Facing my own demons

adoption, adoption loss, life,

Who are all these People?

standing-in-the-rain.jpgWho are are all these people I see;

Standing in the rain.

See there, the one who smiles;

Every so softly…

Something in her eyes…

There is one who tries so hard;

To comfort those in pain.

Gentle voice, soft words

Hugs to be given freely.

Standing there, is one,

Who is crying out in terror.

The fear that can not be hid.

Then the laughter,

From the one in front.

Do what it takes;

My friend, to hear laughter,

From those around you.

And over there, see the red?

The one who’s anger,

Screams for attention.

One hiding from the world,

No one to see..

Who are all these people, I see?

Standing in the crowd.

Loving, and hating?

Pain and happiness,

All in this one crowd.

Screams of terror,

Smiles of comfort

Who will show themselves today?

All these people, I do not know.

Looking at me;

From the mirror.


June 30, 2006 Posted by | life, today | Leave a comment

When Satan goes to court…..

Warning! Some of this post is very graphic! And very sickning!

Just as I thought it would, my pregnancy with my third and last child was not the fu fu skip through the daisies time, as my first two pregnancies were. It was so hard. I was sick with morning sickness, or stress or both the whole time. I worked anywhere from 45 to 50 hours a week. And I tried, really tried hard, not to get attached to the growing life inside me. (This was an impossible task, but I tried so hard.) And that was for the most part, all I did.

There were a couple of note worthy life events that did happen during my pregnancy. First being that shortly after I signed relinquish papers, the charges against me were dropped. That had never been discussed between myself and the social worker. I never expected the charges to be dropped. I didn’t know what would happen, I didn’t really care. The reason on the papers I was given? 

Insufficient Evidence. !!

 I actually had to go to court for that. When given the summons to appear, it did not say that the charges were being dropped. It just said it was an order to appear… So I was surprised when the DA stood up and babbled something about the state wishing to drop the charge. And that was over. Another part of my life with my daughters was gone. I know that doesn’t make much sense but each little thing that was resolved, seem to be pushing me more toward loosing that self that had two daughters. It was if life itself was taking away all evidence that I ever had any children.

The second life event was my Dad retired and as they had been planing for years, he and R moved from Texas to Tenn. Even though I knew that had been the plan all along, it was just further truth to me that I was truly alone. I had no family left close to me.

A major event that happened during the early part of my pregnancy was J’s case came up. I was summoned as a witness for the prosecution but at the last minute J’s lawyer made a plea bargain with the D.A. And the hearing turned into a sentencing hearing. I don’t remember what they actually called the charge that J plead guilty to, but what it boiled down to was ten counts of inappropriate touching of a minor. I was no longer needed as a witness but was invited to sit and watch the proceedings. The first thing I wondered was where did they get the number 10? Did J count the times he went into our daughter’s room while I was working and violate that poor baby?!

The second thing that struck me was how much like the T.V. Court shows it really was like. I didn’t think real court would be anything like T.V. Court. Even though, the D.A and J’s lawyer had struck a deal and J was told that if he pleaded guilty to the lesser charges he would get a certain sentence, the judge still had the right to over rule the deal that was made. Hence the sentencing hearing.

First the judge informed J of his rights and asked if he understood his rights and asked if he had decided on his own to change his plea from not guilty to guilty without any coarsen. Bla Bla…. Lots of legal terms. Then the defense attorney and the D.A both made opening statements. Who knew what they said… It was all full of words that I didn’t have a clue of the meaning. Then the defense called the one and only witness. J.

The judge reminded J that he had been previously sworn in and he was required by law to tell the truth. (I swear, it was just like T.V. Court with the same words.)

It was so hard for me to sit there in silence and listen to the lies that came out of that man’s mouth, under oath, about what he had and (had not) done to our daughter. First, J’s lawyer established with some well asked questions that J was mentally ill. Apparently he had been evaluated while in jail and was found to be Severe psychotic / something something personality disorder. I don’t remember but it was several different mental illnesses that they said he had.

Then believe it or not, his lawyer brought up ten different dates. I swear, where did they come up with this stuff?! Anyway, he asked J if he had “inappropriately touched one, R.A.C. On these ten dates. J said yes. His lawyer asked him if he knew why he did this. J sat right there and said, no no, I don’t know. It’s like it wasn’t me… But I never did anything more than touch her and I was really only playing with her, but she misunderstood so I stopped.

I felt dizzy thinking about that statement. (of course these aren’t the exact words, I can’t remember the exact words but the meaning behind them was the same.) He said she misunderstood his intentions so he stopped?! Ten separate times!!!???? (still wondering at this time how they decided it was exactly ten times?) But the point was he did it again and again! And everyone there knew he was lying! Everyone knew he didn’t stop at touching! I remember imagining myself jumping up and screaming Liar! Liar! But I sat there, in tears and churning upset stomach and dizzy and watched the lies.

Then the D.A. Got to question J. OMG, he had a chart! It was a large pencil drawing of a baby without any clothes on. I couldn’t believe this. At this time I was so glad that this was only a sentencing hearing and that I wouldn’t have to be subject to being a witness for the court. The D.A asked J by pointing with a pointer at different parts of the pencil baby, “On the said dates, did you touch R here? Here?”  Supposedly it was established through this point and tell display that J had touched R on or around her nipples. !Liar Liar!, screams the crazy woman as they drag her from the court room. Was what I could see the headlines to be.

Then the judge sentenced J to ten years in prison. I guess that is where, or why the ten different accounts of “touching”. A year for each account. I talked to the D.A. after and he told me that J would probably get out on parole in 5 years. Five lousy years for destroying the life of a four year old! I don’t know when he got out. I put as much distance emotionally and physically as possible between myself and him during the next few years. I don’t have a clue what happened to him, or where he might be now. But I still have night mares about him occasionally. Still after 18 years.

June 28, 2006 Posted by | past | 6 Comments

How to tear apart a family….

The day came to sign the papers. Someone from CPS picked me up, so I wouldn’t have to take the city bus. They were OH, so helpful.

I was told I would get to see Little R and L that day to say good bye. I was told that I should try hard not to cry in front of them. Not to let them know I was sad and to tell them that I couldn’t take care of them, so I was going to let some nice people take them and love them and they would have a new family to love. This was supposed to make it easier on them to adapt to their new family.

I was also promised that everything in their power would be done to make sure the girls were not separated. That they were sure that they could find them a great adoptive family that would accept both girls. This was a very important issue to me. They only had each other left now, they had to be allowed to stay together. Oh yes, promises were made!

 (I had no idea for years how they lied right then and there to my face. I didn’t know that the girls had already been separated in foster care, even though they did get to visit each other. Nor did I know that both sets of foster parents had already been told they could adopt each of my girls very soon! Nor did I know, that while it was suggested that the girls be allowed to have contact after adoption, it was not required and L’s new parents would severe her contact from her older sister shortly after the adoptions were finalized. I had no idea of any of this until I heard it from R’s adopted mother years later, when R was a teenager.)

