About this blog
My story begins when I was a little girl. My dad and I were close and I never left his side unless I was forced. I experienced the death of my daddy when I was 6 years old. I was in kindergarten when my daddy died. My sister was just 3 years old at the time. It was definitely when my life completely changed. Not only did I not know how to process what happened to my daddy, my abuse started shortly after. I was never physically abused. I was born with a rare health problem which my mother did not know how to handle it. Very little was known at the time I was growing up. It warranted for physical abuse because of the type of injuries that comes with the territory. I suffered so many broken bones that most of my childhood, I was laid up all the time. I couldn't do what the other children did. I was very angry also when my daddy died. I took it out on my mother. I went to my daddy's funeral not knowing what to expect because no one talked to me. That was my first hurt.
I was teased, bullied, and tormented by my classmates from first grade till the day I graduated. I went from Beetlejuice to being gay. (This is by no means anything to do with downing gay people.) I got suspended in elementary school for trying to take up for myself. My whole entire class surrounded me so this one girl could beat me up. I tried to walk away, but I kept getting pulled back to fight. I could not beat up the whole class of about 25 brats. It was either I fought or get beat up. I got kicked off the patrol team and standing up for myself even though I did nothing wrong. The principal still to this day thinks that she was right for suspending me, but I chose to forgive her and take my punishment like a big girl back then. One time this girl opened the bathroom stall on me and laughed with two or three other girls. There were also many other things as it happened to me on a daily basis. I experienced betrayal of people who I thought was my friends. I was hated by all. I would not put it past some of the children who I went to church with also teased, etc me also as I saw them 6 days a week. They were the popular kids while I was the most hated.
Shortly after my daddy's death, I was sexually abused. I was not raped. It was just by touching by our garbage man who happened to be my mother's boyfriend at the time. I don't remember how old I was or how often it happened. I do know that I had no clue about the difference between a male and a female. All I know is that it felt good like no different then tickling my feet. No one ever talked to me. Anyway, my mother caught him red-handed one night touching me. She did not press charges, but she made sure I never saw him again. As a child, I did respect and love my mother for that.
At 12 years old, I was picked up off the street by a complete stranger. My mother allowed me to do whatever I wanted to at the time which I did not do anything a child at that age wouldn't do. I was going to be around people I know as I was heading to a gospel sing because I was heavily involved in the church. I think that was my escape from my reality. My mother by this time was drinking heavily. She was an alcoholic. Her and my grandmother didn't get along. Anyway, The stranger took me up to his apartment. I was scared and alone. I was instructed to take off all my clothes. I kept crying out to God and asking questions like what if I got pregnant to try to get the stranger to let me go. He undressed himself in the kitchen which I could not see from his living room. I did not know what he was going to do to me. He did have me pinned down. He tried to put it where it goes a few times, but then he gave up and let me go. I could have been dead somewhere in some dumpster or thrown into the river. I asked someone from church to give me a ride home. They did, but I couldn't tell them what happened. I felt so violated and dirty. My mother would have thought I was lying since she had been drinking again. Someone I knew came to get me and we went to the police station. They did a video recording. My mother took me to look at pictures, but nothing was done despite what one person did try to do for me.
From 12 years old to 18, I was sexually abused and eventually raped repeatedly by my third predator. He could have been my uncle if my blood aunt and him did not get a divorce before I was born. This happened in 4 different states. He loved porn and he would get me in a corner to get to me. One time he opened my bedroom door to see if I was up. I pretended I was asleep so he would leave me alone.
I became promiscuous at 15 to 18. I had many one night type stands or friends with benefits. After all, I was taught to be nothing more than a sex object and that is how I behaved. I also drank and partied alot. I would sneak off somewhere with a guy at a party and did whatever. If I was going to be forced into it by my abuser, then I am going to have some enjoyment with people who I wanted to do it with. When my 3rd abuser found out, he became angry. I didn't care because it was my body and my life. He started it by touching me, etc. I had no escape. My mother was dating him. She did not care. She pimped me out for whatever need she had.
