mother quickly responded “No thanks”. This was the southern way. You never took anything from anyone. No matter how hungry you where if someone offered food your first response was always “NO”. It was only after they kept insisting that you could say “yes”. But on this day I felt empowered. In my mind if he did that to me then he also owes me so quickly I spoke up and yelled “Yes, I want pickles”. My mother was shocked and said you shouldn’t ask for anything but he returned with those pickles and at that moment without knowing it I had put a price on my body and my innocence. If I couldn’t be safe at least I could get something out of it. A behavior that shaped the rest of my life.  In most homes you visit you will see family photos hanging on the walls. The kindergarten photo, the missing tooth photo, first school dance, recitals, homecoming and prom; but, in my home you will find none of these. In most families when they get together for the holidays they will pull out the family album. But in my home that doesn’t happen. So what makes me so different then most?
When I look at the family photo of me, my siblings and dad sitting on the piano bench I don’t see what most see. I don’t see the cute Sunday dress and the way my little brother was making a face. I see the house where I was touched, the house where I couldn’t take a bath alone, the house where he drilled the holes in the wall. I see the house where I had to do the dishes because my brother wanted to go play. I argued that it was “not my turn” but was told “do it anyways”. The as my brother was running down the street with his friends I heard my dad say “I never got to go play with my friends when I was young so I’m glad he gets to”. Yes this made me feel like a second class citizen. Instead of being born in America where women had rights you would think I was born in a country where women were second class citizens. But in my dad’s mind I didn’t matter because I didn’t have friends & all I ever did was stay in my room. See growing up for me wasn’t about making friends and enjoying a childhood. Growing up was about staying quiet, staying out of the way so not to drawl attention to myself, staying in my room alone where there was a door between me and the monster I lived with. So when you visit my home you won’t see photos on my walls, you won’t see reminders of my childhood. You will see my attempt to drown out the bad with things that may bring me comfort, a wall of crosses, crystals, stones, tons of soft blankets and even more pillows so I can surround myself when I sleep and no one can touch me. It’s not that I don’t want my husband to touch me but when I’m asleep touching me causes me to jump, scream or even hit. It’s simply my way of staying safe from the fears of being touched that have never gone away. When I was in middle school, probably about 12 years old we had just moved to a new state. We stayed in a hotel for 28 days until my parents could find us a permanent home. We moved into this new home right before Christmas and a day or 2 before a huge blizzard. This blizzard was so bad that my parents had to walk miles to get to the grocery store because there was no food in the home. This storm caused us to have the smallest Christmas ever.
Mom was so sad because we had no tree & no wrapping paper but I didn’t mind. I got the boots I really wanted. When I woke up Christmas morning, they were sitting on the table. Now that is one of the only good memories I have in this home and yes that was a good memory because I wasn’t abused in that memory. There are only a few good memories but many bad. To this date 38 years later I still can’t drive down the street in that town. I avoid it and will drive all the way around town to not see that home. Actually it’s a town in a larger metropolitan city and I do my best to avoid the entire area. This was the home that most of my abuse happened in. I learned to lock my bathroom door because dad would always find a reason to come in while I was taking a bath. He had to use the bathroom, had to ask me a question or just had to laugh at me for trying to cover up my “tiny titties” “no one would want those” “don’t worry anything more than a mouthful is a waste anyways”. I learned really quick to lock the door. He would still tell me to open it so he could come in but at least I tried. I was like every normally teenager girl and had posters all over my wall. My goal was to cover every inch with a poster of someone else I wanted to be or some singer I had a crush on. It was my escape from the things that would happen in that house. It was my escape from my dad. Well at least I thought it was. This room has built in shelves in the wall that divided my room from my parents room. On their side it was a closet and on my side it was these awesome shelves that had posters on the back and jars of candy sitting on the shelves. Well one day mom came in and told me “don’t get undressed in your room anymore. If you need to get undressed or dressed do it in the bathroom” What? I don’t understand? “We are going to cover up your shelves with a curtain” What? But I like seeing my posters! “I just caught your dad in the closet and he had drilled holes in the wall so he can watch you get undressed” What I learned is dad could do anything he wanted and I was not safe anywhere. What I also learned is my mom couldn’t or wouldn’t protect me. Either way I was completely alone and had no one to keep me safe. I am a loner, because I’ve always been the only one I could trust or rely on. I’m the only one who won’t hurt me. I was asked to contribute a story to a recent web book on ChildAbuse which I was happy to do. But months later when the book was published I thought I would share it with my mother. I simply took a picture of the front of the book & text it to her. I don’t know, I think in some way I was looking for approval