I was taken into this room at the offices. I can’t remember much about it, except it was all one color. I can’t remember the color, but I remember it was all one color, the carpet, and the walls, same color. So strange. It contained a couple of straight back chairs and off to the side was some toys laying on the floor. Maybe the toys were blocks or something like that, I’m not sure.

I sat there in that room by myself for what seemed to be hours. I don’t really know how long it was. When the door opened, A woman entered with my girls on each side of her. Ruby hesitated for a second, as though she might not be sure it was me, then pulled her hand away from the woman and ran to my waiting arms. She started crying and so did I.

L was still standing in the doorway holding on to the woman’s hand. R looked back at her and said,” Look, Tishie, Mommy.”

I had to go get L. She came to me when I went to her and put out my arms. She hugged me and then she with drew and sat on the floor playing with the toys there. R and I sat on the floor with her. R sitting almost on top of me. But L was not the same little girl she had been when I last saw her.

 I couldn’t believe the change in her in such a short time. She wasn’t the happy, laughing baby any more. She didn’t even talk to R. And she had always jibbered at R before. I picked her up and sat her in my lap. She didn’t try to get down, but she didn’t acknowledge that she was even aware of my presence, or R’s presence. She didn’t smile, she didn’t cry, she had almost no emotion expression at all.

 So I talked to her and R and tried to pretend that she could understand. I told them first and for most that I loved them both more than they could ever know and that I would always always love them. R says, “we love you, mommy.” Tears again. Then Ruby said “go home now?” My heart was breaking. I had trouble just continuing any sort of communication, much less telling my precious babies the they would never come home with me again.

I’m not sure how I told them. I know I didn’t tell them that I wanted to give them to a new family as the social worker suggested I do. I know I did tell them that it was breaking my heart to let them go, even though I was told not to tell them that. And I told them that I would always love them and always miss them and would always always be somewhere that they could find me. I told them that one day when they were old enough to decide for themselves and if they wanted to they could find me and I’d love them still. That was of course, the last thing I was allowed to say before a social worker burst in to the room and said it was time to go. That created a scene that I will forever remember. R grabbed me around the neck and began screaming. Not using any words, just straight out hysterical screaming! That seem to startle L out of her non emotion state and she grabbed me and started crying.

So there it was, I was bawling, L was bawling, R was screaming bloody murder and the social worker lady was flapping her arms around like some big clumsy flightless bird trying to take flight, yelling for help. And help she got. Several people came in and ruthlessly pulled my baby girls away from me. They took the girls out kicking and screaming while a couple of them stood in front of me with stern looks. How could any human see this scene and not be touched by it at all? I ask you? But none of it seemed to have an effect on these people at all.

After I had calmed down to quiet tears, they took me to another room to sign the papers. They told me again the same things about how I was saving them from being moved around from home to home. How, by signing these papers, I was doing the ultimate deed of Love. How I should be proud of having such unselfish love for my children to think of them first….

(When I first started exploring other, first mother’s blogs and discovered that the words they used on me were the same that were used on many many unwed pregnant girls I was shocked! I guess that kind of coercion works in many different situations.)

The only thing that I could think of for the days, weeks to follow, was at least there was nothing else I could loose. I had lost the most important people in my life. My daughters and no one could ever hurt me more than that. And yes, even though the pain was always, always horrible, I did, at that time buy into the “I did what was best for my babies” theory.

There were times, many times that I wished for death. I wasn’t sure how I could be still alive and hurt that bad any way. I even thought about taking my own life. What stopped me? I had made a promise to my girls that I would be waiting for them always. I couldn’t break that promise. So I would just say it again, at least no one could ever hurt me again because there was nothing left. That was what I thought, until I found yet one more thing I had to loose.


During all this, I had been very physically sick. I chalked this sickness up to the stress and depression. Because I had been eating very little during the last month or more and because when I did eat, I usually threw it up, I had lost a lot of weight. And I was already a small person before all this.

 I remember in August. around R’s birthday which was terrible for me I suddenly relized that I couldn’t remember the last time I had had a period. But at first, I didn’t think about it more than a minute or two, because one time I had heard, or saw on t.v. that if you loose weight down to a point you would stop having periods.

but evenually, I had to go to a dr. Yes, it was confirmed in late August that I was pregnant. After another appointment, (I couldn’t remember when my last period was) so I had to be tested to determine my due date, which was said by the dr to be Feb 14. This pregnancy I knew would not be a happy one, like the two before. I couldn’t think of anything worse at this time than to be pregnant. I was sure that CPS would be knocking on my door the day I brought my baby home to take it away. When I told T and Mrs. H about it, they agreed that CPs would never let me keep the baby and the best thing I could do would be to hire a lawyer and do a private adoption.

All I could think of was I couldn’t live through having another child taken away from me. I decided the only way to defend myself against these people was to do as Mrs. H suggested. I asked her to find a lawyer for me. She picked a name out of the phone book and my hell continued. ……..

June 26, 2006 Posted by | Adoption, my angels, past | 5 Comments

A Time to die, and die again…..

This will be the hardest post for me yet. It's all been leading to this…

If I can get through this…. Maybe just maybe …. I don't know… I'm not sure what I hope to accomplish by writing all this down, any more. I first thought that it would help me heal… I'm not sure that healing is possible any more. Then, as I posted each time, I thought, maybe someone else will stumble on this and be helped by it…. Do I really think that I can help anyone? And a new thought has crept it's way into my brain. What if, somehow, someday, one of my daughters were to stumble on to this site… I have no idea what they were told about me…. Even though I have reunited once with R years ago. I didn't know that it was "reunion" then. I never heard of that term before. I just knew that I got to see my daughter. I got to talk to her. I got to hug her and tell her I loved her and then it was all gone. Maybe she was too young at the time? Maybe she was told things… I wanted to tell her my story then, but I didn't know how to tell her. She didn't ask me anything. I always thought I should wait for her to ask… But this is another subject, for another post… Now I am stalling. I know this… I am not sure why I need to write all of this, nor why I am doing it so publicly. I just know that I need to do this and so…..

For reasons that will reveal themselves later.. Time line is kind of important. So I have been diligently counting on my fingers, adding and subtracting each event in relation to the age of Little R or L. The time line is only accountable to me by the relationship to their ages. Somehow, I thought the time was much longer that everything had happened. I always thought in my mind that everything happened over a long period of time, but in following the time line so carefully, I've discovered that it all happened rather quickly. In some ways, it seems that all of this happened last year or last month. In other ways it seemed it happened a life time ago, in someone else's life. But the time from when I took my two little girls and ran away from their abusive father to the time I lost my girls seems to have been years. But it wasn't. I am surprised, it didn't take long at all for my life to be totally destroyed.

