Responsible

I alone am responsible for me. Yes, I have endured many bad things. Yes, they shape my thoughts. Some days, I feel as though the voices in my head are trying to convince my soul I am nothing and therefore deserve nothing in life. I know this is not true. I am worthy. Actually I am battle tested. People may have opted to hurt me but I am responsible for how my life turns out. Allowing the horrible things to over take my soul is truly the worst thing that could come out of all of this.

Mommy Dearest

My mom had cancer when I was in the second grade. This happened right after my dad moved out. She spent two weeks in the hospital and had two years of chemo and six weeks of radiation. She was very ill. I really thought she would die and I didn't know what would happen to us. I worried excessively about this, almost like if I worried hard enough it wouldn't happen. Interesingly enough today I am a huge worrier - what if we run out of food, if our house burns, if I get cancer, or if my kids die. You name it and I worry about it. When she was in the hospital, my older sister would drive us to see her even though my sister didn't have her driver's license yet. During one visit, my mom told me that she did not love me and wish she never had me. That comment haunted me for years, my mom denies saying it and my sister says my mom said it while she was all "drugged up." For some reason, I always felt lucky that my mom took care of me, not understanding that it was her job as a mom. These feelings coupled with my endless worrying was almost more than I could bare. I never asked for anything from my mom. I never wanted to give her a reason to not care for me. Frankly if she didn't I didn't know who/if anyone would care for me. I knew we didn't have any money and even if we did my mom really didn't care for me. I would wear shoes that were too small. I started my period and didn't even ask for pads. I just made them out of rolled toilet paper. I just tried to get by the best I could with what I had. I still find it hard to buy things for myself or do something just for me. I truly feel invisible like no one would/could love or care for me. At this stage in my life, I pour most of my efforts into my children. I don't ever want them to experience life the way I have. I want them to know that their mom loves them because they exist - nothing more or nothing less. I want them to never be scared of saying something to me even if it might hurt my feelings. I want them to know without reservation that their lives matter not only to me but to themselves.

Living the Truth

I am reading the book Living the Truth by Keith Ablow. The author believes as do I that in order to truly live you must revisit the past. It was easy for me to blame my dad for all my issues. However, after reading this book, I haven't dealt with any of the issues with my mom. She is a very selfish person. I think she loves me because of what I do for her. I am the daughter who always excelled at just about everything I try. I easily make friends and make others feel comfortable around me. And after all if I am so incredible it must be because of her - she's my mom. The whole world revolves around her. I haven't been very comfortable in my skin. However, I am starting to realize that I am an incredible person. I have felt that no one noticed me like I was invisible. I owe it to myself to be comfortable being me. I am not invisible. I am very smart and funny. I am able to multitask at extreme levels. I am trying to become more comfortable each and everyday.

Double Life

Sometimes I feel as though I live a double life - the life in my head and the life I let others in on. As I said a few days ago, I have not shared my story with many people yet it influences everything about me. I want to share I just can't - not yet. I want others to know that the abuse crosses my mind several times a week and sometimes even daily yet I don't want to be "the victim." I struggle with trying to work with the hand I was dealt but not allowing it to control me. Today the weather is grim which always haunts me.

Abuse in the news

This week there has been alot of news about abuse from the religious sect in Texas and the pope meeting with victims. I watch with horror to think others have endured these kind of actions. I know all too well that abuse causes never ending nightmares and flashbacks. Abuse also ruins relationships. Abused people have layers and layers of issues to cope with everyday. I truly consider myself a lucky one. Somehow I not only survived but thrived. Why me? What is in store for me? Is it more horror and anguish? Am I destined to change my family tree? What is it? Was I suppose to start this blog to help others?

Guilt and Embarrassment

Talking and writing my story has been very difficult because I am truly embarrassed. I know in my head I should not be embarrassed as this was not in any way my fault. However, I just can't help it. My head understands but my heart isn't quite getting it yet. Everyday I wonder who is going to stop talking to me or being my friend over telling my story. I guess this is why so many sexually abused people remain silent. It is very difficult to fess up. Luckily, I only told people who truly care about me. Everyone has express sympathy and are amazed that I have come through this ordeal and have a healthy, positive outlook on life. The healthy, positive outlook is defiantly a choice I make everyday. I can be a victim or play the blame game or try to put on a smile and rise above to be the person I long to be. Some days it is easier than others.

