Riled Up/Call for Change

Have you seen that video yet about the 16-year old girl that secretly taped her father beating her with a belt for 8 minutes? Me neither. Actually, I watched the first 30 seconds. I couldn't make myself go on. But here's an article that will fill you in on the details: click here. And it's not just the beating that's horrifying, but him screaming at her that he's going to beat her "into submission" and her mother telling her to turn over and take it like a woman. Yeah. She said that. Oh, and did I mention that he's a judge that has ruled in child abuse cases? And that the girl is now 23 and there is only a 5 year statute of limitations on child abuse cases?

I don't know why this particular story has me so mad, but I AM STEAMED. It's probably a combination of things, but that's not where I'm going with this. I'm not just mad at this idiot. I'm mad at ALL the idiots. Men (and women) are getting away with this everyday. And so many think they can get away with it or that there's nothing wrong with it. There is some discussion in the article about the fine line between discipline and abuse. Well, let me help clear it up.

THIS WAS WRONG. THIS WAS ABUSE.

I don't give two shits about the people belly-aching that child abuse laws are too strict, or that they're afraid to discipline their children. If you use half a brain, you'll be fine!! What's more I don't care who this offends anymore. I'm sick of the ignorance. Both people being ignorant about the effects of abuse and thinking that they are entitled to handing out this kind of degrading punishment and the people who just don't seem to care, even if they don't abuse their children.

We have to work together!

Survivors of any kind of abuse, I'm begging you to find your voice. Speak up. We have to do something to help the next generation and the generation after that. I know I'm asking a lot. I know a lot of you have never told anyone what you've been through. I know a lot of you have "dealt with it" and don't see any reason to revisit your past in anyway. I get that. I really do.  But look into the eyes of a child. There's your reason. 

Can you imagine the impact if every man and woman who was abused as a child stood up and shared their story? What if we all worked together for harsher sentences for child abuses? What if we worked together to prevent child abuse? What if we worked together to educate our communities on how they can prevent child abuse and what signs to look for in children that may be being abused?

Please, help me help our future children. There are a lot of good people and organizations out there that you can get involved with. Volunteer for them. Donate money to keep nonprofits running. Be open and honest about your story. And seek help for yourself.

I'm sorry for the angry tone of this post, but I'm not sorry for anything I said in it. Something has got to give. If you have any ideas on how we can get a lot of people to have their voice heard all across the country to really get something started, by all means, let me know. I'm not saying I have the answers, but I do see some problems.

Thank you.
Rachel

Rattled

I'm struggling.

As suspected a couple weeks ago, I'm getting closer to facing the sexual abuse. I cry about it far easier than I ever did in the past. It happened again today. Have any of you seen the "rape analogy" going around Facebook recently? I was worried it was going to be a tasteless joke, but it wasn't at all. Here's the link.

I made a comment on Facebook about the awful things a defense attorney will say in that kind of situation. Then I thought about how it's not always an attorney being paid to say those things. There are "average" people walking around that believe those things. They believe a woman "asked" to be assaulted. That they may be complaining now, but they actually enjoyed it. That the woman has some kind of ulterior motive or bone to pick with the man. That was the main argument in my case. My mom and dad were going through an ugly divorce and the defense, meaning my dad and his attorney, said that my mom and I "cooked up" the allegations so that my mom would win complete custody of my sisters. I wasn't in the court room for most of the case aside from my testimony and the closing statements. The prosecuting attorney and detective warned me that the defense wouldn't be kind, and they were right. Even though I knew it was his job, I had to fight to stay seated and not stand up and scream at him. It was a horrible experience. But do you know whats  worse?

When your own family believes those things.

My sister believed my dad that my mom and I made it up. He told my sisters that we were going to "cook something up" before I even told anyone, so to her it made complete sense. He said it would happen and it did.  My own sister. There was a friend of the family who also chose to believe this, and while that hurt, it was easy to cut her out of my life and move on. But my sister was there. She knew he was crazy, violent, abusive, manipulative and angry. But all she could see was her family being torn apart, and someone had to be blamed. It couldn't be him - he wanted to stay home, to work things out. 

My Bruised Heart by ~murtada-king on deviantART

On a related note, I have been thinking about how difficult it is to really face what happened to me and how horrifying it all was. So I seek validation from outside sources. No matter how much I get, it's never enough. No matter how many people I tell the story to, how many people are shocked by or how many people tell me how strong I must be to have survived, I need more. The only way (at this time) I know to face it is be reliving the memories, which would only lead to retraumatization. Part of me feels like the people that should really get it, my family, do not. (This is not about everyone in my family by the way.) Right now, the pain of that realization feels fresh. What comes to mind is that my heart is bruised. When I most needed their support to heal my heart, they assumed I "had Aaron" and their job was done. After all those years of abuse, don't you think that is an awful lot put on one person? Don't get me wrong, he's handled it beautifully (I swear, I don't know how I got so lucky), but I, like every other human being, need a support system. I can't help but feel I would be more at peace, content and generally happier if I had that. I have Studdly Hubby's family now, but that relationship is still growing. I have trouble depending on other people in some ways, and so I haven't reached out to them as much as I probably could. It's a difficult spot to be in to gripe about not having it and then not reaching out and taking it when it's offered.

But I digress.

During my inner work yesterday, I came across a memory/flashback. I saw myself standing in the basement, and my dad was pushing his finger in my anus. I've had these graphic and ugly mental images come up for, and quickly try to think about something else in an attempt to get rid of it as quickly as possible. I had to end the experience and open my eyes.

The whole thing left me rattled, for lack of a better word. I'm feeling vulnerable. Paper thin. I'm getting closer and closer to the memories and it's terrifying. I'm glad I've stayed in therapy this long, because clearly there is work yet to be done that I cannot and should not do alone. 

So that's where things stand for now. I do miss blogging, but I've really had to make schoolwork a priority, so something had to give, and unfortunately it was frequent blogging. I'm still here, with plenty to write about though!

Rachel

The Next Layer

I'm not even sure where to begin tonight...

My mood - This has been a rough several weeks for me. I could feel something starting to bubble below the surface. I was really emotional and weepy. My mood has slowly slid into a darker place since then. This past week/weekend has been the worst so far. I've been crying at the drop of a hat, often for no particular reason. I've been talking to Simone about it, and we both agreed that something was going on, but it was hard to say what. It seemed as if my subconscious was trying to protect me from something. Often, in traumatic situations, the psyche will create a "protective self" that is only useful during the trauma. However, old habits die hard and that protective self doesn't know that its job is done. This seemed as if it could be a direct correlation to the dream I had about the dead woman. A sense of dread kept me from exploring the situation further.

