Tag: Alcohol

My Brother Witnessed The Child Abuse Of Sister * Everybody Hurts*
Child Abuse · Children · Crazy? · Depression · Family · Health and Wellbeing · Mental Illness · Parental Abuse · Sexual Abuse · Suicide · Survivor

My Brother Witnessed The Child Abuse Of Sister * Everybody Hurts*

Looking for the Light15 Comments

Original post 3/2014

Everyone suffers in an abusive environment. Our house was always in chaos. An alcoholic stepfather who abused my mother and a mother who abused her daughter. There were three other children in the house who saw the abuse and heard the screams and threats. I used to think the victim was the only person with scars. At 9 years old I survived almost daily beatings by taking drugs, plenty of alcohol, and trying to kill myself. It never occurred to me my brother suffered from witnessing the abuse. My brother’s scars are from seeing our stepfather beat our mother. Dragging her down the hall beating her head from side to side. Putting a knife to her throat saying he would kill her. Most of their fights ended in front of our bedrooms. We had front-row seats to hell. My mother abused me, and the methods escalated as I aged. I heard stories of abuse as early as six months old. I don’t think my mother was trying to kill me. She’s like the women on the news who allow their kids to die. She didn’t push my head under the water but would have crocodile tears if I drowned accidentally.

One weekend driving back from Houston we passed the exit to my mother’s house. I had strong emotions about my brother, not me. I didn’t understand the emotions. It hit me like a train, my brother was not physically abused yet was still a victim of abuse. He heard his sister scream and cry while his mother threw me to the floor, and hit my head on the countertop or down the hallway walls. He saw my stepfather hit me in the mouth with his fist. He saw my stepfather threaten to kill my mother while holding a knife to her throat. The realization was an eye-opener, I had overwhelming guilt. My brother and I never talked about it. The pain was swept under the rug. I didn’t know how he felt about the violence he saw. Neither of us knew how the violence would manifest itself in our souls. We had no idea how it would affect the decisions we made as adults.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

My brother holds almost all emotions inside, it doesn’t even show on his face. I don’t think he realizes how the violence shaped him as a man. He has a good relationship with my mother yet he lives with the knowledge of what his mother did and allowed. I went to live with my father at 12 years old which meant I only saw my brother a couple of times of year. On my father’s designated holidays we went to my grandparents. We drifted apart from only seeing each other a couple of times a year. After college he moved to Arlington we were both alcoholics by then. Our meetings were at drunken parties at his apartment. We quit calling each other. It took the death of my father to bring us back together. It is the only positive from my father’s death.

I developed a strong relationship with his fiancé. We talked like old girlfriends. She was at my house one-night enjoying wine and chatting. I had no control over my mouth, it spilled out. I asked her if he acknowledged my abuse. She shared how much it affected him, the guilt he carries. A missing piece of the puzzle filled my heart. I thought I was invisible. We are very close, talk or e-mail very often. We live only 30 minutes apart but his travel schedule doesn’t allow much time together. A perfect example, is their Christmas presents are still in the closet. The difference is when we are together it’s like no time has passed.

It has been very touching to get e-mails from him as I deal with my health issues. His tone is of true concern. There was a time when I didn’t think this day would come. I’m so happy. I love my brother. I love him enough to attend his wedding even though I would have to see my mother. I did not want to look back knowing I missed his wedding. I realized another level of love and what you will do for love.

XO  Warrior

(Repost) Nine Year Old Living In Hell
Alcohol · Caregiver · Child Abuse · Mental Illness · Moving Forward · Suicide · Survivor

(Repost) Nine Year Old Living In Hell

Looking for the Light13 Comments

Original post 4/2014

My brother and I called our stepfather a Nazi because he was mostly German and he would beat our mother unmercifully. Her crimes as we knew were not having dinner ready or not warm enough. The kids were too loud, noise was not allowed in the house, and he was an alcoholic with major control issues. I was 9 years old, my brother six & half years old, and our two step-brothers were much younger. They came to live with us after Houston Social Services found my stepfather the better parent. Of the choices, he was.

Their mother was a drug addict. He never saw the boys after the divorce. By the time they were in the court system, they had been left at home for up to two weeks with no food, nothing. The youngest in the same diaper. The youngest experienced trauma so severely that he regressed to a baby. Her addiction took over her life for that matter she may have forgotten she had kids until she came down enough.

I hated my stepfather from the beginning, he didn’t wait to start controlling everything. He rarely talked to my mother it was always yelling. It was very complicated for me. I hated my mother for abusing me but it still hurt when he beat her. We had a long hallway that passed our bedrooms. When he was out of control he would walk my mother down the hall hitting her head and body from side to side down the hallway. The hallway ended in front of my bedroom, it was hell on earth.

One night my life changed for the worse. She was screaming, pleading to stop, you could hear her head banging on the walls. He kept saying he was going to kill her. It wasn’t the first time he had threatened but something in her voice was different. They stopped in front of my bedroom. I was so scared, I cracked the door and he had a knife to her throat a little blood falling down her neck. I knew he was going to kill her, I couldn’t sit there and listen. Then what would he do after that? I’m 9 years old, more mature for my age but a child. I struggled with guilt for leaving her to die but I could not hear her cry anymore. I took the nine dollars I had saved and ran away. I thought my mother was going to die, but I didn’t think about the consequences. He’s yelling with a knife to her throat, she thought she was going to die by the look on her face.

I rode my bike a couple of miles to my boyfriend’s house. His parents were so normal. They offered me something to drink and eat, put a blanket around me, and let me tell the story. They said I could stay for a while to let things cool down at home but they would have to call my mother. I didn’t think my life could get worse, wrong. At 9 years old it spiralled straight to hell that night.

My mother drove up, I knew the beating would start the minute I got in the car. We turned the corner and she started laying into me barely staying on the road. When we arrived home, I’d reached the point of not feeling the pain. I believe if nothing else happened to me, this night alone would have fuck me up bad.