So, Little R was still four years old, L was almost two when they came home to live with me again. We hadn't been separated very long at all. And I had called them every day and visited them on my days off. But it seemed as though we had been apart for a life time. Not just to me, to them also. They clinged to me and would not let me out of their site. Following me to the bathroom, where they stood in the doorway watching me intently so I wouldn't slip out the tiny 4 inch window. The three of us shared a bedroom and I had to lay in bed with them until they were both sound asleep. But I didn't mind… I had suffered separation anxiety just as they had. (I had taken a leave of absence from work so that I could stay off work as long as I needed.)

Soon after R and L had come home, T's mother told us that the apartment next door to her was open for rent. (She lived in one side of a duplex) This seemed like a great hand of fate for us. We moved into that apartment so that when I did get ready to go back to work, T's mother could baby sit the girls. This move also seemed to help the girls. I would sit on the porch with T's mom and the girls would play close to me. Each day they were able to get a tiny bit further away from me as long as I didn't get up from my seat. (Of course, Little R's movements dictated what L would do. She followed her big sister's cue.) As Little R became a little braver, so did L. Very soon, the girls were playing in the yard while I stayed on the porch.

As the girls became braver, T and I became closer. Eventually, the girls were ok with me sitting in a chair close to their bed until they fell asleep and I moved into T's bed with him. I know that seems out of place, but I really don't remember when I became romantically involved with T. It is something that happened and I'm not sure when or how it came to be.

As time passed and the girls, at least little R, became more confident, I slowly began preparing them for my return to work. At first, I went into the house while T's mom stayed outside with the girls while they played. Then I would go to the store, assuring them I'd be back quickly and they'd be safe with Mrs. H. It was a gradual process that seemed to take a lot longer than it really did. But eventually, I was able to return to work for a few hours a day. I was still only working a very few hours a day when Hell came to my life. Oh sure, I thought I had already been through hell and that I was making a come back… But I was wrong… Oh so wrong…

It was summer time.  It was hot, I remember that so clearly. The day was dry and oh so hot. (by my time line calculations it must have been June.) I was sitting on the porch watching Little R teach her baby sister how to build a doll house out of dirt and sticks. Toys were scattered all over the yard, but they were playing with dirt and sticks and their favorite baby dolls of course. Little R with her imagination had decided the dolls needed a pool and had instructed L on how to dig it out. I was laughing at them both because R was trying to teach L to dig in only one spot to make the "pool" deep enough, but L would babble something in baby talk and then proceed to fill the freshly dug hole with the loose dirt that R had taken out. Amazingly enough, Little R was being Oh so patient with her little sister. "no no, tishie, this way" She would say and show her again and again. I don't know what L was saying but her hand movements and expressions seem to be saying, "Oh, yeah, I get it now" And then she'd throw more dirt in the hole. ( I have often remembered that time, recalling it over and over so that I will never forget it. My girls playing together….)

That's when a car pulled up in front of the house. I immediately stood up and was off the porch and in front of the girls. I had an immediate sense of dread. For one thing, this was a really nice car. It was so out of place in this neighborhood. But there was something else, that I couldn't put my finger on. I just knew that my stomach was churning with a deep fear and protectiveness for my girls.

Two women got out of that car. I remember the car was dark. Black? Maybe it was a dark blue, but it was dark. Another darkness to my life. The two women identified themselves as CPS social workers. For a second, only a second, I thought they were finally going to help me get Little R into some sort of council. But they started rapid firing questions at me. I didn't know what was going on. They asked me how often I left the girls alone with T. "Never." which I had not. Not because I didn't trust him, but because I didn't want to leave Little R alone with any man after what she had been through. I didn't think it would be good for her at that time. "Who, then, baby sat while I was working" I pointed to Mrs. H, T's mom and said "she does, but I'm never gone more than three or four hours at a time." 

"Why didn't I have Ruby in therapy?" was their next line of questions. And I told them that I was trying to get her some help but they were not helping me… And there were more questions, most of them made no sense at all. Then they took Little R into the house and talked to her alone. Then one of the women made a phone call and they stood around staring at us all while we waited for what I didn't know. T was at work when all this started. But he arrived home, just as a police car pulled up in front of our house. They asked him if he was T.H. And he said yes and they proceeded to search him and put cuffs on him and put him in the police car. Without even saying why!

Then in front of me, in the house, they took Little R and L and the police and the social women proceeded to take off all the girls clothing. I was hysterical by this time, trying to get them to leave my babies alone. The girls were terrified. They were in tears begging for me to make them stop. The amazing thing was, that while both the girls were… Dirty, from playing in the dirt, there was a bruise or a scratch on them. They didn't even have the normal scratches or bumps that children get from normal child's play. Nothing!

After the girls were dressed again, one of the social workers took them to another room and the other social worker told me that there had been a report that T was abusing the girls. I told them they were crazy. That I never let him be by himself with my girls and I would know if he ever tried to hurt them, which he hadn't. That seemed to be a confession to them. They told me to talk to the girls and make it ok for them to go with them. To make it easier on them because they were going to take them temporarily while the investigation was ongoing and I needed to make the girls not afraid.

I hugged my girls and told them I loved them so much  and never forget I loved them and I would be with them again soon. Then they took my babies and drove away with them. Then they arrested me! The charge? Failure to report Child abuse! I was in jail for three days! Three days before they allowed me to call my Dad. He bonded me out on the same day I called him.

I went home, to my empty apartment. The truth is, I would have went to my dad's that time, but he lived in another county and the judge wouldn't give me permission to stay with Dad before my case came up. It didn't really mater to me, though. I just went home and went to bed and didn't get up… I was so sick, with depression and fear… I don't remember how long I stayed in bed. I didn't eat… Except when Mrs. H would bring over something and force me to eat a few bites or feed me water, which I would have to run to the bathroom and throw up most of the time. How long did that go on? I can't remember. I know eventually rent time came and I had no money so I moved in with Mrs. H, T's mother. He was still in jail, on child abuse charges, waiting for a court date because we had no money to get him out.

I did go back to working, full time now, there was no reason for me not to work full time. I walked several miles to the jail downtown once a week to visit T. And I waited. There was nothing else I could do. "They" had all the power, as far as I could see and I had no resources. Time stopped. I did what I had to do. I worked, I helped Mrs. H with the housework. I ate food when she forced me too. I was sick all the time. And so tired. I wanted nothing more than to just lay down and die. But I was so sure that "they" would see what a terrible mistake they had made and return my girls to me any day now. So I waited.


I called "my social worker" constantly. Badgering her about "the investigation" and when I could have my girls back. Or at least when I could see them. Couldn't I even see my babies?! The answers were always pretty much the same. It would not be good for the girls to visit me at this time, it would only confuse them when we had to be separated again. The "investigation" was on going and they had no information to give me at this time. I heard that statement so many times it was burned into my brain like a cattle brand.