Last week in therapy, I was talking about some of the abuse. I became abnormally emotional when I related how my dad would put the responsibility on me to stop the abuse. After he was done, usually after he ejaculated, he used to apologize, say it would never happen again, but to just say "no" if he ever tried again. Obviously, I tried that, and it never worked out too well. When he was diagnosed with prostate cancer, the abuse stopped for about a year when I was 16-17. I thought I was finally home-free (from that part of the abuse anyway) until his treatments were done and he got his libido back. I fought harder than ever to "just say no" and was devastated when I lost the battle. In therapy today, I commented that I couldn't remember the first time it happened after that year, but suddenly recalled sobbing in my bedroom. Honestly, its hard for me to even think about it further without becoming emotional. Besides my family letting me down, it has been the greatest disappointment of my life thus far...

So I think there may be two things at play here. First, I was taught, in a very big way, that just when I think things are going to be ok, everything will come crumbling down. Just when I started to believe that it wasn't going to happen anymore, and was growing stronger and stronger in my belief that I could stop it if it started again, I lost.  So now, when things are going well in my life, you can almost set your stopwatch for the inevitable fall.

The second thing I realized on my drive home tonight. I think I am actually starting to face the abuse. I've been facing the after affects, but not the abuse itself. I think that may be a major part of the next "layer" I have going on. I usually don't cry so easily when talking about it, and even when I did this last time, I didn't let myself let go and "cry it out". I composed myself. So I know there are more tears there, waiting...

This is much bigger and nicer than the one I
visited, but you get the idea...

I revisited the dream with the dead woman in my inner work last week. I tried to get closer to investigate, but the rungs on the ladder kept snapping in half every time I stepped on them. My protective self did not want me to go any further, emotionally or even in the dream. I did some more inner work today, in which Simone led me to a house. I walked from my "happy place" (working on a new name for that...) to my safe place and saw a house plopped down in the sand to the left (to the right are the cellar doors). The house was white, with aluminum siding and black shutters. It was very typical and blase - nothing that would grab your attention. The inside smelled like it had been closed up for quite some time. It had a few furniture pieces, but nothing ornamental, as if though nobody lived there. Simone asked me to look for a message of some sort. I noticed some writing appear on the wall to the left. It said simply "Why are you here?" Not really sure myself, I responded by writing on the wall "I'm exploring..." I then asked if there was a message for me and got the response "Keep looking..." *On a side note, a house can often represent one's self.*

From there, I walked into a large empty room and looked out the windows at farm country. As I walked closer, a vicious dog barked at me from outside. I jumped back and headed to the stairs on the other side of the room. I got the sense that I had "beat" my protective self, that I had gotten inside before she could stop me, so I was free to explore. I walked up the stairs and saw the hallway from the house on Monroe St. I was drawn to my old bedroom. It was pink and deliciously girly. My 12-year old self showed up and seemed to be doing ok. I realized I needed to be with my 17 year self, who was completely devastated that the abuse was continuing. She wasn't coming to me, so I realized I needed to be with her. Suddenly, I was in my bedroom in the basement, holding her and letting her sob. I let her cry it out for a few minutes, then shared with her that it was all over. That "this" wasn't reality. I waved my arm, and our surroundings disappeared like a crumpled up backdrop. We were left in a blank white space. From there, I took her back to my bedroom where I began. I shared with her all the little things in my life that I had that I knew she dreamed about. I was free and independent. I was someone she dreamed of being but would barely recognize as herself. I was a woman and no one was going to make choices for me like that ever again.

I always find it funny that when I start posts with a comment like "I don't know what to write" or " I don't know where to begin", I quickly figure it out...and then some! I have some other things on my mind to share on here, but I think I have enough for now.

Rachel

Warning

I was speaking with someone today about their friend has schizophrenia. As she was describing her friend's delusions, a light bulb went off in my head - it sounded exactly like my dad. My family and I have always known something was wrong with him, but I think we generally attributed it to the alcohol. In retrospect, I believe he may have been secretly abusing drugs, but that is more suspicion that anything else. I did a little research and found about half of those individuals with a schizophrenia diagnosis also abuse drugs and/or alcohol. I believe if he is not schizophrenic, he has some sort of similar psychological disorder.

This idea has crossed my mind before. But I couldn't bring myself to explore this option. Regardless of the reason, what he did was wrong, but I hate for him to have any kind of excuse at all. It was bad enough that the alcohol was involved, but he wasn't always drunk when it happened, so that couldn't be used as an excuse.

On the other hand, if he was mentally ill, I have to question why those around him didn't get him the help he needed. From what I understand, he had problems long before he married my mom - why didn't his parents intervene? He was in and out of doctors constantly from the time I was 15 right up until I left home. Why didn't any of them see it? Or did they and he never told us? And I hate to bring this back around to my mom again, but why didn't she force him to get help? I'm not trying to blame any of these people, but it was obvious that something was wrong with him. If you marry someone and you don't want to do anything about his issues, fine, that's on you, although probably not wise. However, if you bring children into that marriage, it's not just about you. I'm not trying to say all mentally ill people shouldn't have children. But there were warning signs in this particular situation that we were not safe. 

It's not use going around in circles about why no one intervened, except to serve as a warning to others. Mothers - please put your child's safety first. That is your job. It's the most important one you will ever have. If you've already made a mistake and married that wrong guy or had children with the wrong guy, do something. If your children are in harm's way, if there are red flags going up or alarm bells going off, please, take a step back and look at the situation and protect them. 

Again, I have to say this is not about all mentally ill people. This is about situations where children are put in danger.

If your son or daughter is behaving in a way that seems particularly dangerous to themselves or others, get them help. If your nieces, nephews, grandchildren, friend's children, students seem like they could be in danger, do something.   It's easy to assume that you're imagining things, or it couldn't possibly be what you think it is. Listen to your gut and investigate just a little. Call CPS. Confront someone else in the child's life.

My life was forever changed by my dad. The person I was going to be was murdered. I'll never know who she was. Please understand that you can save someone's life by taking action. Thank you.