I think about what another mother would have done. Hugged their child right away, acknowledged how confusing and painful it must have been, and explained it was not the child’s fault. I never had normal. I tried to kill myself every chance possible from that day forward. I cut my wrist deep at school, God wouldn’t let me go. I endured much worse until I left home.

I prayed for God to let me go. I had no more fight in me. God had more lessons for me to learn. Looking back I’m so thankful. I would not have been able to create a close-to-normal life. More importantly, I wouldn’t have been able to hold my grandmother’s hand as she died. I cared for my grandfather as he was dying.

The only time I’ve cried is thinking about my grandparents. They were the only two people who loved me unconditionally. God built my strength, I could be there for them and the person I am today.

All of the above is collateral damage, I packed away. I see a Therapist where I can talk about the past. We focus on my fears as an adult. If you’re a Survivor of abuse, I hold out my hand and give you a hug.

Warrior

couple carrying cardboard boxes in living room Reposted *D I V O R C E
Abuse · Bipolar Disorder · Child Abuse · Children · Domestic Violence · Suicide

Reposted *D I V O R C E

Looking for the Light20 Comments

Original post 5/2014

It was a normal Sunday like any other. I was 6 and my brother was 3 1/2 years old, my mother was taking us to the lake. We never went to the lake, and I began to get excited about playing in the water. I also grew concerned, about what did she have on her mind. Even at 6 years old I knew she always had an agenda. We pulled up to the picnic tables on the far side of the lake, nowhere near the water. She tells my brother and me that our parents are getting a divorce. Not understanding what it meant I asked her to spell it for me. I kept repeating the spelling in my head so I could ask my friend. I would find out sooner than later. Gramp’s truck was overflowing with my father’s belongings. They were driving off as we rounded the corner.

Their relationship went from bad to hell on earth. My mother took every chance to tell us how much she hated him. She married within six months his name was R known as (Nazi & Lucifer). He was her supervisor at work and could get her the white picket fence. We moved into a new house with a big backyard, things looked so normal on the outside. If people only knew the carnage on the inside.

Custody was a nightmare, Daddy would bring us home and she would throw things at him. One time she hit him in the head with the Sunday paper. This was the beginning of a twice-a-month cycle of harassment.

After a couple of years, we moved to a country with, a population of 137. It was almost a two-hour trip. One Thanksgiving my dad arrived 15 minutes early and she called the sheriff. My dad didn’t get out of the car, he knew he was early and she was crazy.

It’s sad parents separated or divorced talk bad about the other. It was not just my mother, her mother and grandmother, they hated my dad. He forced her to get pregnant and I’m the devil’s child. They would call our house ranting about how I was a mistake, ruined my mother’s future, and how much they hated my father. We lived in a toxic environment because my mother was toxic.

The scars my brother and I had from their behavior were nothing compared to the abuse inside the house. It reached a point where I had to go pick my brother up to avoid her shit. My father was no angel but he never talked bad about my mother. My mother told me that daddy raped her and I was a mistake. Her common saying, like several times a day, I hate your father, and you are just like him. At 9-10 years old it doesn’t take long to figure out your mother hates you because you’re just like your father.

I don’t know why, I wondered if could be true, I held it in for years. I don’t know how we got to the topic. I was angry at my father and spit out what she had told me. The look in his eyes said everything. My father was so hurt and said I loved your mother.

When my father killed himself he had a lock box on the coffee table and papers spread everywhere. Their divorce papers were on the table, his Bible open to Job and a notepad with written words scattered on the page. No sentences, I did see the number for the suicide hotline and one of his oldest friends. Written in one corner was 11:00 and he died between 7-8 pm. I wondered if it took him that long to pull the trigger or if was he trying to fight his demons. There are tear stains in the Book of Job.

Warrior

Bipolar Disorder · Depression · Mental Health · Mental Illness · Suicide

Daddy was 52 on 2/22/1992

Looking for the Light6 Comments

I’m reposting this because May is Mental health Awareness Month and I think it’s very important to acknowledge those who have committed suicide or try to understand those who might. As I’ve said many times, you will not change a person’s mind if they are determined to kill themselves but you can hopefully interview early enough to get them the help they need. I was not able to that with my father.

Don’t ever give up, no matter how hard you have been pushed away, don’t push back. try another route. Just keep trying.

Melinda 5/29/21

This post was written in 2014

My father suffered from Mental Illness his entire life. When he was a teen, Doctor’s told my grandmother he was hyperactive and gave her tranquilizers. I doubt he took one pill. Estranged since I was thirteen years old, I could not look my abuser in the eye. Daddy started calling when I was 28 years old. He was delusional, talking in sentences that made no sense. I picked up he needed money, I started paying his bills. He said he was going to kill himself and kept rambling. I could not get through to him. I did not tell anyone in my family either.  He was so far gone, he could not process what I was saying.

On February 22, 1992, my father took his life. I felt overwhelming guilt. Unsure how my grandmother would react to me not telling her. It’s a guilt I’ll carry to my grave. At 28 years old it was hard to feel pain and remember the past. In the note, he asked me to handle arrangements. I did what I’d done for years, stuff my emotions down, act strong and get it done. There are many who inherit Mental Illness, have a relative who suffers or experienced suicide in the family who suffer in silence. Healing from child abuse is difficult, it can feel impossible when the abuser is a parent. I never told my grandparents about my father sexually abusing me.

Every day is one step in forwarding motion. I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder at 19 years old. I’ve mostly healed since my father’s death. I forgave him long ago. I hope you can take the first step and reach for support. There is light at the end of the tunnel.