or acknowledgement that I had something to offer the world but I didn’t think she would say it that way (and to be honest I understand why). Her comment went something like this..... "well, hopefully you got it all out of your system". I understood for the people who are the abusers or those who should have protected you (but didn’t) they don't like to think about the past. "Move on!" "Stop dwelling!" "Don't let it eat you alive!" "Just let it go!". I think these are all things they say to us (the abused) because they don't want to hear about it. And I understand this, as a mother I made a lot of huge mistakes that I wish I could forget, but the reality is no matter how much it hurts me, when my kids need to talk about it I'm there to listen. Not to make excuses, not to tell them to get over it, but to offer the support I should have, a long time ago. Yeah, it sucks and it hurts but it's not about me! But what I believe the abusers don't get it you can NEVER get over it. You do get through it, you learn to live with it, & if your lucky it effects you less & less over the years but I can promise you it NEVER completely goes away. Ive had people contact me on Twitter tell me all the ways I can learn to move on, lol. The funny thing is I have moved on. I don't think or talk about it much anymore. I don't have the need to tell everyone who will stand still for 5min my life story. Im a strong person & lived an extremely colorful life of no fear. (See it's hard to fear something when your raised in hell) But I've also learned that no matter how much you think it's in the past, there are still times where the cracks show and the demons seep out. I'm learning in my older years that the demons are simply part of me now. Much like a DID patient but fully aware of the others who live within. So I guess my response to my mom was accurate; "It's not a matter of getting it out of my system, it's just part of who I am now"  FEAR vs LOVE & Respect
* Only speak when spoken to * Children are to be seen, not heard * When your 18 you can do what you want, until then you live in my house under my rules * Do as I say, not as I do * Obey your elders These are all lessons I learned at a very young age. If you asked dad for anything the answer was ALWAYS NO!!! Then if you where lucky & hadn't really asked for much he may come to you in a few days & say yes. (I always assumed that mom had something to do with that, but as an adult I'm really not sure even she had the nerves to confront him) Dad was so scary (and not just because of the sexual abuse) but because he would get so angry so fast, over anything, which would always require the belt. I remember the black & white reversible belt, to this day it's the only belt I ever remember. Let's just hope they never come back in style or you will see a complete melt down in the middle of the mall. For me that fear of questioning authority presented itself in massive form when I was around 8 years old. I would never dare argue with an adult, never question anyone older than me & God forbid if I actually spoke back to an adult. My dad would have killed me. That's what fear vs love does to a child. I was sitting in home room class listening to the teacher talk & all of a sudden it became hard to focuse due to my stomach turning and bubbling. As taught by my teachers, I raised my hand to ask if I could go to the bathroom. The teacher saw it and said "lower your hand, I'm talking" so I did as instructed. A few minutes later I felt the pressure & again raised my hand waiving it around and with a much more urgent look. The teacher saw my hand & again said "not now, lower your hand I'm taking" She never asked "what is wrong", "can it wait" or even "what is your question"; any of which would have simply given me the permission to speak. Because of my "training" I never opened my mouth. As my father had taught me I obeyed adults, never spoke back and never questioned authority. I was the perfect little girl! (as much as that did for me) I sat still and lowered my hand. Only to realize it was too late anyways. Yes, at such a young age I experienced my most embarrassing moment, I had horrible disgusting diarrhea. Now what was I too do? As long as I sat still no one would see. So I sat all morning just waiting for lunch. The smell was horrible and now I'm a little surprised the teacher didn't notice because the kids around me did. Then at noon, it was time to go to lunch. I went to the bathroom first and managed to clean up a little but my cute tan pants where obviously stained. After lunch another girl noticed the stain I just explained that I sat in chocolate milk and took my pink sweater off and wrapped it around my waist to cover the stain. But nothing was covering the smell. I spent the rest of the day acting like all the other kids, "ehw, where is that smell coming from?" When I finally made it home (on the bus) I ran into the house and quickly changed my cloths trying to hide the pants in the laundry basket. Mom (of course) found them and confronted me, then called the school and laid into the teacher like only a "mother bear" could. (1 of the 2 times in my life where she actually protected me) You know what the teacher said? "I told all the kids at the beginning of the year that if there was an emergency, don't ask, just go". So my mother asked me, "why didn't you just get up and go to the bathroom?" My answer? * Only speak when spoken to * Children are to be seen, not heard * When your 18 you can do what you want, until then you live in my house under my rules * Do as I say, not as I do * Obey your elders When a child lives in FEAR of breaking ANY rule, then you really don't have a CHILD, you have a CAGED ANIMAL who shits in their cage! Be a parent & NOT an owner. I have take a couple days off here recently. Amazing how life can so easily distract you from so many things.