Rachel

I Wonder

I decided to take on the massive project of cleaning out one of our storage closets today. I found all kinds of fun stuff like high school yearbooks, the program from the Miss Michigan USA pageant I participated in, Studdly Hubby's baby book and lots more. One thing I came across was the transcript from my testimony in the court case. I'll come back to that one later. I also found a poem I wrote several years ago.

Crying...

Crying so hard

    I think I'll never stop.

I might suffocate

Can one die of misery?

   I wonder...

He's back.

   But he doesn't care.

Crying, begging, yelling

   None of it matters to him.

And I know it doesn't matter anyway

   so I give up.

   I shut down.

I give in to his commands.

I don't care anymore...

   At least that's what I tell myself

   In this moment

Laughing...

Laughing so hard

   I wish I'd never stop

Something in Spanish class...

   Oh yeah, Stephanie's cat

I smile remembering

Oh, what did he say?

   Yeah, yeah, I'm doing it just how you said

He won't leave me alone.

   What's going on here?

   How is this possible?

I feel my brain shutting down...

I'm numb now.

   So numb.

I'm nothing

   Nothing but a robot

   A rag doll

   Not caring

   Mind boggled

Numb.

   So very numb.

I don't think I can stop.

I might go insane

   Can one go insane from numbness?

      I wonder...."

I'm happy to say that I'm not in the dark place anymore, but it's a very honest look at how it once felt.

Rachel

Another Sex Post

I haven't posted anything recently dealing with Vaginismus because things have been going alright in the department. There are still some times when it can be a struggle, but overall, it is still an improvement from a year ago. That being said, there are still other problems. Vaginismus technically refers to the inability to relax the vaginal muscles to allow painless penetration. But depending on the cause, there is likely to be other issues as well.

For example, I tend to rush through foreplay. In the back of my mind, penetration is the goal, partly because that was the case in overcoming Vaginismus. However, that can exacerbate the issue because then I am not aroused enough. Honestly, you know its a problem when your husband thinks there isn't enough foreplay! But I was talking to Simone today, and realized something. All of the years I was being abused, there was never any penetration or oral sex. And now, those are the things I focus on. They are new and exclusive to Aaron. There was a time when those two things were my greatest fear, but I've been able to work past that. But any other kind of touching comes with more baggage. 

With Aaron being in Colorado for most of the summer, it gives us the opportunity to talk about these sorts of things without any perceived pressure to have sex. We can both share how we feel about the current status about of our life, and where we see it going. The good news is, we have the same goals. 

Now that I've worked through a few major issues, I'm able to focus on this one. I'm just incredibly blessed to have a husband who has been so patient over the last 4 years. Sexual intimacy isn't the most important part of a marriage, but it is a major part of it. To him I say...

Rachel

Heartbroken

Want to know what one of the worst after affects of child sexual abuse is?

It tears families apart.

I just got a lovely message from my baby sister (who is 16 by the way) that basically told me to hit the road and don't look back. She told me I was completely f***ed up by my past, and that I'm the one that should be in therapy, not our mom. She told me that I'm not treating my family the way they should be treated, particularly by not talking to mom, and that they are the ones who have supported me through everything. In reality, the past 9 months or so have been the hardest for me in healing. The most supportive and understanding people have come the most unlikely sources and my husband. But never from my family as a whole. One of my sisters understands better than the others and has always let me know I can talk to her, but that's about the extent of it. Whenever I talk to the rest of my sisters, I feel critisized in one way or another. Mom, on the other hand, just skirts around any potential issues. Not helpful. We grew up in a world of secrets, and not being able to talk about how we feel and skirting issues. It's time to get real.

Anytime I have an interaction with them, I end up in tears. My husband has had his fill. He said he hates seeing them hurt me over and over again. And I agree. My heart has been completely broken out and stomped on by them.

My blogger friend over at Pleasantly Demented has always had my back in this. She often reminds me that just because someone is related to you, doesn't mean they have the right to treat you with disrespect, or to demand respect from you without earning it. This is a difficult lesson to soak in when you've been raised to have absolute respect for your parents, but I think it's starting to sink in...

That's all I've got for now. No deep insight. Just hurt.

Rachel

I have PTSD too.

I was messing around on the internet this morning and came across this little story:

"Today, at a neighborhood BBQ my neighbor’s son - a 25 year old Marine – dropped to the floor and started crying when one of the other guests lit off a round of firecrackers. " -Marc and Angel Hack Life

It was really touching and I could easily imagine this man, full of fear, and ashamed of his inability to cope better in a safe setting. 

I could also imagine the other people at the BBQ. They were probably touched as well. I'm sure they comforted him, maybe some of them went into the house with him to be sure he was ok. Then they probably started talking about how he's been "different" since he's come home. They probably talked about how terrible war is, which may have led to talks about whether or not our country should even be involved in one, and putting American lives at risk.

But I would be willing to bet that nobody there judged him. No one would deny that he has been through hell. No one would be surprised to see that he is still dealing with it all. No one would blame him for not being stronger.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is ugly and unfair. Having survived the trauma isn't enough. Your body is still on high alert, ready to protect you at any given moment. This causes your emotions to be raw and in a touchy state. You relive the event whenever something reminds you of it. 

PTSD was first recognized in veterans. Historical records show soldiers with symptoms to varying degrees, depending on cultural implications, but the the term post-traumatic stress disorder was coined in the 1970s. Eventually, some smart people figured out that people who experienced other kinds of trauma were experiencing the same symptoms. 

But how does the community respond to those other victims? They seem willing to accept that our men in uniform may still be struggling with life after war. But with victims of abuse, it seems the community is quiet. They are generally willing to see that it is a problem. Abuse happens, and that much we can face. But once those victims are no longer being abused, what kind of support is out there? Its seems fairly limited. In the greater Lafayette area, there is one support group that I have been able to find for survivors of sexual assault. ONE. What about the workplace? Do you think employers would be a little more understanding if a veteran had a reaction to something rather than a survivor of abuse? I believe that they would see the survivor as weak, and that they need to "get over it" because, after all, that was 7 years ago! 

A lot of this is just my perception, so it's possible that it's not entirely accurate. But I have to wonder, are other survivors perceiving it this way as well? What can we do to change this? Is it all in my head?

This is something I feel really strongly about. I would really appreciate it you would please take a few moments to visit The United States Department of Veteran Affairs and look over their information on PTSD. A little education goes a long way. Thank you.