Sharing

I haven't told many people about the horror I faced as a child. Up until a week ago I had told my roommate from college, my mom, her attorney, a judge, my dad's attorney, a few counselors, and my husband. I don't know why but last week I felt compelled to write it down for the first time in my life. I emailed my story to my closest friends. It was freeing and scary to write and send it. I felt so alone, raw, and vulnerable. One of the people I shared my story with was my boss and his wife. He is a middle aged man who in some regards plays a fatherly role to me. Just for the record, not a disgusting role that my real father played but a role that encouraged me to complete my college degree and listens to all my kiddo's stories and laughs. His wife has become my pen pal and we share aromatherapy, organic finds and gardening info. I started this blog after the two of them encouraged me to continue to write and share my story. I doubt I will ever write an entry everyday but I will try to write several a week. I'd love to here from anyone who reads this. Just an FYI - I said I told my story to a couple of lawyers and a judge and I want to explain. My father sued my mother for custody of my and my sister when I was 16. I had to testify in the judge's chambers to the abuse. It was horrible. I still can't believe I testified to a judge in a court of law in the United States of America about the sexual abuse and no charges were ever filed against my father. Actually I googled him the other day and found out he is a deacon in a church not far form my home. Scary!

My Story

I want to tell my story mostly just to get it off my chest. I have spent the last 34 years trying to pretend I came from the perfect family. I thought if I created the illusion of perfection someday it and therefore, I would be perfect. I obviously was misguided, alone, and afraid. I have finally realized that I am not perfect nor will I ever be. However, I am happy with myself and my life. Frankly, that is all that matters. I was born on August 7, 1973 to two parents who had married out of high school because my mother became pregnant with my sister. I was the second child and about 4 years after my birth along came my little sister. We lived in a tiny trailer in a small rural community in central Oklahoma. My father was a long distance truck driver and my mom was a clerk in a government contract. The earliest memories I have of my father were disgusting at best. He was/is a child molester. He would touch my private areas with both his hands and mouth. He always tried to say I was special and everyone would be jealous of our relationship so we couldn’t tell anyone. (Thanks, dad for forcing me to have such a “special” relationship with you that it has taken me 34 years and thousands of dollars in therapy to begin to deal with it all.) I remember riding home in the front seat of his pick up after going to the skating rink and him slipping his hand down my pants to cop a feel. Or even the time he wanted to go outside and look at the stars and he laid me across the hood of his vehicle and ate me out. If he weren’t molesting me (I assume he did similar things to both my sisters but I do not know), he was beating my mom or bringing home his “friends” who were always young adult girls. He would sleep with these girls in our home. Strange yes. I endured the pain like a turtle escapes harm. I would just run away in my mind. I knew that no matter what happened, he or anyone else could/can not get into my head unless I allowed it. This from what I have read is the same way prisoners of war survive. Unfortunately, this technique can be of hindrance as an adult when dealing with persons in positions of power over you. I also learned the art of lying from my mother. She would write hot checks for clothes and dining out, pretending we had the money for such luxuries. She would lie to our neighbors and friends. She made us girls put on a happy face, pressured us to do well in school, and attend church regularly because we looked the normal family. Much of my childhood is a blur; thankfully, because I am sure I couldn’t deal with all the pain. I remember tidbits etched in my mind for all eternity. Even when my mom finally decided she’d had enough, I didn’t want our family to split. I thought we were normal and every other family was just like ours. If my parents divorced, we would be different. I wouldn’t have a dad and frankly the abuse was at the time easier to face than a class full of kids whose parents were all together but mine. In the end, lucky me, I got to face both a divorced family and a molesting father. Classmates can be so cruel. One day a classmate came to school and announced to the whole class that her mom had read in the paper that my parents were divorcing. Of course I lied and said her mother was wrong. Lying was the only way I could keep up the appearance. The lies were so much better than the truth. Even to this day I catch a glimpse of my overweight self in the mirror and I lie and say it is in the light or the clothes. Everyone from my father to my cousin to my brother in law had also let me down and treated me like my father had – using me for their sick pleasure not ever thinking of the enduring pain that I was and am trapped in. I didn’t know (and frankly still don’t) who if anyone I could trust. I have always felt that it was me against the world. Not to mention when it is just me I can create me own reality and I don’t even have to work at it. I can be whatever I can convince my mind I it is. Healing and overcoming are words I hear a lot when it comes to abuse. These words represent goals I wish I could achieve. However, I believe recovering is a better term. I don’t believe I will ever completely heal or overcome the past. I do believe that I recover a little more everyday. Everyday I don’t have to endure the actual abuse and every time I see the innocence in my children’s eyes knowing the abuse stopped with me I get more confident and recover bit by bit and day by day. Some days it seems like it wasn’t bad and I wonder if that is still myself lying. Yet other days, it feels like it is too much to bear. Why did I write my story down? Quite simply, because it is my story. Although, I am not proud of my past, I am who I am because of it. I am very proud of me. I am proud that the abuse stops with me. I am proud of the family and life I have helped create. I am sure the night mares, flashbacks and dysfunction will creep back every now and again. I will take comfort and shelter knowing that although I can’t change the past or cover it with lies, I can impact my future.

Here goes

For the first time in more than 30 years I wrote down my story. Unfortunately my story is full of abuse. I wrote it down so others will know they are not alone. I am not perfect nor will I claim to be. However, I try hard each day to become the person I know I can be. I am not sure what will come of this blog if anything except it will be a release for me. Tomorrow, my story......Until next time.