The other thing that they said over and over, was there was a high possibility that I would never again get my girls back and they could be stuck in foster care for their entire child hood. They were preparing  me so to speak. I know that now. Then I was just terrified. I had seen the movies with the poor kids that were thrown from one bad foster care home to another. Or the kids that lived in Children's homes under horrible conditions. Not my girls! All I could do was pray that God would keep my girls out of that horrible life.

Maybe a month went by, maybe less and I guess they decided I was ready. The social work came to my house one day and said she needed to "talk" to me. This all seems so fussy now. The memory has a dream like quality to it. I can't remember the whole conversation but the jest of it was, this woman said that Little R had told them about the "abuse" and I would never be allowed to have my girls back again. They would, of course, seek the court to severe my parental rights, but the court system was so over clogged and full that this might take years. Meanwhile my girls would have to live in a children's home or foster care if it could be found for them. And they were getting older and by the time the courts caught up to them, they'd be too old to be able to find an adoptable home for them. They would probably have to be separated, and no one wants that.. And they'd live in group homes or foster homes until they turned 18. Never being able to have a stable home life again… The one sentence I remember the woman saying verbatim, was… "If you are selfish, you will cause them to have that life, but you can be sure, no mater what you will never get your girls back."

I remember the pain. OH the pain. My chest really hurt. I felt sure my heart would stop beating. The pain was physical. I also got sick and had to run to the bathroom at one point to throw up.

Sign relinquish papers, giving up my rights to parent my girls and they would find them a home together where they would be loved and taken care of. That's what was told to me that day. I asked about their father, would his rights be terminated? They couldn't possibly ever let him see them after what he did. No No, his rights had already been terminated by the courts. It didn't occur to me to ask how that was done so quickly when she had just said the courts were backed up by years. When I couldn't talk any more because I was crying too hard, when I couldn't catch my breath and my chest hurt so bad that I was doubled over, the woman put her hand on my shoulder, I think her touch burned my skin, and told me to think about it. And she left. She could have stabbed me in the heart and walked away smiling, it would have been the same.


Mrs. H was dead set against my signing the papers. Not because she thought I should or could fight for my children. She agreed with the social worker in that once the government gets involved, you pretty much can't fight them. She didn't want me to sign the papers until T went to court, because she figured they would use that as an admission of guilt.

So I went to visit T on that Sunday. I told him everything that had happened. I told him my fears. He pretty much said the same thing as his mother about the girls. I couldn't fight them. They were the government, they would lie, cheat and do what ever it took to win and I would loose. I also told T what the lady had said about Little R's age. She was almost five years old, almost too old to be adoptable. I didn't want her to be shuffled from one place to another, each place being worse than before…. T told me to sign the papers. He didn't care if they used it against him. He didn't want me to have to worry about Little R that way.

And thus the decision was made…. I decided to give my children a chance to have a good life. I decided to make a deal with the devil and give him my very heart, in exchange, my daughters would have a "good" life. It was over that day… The days that followed were just paperwork of sorts. They meant nothing… The day my heart died was on the day I decided. I didn't know then that I still had a little more to live for. I didn't know then that I still had more to loose. I didn't know that there could be more pain…. But there was…..more pain to come…..

June 26, 2006 Posted by | Adoption, life, my angels, past | 3 Comments

The woman in the picture window…..

(When someone new learns that my husband, B, is my second husband, most people hold to the "don't ask, don't tell" philosophy. Being divorced and remarried is not that uncommon today. But occasionally, I will run across someone who just thinks they have to know more. "So why did you and your first husband divorce?" They ask. I respond, "because I was married to Satan."

That gives them the general idea of what might have happened and gets them to drop the subject. One thing  curious people don't want to hear about is someone else's pain.)

As I write these accounts of my own past, I find myself wondering who this person was. I remember all these things happening to me. I remember the choices I made. I know that was me, but it doesn't feel like it was me. It's as if I was looking at this young woman's life through a picture window and watching it all happen. Watching it all unfold. Of course, I, the now me, knows how it will turn out. I know what that young woman will do next and what will happen because of the choices she will make. I stand outside that window watching and screaming at her to do it differently. Why? Why does she keep doing the same things every time I see these events? Why couldn't she see what was going to happen?! I can look back on it all now and see clearly how the choices I made were my downfall. But I don't remember why I made those choices. I don't remember for instance, what was going through my head when I had my Dad bring my girls to me, instead of going to Dad's house to live there.

At first.. Remember, I thought it wasn't safe for me to be there. But when J was arrested and held without bond… At that time I had no real tie (romantically) to T. Except that I thought he was my savior. My rescuer from the dark. My job… Was pathetic at best. And the apartment we lived in was …. Geez… It was small and falling down. It was cheep. So why did I choose to not go live with my Dad and at least have a safe haven for me and my girls until I could figure out what to do with my life. I don't have a clue! As I said, I feel disconnected from the person I was then. I don't understand her at all. I don't understand the choices that she kept making over and over that always turned out to be wrong! And yet, she kept doing it over and over until she lost everything! EVERYTHING!

The choice that I am speaking of is to slowly cut myself off from the people who could have helped me. My family. I know, I had good reason to perhaps be mistrusting of some of my family, with my past. But I should have been able to see past that. I should have seen how my family would have helped me if I had just let them. If not my Dad, then my sister … Someone… Anyone… Would have been better than … The strangers that I chose to put my faith and my life into their hands…

But I can't change that woman's mind. I stand here looking into the window of her soul and I can't make her see what she did wrong. I can only watch it unfold… Knowing how it will turn out… Knowing that she had not suffered the worst yet, but surely will because I know how it ends.. I know the loss that I suffered for her choices! I can't change it, and I have nothing left to save by learning from those mistakes. Everything was lost. I now can see the mistakes. I can now say I learned from them, but to what avail? What good does knowledge do when there is nothing left to save?

June 25, 2006 Posted by | if only, life, past | 1 Comment

looking into my past pt 6: Hiding from Satan

Starting from where I last left off. I had just had my second child. Another perfectly beautiful baby girl. We, J, little R, L and I were living with my dad and step mother. And once again, I thought I had the perfect life. J was not abusing me in any way. Even though we were living in Dad's Mobile home, which was behind his house in the back yard. Completely separated from the house, it offered us some privacy. Because we had this privacy and J was not taking advantage of it by hitting me, I thought finally he had decided to keep his promises. It never occurred to me that J knew we were still close enough that we didn't really have "that much" privacy and he also knew that if my Dad ever caught him hitting me, he'd be in for major trouble. I went around singing my "tra la la" song of the "perfect life" I was surely the happiest mother in the world. My children were the best babies in the world. R was from the beginning, so smart and so easy to teach new things to. She practically taught herself. "tra la la"

Eventually we moved away from my parents. We first moved into a house that belonged to J's boss. He was security there and the house was next door to the plant. So we lived there, rent free, as a bonus of his work. And so he would be readily available any time. Although he was never called into work on his time off, so I think his boss only let us live in the house because I was my Dad's daughter. Dad was very well liked by the owner of the metal company that he and now J worked for. But nepotism only goes so far. And so one day J came home from work early and said he'd been fired. I never did know why he got fired from that job. I didn't ask, because the fighting had already started again and I was afraid. Again.