Melinda

Abuse · Child Abuse · Family · Parental Abuse · Sexual Abuse · Suicide

My Brother Witnessed Domestic Violence And Child Abuse * Everybody Hurts*

Looking for the Light2 Comments

Original post 3/2014

Everyone suffers in an abusive environment. Our house was always in chaos. An alcoholic stepfather who abused my mother and a mother who abused her daughter. There were three other children in the house who saw the abuse, heard the screams and threats. I used to think the victim was the only person with scars. At 9 years old I survived almost daily beatings by taking drugs, plenty of alcohol and trying to kill myself. It never occurred to me my brother suffered from witnessing the abuse. My brother’s scars are from seeing our stepfather beat our mother. Dragging her down the hall beating her head from side to side. Putting a knife to her throat saying he would kill her. Most of their fights ending in front of our bedrooms. We had front row seats to hell. My mother abused me, the methods escalated as I aged. I heard stories of abuse as early as six months old. I don’t think my mother was trying to kill me. She’s like the women on the news who allow their kids to die. She didn’t push my head under the water but would have crocodile tears if I drowned accidentally.

One weekend driving back from Houston we passed the exit to my mother’s house. I had strong emotions about my brother not me. I didn’t understand the emotions. It hit me like a train, my brother was not physically abused yet was still a victim of abuse. He heard his sister scream and cry while his mother threw me to the floor, hit my head on the countertop or down the hallway walls. He saw my stepfather hit me in mouth with his fist. He saw my stepfather threaten to kill my mother while holding a knife to her throat. The realization was an eye opener, I had overwhelming guilt. My brother and I never talked about it. The pain was swept under the rug. I didn’t know how he felt about the violence he saw. Neither of us knew how the violence would manifest itself in our souls. We had no idea how it would affect decisions we made as adults.

My brother holds almost all emotions inside, it doesn’t even show on his face. I don’t think he realizes how the violence shaped him as a man. He has a good relationship with my mother yet he lives with the knowledge of what his mother did and allowed. I went to live with my father at 12 years old which meant I only saw my brother a couple of times of year. On my fathers designated holidays we went to my grandparents. We drifted apart from only seeing each other a couple of times a year. After college he moved to Arlington we were both alcoholics by then. Our meetings were at drunken parties at his apartment. We quit calling each other. It took the death of my father to bring us back together. It is the only positive from my father’s death.

I developed a strong relationship with his fiancé. We talked like old girlfriends. She was at my house one night enjoying wine and chatting. I had no control over my mouth, it spilled out. I asked her if he acknowledged my abuse. She shared how much it effected him, the guilt he carries. A missing piece of the puzzle filled my heart. I thought I was invisible. We are very close, talk or e-mail very often. We live only 30 minutes apart but his travel schedule doesn’t allow much time together. A perfect example, their Christmas present are still in the closet. The difference is when we are together it’s like no time has passed. It has been very touching to get e-mails from him as I deal with my health issues. His tone is of true concern. There was a time when I didn’t think this day would come. I’m so happy. I love my brother. I love him enough to attend his wedding even though I would have to see my mother. I did not want to look back knowing I missed his wedding. I realized another level of love and what you will do for love.

XO  Warrior

 

Bipolar Disorder · Child Abuse · Domestic Violence · Mental Illness · Moving Forward · Parental Abuse · Sexual Abuse · Survivor

I keep Moving Forward: *Not allowing My past to Chart the Future*

Looking for the Light3 Comments

“If you are always trying to be normal, you will never know how amazing you can be.”    Maya Angelo

I am a Survivor

My grandparents unconditional love pulled me from the abyss. After years of Therapy, I have a clear heart, no anger or self loathing. Not forgiving….forgetting, to allow myself to move forward. Over the years, people brought sunshine into my life. You were like Angels dropping in when I needed a push or pat on back.

My mother and stepfather physically and emotionally abused me until 12 years old. My stepfather beat my mother almost daily starting with hitting her head side to side down the hallway, the hallway ended at my room. Everyone in the house lived in hell, I got an extra dose.

As a small girl, I dreamed my father would save me from the traumatic abuse. The dream was over, he started sexually abusing me as a child. It was innocent at first or so it seemed. At 12 years old I moved to my father’s. It’s impossible to wrap your head around sexual abuse at any age.

In 1992 my father committed suicide. Estranged since my teens, we talked several times before his death. He called delusional and paranoid. Saying someone was tapping his phone. He told me about committing suicide, I told no one. The news devastated Granny her only child was dead. With a closed casket service it’s hard to reconcile death when you can’t see inside.

I battle with Treatment Resistant Bipolar Disorder. Diagnosed at 19 years old, I struggled for years without medication or over medicated. Thru the years I ‘ve taken over 40 prescriptions or drugs cocktails. A medication or medications worked for a while, then I had to try another mix.

Bipolar Disorder is a Mental Illness without a cure. I manage my illness everyday and each is different. Through advances in medicine and treatments, future generations may not struggle with Mental Illness. We can pay it forward by participating in questionnaires, clinical trials and talking about our illness. Educating others is the road to Breaking The Stigma.

I am alive with the help of God, Husband, Grandparents, Therapist and Psychiatrist. I’m blessed with a husband who won’t give up no matter how hard it gets.I get mean & nasty when going thru withdraw, Psychotic or Suicidal. 

My background and Mental Illness is NOT a complete picture of who I am. Photography, Art and Music are my passions. I love vintage cars, riding motorcycles and the great outdoors. As a teenager I set a  goal to see the world, the Bucket List is growing.

Student of Ancient History, Roman Architecture, World Religion and Art. I’m an animal lover. I’m sickened by animals being abused and killed testing dog food or facial cream. I’m concerned about extinction, global poverty and the planet. Above all Education, children are our future.

 

This is a snapshot of my past, I believe with the right team of doctors, treatments, extreme patience, Survivor attitude, most with Mental Illness  can reach a level of control. If it just came with a guarantee to not get out of balance. The only failure is not getting up again.

A hurdle in my twenties was telling my doctor I wouldn’t take a medication. I was vain, gaining twenty pounds wouldn’t work for me. I received many attitude adjustments, whats my reality? How did I expect to get less Depressed. My doctor is hard on me 20+ years later. He is a blessing, the commitment to me is the reason I’m alive today.