Rachel

Post 100 - His Identity

I've been reflecting lately on the way I deal with my step-dad in my mind and my memories. As I mentioned before, for the most part, he isn't really all that present, which I realize seems illogical. 

I don't even know what to call him. I grew up calling him "Dad" because I thought that was who he was. But he doesn't deserve that title. When talking to Aaron, I usually just use pronouns, and he generally knows who I'm talking about from the context. In my blog, I refer to him as my step-dad. Today, I referred to him as my "a**hole dad" to someone who I've never really talked to about him much. In reality, he was my adoptive father. His name is Tim. He's a prisoner and a sex offender.

But, once upon a time, he was a child. He was James and Mary Moore's little boy. He was the brother to 6 boys and 3 girls. In theory, he was as innocent as any other young boy. I don't know all that much about his upbringing. I know they were poor. With 10 kids, it's no wonder! I know the boys all shared a bedroom. But I don't know when things changed. As an adult, he didn't seem to have a close relationship with his siblings. There seemed to be some kind of tension between him and them that I didn't understand. It seemed like something had happened a long time ago to cause a rift, but I was never sure what that was.

It's just so difficult for me to think of him as anything besides pure evil. I'm sure there are happy anecdotes from my childhood in which he is involved. But I don't want any part of them. My mind is closed off to it. I feel like any warm feelings towards him would make be vulnerable to him. And I feel like I can't afford to be weak where he is concerned. If I had shown any kindness to him in the past, he would have taken it as an invitation, a seduction. 

A flawless performance...this time.

It was a strange dance I had to perform. I had to be the obedient loving daughter, while at the same time, protecting myself the best I knew how.  Like a prima ballerina, each step was calculated and needed to be flawless; the stakes were high. He would sometimes ask me, "Do you hate me?" My practiced response was always the same: "No, but I hate what you do." Whenever this conversation happened it was after the abuse, after his lust was sated. I knew I could get away with at least that much. The ballerina would get a standing ovation for her performance...this time. However, if I told him I hated him, it would have certainly come up later. If he was drunk, he would either cry pitifully or be very angry, clenching his teeth together while ranting incoherently.

And I've gotten off my main point. I have a hard time even writing about him directly like this, because it is that difficult to let my mind really explore the topic. It leaves me feeling vulnerable and angsty. I need to cry. I can feel it just below the surface, the tears threatening/needing to spill with the right provocation. My husband has a thick scar on his chest, from a surgery he had as a little boy. When I touch it, he says it is numb, but he can feel the pressure of it being touched underneath. He can feel my fingers on the skin around it. As far as my step-dad is concerned, he is a scar that is still numb. I fear I'm going to need to cut it open to allow it to heal properly.

I don't usually do well when I'm writing about something I haven't really processed. It tends to be all over the place and not have any real answers. So I guess I'm for now. I'll leave you with a song that's been on my mind a lot lately. One of those great "singing through tears" songs, filled with raw emotion.

"It took so long just to feel alright, Remember how to put back the light in my eyes...and who do you think you are, running 'round leaving scars, collecting your jar of hearts, and tearing love apart?"

Rachel

Raging Goblin

My danders up. It started yesterday. Something deep inside me started simmering after I wrote my last blog post. I wasn't sure what it was at the time. I just had this uncomfortable restlessness - an agitation. I slept terrible all night long. I had nightmares about my step-dad, although now, I couldn't even tell you what happened in most of them. The one I do remember, I'd rather not share on here, because it was too terrible. I woke up feeling tired and emotionally needy. 

I went through the day like this, not sure exactly what all the emotions were bubbling up towards the surface. I came home, and watched an episode of Dr. Phil on DVR. It was an episode about a man with a sexual addiction. He had a pretty extreme problem, and his wife apparently had decided that the best course of action was to go to Dr. Phil. That same wife is also the mother of their 2 year old daughter. I'm not going to spell out all of this man's problems, but he did admit that he had felt aroused by his daughter sitting on his lap on 2 separate occasions. 

WHAT THE BLEEP IS WRONG WITH THIS WOMAN?!?!

Why in the world is she still living with him and putting her daughter in that situation? From everything that he had already admitted to, I would not be the least tiny bit surprised if he had already behaved inappropriately with her. And instead of leaving him, she goes on a TV show? Don't get me wrong, I'm a Dr. Phil fan, but for the love of Pete, use your brain! Use your maternal instincts! Don't you have any? She claimed she had wanted to take her daughter and run and never look back. Bullsh*t. If she wanted to, she would have. I was getting very angry. Then, the man starts "crying". I put it in quotes because there were ZERO tears.

And this was when my rage peaked. I wanted to call CPS right that minute. A lot of good it would have done - "Uh, yeah...I'm calling about the people on Dr. Phil..." I also realized that I had been feeling angry all day. I had been looking for a fight. I wanted someone to say the wrong thing about sex offendors or victims or children. I was angry and needed someone to be angry at. 

Once I understood the emotion, I realize that that has happened to me before. Some days I just want to go on a rampage. PLEASE, give me an excuse! I want to get angry and lose control!

Of course, it never happens. And truthfully, it's displaced anger. I should be angry at my step-dad. But he's not here. I can't see him. I can't scream at him. I can't shoot a gun in his face. 

So I need to find something to do with this anger before I just become a "Raging Goblin".

"He raged at the world, at his family, at
his life. But mostly he just raged."

I don't want to be angry at the wrong people. But right now, if I were to cross paths with any of the "right" people...heaven help them.

Rachel

Facing a Demon

Last week in therapy, I talked about a whole slew of memories. They just kept coming to me, one after the other. I haven't even gotten around to writing them all down yet. At one point, my therapist asked me what I was feeling at the time some of the memories took place. There was a couple where I was able to tell her. The rest - I had no idea. I could tell her what happened, but I had no idea how I was feeling at the time. I spent so much time detaching myself from the present, that I detached the feelings as well. (That ability to escape in my mind doesn't help my concentration by the way.)

One of the memories that I could link to a feeling was one that I really don't like to remember or talk about. It was when I was around 11 or 12. I remember standing in the kitchen and my step-dad tried to kiss me...with tongue. I pulled back and was absolutely mortified and disgusted. It gives me the willies to even think about it.