So, of course, we had to move. This time we moved to another city. Putting 20 miles or so between us and my Dad. That doesn't seem like much, but I still did not drive, so yes it was far, really far for me. I guess L was close to or about a year old when J decided that I would have to go back to work. Considering my skills, none and my education, none, I couldn't get a decent paying job. And nether could J. So we both worked at the same fast food place, on different shifts so that we never needed to hire a babysitter. I hated leaving my sweet babies to go to work each day; but I thought at least I didn't have to leave them with strangers. How wrong can one person be in a lifetime?!

This life went on for the next year. I had my head stuck somewhere in the sand of at least my children have both parents and are not hurt like I am being hurt syndrome. Until one day, my own little four year old daughter, little R jerked my head out of that sand. The conversation she and I had as I remember it:

Little R: "Mommie, I don't like daddy to tickle me."

Me: Daddy tickles you? Why don't you like it? Where does he tickle you?

Little R: "Down there, it hurts."

I went ballistic! I couldn't believe what my daughter was standing there telling me! How could I have been so blind?! I started crying, Little R tried to comfort me. This tiny little four year old was hurting so bad, was trying to comfort her mother. No NO! This is wrong. And I told her that. I told her she didn't have to take care of me, I was going to take care of her and Daddy would never ever hurt her again. I grabbed her up and took her to her's and L's bedroom. Then I put her down and went back to the livingroom. Then I started randomly picking up stuff and shoving it under my arms to leave with. It took me a while to calm down enough to realize I had to have a plan. I didn't have a plan. I didn't know how to make a plan. I picked up the phone over and over again but couldn't figure out who to call.

I was so crazed that I couldn't figure out anything. For some reason the only person's phone number I could remember was a friend from work. I had told him a little about J and how he treated me, because I had to tell someone and he was the only one I thought was far enough from the situation to be objective. He had told me many times that if I ever needed his help to call. So I did. I told him I had to leave. I had to take my girls and hide. I couldn't go anywhere that J might look and I had to do it NOW! He was there in ten minutes. I took a few clothes for the girls and maybe two changes of clothes for myself. That was all I took. I was too afraid that J might come home early and catch me.

After I got to T's mother's house, where T was living at the time. I called the police and reported everything. After many hard examinations and interrogations of my little four year old daughter and myself. And a week of we are still formulating a report mam. There was finally a warrant took out on J. But they couldn't find him. He had stopped going to work the next day after my disappearance and it was found that he had moved, leaving most of our belongings at the house that we had been renting.

I did manage to calm down enough to call my dad some time during the first week. But I told him it was too dangerous for me to go there because I was sure J would look there. J had promised me many times that if I ever tried to leave him, he would kill me in such a way that no one would ever be able to prove it was him. He often told me ways he could do just that, proving to me he had given this much thought. I believed him. I was terrified. When the police couldn't find him, my fear increased. For a while, I sent the girls to live with my Dad. I hoped that soon J would be found and arrested and I could bring them back home.

I got a new job at another restaurant. And T and I rented a garage apartment right next door to my new job. I was so afraid of being alone. It was, at the time, very innocent. T was there to protect me. He even walked with me, the 10-15 steps to work and back each day. But he was also, there, for me. He listened to me when I had to talk, he held me when I cried for hours. He was there, when no one else had been. He listened to me. He didn't try to tell me what I should do, or should have done, or did wrong. He just listen and right then, that is what I needed.

Weeks turned into a month and the police had still not found J. I called them frequently to see if they had and I got the feeling that they weren't even really looking. There are so many people out there, mam… A needle in a hay stack….. If he gets stopped for a traffic violation, then we'll have him…..could be anywhere…. Bla Bla.

Meanwhile, I was trying to get someone to help me get counseling for Little R. She was only four years old after all. And I surely didn't know how to help her through this pain or to even help her understand why she was in pain. But I worked at a minimum wage job. I couldn't afford to go to a private child psychologist. I had to have help. What I got from the welfare department and Social Services or what ever they were, was the Big Run Around.

OH, you need to go to this office. You need to fill out these papers… Oh, no you are in the wrong place, you need to go…..You'll have to go through this agency… There's a waiting list…. Bla bla bla…. I was at my wits end trying to find just one person who could even tell me where to go for help.

As time went by, I started to think that maybe J had left town completely. I told the police they should check his mother's home, maybe he went there. They said they checked and he wasn't there. I don't know what "we've checked" meant. Did they send someone out to the house, which was in another state. Or did they call his mother on the phone and ask, "is your son, J there?" J's mother responding, "why no, of course not… Oh sure I will turn him  in to the police if he comes here…. Sure….."

Ether way, I started to think that J would not come after me after almost three months had past. So I told T that he didn't have to walk me to work, next door, any more. One week later, I was right outside the big picture glass windows of work when J popped out of the bushes behind me, and knocked me to the ground. While he was choking me with one hand pressed firmly down on my throat, he began beating me in the face with his other fist.

How long did this continue before several men from inside the restaurant  and T from our apartment,  ran to my rescue, I don't know.. A minute, maybe only seconds… But for me it was forever. Everything was going black. I was struggling to be free, struggling to pull his hand from my throat. Struggling to breath.

It took 4 men to pull him off of me. And J was not a large man. In fact, he was rather small for a man. But he was so enraged that it took all four of those men to not only pull him off of me, but to hold him down until the police arrived, 45 minutes after someone had dialed 911 when J first jumped out of the bushes. The woman that called 911 was my manager. She knew the whole story. She knew that there was a warrant for J and she knew that I had an order of protection against him. And she told the police all this on the phone. 45 minutes! I would have been dead by that time!

The other strange thing about the polices late arrival was they brought someone from Child protective Serves with them. They knew that my girls had been staying with their grandparents for their safety until J was caught. Why did they wait, in an emergency situation for someone from Cps to arrive to come with them? I never thought about that then. Only later, when it was all over. Did they already have a plan even back then? I still don't know. All I knew for sure at that time was I was alive and J had been caught and was taken to jail.

Amazingly enough, and much to the judge's credit, J was determined to be a flight risk and no bail was set. My babies came home! I finally felt they and I were safe. A lot worse for the wear but happy none the less; I brought Little R and L home to stay……….

June 25, 2006 Posted by | past | 1 Comment

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June 25, 2006 Posted by | Adoption | Leave a comment

the making of evil

A little bit about J, my first husband.