M

Alcohol · Child Abuse · Parental Abuse · Survivor

Rest in Peace Grandma * I hope your heart is cleansed of Anger *

Looking for the Light31 Comments

Original post 11/2014

 You receive from the world what you give to the world.  Oprah  

My maternal grandma died this week. I have no emotion. I would like to tell a story of a grandma and her granddaughter bonding and building memories. I can’t write about bonding because booze was her best friend. My grandfather an alcoholic as well, I can’t recall his voice. I walked into their house, the smell of Scotch over whelmed me. I wanted to get sick. My grandfather always sat at the dining table, a tall glass and bottle of J&B no more than arms length.He stared ahead and didn’t participating in the conversation.

My grandmother verbally abused me every time I visited or talked to her. I have no ill will for her, I live in the present. As a teenager, I felt cheated not having a relationship with them. Everyone carries baggage. She has to account for her choices in life before our maker. She birthed my abusive mother. My grandma had pent-up anger and aimed for me. The ones I heard most often “it was my fault my mother got pregnant” or “I ruined my mother’s life” or the most painful “you were a mistake” I lived for years hearing those words repeated, I felt so small.

I’ve struggled for days deciding if I wanted to acknowledge her life and death. I believe every one deserves acknowledgment at death.

I hope my grandmother is at peace, the angels helped her unload the anger inside and she no longer blames others for her issues. Rest in peace. 

M/Warrior

Abuse · Alcohol · Child Abuse · Parental Abuse · Suicide · Survivor

Good Times Gone Bad

Looking for the Light13 Comments

I started Looking for the Light on 2-22-2014, exactly 22 years after my father’s suicide. Every year on the date, my emotions/logic are so conflicted. I stopped drinking years ago but every year I get drunk, my coping mechanism. I thought my dad was cool as a child and we had lots of fun. My father had no clue how to parent, it was scream or give in. My brother and I where seeing my father every two weeks.

My father (married) had a girlfriend and liked to party, 8:00 p.m. on Saturday nights he would head out. We were left with our step mother and step brother. It was boring for me. I remember the weekend well. I got dressed, put on my stepmother’s make up and said I’m going with you. He said no at first but it was the well ask me again type of no. I said I had to get out of the house.

I’m 9 years old but I looked older, not that much older. I received a lot of attention from the guys and it made me feel good. It made me feel pretty, when I got older the memories screwed up my view of relationships. Being the life of the party was great. I know there were several men who would have slept with me if I’d let them. My dad had one club he liked, I became a regular.

He would find a couple of women he knew and asked if they would keep an eye on me. They did, asking what I wanted to drink, do you want black molly’s or ludes? My dad was dancing all night so we only saw each other when we danced together. My father had a warped sense of being proud by showing off his daughter. I’m 9 years old, people must have thought he was crazy. Those who had any sense.

He was an alcoholic, I’m not sure he thought anything was wrong. Eventually it led to parties after closing time. I saw an orgy while walking upstairs looking for a bathroom. People were everywhere. I had to step over people on the stairs. People saying take off your clothes and join us. There was all types of sex going on and some in a group. My mind could not process. I knew nothing about a mans dick let alone what to do with it. I’m 9 yrs old, a child but no longer a child. At parties my dad would get a couple of joints for me, he knew I was smoking pot. I was having fun, my dad was cool. It became our weekend ritual, sometimes not coming home until four a.m., crazy. My dad’s nick name was Foxy, I was Foxy Jr. I believe his mental illness was driving this madness.

Another memory my brother has to live with, I’m thankful he doesn’t know the worst. I went to live with my father at 12 years old. We continued to go out until I met my boyfriend, 21 years old. This guy must have had big problems. I’m no prude but a 12-year-old doesn’t date, let alone a 21-year-old drug dealer. You can read ” I Almost Killed My Father” and get a bigger picture.

My father was jealous of Sterling. The relationship with my father started a tumble. This is when the sexual abuse escalated. It started with him kissing me, slightly pushing himself towards me. I pushed him away saying “I’m not your girlfriend”. I never imaged where it would go from here. This was the beginning of the worst to come. My therapist is the only one I’ve told. Sexual abuse left me with warped ideas about sex and relationships as I got older.

Those were visible scars, there was an iceberg below. I don’t know how long it will take for me to process this time of my life. Those are the only words I can say out loud at this time.

I want to thank G, his courage has gave me the strength to wipe dust off my box. If you are in an abusive relationship, please reach out. There are many survivors of every type of trauma who will gladly hold your hand or lend a shoulder. This is a place where you can remain anonymous and no questions asked.

Warrior

Alcohol · Child Abuse · Mental Illness · Music · Suicide

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DADDY 1940-1992 **A Daughters Elvis Tribute**

Looking for the Light14 Comments

Original post 8/2014

Elvis Presley had a lifetime fan in my father. I remember playing his Elvis records at 4 yrs. old. Jumping on my friends pink canopy bed with hair brushes belting out Jailhouse Rock. After the divorce Daddy would visit driving to a mom & pop store, we’d get bottles of RC Cola, sitting in-car belting out to the radio. We had to drink  in the parking lot because the bottles required a deposit, after finished daddy would  take back for the deposit. I think it was a dime. My father was one of my abusers, I have few good memories, they’re cherished. I forgave my father, choose to focus on this nugget. My father was mentally ill, committing suicide in 1992. Abuse complicates grieving,  warm tears roll down as I write. Tears for my grandmothers pain and the years I didn’t have a father. He was reading the Book of Job during his last struggle, the last moments between him and God.

To daddy

Alcohol · Child Abuse

Crazy Throw Back Tuesday on a Pony

Looking for the Light3 Comments

Original post 5/2014

My mother was physically abusing me at 2 years old, actually started around 6 months old. She would grab me by the arm and dig her nails in on the underside. Nobody could see that way. I learned early how to smile to cover the pain.

How could anyone hit this child

Me and My Pony My 2nd Birthday
Me and My Pony My 2nd Birthday

Alcohol · Child Abuse · Mental Illness · Rape · Sexual Abuse · Survivor · Therapy

Andy Warhol’s “So Sweet” *Live For Today*

Looking for the Light3 Comments

Original post 5/2014

I had to buy this Warhol because it was the complete opposite of my childhood. I saw the happy little girl and thought about me in kindergarten. She’s carrying a bag of candy and a good report card, again not me. What makes it so special is my mother told me I was stupid all the time. I began to believe her. You look in the corner and see “So Smart”, words I love to hear. I wasn’t stupid, just carrying a heavy load. No kindergartener can handle the burden of that secret.