Around that time, I had gotten up early to surprise him by making him breakfast before he left for work. I realize this may sound contradictory to some if they've been fortunate enough to not experience an abusive parent, but I was still longing for his approval, the way any child would. I had recently gotten a second-hand swimsuit (people were giving us their old stuff all the time) that had a built in skirt. It was white with a red floral design. Very tropical I thought. Anyway, I loved it, and for one reason or another that I do not recall, I decided to use it for pajamas. I happened to be wearing it this particular morning, and he later made a comment implying that I was "offering" myself to him because I cooked him breakfast and wore that. After that I learned I had to be more careful so he didn't think I was trying to seduce him. Truthfully, it really pisses me off. It is just so insane that I even had to worry about that. No girl should ever have to be concerned that she may be unconsciously arousing her father.  (For those of you newer to my blog, I didn't know he wasn't my biological father until I was 19.)  

Not long after that, I wanted to leave some little notes around the house that said "I love you Mom!". I knew he would be offended if I left him out, so I wrote some for my step-dad as well. However, I didn't want him to get the "wrong idea" so on his I wrote "I like you Dad". (For those of you newer to my blog, I didn't know he wasn't my biological father until I was 19.) 

Anyway, when I rattled off all those memories last week, my wall came back up. I felt nothing about them. A bit emotionally exhausted from digging them back up out of their graves, but otherwise detached. I wasn't even that aware of it until this week.

I did some more inner child work. I haven't been writing them all, for a few reasons, so this may not make a ton of sense if you've read my last posts on the topic. Anyway, I went to my happy place and met with my "Actual Self". She was there, wearing a small crown this time, and sitting atop a horse. I asked her why she would never come with me down the stairs, and she didn't answer. We walked together to the cellar doors, and I walked down, alone. When I got to the hallway that had been behind the locked doors, I quietly observed it, not sure what I was looking for. I walked to the end of the hallway and looked to the left. I expected to see stairs but there was nothing. I turned to the right, and there was a flight of descending stairs. I considered walking down them to investigate this new area, but decided it would be better to check the other doors in the hallway that had not opened yet. I turned back towards them, and a door that had opened to an empty cell previously, now held my step-dad. He was sitting in it, looking at me with a blank expression. 

I was terrified.

I shut the door, locked it and hurried back up the stairs. I left from my safe place and came back to reality.

Finding him there was incredibly disturbing to me, and also led to a realization. First of all, he has never shown up in my inner child work. It all takes place in my mind, and he is not welcome there. I can't even look at his photo on his prison profile page (although I still check it to make sure he's still there). It's too scary for me. So when he popped up out of nowhere, in a place that ultimately I control, I was not happy. But it made me realize, he was really missing from my memories. It's hard to explain, but it's almost like I knew he was there, but I couldn't allow myself to actually visualize him.

He is the scariest thing I have ever faced in my life.

Where he is concerned, I still feel like a tiny little girl, powerless against a much larger, much scarier force, one that had complete authority.

But by not facing the whole picture, I'm only processing half the memory, half the feeling, half the reality. I can cry over what happened to me, but why don't I feel more anger towards him? I can feel anger towards my mother, and she wasn't even on the same level as him. That's a whole other ball game. But I think I still feel numb towards him. I remember testifying against him in court, and was far too numb at that point to feel anything but fear and nerves. It reminds me of my "safe place". It's empty and neutral because numb is safe. After that, I locked the whole issue away, just happy that he was locked up and I didn't have to live in fear anymore. I never let myself get really angry at him. He is that locked away. He's not even human anymore. I can't allow him to be that real. When I cut him out of my life, it was completely.

I don't know where I will be in 4 more years when he is released from prison, but I suspect I'll be feeling a lot of anxiety. The problem is, my whole family hasn't cut him out of their lives. Three of my sisters still talk to him on the phone from time to time, for various reasons. One thinks he's been innocently imprisoned, and I worry about her the most. I believe she will allow him around her future children, and I don't know who will protect them. I know he will also try to have a relationship with my other sisters. Because they are a part of my life, he enters into it as well. And I don't want that to happen. I also don't want him to know anything about my life. NOTHING. I don't want him to know what I'm doing, where I am, who I'm married to, if I have children, what I look like now, etc. I get sick just thinking about it.

But I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

In the meanwhile, I have to face him in my memories. I have to allow myself to see the whole picture and to be honest, I don't want to. I don't even want to go back down "the stairs". I don't want to run into him. 

Rachel

Another Round of Memories

As I mentioned in my last post, therapy was interesting last night. I started out by sharing a memory that had popped up yesterday.

Only a thin sheet of nylon separated us from
my mom.

I was thinking about family vacations. I remember the last camping trip my family took because it was chock full of drama. We had family in Wisconsin, so that is where we would vacation every year, and the summer before I turned 14 was no different. My family couldn't afford a camper or RV, but we did have a very large, 2 room tent. Mom would sleep in the first room on an old army cot because her back hurt too much to sleep on the ground. My 4 sisters and I would sleep in the back room, and my step-dad did as well, probably "for our protection". Even though I was once again sleeping right next to my sisters, he would grope me when he thought I was asleep. I would pretend that I was and try to roll away from him. 

The thing I don't understand, is what excuse he must have given my mom to squeeze in with 5 girls when she was the only one in the other room? How did he justify that? Why wasn't it raising red flags for her? I know I've already talked about her very deep level of denial, but it never ceases to amaze me when I come across another memory that reinforces it.

After I talked about that particular memory, I got on a roll and several others came to mind. I remember a time when my step-dad was actually paying dock rent and was able to use his boat. He would take me out some mornings on his boat by myself. We would get breakfast at McDonald's on the way. I'm not entirely sure he took all my sisters out by themselves, but I know I went at least a few times. Anyway, he would drive the boat out to Lake Erie, sit in a chair and masturbate in front of me. I'm unsure of my age at this point, because I can't remember if he ever had the boat in the water again after he had it in our backyard. If he sold it after it was in the yard, as I suspect, then I was less than 6-7. I can remember driving from our house on Maple Blvd. to go to the boat at some point, but I can't remember if it was related to this kind of incident. 

I don't remember what I was feeling then, but in retrospect, I'm stuck by his changing levels of discretion. When we were on the boat,  we were in the middle of a lake. There was no one around to see or hear anything. He didn't have to be sneaky at all. When the boat was in the backyard, he would have to be sure no one climbed up into the boat, although he would have plenty of time to stop what he was doing by the time he heard them, they climbed into the boat and down into the cabin. When I was sleeping on the living room floor with my sisters several years later, all they had to do was wake up. Years after that, all someone had to do was walk around a corner.