Not that I think J deserves an excuses for what he did to me and my beautiful babies. But to be fair, he was a very very sick man and I believe that his childhood had a lot to do with his illness.

J told me one day that he was adopted. This was before we were married and it was said as a "as a matter of fact" statement. We were discussing family and family traits. It didn't seem to be an important issue to him at the time he told me, just a fact of his life.

At the time, I knew nothing about adoption. In fact, I had never really thought about it at all. When J told me, I thought oh that's nice. For some reason his mother could not raise him, so this woman, V adopted him and raised him as her own child. But I found out that wasn't really the way it happened. Now, there are holes in the story of course, since J told me what his adopted mother told him as a child. The story as he told it to me, seemed to be some sort of Steven King movie. I was shocked and repelled that this sort of thing could possibly happen in this great country of America. At the same time, I realized that many things could happen if it involved someone with enough money and political influence. (at the time, I thought I would like to have that kind of power, to change things for the better. Of course, I know that would be just as wrong. You should never use power or influence to change something that goes against someone else's rights, or hurts someone.)

Here is the story that V told her adopted son as a child. The important thing to see from this story is not how terrible she was to use her power and money to get what she wanted, but that she told this story to a small child! Imagine what damage that did to his emotional well being!

V was married to a man who worked very closely with several elected officials in the town they lived. He was friends with many of the political leaders in the small town. Although, with the money they had, they were probably only upper middle class, the town they lived in was very tiny and very poor, so V and her husband were considered rich. They were probably the riches family in the town. V was enjoying the good life of respect and yes, envy from her neighbors. She loved that if she suggested something at a town meeting people would immediately agree that it was a wonderful idea, even if they had publicly opposed it before. There was only one thing missing. She had failed to have a child. Somehow, she felt that she was incomplete as a woman unless she was a mother. And that was very bad for her image.

So she decided that she would adopt a child. She never went to a doctor to try to find out why she did not conceive. (Maybe at the time there wasn't that much knowledge on the subject.)

Her husband did not want a child though and told her that. He was quite happy that she had never conceived. But that was of no consequence to V. She told him that she knew about his affairs, which she had suspected about him but until that time was not sure, and if he didn't go along with her on this adoption thing she would go public. So husband and wife made a deal. He would go along with the adoption of a child as long as it took, then he and V would divorce and he would give her a one time, large settlement in exchange for her silence of his indiscretions.

V chose J because he looked very much like people in her own family. Red hair, very light skin, blue eyes. The problem was, he was a toddler, living with his mother at the time. His mother was a single mother of questionable reputation. She was very poor and worked two jobs most of the time just to keep herself and her son in a small house in a bad neighborhood.

It took a lot of money and all of V's influence to get J removed from his mother. But by the time he was three years old, she had succeeded in getting the mother's rights to her child taken away and had adopted J as her own.

J had no real memory of his real mother or anything that happened before he became V's son. But he told me that she told him many times through his childhood that it would have been better if she could have adopted him as a baby. Because then she would have not had to tell him that he was adopted. But since he was a child when the adoption went through it was a good thing that he knew the truth. So that he could know how she saved him from a horrible life living with that poor white trash of a mother, who should have been forced to have an abortion when she became pregnant and made to have an operation so that she'd never have a child.

So I can look at this and know why J was so messed up in the head. Can you imagine having your mother tell you this story as a child?! Can you imagine what kind of effect it would have on you if your "mother" continually told you that you were born to trash and you'd better appreciate her for saving you!?

But even so, I can not forgive him for what he did to my precious baby. I know that he was a sick sick man, but he knew right from wrong! He knew what he was feeling was wrong and he did not seek help, he acted on those wrong feelings and destroyed an  child's life! His own child! No, I can not forgive him for that! But also, I can not forgive V for creating that sick mind. And I can't forgive myself for not knowing that this man would hurt my children. I can't forgive myself for thinking that the only pain he would ever inflict would be towards me. I should have took my sweet sweet baby R and ran as fast and as far as I could away from J the first time he ever hit me. But I didn't. And now I will pay for the rest of my life for that. But worse, my sweet daughter will pay for it. The damage he did to her will haunt her and shape her for ever. How could it not?!

June 24, 2006 Posted by | past, Uncategorized | 2 Comments

looking into my past pt 5c: Still looking for that perfect life


When I got married, I broke the silence between my dad and myself and called him. I wanted him to give me away and he did. This brought him and R back into my life, if only by phone most of the time. In fact, now that I was an adult, married woman, I found I got along well with R and called her almost on a daily basis.

In the very beginning of my marriage to J, I defined our roles. I was the one who chose to let J be… traditional head of the household husband and I would be…"just the wife". I wouldn't make a move in life without asking J, first if it was ok. He, being older and some what "traditional" anyway, took the role I gave him very well. Most things I asked him about he "let" me do as they were tiny things that really didn't matter in the skeem of things. But when the manager at work again approached me about my posible promotion, J sat his foot down. He didn't think his wife should make more money than he did. Yes, he really said that. This was the first time I argued with J on anything. I really wanted this promotion. I let being his wife define me, but my work was the one place where I felt I was my own person. I wanted to move forward with that. J was shocked that I didn't just say "yes, dear" and became very angry. We had our first fight and it was a screaming match that lasted hours. and ended with J making me call work and tell them that I quit. I was crushed. but I did it, because in the end, I thought, "He's my husband, I have to do as he says" I also had the fear that he would kick me out of his life if I didn't do as he wanted.

As it turned out, I would have not been a good canidate for management at that time. Because I was pregnant. Because I had never been very regular, I didn't suspect anything until I was already 3 months along. I started having morning sickness even before I realized what was going on. I thought I had the flu at first. Then suddenly one day I was cleaning out the bathroom cabnets and thought… hmmm haven't used any of this stuff in a while. It struck me like a slap on the forehead. Oh wow! How cool! I was going to have a baby. I was so excited. So was J. He was all puffed up like a peacock proud that he had got me pregnant.

Other than the morning sickness, which lasted well into my 6th month. I felt great during this pregnancy. I felt more alive and more human than I had ever. It didn't matter to me that J was walking around acting like he had created this miracle all by himself. I knew that now I was special. I was a mother, I had someone who I could lavish all my love on and I knew the baby would not reject me. I finally felt like I was really someone. I barely allowed J to share in any thing to do with my pregnancy. Sometimes he would come up and put his hand on my belly and try to feel the baby kick, but I never invited him to.

We argued constantly. We only had his pay to live on and while it was enough for the two of us, it wasn't enough for the baby. I knew that paying the hospital bill alone would be next to imposible but I refused to go to county. I pushed him to find a better paying job, or get a second job. I found that I wanted more time to myself, to spend with my unborn baby anyway. I pushed him to get another job for the money, but more than that, I wanted him out of the house more.