Warrior

Warhol "So Smart"
Warhol “So Smart”

Alcohol · Bipolar Disorder · Child Abuse · Mental Illness · Rape · Sexual Abuse · Suicide

Do you know me at all?

Looking for the Light4 Comments

10th Grade Journalism
10th Grade Journalism

Original post 3/2014

It’s been an emotional month with thoughts of my father’s suicide and writing about him for the first time. I never grieved my father, the emotions caught me by surprise. It’s been very confusing because my father was one of my abusers. I am having health issues which is stressful. The Black Dog has come to see me. I have seen a Neurologist for three months, having test after test with no answers. This weeks appointment was no different, no diagnosis. I understand there is not always a clean answer. Three years ago I started down a similar path looking for answers to my heart issues. It was an extremely stressful two years looking for an answer. I laid my folder aside to give thought to my next step. At the moment I’m thinking of doing nothing. I have spent 9 years out of 13 years taking care of my grandparents until their death. Months after my grandfather died, I became suicidal and spent close to a month hospitalized. I want to know who am I now. I would give everything for my grandparents and trying to stay alive. My husband thinks I worked so hard for so long my body crashed. My mind did to. I can’t think about doctor’s appointments week after week. I want to live! I’m 50, the slate is clean. I’m ready to find me. I haven’t had my hair cut in 8 months, rarely leave the house and could not tell you for a million dollars the last time we ate out. Those were my decisions, my husband is extremely supportive. Everyday he comes home amazes me. Life with me is not easy. I have abuse issues and Bipolar Disorder. I don’t smile much anymore, just realized while writing this. I want to move forward rebuilding my life. I want to smile and take time to smell the roses with my camera. I wore the same mask in 10th grade. The difference is I was an alcoholic. It was easier to hide behind a bottle. I could always blame my behavior on being drunk.

Mental Illness · Moving Forward · Parental Abuse · Sexual Abuse · Suicide

Brother witnessed Child Abuse of only sister * Everybody Hurts*

Looking for the Light2 Comments

Original post 3/2014

Everyone suffers in an abusive environment. Our house was always in chaos. An alcoholic stepfather who abused my mother and a mother who abused her daughter. There were three other children in the house who saw the abuse, heard the screams and threats. I used to think the victim was the only person with scars. At 9 years old I survived almost daily beatings by taking drugs, plenty of alcohol and trying to kill myself. It never occurred to me my brother suffered from witnessing the abuse. My brother’s scars are from seeing our stepfather beat our mother. Dragging her down the hall beating her head from side to side. Putting a knife to her throat saying he would kill her. Most of their fights ending in front of our bedrooms. We had front row seats to hell. My mother abused me, the methods escalated as I aged. I heard stories of abuse as early as six months old. I don’t think my mother was trying to kill me. She’s like the women on the news who allow their kids to die. She didn’t push my head under the water but would have crocodile tears if I drowned accidentally.

One weekend driving back from Houston we passed the exit to my mother’s house. I had strong emotions about my brother not me. I didn’t understand the emotions. It hit me like a train, my brother was not physically abused yet was still a victim of abuse. He heard his sister scream and cry while his mother threw me to the floor, hit my head on the countertop or down the hallway walls. He saw my stepfather hit me in mouth with his fist. He saw my stepfather threaten to kill my mother while holding a knife to her throat. The realization was an eye opener, I had overwhelming guilt. My brother and I never talked about it. The pain was swept under the rug. I didn’t know how he felt about the violence he saw. Neither of us knew how the violence would manifest itself in our souls. We had no idea how it would affect decisions we made as adults.

My brother holds almost all emotions inside, it doesn’t even show on his face. I don’t think he realizes how the violence shaped him as a man. He has a good relationship with my mother yet he lives with the knowledge of what his mother did and allowed. I went to live with my father at 12 years old which meant I only saw my brother a couple of times of year. On my fathers designated holidays we went to my grandparents. We drifted apart from only seeing each other a couple of times a year. After college he moved to Arlington we were both alcoholics by then. Our meetings were at drunken parties at his apartment. We quit calling each other. It took the death of my father to bring us back together. It is the only positive from my father’s death.

I developed a strong relationship with his fiancé. We talked like old girlfriends. She was at my house one night enjoying wine and chatting. I had no control over my mouth, it spilled out. I asked her if he acknowledged my abuse. She shared how much it effected him, the guilt he carries. A missing piece of the puzzle filled my heart. I thought I was invisible. We are very close, talk or e-mail very often. We live only 30 minutes apart but his travel schedule doesn’t allow much time together. A perfect example, their Christmas present are still in the closet. The difference is when we are together it’s like no time has passed. It has been very touching to get e-mails from him as I deal with my health issues. His tone is of true concern. There was a time when I didn’t think this day would come. I’m so happy. I love my brother. I love him enough to attend his wedding even though I would have to see my mother. I did not want to look back knowing I missed his wedding. I realized another level of love and what you will do for love.

XO  Warrior

 

Alcohol · Child Abuse · Mental Illness · Sexual Abuse · Suicide

I almost Killed my Father

Looking for the Light10 Comments

Original post 4/2014

I’m writing the post with the outcome first. It made sense to me when reliving it.

The tides turn

It’s beyond comprehension why my probation officer saw hope in me. I gave her no reason, I had lost hope in myself, in life for that matter. I didn’t speak one word to her for seven months. I attended weekly meetings for possession of a handgun. I was a bad ass in my mind. I had to see a psychiatrist several times. I was smarter than my age at 12 years old. The psychiatrist asked me how many children I wanted. Without blinking I said none. “I wouldn’t take a chance on beating my children”. She said statics show abused people are less likely to abuse their children. I’d been sexually abused and beaten all my life. Stats meant nothing to me. The State wanted me in a boot camp type facility. My probation officer fought hard to find a less destructive facility. She felt a boot camp style would make me worse. She was right, I was wound very tight. If I can plan my father’s death what stops you from hurting a stranger. My grandmother knew about a convent that was for bad girls when she was younger. My probation officer Ruth Barrier agreed it was a better environment. I might reform in this setting. The down side, it cost $2,000 a month back in 1975 and my grandparents didn’t have the money.