I want to have a happy memory day and there are so few of those that I remember but I did write one down last week when it came to me. My my now fiancé and I watch Andy Griffith Show (for those who don't know this old iconic show its about a simple little town back in the 50's(?) where you talked about issues and people where polite and kind to each other - ha, even when they where mad) In the show Andy has a little boy named Ope and they like to sing songs while Andy plays guitar. I found it hilarious that Ope started singing a song "You get a line, I get a pole honey; You get a line, I get a pole babe......" Anyways what I thought was so funny is I started singing along with them and it reminded me that when I was a little girl and dad would get in a good mood he would pull out the guitar and start singing silly songs that us kids thought was so much fun. Really for me I think it's my best memories because I knew when he was playing & singing he wasn't mad and that meant I was safe. For or my entire life I have used music to affect my decisions. Thinking about leaving my first husband - Wilson Phillips "Hold On" yep pretty sure I left just because of that cd playing over and over in my car. Lol When I was a kid I would lock my door, grab the hairbrush and sing in the mirror to manage my moods. In my 20's & 30's it was lock the house door and lay on the floor with my cd's all around me. The louder the music the worse the issue. When my daughter would come spend time with me in my 30's they would remember each summer buy songs. Let me tell you to this day those girls can still tell you when Billy Holiday comes on the music and so many adults can't even do that. Country, pop, hip hop, alternative, classical.... What ever your music is we should always strive to be those little kids singing into the mirror. Don't be afraid to GROW YOUNG! Anyways I know many of you do this and I beleive music is the one thing that can change your life. So for those of you (like me) who have days where those ghost are chasing you - just put on your favorite song and watch those ghost disappear! i said yesterday that I would share more about my younger brother. All my siblings are younger but of the boys this is the youngest. I will simply explain the easiest way I can in comparison to how my life has gone. I'm much better now but this really will explain a lot.
I guess what I'm trying to say is I truly beleive his issues are Nurture not Nature. Unfortunately I beleive that many times it's harder for men to discuss their demons because their not supposed to be "weak". If only he was strong enough to let his Demons out then perhaps he could actually heal. When both the abuser and the abused refuse to admit any wrong doing then their souls are doomed to walk in the shadows forever. I know it like I know what happened to me but I can't prove it and no one will admit it so my heart goes out to my brother and his struggles. Regardless at some point an adult has to be held accountable for their own actions and that has unfortunately left him with few family members willing to help. So this is my prayer; that he finds his way out of the darkness before the demons destroy what is left. I truly beleive a sexual abuser is made and not born. I was talking to my boyfriend today on our drive about my childhood. Which of course brought up tons of memories. One particular one was my brother and his Demond's which I will talk about tomorrow but today I will tell you what lead up to it.