I began to realize that I didn't love J. I never had loved him, but I had fool myself into thinking that I had. But now, I had a hard time even pretending to him that I loved him. Of course, it didn't matter. I was married and I wasn't going to leave him, even if there wasn't a baby involved. I wasn't going to fail at marriage like I failed at every other relationship in my life. That was that. And of course, there was  a baby. I couldn't think of leaving my husband when I had a baby who would need a father.

Our daughter, R. A. was born in August of 1983, one month before J's and my first anniversary. We named her after my step mother and J's mother. She was so beautiful and perfect! I had a terrible time with her delivery. In fact in the end they did an emergency C-section because my labor wasn't progressing and Little R's heart rate went into distress. But none of that mattered after she was born. She was healthy and oh so perfect!  And I was absolutely the happiest I had ever been in my life. I loved this tiny little girl more than anyone I had ever loved in my life.  I would have done anything for her; I would have died for her! I had never known such a wonderous love before.

J, however, seemed to become angry. He was loosing control over me. What he said or did didn't matter to me any more. My life was my child. The bond between myself and little R only proved to grow in strenghth as she grew older. I no longer needed J to make decisions for me. And this was something that J could not abide. Our arguements became more intense and more often. We would have screaming matches about the tiniest of things. The things that we said to each other were horrible. Until one day, J called me a slut. Out of no where, he just said it. He was right in my face, so close that I could feel his hot breath when he said that word and I lost it. I screamed and slapped him. I've never forgotten that I was the first one to turn the fights physical. It haunted me for years. I had done this, I had made J hit me, it was all my fault.

And hit me he did. He hit me so hard that I was knocked to the floor. There on the floor I crumbled into a ball and cried and J left the house, for hours.

When he came home, he appoligized so profusely. He begged me to forgive him and promised he'd never lay a hand on me again. He cried. Of course I forgave him, I had been the first one to hit him after all. We made all the wonderful promises. We'd talk more, we'd not scream at each other, or call names and never, never would we hit each other again.  …. Bla Bla Bla all the right words.

The new found pact to be closer lasted a week. One week! Then we were off again. I can't remember what started that first fight a week later. It was probably something really stupid. But it was just as bad as it had always been, and worse. Because when it was at it's worst, J shoved me to the floor and sat on me. He told me he was tired of my disrespect and he would have some respect from me if it killed me. Suddenly, I believed him.

After that J became more violent very quickly. He would never hit me in the face, where the bruises might show. But he would twist my arms, hit my chest so hard that it knocked the breath out of me and grab me by my hair and slam my head against the floor or furniture. Always, always after wards he would buy me gifts and appoligize with tears and make promises never to do it again.

At some point, I knew that the promises meant nothing. But I wouldn't give up on this marriage. He never did anything in front of Little R. So I thought she was uneffected by it all and she needed a daddy. So that's how I lived. I would stay with J as long as he never hurt Little R in any way. Meanwhile, I was loosing myself again. I began to really try to keep J happy, no matter what that meant. But it was an imposible task. There was always something that I did, or didn't do that angered him.

Much to my amazement, when Little R was about 2 and a half I found myself pregnant again. I was amazed because J and I rarely had sex any more. I avoided him as much as I could as the bed room had become another place that he proved his dominance over me. Of course, I was never allowed to say no to him when he wanted sex. If I did, he'd just hold me down and do it anyway. In fact he seemed to enjoy it all the more that way. So our second child was not conceived in love, or even lust, but in anger and pain.

But none of that mattered when I first started to feel the little flutter feeling of the baby. All the feelings that I had when I was pregnant with little R came back. I was happy again. Another life, coming into this world through me. And I felt wonderful. As with the first pregnancy, I felt healthier during my second pregnancy than I did any other time.

Meanwhile, J had lost his job and we moved in with my Dad and R of all things. The "Never" had come to an end. My dad got a job for J at his work and we didn't fight while we lived with them. So I was happy. Little R was happy. And the baby inside me seemed exstremely happy. I was sure that this baby was also a girl. And I was right.

Latisha Rae was born in November of 1986. Another perfect and beautiful baby girl. Little R was such a great big sister. She was never jeoulos of her baby sister. She wanted to be with L always. She wanted to help take care of her. She was like a tiny little mother. I loved them both so much I felt I would just die of happiness. I was sure that I now had the perfect life. Nothing could possibly go wrong. ….. Until, of course, it did….

Ok, another stopping point here. MY mirror of the past is revealing so much now. I am almost finished with this reflection of my past and I can feel the pressure as I get closer to what changed me forever. I may finish this today, or I may have to take a couple of days off before I can face the next part.

June 23, 2006 Posted by | life, past | Leave a comment

Looking into my past: pt 5b My perfect life…


Back in those days I didn't have a car. Hell, I didn't even drive. My dad had tried to teach me to drive the year before, but made me so nervous by yelling that I stopped trying to learn. So each night, when we finished our "after work beer party" someone had to take me home. Usually it was the manager. Although, I was always slightly buzzing, I never thought about getting in the car with the manager. I always figured that if I was only slightly buzzed, the other's were probably not buzzed at all, because they were more experienced drinkers. (I look back on that now and know that I was just really lucky.)

One night the manager had something he had to do. So he asked me if it would be ok if J, the strange "beer" guy took me home. I didn't really like J but I figured he was harmless so I said it was fine. And basically it was fine. He did make a pass at me, but I told him I wasn't interested in him in that way and he accepted that without argument. J was 12 years older than me, which to me at that time seemed really old. But the fact that he backed off quickly when I asked him to opened up a twinge of thought for me that he might not be such a bad guy. He was an outsider, like me after all. He was lonely and tried to hard to make friends. I could understand that, because I was the same. So I became "friends" with J that night.

That was also the night that my perfect life would began to crack. Not all at once. Just a tiny crack that would slowly spiderweb until it would shatter completely. My stepfather was waiting up for me that night. He, H, had never done that before. He saw me getting out of J's pickup and absolutely hit the roof! I didn't know why he was so upset. The man had just gave me a ride home. That was it. But H insisted that I was "acting like a whore, going out with men twice my age!"

I told him he was wrong. That I didn't go out with J, that he just gave me a ride home from work. I guess H knew that I'd been drinking. I'm sure he could smell it on me, but he never mentioned it and nether did I. All he did was keep yelling he knew I was just slutting around every night. (I found it totally amazing that at school I tried hard to hide the fact that I was a virgin, but now at home I was being accused of having sex with every guy at work)

Finally, I guess H just got tired and stopped yelling and went to bed. And I figured that was the end of that and went to bed myself for my nightly 3 hour nap before school.

That was not the end of it. Not by a long shot.

The next morning was normal. I went to school, slept through a couple of classes so I would be fit for work that night and came home….. But to what?