I don’t know the details. I became a Ward of the State who would pay the monthly fees. My grandparents had to buy all my uniforms, towels, a very specific list of items required and not allowed. I know giving custody to The State was the hardest decision my grandparents had to make. I arrived on February 10,1975, my brother’s birthday. For the first three months you are a minnow. No privileges, random room checks, reading your mail, no phone calls and you can’t go home for three months. Only allowed 10 cigarettes per night, a coke and candy bar. The risk of harassment from established girls was a given. I stayed for a year, a year of hard lessons, one’s that made me the person I am today. I am forever grateful, counting my blessing often. I saw the alternative. I have to thank Ruth Barrier, she set the bar high. She was a strict but caring with me, teaching me respect and other ways to live. I will be forever grateful for the Nuns who gave me positive reinforcement and the rewards of doing the right thing.

Why the above happened

I moved in with my father in the summer and didn’t know anyone. My father knew everyone hung out at the 7-11 down the street. He went there daily to call his girlfriend. One night he dropped me off at the 7-11 to get to know the gang. That is a proper word for the bunch. They were a gang of drug addicts, only a couple were close to my age. I fell for the 21-year-old dealer, lucky me. The first night I met Sterling, he went to jail. Doing drugs was not new, I took my first pills at 8-9 years old and smoking pot shortly after. In junior high we would cross the street to huff paint before school.

In 8th grade I was selling pot to my friends right in the classroom. The timer on a bomb started counting down. The relationship with my father was toxic. I spent several nights in juvenile hall for skipping 38 days of school. One night while riding home with some friends, we got pulled over. Lucky me, the driver had several stolen credit cards. Off to jail we went. I was free to go home but my father would not come get me until noon the next day. I’m so broken by this time, thinking only death sooth me.

It didn’t matter if it was me or my father. One evening we were at home watching a movie. My father comes over unprovoked pointing the 357 mag at my head. He told my boyfriend to leave there was a restraining order on him. I ran away. He drives around pulling the gun on my friends. He had sexually abused me several times by this time. Tick..Tick.. I met with Sterling the next day and we made plans how to kill my father. We had a perfect plan. I was dead inside from the years of abuse from both parents. He deserved to die. Something clicked in my head, I realized how far gone I was. I was a difficult child to handle due to the circumstances. I wasn’t a killer. The next meeting with my probation officer, my first words where “get me out of here”.

Warrior

 

Alcohol · Child Abuse · Mental Illness · Parental Abuse · Suicide

Could you hit your child?

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Original post 3/2014

Both of my parents and stepfather abused me. We’re not talking spanking, we’re talking banging your head into the wall. I am 100% for discipline, accountability and house rules. You see children who have involved parents and the childs demeanor. I see parents yelling at the child while grocery shopping, belittling them in front of strangers.

What we can’t see is child abuse. Child abuse is a taboo topic for most. My mother physically and emotionally abused me. I never told anyone, not even close family. I walked on eggshells at home. My first attempt at suicide was at 9 years old.  One morning I went to make breakfast and my mother told me I could not wear those jeans to school. This was the early 1970’s I was in 7th grade and probably argued with her. All the years my mother abused me, I never hit back.

This morning was different. She started calling me a slut. She came to grab me and I hit her in the face. We were fighting and my stepfather walks in. Picture a 100 lbs. 12-year-old with braces getting hit in the mouth with a fist by of grown man. The inside of my mouth was bleeding from the braces breaking the skin. I had a bruise from nose to chin and some blackness around the eyes. I was not allowed to go to school for several days.

When I returned most of the bruising was still visible. I was a pro at making up reasons for the cuts and bruises in the past and made one to use for this if asked. I almost made it thru the day when my Music teacher asked me to come in the hall. I swore by my story like the best lair you’ve seen. She probably knew long before that day, today it was the bruises on the face.

She made me go to the school counselor and tell her what happened. Before saying anything, I ask to call my grandmother. I told her what was going down and it was going to get ugly. I didn’t say anything when I got home and went straight to my room as usual. The next day I entered hell. I arrived at school, two CPS workers were waiting to interview me. I begged for over two hours crying hysterically not to file a report or contact my mother. They were doing their job, unfortunately it is not always the best solution for the child involved.

A couple of weeks later CPS stopped by unannounced. Fire filled my mother’s eyes. Her story was I lied all the time, had a very low IQ and she was waiting on an opening at the Terrell Mental Hospital. I was no angel but nothing out her mouth was true. I had my head beat into the counter and walls for that smart move. I kept thinking how could any mother watch a grown man hit her child. By end of school year I had tried to kill myself several times including cutting myself at school.

I would feel an obligation to the child if I saw abusive behavior. Thinking about a child getting hit, starved, chained to the floor, all current headlines, are hard to swallow. I question if the shootings and bullying at schools are the long-term effect of children looking for attention or a child/teen at the end of rope. I would like to hear your thoughts on Child Abuse and how it affects school today. I don’t have the answers. After years of therapy, I don’t feel emotion when talking about my abuse.

M/Warrior

Men & Womens Health · Mental Illness

We Must Partner With Doctor's In Managing Our Illness & Prescriptions

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Face to Face time with doctors is shrinking as payments from insurance companies are further reduced. No longer are the Patient Consumer Information pamphlets included with prescriptions from manufactures, they cost money. The medication information we receive from pharmacies is a cover your ass view of a few possible side effects. Doctors work on reduced rates leaving no choice but see more patients. I believe we are due the information to manage out health properly.