When I talk about anything relating to my teen years, it helps to understand the layout of the house I was living in and how small it really was:

The main floor was probably a max. of 1000 sq. ft., likely less.
*Click on the image to enlarge

When I refer to the incident in which someone need only walk around a corner to see what was going on, I was standing in the bathroom doorway, while he stood at the end of the hallway. He had me pull my pants and underwear down and masturbate and put my finger in anus. 

This seems like as good a place as any to note that I faked it all.

Moving on...One of the times this was happening, one of my sisters was sitting in the living room. She heard me arguing with him. I'm sure he was especially rip-roaring drunk that day to be so sloppy. My sister heard me say something like "No, that's disgusting!" and "Well, I'm sorry I'm such an inconvenience to you!" Between this and the fact that she could hear him coming down to my room at night after she moved down there, she had a pretty good idea of what was going on. 

My sister approached my mom after that. She told her that "something was going on between Dad and Rachel". When my mom asked what she meant, she said that she didn't know, but it was something bad. I don't remember this, but my mom claims she asked me about it and that I denied anything was going on. This is entirely possible, because that is exactly what I would have done. But here's the kicker...she never said she asked him what was going on. As a mother, don't you think that would be a key piece of the puzzle? To ask both parties involved in this little mystery? Maybe it wasn't what your daughter was insinuating, maybe there was something and he would have a simple explanation. The only reason you wouldn't ask him is if you were afraid of the answer.

When the nicest house we ever rented was sold, we were forced to move. We had nowhere to go, so we ended up renting the top floor of an older couple's home that had been converted into a one bedroom apartment. All 7 of us. This was right before I turned 13. I remember him showing me porn on the computer when we were living there. I remember him peeking in at me when I was taking shower. I don't remember him doing it before that, probably because this would have been right around the time I was starting to develop physically. 

No privacy here...

I remember a particularly strange incident there as well. My sisters were outside playing, and my step-dad was sitting at the picnic table with the old man who own the house and lived downstairs. Right before he went out there, he asked me to rub a piece of bread between my legs and bring it out to him. I absolutely did not want to do it, because it was strange and I didn't want to get crumbs on me. I was repulsed by the idea. I got a piece of bread out of the bag and carried it out to him as is. He took, smelled it, said "You didn't do it right" and instructed me to go back and do it right. I went back up to the apartment, and sprinkled a few drops of tap water on the bread, in a desperate attempt to fool him. It didn't work, but I don't remember what did end up happening. I know I didn't do what he wanted though.

Ok, that's long enough for now! There's more, but I'm tired and feeling kind of emotionally vulnerable right now. I need to get some rest and write some more later.

Rachel

Clear as Mud

Ok, my last post requires explanation. Mostly because I had some more time to reflect on the issue of academia and I had a chance to work with my therapist on it. I did not yet fully understand the issue, but really needed to share it. It was very hard for me to do, but I've promised myself that I was going to be honest about what happens after the abuse. Struggling with schoolwork is a major piece of the puzzle, so it was time to be honest about it.

I've been saying "I am a bad student" for quite some time. This was going off the assumption that the entire value of being a student is in the grades. While this is the only measurement tool available, I don't believe it is the most accurate, just the most logical. 

A student is defined as "one who studies something". Well, I wouldn't say I ever "studied" much, unless paying attention in class and soaking up that information counts as studying. It could be argued that it does. However, I would like to take that definition a step further so that it instead reads "one who learns something". If that can be an agreed upon definition, then I would like to assert that I am a good student.

Regardless of whether or not we can agree on that, the important thing is that I now better understand the struggle, and tomorrow I can start fresh. 

Now to clear up the mud a bit. Let me start by sharing that Post-traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) had a great deal of overlap in symptoms with ADHD. (Click here for a great explanation)

When I was being abused, all of my energy was going into surviving, protecting myself both physically and mentally, all while keeping up the appearance that nothing was going on at home. There was nothing left in my energy reserves for homework. Also, while attempting to do it anyway, I had to be on high alert. I never knew when he was going to attempt to fondle me or force me into the basement or bathroom for something worse. My sisters and I had to constantly "take the temperature" of the room my stepdad was in to see how he was going to behave, what mood he was in. If he was gone, we would listen for his truck to pull up. If he was taking a nap, we would listen for him to get up and open the bedroom door. We were all on high alert. This made it impossible to focus on homework or anything else for that matter. Patrick Stewart gives an excellent description of this in this YouTube clip:

Living in that existence for years has led to PTSD. I can't say if any of my sisters are dealing with it, although I would not be the least little bit surprised. You can see a list of symptoms here. The ones that most apply to me are flashbacks (occasionally), nightmares, avoiding places, thoughts, or feelings that remind you of the trauma, inability to remember important aspects of the trauma, feeling detached from others, difficulty concentrating, hypervigilance and feeling jumpy/easily startled. The last three are the ones that most lend themselves to the appearance of ADHD. 

Not the only face of PTSD. There's a war at home being
fought too.

It's easier for me to excuse my low grades in high school because I was still experiencing the trauma. However, I believe in taking responsibility for your own actions. I don't believe in using your past for a crutch. But I realized today that by going to therapy and try to heal things like this, that is exactly what I'm doing. I may still be struggling (hence the POST traumatic stress), but I'm working on it.

So I'm going to keep on plugging. I will get this degree. I imagine that I won't be satisfied with an Associate's and will eventually get my bachelor's, but for now, I need to focus on my homework for this week. I'll forgive myself for the past (an idea that had me unexpectedly BAWLING in therapy today) and move on. 

I used this quote in my last post to refer to forgiving others, but today, it's about forgiving myself in a very big way:

"Forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past could have been any different." -Oprah

Hope this all made some sense!

Rachel

Confused

It's no secret that I'm a big fan of Oprah. She has played a major role in changing how this country views and deals with sexual assault and abuse of any kind. She has given victims a voice, and has been a model of overcoming. Needless to say, I watch it whenever I can. Right now I'm able to catch episodes on my DVR. Of course I've missed a lot of episodes because of work schedules as well. 