H and my mom were waiting in the living room. They were literally sitting on the edge of the couch, backs straight, waiting for me to arrive home. It looked like some kind of after school special. "When kids go bad, parents must intervene…. " But it wasn't an "intervention", oh No! It was a meeting to let me know there were new rules. None of these rules were about what I was to do, or not do with my time. Issues of school or work were not discussed. What I did with my free time, not important. What was important, to H, (who did all the talking) and my mother, or at least so H said, was that I would pay rent. The rent I was to pay was exactly half of my take home pay. This rent would give me privilege of the bedroom and bathroom and one hour a day of sitting in the living room with them watching t.v. And that was all. I was not allowed to use their refrigerator, their stove, in fact I should stay out of their kitchen completely. What was I supposed to do for food? I could eat at school and work… And that was the end of any discussions.

I chose not to use my one hour t.v. Privilege. When I wasn't at work or school I sat in my room and read or wrote and listened to my tiny clock radio. Life went on as per normal for several weeks this way, except that I didn't talk to my mother or H at all. I never told them where I was going when I left, they didn't ask. They didn't talk to me ether. When I paid my "rent" I left it on the coffee table when ever they were not in the living room so that I wouldn't have to interact with them at all.

I was so lonely. I wanted so much to call my dad. I missed him so much. The memories of the abuse that I had received from R seemed to be just bad dreams. The fact that my dad had never tried to see my side of things seemed to be fogged in my memory now. I wanted to talk to my dad so bad. I wanted to be hugged by him. I wanted to have him tell me he loved me and always had and also have him tell me he would protect me. But I did remember his last words very clearly. "If you go to your mother's, there will be no turning back. You can Never, come back here."  So I didn't call my dad. I just existed in my own tiny little loveless world.

I continued being a part of the "beer" parties after work each night. J took me home every night. I no longer avoided talking to him. We had pleasant conversations and he never tried to make a pass at me again. We had become friends, I never thought of being any thing more than that with him.

Meanwhile, I was sort of dating another man… Who was also older than me, quite a bit. We really didn't ever go out on a real date. Mostly we'd just meet somewhere and sit in his car and kiss. When I lived with my Dad, I had never been allowed to go anywhere without my parents so I had no experience with boys at all. I mean Zero!

I liked kissing, it was fun and exciting but I had no real interest in going further with this man. But eventually he did start pressuring me to go further. And I just figured that if I didn't then I'd be a tease and that was in my mind a bad bad thing. So the first time I had sex was in the back seat of an ugly beat up car with a man that had never even seen fit to buy me dinner. It was horrible to me and I was glad it was over quickly.

 I never saw that man again. Seriously! He just disappeared! That too sounds like some kind of after school special to me. I didn't think those sort of things really happened.

It was very shortly after the night that I lost my virginity to the amazing disappearing man, that H decided to visit me in my bed room one day. (By this time I had already had my 18th birthday. I had not graduated because I had failed two classes, so I didn't have enough credits to graduate and I had already decided not to attend summer school, instead would go to school for half a year, the next year to get my credits.) 

The fact that he just opened the door and walked in, without so much as a knock, really bothered me. (I was paying rent for this room after all, didn't I have rights to privacy?) But I didn't say anything because something about the look in his eyes scared me. I couldn't place a reason for my fear, but suddenly I was afraid. He sat down on the bed and started talking to me.. I mean just talking, like we were friends or something.. Just passing the time of day together. I was really getting "Weirded out" about how he was acting. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed my shoulders, hard. So hard that I later discovered finger tip shaped bruises on my shoulders. And he kissed me. I fought to get away but his gripped tightened. I was so scared! I started crying hysterically. Then he just stopped, let go and smiled at me and left the room. It was so weird! I was shaking so bad that I couldn't move for a long time.

A few hours later, H called me out of my bedroom. My mom was in the living room, on the couch. She was crying. H said they had discussed my behavior over the last few weeks and my behavior today. The "disrespect" I had shown H today. I didn't have a clue what he was talking about and said so. And he said oh, don't try to lie, I told your mother everything that happened while she was taking a nap. (That's when it hit me, my mother was taking a nap in the other room when H had kissed me! I was speachless!) He had told her that I had made a pass at him! I couldn't believe it! I was crying and telling my mother that wasn't true, but she wouldn't even look at me. Then H dropped the other bomb. They had decided that it would be best for everyone if I moved out. Now! Not next week, not tomorrow, right now. I was to go into my room and pack my stuff and get out.

Now remember I didn't have a car, I didn't even drive. I had already given them my rent money and H said I could not have it back, so I had very little money. I was just barely 18 years old. I didn't have a clue what to do, where to go. My first thought was to go to my brother's apartment, who lived in the same complex as H and mom. I didn't tell him anything. Just that I had moved out of Mom's and I needed a place to stay. I should have told him the whole story, but I didn't. Not even sure why I didn't. My brother said it wasn't a good idea. His apartment was tiny and there really wasn't room. He really thought I had left my moms because of a silly argument and that I would go back if he turned me away.

Of course, I couldn't go back. I thought about calling my dad. But I thought he wouldn't take me back ether. That was what he had said, after all. So I only had one other place to go. Work. I walked the four blocks to work, luggage in tow. I talked the manager into letting me store my stuff in the back room and the first night, after the restaurant closed, I stayed at a 24 hour game room playing video games. The next night, I told J what had happened and he said I could stay at his place. I was a little hesitant, but I didn't have any where else to go, so I told him ok, but it didn't mean anything. He said "no, I know, I'll never be anything that you don't want me to be. You can have the bed room and the door has a lock and I'll sleep in the living room."

And he kept to his word. He was very respectful. And he was a great listener. I felt basically alone in the world, having no family that I thought cared about me at all. I wanted so much to have someone to take care of me. Someone to love me. I was spiraling into a world of depression, self doubt and self loathing. I was sure that there was something wrong with me, that "everyone" in my family had rejected me.

Having J, there listening to me when I cried in anguish… Having him try to reassure me that it wasn't my fault…. Well, it helped. I began to look at him with different eyes. All that strangeness that I saw in him before, seemed to fall away. I began to doubt my first impression of him and started trusting him.

Very soon after I moved in to his apartment, J and I became more than friends. He became my Knight in… Bla bla. We had a whirl wind romance and were married two months after I moved into his apartment..as just friends.

This is longer than I anticipated. I will continue this on a new post. I've considered cutting parts of it. But I think everything in this is important to the frame of mind that I was in when I entered this odd marriage. The things that happened in my life before my marriage, shaped my personality, or rather, my personality disorder. I became sullen and withdrawn. I more or less did what ever I thought I was supposed to do as a wife and let J tell me what to do in life. I totally lost my self. I was J's wife, if I didn't have that.. I felt I would fall into a state of nothingness. …..

June 23, 2006 Posted by | life, past | Leave a comment