I have told people at my church, the police, my mother, school teachers, my so-called family, and people who I thought were my friends. No one done anything. I was better off not saying a word. To my aunt who just died, her last words she ever said was "I always said you and this person were so and so's girlfirends. I am going to go pee on her grave like I told my mother I was going to do. My other aunt thought I was her husband (my uncle by marriage. I still see him no different as I would if he was my blood uncle.) One of my cousins said, "You must have wanted it or you wouldn't be there." To the rest I was a sl*t in nice terms. My mother during my teenage years said that I stole her boyfriends, she hated me, and she wished I was never born. I was called every cuss word known to the human race. If I was not so afraid to die, I would have committed suicide. That was the only thing that saved my life while I was growing up. I even admitted in church that I did wish I was never born or I was dead. After all, you are not suppose to lie in church. The handwriting was on the wall that something was seriously wrong. I was so hungry to just hear the words that I understand or something comforting, but I never got it, let alone taken out of these situations. No one cared. By the time, my grandmother started to have any clue, the damage from this was already done.
I got pregnant at 18 and had my first child at 19. I married his father while I was pregnant. I was not ready to be a mother as I didn't show any emotion. I was also very afraid that I would have been very abusive to him. It turns out, I never was nor will I ever be. Even though we have our problems now, I would lay down my life for him only if it would make his life any better. His was a drug user and an alcoholic with a temper problem. Little did I know, but he was very broken himself. He didn't want a wife, he wanted a mother. His pain is just as deep as survivors of abuse, but that is not my story to tell. Anyway I quit college. I supported him to a certain extent. He was too busy spending his money on drugs, etc when his son did not have diapers. He went through about 10 jobs a year. He would always call mommy when we did not have groceries or if his son needed diapers. I stayed married to him for 6 years and had two other children with him. He was verbally and in some ways psychologically abusive. He wanted to make sure he had complete control of me and he chased off anyone who wanted to be my friend. I was completely alone. I was all the time accused of cheating when he was the one doing the cheating. He did it with my sister in my house. He started watching porn more and more. He lied to me numerous times. He would pick me up and through me on the bed to show me he was in control. He would spit on me and punch holes in the walls. He even tried to block me from taking my little girl to the hospital when she had a fever over 102 degrees. We were sharing a moment in the bedroom and I was willing. Then I asked him to stop, but he kept going anyway. It hurt so bad. He threatened me with divorce time and time again. I was also called every cuss word by him. His family even talked bad about me behind my back, but would never admit to it when confronted. I had a broken hip and was on crutches and that fat man could not help me clean, but is man enough to push a tiny woman who barely weighs 100 lbs to the floor. I was also punched in the arm. It bruised my muscles, but if he had hit me full force, I would have at least had a broken arm. I HAD ENOUGH. I AM DONE.
The OB/GYN who delivered my third child also had violated me as far as I am concerned. During the examination, I had to reach down and push his hand away. He was very unprofessional. I was not thinking straight and did not want to jump to conclusions. I thought something was up when there was not a medical assistant in there. I wonder how many women he raped. It was hard for me to find a doctor considering how far along I was, but I insisted another female is to be in there every time I went. That medical assistant or whoever she was acted like she was embarrassed to be in there. Why is she working in an OB/GYN office if something like that is going to embarrass you like that? Please.
My childhood abuse consisted of emotional, psychological, sexual, verbal abuse. and bullied.
My adult life consisted of emotional, psychological, verbal, and physical abuse and control.
I am now happily divorced. I may have the other sex in my life, but I WILL NEVER GET MARRIED AGAIN. MEN HAD CONTROL OF ME FOR THE BIGGEST PART OF MY LIFE. NO MORE. NO MAN WILL EVER HAVE THAT MUCH POWER OVER ME AGAIN.
I was so messed up, I couldn't show any emotion. Now I try, but it would not take me that long to put that wall back up again. I don't trust people except the people I think I really know well. I struggle with my faith. I will have my moments where I snap and say things I should not say but I can control the bigger majority of them. I have anxiety attacks or panic attacks lately. I don't dwell on what happened to me, but the affects are real. I don't remember hardly anything. Don't really have any memories of my life. I do love people, but I won't get too close to them because I don't trust them. If I have time to think about it, I have feelings of hate, unforgiveness, anger, and resentment toward some people which I do not express to people. I am always constantly looking over my shoulder when out in public, especially with men I don't know. Sometimes, I am just on auto-pilot just trying to get through the day.
I can see some positives, but I don't think they outweigh all of this.