I'm always riveted by the stories of real people on her show. Most of them have been through some kind of adversity, whether it be heartbreak, betrayal or abuse. People just fascinate me! Obviously, the stories from survivors of child abuse or sexual assault are especially significant for me.

The twins

When I'm watching these stories, I can't help but relate them back to my own. I usually spot the similarities quickly. Today's episode featured twin sisters who, along with one younger sister, were raped for years by their 2 older brothers and father. Clearly, this was horrific, and in many ways, I can't even imagine the horror of their existence during those years. 

But the similarities lie in how they felt about some things. For example, the girls didn't want their family torn apart, even though it wasn't much of a family. It was part of the reason they couldn't tell anyone what was going on. I could tell just from watching their body language that one of the twins was still very numb, but the other was in a different place and more in touch with her emotions connected to their rape. I've been in both of those places. I was also struck by their neighbors comment that they had any idea that the abuse was taking place. The girls talked about the fact they had to protect their secret. They couldn't let anyone know that anything was wrong. I can recall people telling my mom what a happy child I was...

But most of these stories also involve aspects I feel differently about. For example, they always seem to remember how old they were when things happened. I can easily tell you where we were living when some things occurred, but I have no idea how old I was or what grade I was in. I feel like my memories are not very clear in some ways. As if though in the process of blocking out the abuse, I was blocking out the rest of my childhood as well. It was very difficult to come up with a timeline for the court case. Between me sharing the instances of abuse and where it happened, my mom was able to tell the detective how old I was when we were living there. Is this something the other victims went through as well? 

Different from the other girls

Another thing that always strikes me as different is the fact that many of them believed that this must be how all families were. I don't remember ever feeling that! In fact, I think I often felt like there was something different about me. I don't think I could quite grasp how horribly wrong it was when I was very young - I don't think I even knew to say "No" - but I did know it was wrong. I was told not to tell anyone. That was a pretty clear sign. As the abuse progressed from him exposing himself to me to fondling, more red flags started to show up for me. I was uncomfortable and confused. I believe this was around the same time I figured out that my mom's wedding anniversary was 2 more years than my age and I was told a bold faced lie about my conception. Anyone, the point is I was starting to ask questions. I knew something wasn't right with our family.

Are my feelings more normal than it seems to me? Am I picking up on a trend that isn't there?

Also:

"Forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past could have been any different." -Oprah (She said it three times so I think I got it right)

Rachel

Holy Blizzard, Batman!

I'm sitting here at work on what was supposed to be a relaxing "Pajama Day". I had requested today off far in advance for the National Crime Victims' Rights Awareness Week planning meeting, which I attend as the "token victim". It was cancelled. I also had a therapy appointment at 8:30a, which I cancelled the night before in preparation of the storm. Purdue even closed today for the first time since 2007, so Studdly Hubby and I were going to hang out and be lazy. Once I decided to get out of bed and get dressed (in fresh jammies), I took the opportunity to clean the bedroom up and organize some things that had been neglected. Once I finished that, I had been sitting on the couch for all of 2 minutes when I got a text that they needed someone to come into work to help cover phones due to call-offs and employees leaving to pick their children up from daycares that were closing early.

So here I sit, listening to the sleet raining down on us, attacking the windows and reminding me of decreasing safety of the roads. I'm hoping to leave around 4:30, although if it's too unsafe I'll have to sleep over in one of the assisted living apartments.

Since the phone is barely ringing, and there's nothing I'm able to do in the Business Office, I figured I might as well blog.

Something that has been on my mind lately is a couple early memories. It seems when I remember one thing, other memories often follow, relating to that same time period. In my last post, I talked about memories related to our home on Palmwood. As I was thinking about them, I remembered something else from that time.

I think my stepdad and I were home alone. I remember him closing the blinds in the living room. Then, I was sitting in his lap. I don't remember if my shirt was pulled up or taken off. He was tickling and kissing my chest. I remember giggling and squirming away from him. I didn't understand what was happening at that time. I do know that it made me uncomfortable.

Across the stree from us lived an elderly couple. I remember him being very paranoid about them. His paranoia was extreme by the end, although I don't recall if it was always that way. I firmly believe that part of it was mental illness, but on the other hand, he had something to be paranoid about. Perhaps the combination of the two was toxic. Perhaps it began around this time, when he started to abuse me and started to feel guilty.

I hate to admit it, but I do believe he felt guilt, at least in the beginning. Often he would come to me later or sometimes right after he ejaculated and apologize. He wouldtell me it was wrong and it wasn't going to happen anymore. He would instruct me to refuse him should I attempt anything again, but we both knew that it wouldn't make a difference. On Saturday morning, he would go to confess at his chuch and absolve his sins. In the beginning, the abuse was on rare occasions. He never even said anything about those that I recall. Later, he would go for 2-3 weeks between episodes. Later it was weekly. Eventually, it was every night. Once it became that frequent, he no longer repented, at least not to me. He still went to confession, although I can't imagine it was heartfelt at that point.

In conclusion, this post has been a complete hodge podge. The weather looks scarier by the amount, although I've just been informed I can leave at 5, and my boss can come get me in the morning with her 4-wheel drive if need be. Got a new memory out of my system, will a little guilt and paranoia sprinkled in for good measure.

Have a good night everyone, and please, be safe!

Rachel

Some Explanation

A few days ago, I had a flashback. I was back in our house on Palmwood Ave. Which doesn't mean anything to you, my readers, but it does serve as a reference point for me. Anyway, I remember huddling in the bathroom with my mom and sisters. The door was locked, and my stepdad was on the other side yelling at us and pounding on the door. "Don't you make them afraid of me!" he screamed. I'm pretty sure that I understood the outlandishness of this statement even at the young age of 7ish. 

The significant thing about this memory, besides the fact that it was completely terrifying, is that it's a reminder that he was always like that. I think I wanted to believe that his rage got worse over time, but I think it was just more frequent later. If I could remember him being like that at the point, what was he like when she married him?

Our house on Palmwood Ct., courtesy of Google Street
View. I can't believe how small it is!

Then today, I walked into our bedroom and Bella and Char were both sleeping on the bed. I gave them each a kiss and told them I loved them. This led to another flashback from around the same time. My mom had my sisters and I lined up on the couch. She grabbed her purse, gave us each a kiss and said "I love you." I felt a sense of dread kick in. She told us that she was leaving us.