When I was young I used to love any "good" attention I could get from my dad. What a used kid wouldn't? You always want the love you can't have. So my dad loved to fish and many times we would all go as a family and it would be a great day until dad would get tired of us making too much noise. But then it got to where I became the "special kid" who got to go fishing with my dad. We would always go down to a local pond that had tons of brush around it so we would have to walk through grasses that where always way over my head. I would remember this fondly because I was "special" and got picked to go fishing. Yeah!!! It would make me so happy that I got to do something none of the other kids got to do. Of course that was until he started touching and fondling me on the way to the pond. It never failed the minute we would get out and start walking to the pond he would find it funny to grab my boobs, put his hand between my legs, constantly touching me & my reaction was always to pull away & he would just laugh. I don't remember all of the things that would happen on these fishing trips but that may be for the best. What I do remember was one day standing by my dads side as the church people left, shaking his hands and telling him what a great job he did & him reaching over one of these days, putting his arm around me and saying "this is my fishing buddy" then afterwards this couple telling me how great of a preacher my dad was. I wanted to scream! "Didn't you hear what he said? Didn't you hear him say I was his fishing buddy?" "Don't you know what that means???" But of course I just smiled and said nothing. I did however learn something that day, dad liked to brag about me being his fishing buddy even though no one else really knew what that meant. But I knew & I didn't like it. So the next time my dad asked me if I wanted to go fishing I said "no, thank you" & no amount of couisuron from him would have ever in a million years changed my answer. This is where my guilt comes in. A few months later I remember being in the front of the church while people where leaving and shaking my dads hands. Someone must have asked him about fishing because I saw him reach over and out his arm around my younger brother and say "this is my fishing buddy". Back then I didn't think anything of it because my younger brother wasn't a girl & I was so innocent that I would have never in my life time think that a man would hurt a boy. Now as an adult I look at my younger brothers history of being an abuser, life of being angry and lost and I know better. I know deep in my heart that when I said "no, thank you" I changed his life forever and as an adult I truly am sorry for that. When your little you naturally look up to your parents and beleive everything that they tell you. There gods in your eyes, your protectors, your support, your life. But I beleive when your an abused child you have even more of these feelings towards your parents because as an abused child you only want the one thing you can never have and that's the love and approval of your abusive parent. Growing up this was conditions you for years of abusive relationships that you don't know how to get out of because you only want so badly to have the approval of the abuser.
In my case as the abused child of a minister I got to see him in a position of power 3 times a week preaching to people who believed he was on a pedestal & he would never lie to them. So why would I think my dad would lie? Just because he didn't like me didn't mean that he would lie. He would never lie, so when he told me that the Bible said that "blacks & whites" where not supposed to "mix" I believed him. I had heard this story my entire life. When I was a freshman in highschool and had been moved from a public school to a private Christian school (I will explain why that happened tomorrow) I had a bible class. In discussion one day I repeated what my dad had told me my entire life. I told the teacher the bible says "blacks & whites aren't supposed to mix" the teacher told me that's not true. So of course I argued with him! Over and over again until he finally said go home and find it in the bible and come back tomorrow and show me where it states that. Ok I said, knowing that I was right!!! So so that night I went home and the first thing out of my mouth was "Dad, where does it say in the bible that blacks & whites aren't supposed to mix?" & here is where I first learned that my Dad lied! He stated to me "it doesn't exactly say that; it says that Jews & Gentiles aren't supposed to mix." Well even I was smart enough to know that Gentiles was everyone else except Jews. Even to this day I don't truly know if that's even in the bible. But what I do know is that I don't beleive a word that comes out of his mouth. Im now the type of person that will only argue if I'm 150% sure of what I'm saying. Nedless to say for many, many years I ONLY dated black men (married 2 black men) but that was also because I couldn't be attracted to white men for a long time which I do beleive had a lot to do with my childhood / and it irritated my dad! Im past all of that now and I'm proud to say that because of my racist father I have 2 amazing daughters who don't have a racist bone in their bodies. It was so important to me that my kids saw people for being people and not the color of their skin. When we are able to move above our bad experiances then where truly able to be our own person & be happy. |
AuthorWhile chatting with my daughter one day I mentioned that I had always wanted to write my life story. Her knowing some of my history encouraged me to do so. But I'm not a writer, so I've decided to keep a list of my memories as they come to me. They will not be in chronological order but they may pertain to something going on in my current life which triggers a childhood memory. I will add a memory each day. "Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; Archives
July 2021
Categories |
RSS Feed