What do I mean by managing our health properly? We have to take responsibility to gather information the doctor doesn’t have time to give. If lucky doctors allow 15 minutes per patient. How much information can you get in that amount of time. Especially if its a new or complex illness. We are our best advocates, we have to hold doctors accountable for the information we need. It is our responsibility to understand our illnesses and medications. Doctors do not have all the answers. You have to clarify communication, don’t get caught up in “it’s the doctor’s responsibility”, wrong. Two people are in the equation and you’re the sick one. These steps may help the journey to survival and beyond. Critical to getting well is seeing the right type of doctor. A medical doctor is not a mental health specialist, has no business dispensing  RX’s. Get a referral , if not you’re a trail and error for what they think will work. Not always in you best interest. Not to mention the side effects of pick and choose.

Education is a powerful tool to build confidence, confidence you’ll need to talk toe to toe with doctors. The first place I head is the Internet. I’m one of the patients doctors don’t like. I come in with my note-book, recap our last meeting and let them know I have several questions. I spend my time researching the ailments. What are the most important symptoms. I use the info to put a short list of questions together. I ask next steps if don’t have a diagnoses. Doctors don’t have enough time to spend with each patient so I go in ready. I’ve included two resources which may help with your education. FDA.GOV is a great resource if you take prescriptions. You can find everything needed including Consumer Prescription Inserts we no longer received from medical companies. Medwatch  a FDA.gov department provides label changes, warning letters, recalls on specific drugs and medical equipment. The database is extensive however some of the tools are cumbersome at first.

Best of luck and well wishes.  XO M

Men & Womens Health · Mental Illness

We Must Partner With Doctor’s In Managing Our Illness & Prescriptions

Looking for the Light5 Comments

Face to Face time with doctors is shrinking as payments from insurance companies are further reduced. No longer are the Patient Consumer Information pamphlets included with prescriptions from manufactures, they cost money. The medication information we receive from pharmacies is a cover your ass view of a few possible side effects. Doctors work on reduced rates leaving no choice but see more patients. I believe we are due the information to manage out health properly.

What do I mean by managing our health properly? We have to take responsibility to gather information the doctor doesn’t have time to give. If lucky doctors allow 15 minutes per patient. How much information can you get in that amount of time. Especially if its a new or complex illness. We are our best advocates, we have to hold doctors accountable for the information we need. It is our responsibility to understand our illnesses and medications. Doctors do not have all the answers. You have to clarify communication, don’t get caught up in “it’s the doctor’s responsibility”, wrong. Two people are in the equation and you’re the sick one. These steps may help the journey to survival and beyond. Critical to getting well is seeing the right type of doctor. A medical doctor is not a mental health specialist, has no business dispensing  RX’s. Get a referral , if not you’re a trail and error for what they think will work. Not always in you best interest. Not to mention the side effects of pick and choose.

Education is a powerful tool to build confidence, confidence you’ll need to talk toe to toe with doctors. The first place I head is the Internet. I’m one of the patients doctors don’t like. I come in with my note-book, recap our last meeting and let them know I have several questions. I spend my time researching the ailments. What are the most important symptoms. I use the info to put a short list of questions together. I ask next steps if don’t have a diagnoses. Doctors don’t have enough time to spend with each patient so I go in ready. I’ve included two resources which may help with your education. FDA.GOV is a great resource if you take prescriptions. You can find everything needed including Consumer Prescription Inserts we no longer received from medical companies. Medwatch  a FDA.gov department provides label changes, warning letters, recalls on specific drugs and medical equipment. The database is extensive however some of the tools are cumbersome at first.

Best of luck and well wishes.  XO M

Moving Forward

Throw Back Thursday * Double Shot Bad Company With Paul Rogers*

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I love Bad Company, another of my top fav bands. I can listen to Paul Rogers all day! Music was my escape from abuse. I have great memories, most not legal but quite fun. I associate music with times in my life and it holds true today. Time to take the shoes off, lean back in the chair, headphones on and let the music take you to a special place.   XO Warrior

Survivor

Stalking Awareness: Spotlight On Marianne Bezaire * Marianne is a true Survivor*

Looking for the Light1 Comment

If you’ve been stalked, you understand why the hair on my neck went up reading Marianne Bezaire’s nightmare. Starting in my late 20’s I was stalked for six years. The trauma on my family gut wrenching, we lived paralyzed by fear. At the time women being stalked received similar attitudes from some law enforcement agencies as rape survivors.  XO Warrior

1 in 6 women – and 1 in 19 men – have experienced stalking at some point during their lifetime
66% of female stalking victims are stalked by someone they know
46% of stalking victims fear not knowing what will happen next
29% of stalking victims fear the stalking will never stop
1 in 8 employed victims lose time from work as a result of their victimization
1 in 7 stalking victims move as a result of their victimization*

For survivor Marianne Bezaire, these aren’t just statistics – she experienced it all personally when an acquaintance became her rapist, and then her stalker.

Marianne was drugged and sexually assaulted at a friend’s party. When she woke up the next morning and drove herself home, her attacker followed her and discovered where she lived. This was the beginning of an awful ordeal that involved the stalker breaking into her home, blackmailing her with information he found while reading her personal journals, hacking into her computer and email, and more. Marianne says she lived in fear of what he would do next, and “one of the worst parts of the situation was dealing with how hard it was to get support.”

Those around her often minimized the danger Marianne faced, or blamed her for not protecting herself more effectively. “I felt very ashamed and responsible, but also helpless to make the stalking stop,” she says. Even when she was able to go to the police in her town, she says they were unhelpful, suggesting that she simply replace her computer or move to a new address. “I felt as though no one would understand how unsafe I was, or what I had to go through to make myself feel safe again.”

Marianne says that in the 10 years since her experience, the perception of stalking has changed significantly. “There’s more awareness now of how serious a crime it is to stalk someone,” says Marianne. Stalking, generally defined as “a course of conduct directed at a specific person that would cause a reasonable person to feel fear,” is a crime in all 50 states and Washington, DC, and January is recognized as National Stalking Awareness Month.