Where is the logic here? One day, she has us locked in the bathroom protecting us from her husband, and the next she's going to desert us and leave us with him? Of course, she didn't leave. He stopped her as she was walking out the door. This taught me a valuable lesson at the ripe age of 7: "Don't let Mom get upset, or she may leave us." This message may not have run so deep had she not "tried" to leave us on several more occasions, or shared with me her suicidal idealization, the latter of which taught that she may harm herself if she got too upset. 

This was also around the same time as my earliest memory of sexual abuse. My stepdad owned a boat for some time. For a while, it was kept in the backyard of this house. I assume because he couldn't afford the dock rent. Anyway, one day I was inside the boat with him. He was masturbating right in front of me. He ejaculated and explained to me that the "white stuff" was sperm, and "it makes babies." 

Looked a lot like this actually...

Now tell me how I'm supposed to tell that emotionally unstable person anything about something like that? I knew something wasn't right. I knew it would upset her because I was told not to tell her. I was trapped. I was trapped in this sick secret. I couldn't risk losing my mom, so I obediently kept my mouth shut...for at least 13 years after that. 

I can't believe how unprotected she left us. Because she refused to leave him, we dealt with his rage for years. My sisters that talk to him on the phone now are still dealing with it. 

I didn't call my mom on Saturday like I said I was going to. I was tired from work and honestly did not feel like dealing with it. She didn't call me either, so I just didn't bother. I think I'm more ready now though. We have some things to talk about, besides how fulfilling her job is taking care of other people. Who cares. Take care of your kids....

Anyway, thanks for reading.

Rachel

Emotional Control

Seriously, check this one
out.

I've been reading "The Ultimate Betrayal" by Dr. Audrey Ricker. It is about mother-daughter relationships in which the daughter has been abused by another person. 

Dr. Ricker worked as a therapist, and realized that most of the women she was working with due to sexual abuse had the same mother. They all seemed to fit the same description. She shares 4 toxic parenting styles as outlined by Dr. Gopal in her upcoming book:

1. Guardian-oriented parenting style:

• Overindulgence
• Overprotection
• Infantilization
• Hypervigalance
• Pity
• Excessive Concern
• Seen in families with sick children

2. Exploitation-oriented parenting style:

• Verbal Abuse
• Physical Abuse
• Neglect
• Emotional Abuse
• Dejuvenilization
• Sexual abuse

3. Abuse-oriented parenting style:

• Difficulty showing affection to children
• Poor sense of identity
• Overprotective/neglectful
• Insecure, preoccupied, forgetful
• Boundaries struggles
• Passive, envy of child's normalcy
• Unrealistic developmental expectations
• Role reversal
• Seen in families with histories of abuse
• Parentified child

4. Victim-oriented parenting style:

• Helplessness
• Child becomes the caretaker
• Child fearful of parent hurting/killing self
• Role reversal
• Threatened by child's need for independence
• Actions of self-injury to keep child in caretaking role
• Whiny, complaining, condescending, cajoling, manipulative style

I've highlighted the bullet points that seem to apply most to my situation. I get emotional even thinking about some it...

Letting go...

I know this is going to sound cruel, but she was weak. She took on a helpless victim role, which required me to step in as a parent. I've felt so responsible for my 4 little sisters. It was very difficult for me to let go when I went away to college. I still felt like I needed to help them, to save my family as they struggled with this new world without a father and an income source. But I soon realized that there was nothing I could do for them while living away from them. It took me a long time to understand how strongly I felt that maternal role, and I've mourned that loss. There was a time when she actually considered giving up one of my sisters for adoption after the divorce because they weren't getting along. She wasn't a bad kid, just hateful towards her. And she was just going to give her up. Who does that?!

Growing up, I've always believed that she was a good mother, and given the chance in an environment where she was in control and not an abusive individual, she could do more. I guess on some level, I feel like I gave her that opportunity....like I freed her from him. And she didn't take the opportunity to really step up her game, at least not enough. There was a very short window of time in which she needed to take control and become the disciplinarian. Instead, she felt like things had already been so hard for everyone that she would go easy on them. And now she's paying for it. They all are. As much as my sister's love my mom, I don't believe they respect her. She doesn't demand respect. She demands pity.

I remember her talking about how she thought about killing herself on more than one occasion. She made it very clear that she was fragile, and we all must be aware of her feelings. If something we did were to upset her,  we would be scolded by my stepfather. Which was interesting since he was an expert at hurting her feelings. Even now, every time one of my sisters living at home calls me, I worry that she is having another one of her "episodes" where she talks about either just going away and not coming back, or just giving up. The whole family panics.  A couple years ago, when Aaron and I decided we were moving to Lafayette, she had a total meltdown and said that I was moving away emotionally. She sank into a deep, deep depression, and I became terrified that she was going to kill herself. The only person I could get a hold of in Monroe was my Uncle Ralph. I begged him to go check on her. He did and assured me that although very depressed, she was safe. 

Scenes like that make it very hard not to become resentful. Resentful of all the times I had to be the parent. I had to be the adult. I shouldn't have to be making that phone call. I shared an important life decision with her, and she felt like she didn't hear it first so she went into a tailspin. How can I share anything significant with her? It's like every little thing has to be run through a filter first to make sure it doesn't hurt her feelings. It's exhausting and gets in the way of having an authentic relationship. 

My baby, Char

From time to time I bring my cat to the nursing home where I work to visit the residents. I was sitting at work today, looking out the window, thinking about a spot that would be nice to bring her to when the weather gets warm again. This led to worrying about her running out into the parking lot towards the car and having a car drive up and not see her. I realize that I would run after her, putting myself in danger to protect her. The driver would be able to see me more clearly. And then I realized...I was willing to do this for an animal (whom I love dearly), but my mom wouldn't sacrifice her very small amount of comfort to protect her children. She never stepped in when my sister was being spanked. She didn't step in when terrible things were screamed in our faces. She didn't step in when I was told to drive him to the store for more beer because he was too drunk to drive himself. And yet I was willing to risk physical harm to save my cat? What is wrong with this picture? People talk about motherly love, and how mothers would do anything for their child. Are people just being poetic? Do mothers really feel that way? If so, why do so many stand by while their sons and daughters are being abused? 

I realize this post has become very long, but this book has helped me realize a lot of things. It has encouraged me to take an introspective look into this relationship. I'm having a very difficult time with it, but I do feel like I'm making progress...which is important because she has her first counseling session soon...

Rachel