Marianne wants those with similar experiences to feel supported. “Please do not be hard on yourself. Stalkers often purposely try to confuse you and make you feel as though you are responsible for their behavior. Don’t let anyone talk you out of taking proper care of yourself.” To overcome the after-effects of being stalked, Marianne began seeing a therapist, and also started meditating and journaling. She advises others to try a healing physical activity, such as dance or yoga.

Marianne also recommends identifying resources you have available should you discover or suspect you’re being stalked. For instance, whom would you feel comfortable talking to? Do you know where your local police station is? How much of your personal information is shared on social media? “I can’t emphasize enough how important it is to be your own best advocate,” says Marianne.

Find more information about stalking here, and at the National Center for Victims of Crime’s Stalking Resource Center.

If you or someone you know has been affected by sexual violence, it’s not your fault. You are not alone. Help is available 24/7 through the National Sexual Assault Hotline: 800-656-HOPE and online.rainn.org.

*All statistics via The National Center for Victims of Crime.

Moving Forward

Throw Back Thursday * Triple Shot of Eagles Past and Present*

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My first concert was the Eagles Hotel California tour in 1976. Those were some crazy times. How does the song go? One toke over the like…..the day of $10 four finger bags of pot. I know the concert was good, remember singing, toking and falling down three flight of stairs without injury. A life time ago but the Eagles music is timeless.  

XO Warrior

 

Hotel California Tour
Hotel California Tour

 

 

November 3, 1976 Ticket price $8.50
November 3, 1976
Ticket price $8.50

 

 

 

Sexual Abuse · Survivor

Hundreds of Thousands RAPE KITS UNTESTED

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END THE BACKLOG

Give closure to Rape victims 

Give jail time to Abuser

What are we saying to victims? Victims are not important?. Raped at 11 & 12 years old, I didn’t tell a soul. My mother would have beat me silly. Some of you will know this first hand. It takes close to six hours to go through the photos, poking, scraping and prodding of a Rape Kit collection. I hear it’s humiliating and you feel violated again. I don’t have many issues that get under my skin, this is the ONE. How did this happen? Over years the kits collected dust stored at local level without a system to retrieve them. The Rape Kits started crowding out the local precinct storage and shipped to storage facilities and forgotten about. In recent years the money for the DNA testing was expensive and budgets were smaller. END THE BACKLOG has moved mountains in a very short time. Please pass the e-mail around and sign up on website. This is my opinion and not endorsed by End The Backlog.

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Dear Friend,

We have heard some exciting news and we wanted you to hear it from us first. We also want to ask for your help advocating for change.

As you know, Joyful Heart is dedicated to ending the rape kit backlog nationwide. Every year, more than 200,000 individuals report their rape to the police. Almost all are asked to have a rape kit collected, a process that can take four to six hours to complete. The potential benefits from this invasive process are enormous: testing of the DNA evidence in a rape kit can identify an unknown perpetrator, confirm the presence of a known assailant, corroborate the victim’s account of the rape and exonerate innocent suspects. To accomplish these things, however, the kits must be tested. In the United States, it is estimated that there are hundreds of thousands of untested rape kits in police storage and crime lab facilities simply waiting to be tested. Untested rape kits represent lost justice for rape victims, as they often mean a rape investigation was cut short before the offender could be brought to justice. Currently, Detroit is working to test more than 11,000 kits that were transferred to a warehouse by the police and left behind, despite significantly limited resources. But we are not in this alone. After meeting with Vice President Joe Biden and Attorney General Eric Holder in March, we have learned that President Obama has identified $20 million in his budget request to Congress to help the Department of Justice address the backlog. At a time of budget cuts across the federal government, this investment shows the significance of our work in shining a light on this important issue. We will continue to work with members of Congress to make sure this funding stays in the final proposals that become law.

To read yesterday’s op-ed from our Founder & President, Mariska Hargitay, and Wayne County Prosecutor Kym Worthy on this important development, visit The Huffington Post.

To learn more about Joyful Heart’s work to end the rape kit backlog, visit http://www.endthebacklog.org.

What you can do:

Call your represetative and senators and let them know that funding the Department of Justice’s efforts to eliminate the rape kit backlog is critical and must be made a priority in this year’s budget. Click here to find contact information for your representative and here to find your senators.

Thank you for your continued support,

SarahTofte
Sarah Tofte
Director of Policy & Advocacy
Joyful Heart Foundation

Alcohol · Bipolar Disorder · Caregiver · Child Abuse · Mental Illness · Moving Forward · Sexual Abuse · Suicide

Stations of the Cross

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On the third day
ON THE THIRD DAY

This post does not preach or try to convert anyone of any religion. It’s the story of my intersection with the Catholic Church at 13 years old. In my recent post “I Almost Killed My Father” I told of spending a year at a Convent for bad girls. It is here I became familiar to the Catholic Religion. Growing up we did not go to church. I would go with any family who would take me. During the first three months in the Convent you were not allowed to go home and had to attend Mass on Sundays. The Mass services were different from anything I had seen before. Being an easily bored teenager prompted me to ask lots of questions. I started going to Mass every morning at 7:00 a.m.to watch the rituals. It was not a religious journey at this time. More of a learning experience and a way to keep me out of trouble. As far back as I can remember my mother told me I was stupid, retarded and had a low IQ. I did not know this was emotional abuse, it was just the norm. My grandparents worked hard to convince me I could do anything I put my mind to. Off track but worth noting, this is where my Miss America story comes from. I loved beauty pageants as a little girl and watched many with my gramps. He said if I want to be Miss America I could. It’s a story you’ll hear again. As it turned out the affirmation stuck. Back on track. Being at the Convent was good for me, I was away from the abuse of both parents. It was the first time my teachers would ask me what I thought. I became a sponge. There were a couple of people on the campus other than the nuns. My counselor was a PhD. in Philosophy, as tall as lurch and I thought he was the smartest person in the world. He saw my interest loaned me books on Philosophy. My mind had cracks open and we would talk about the books for hours at a time. I was in awe, read poetry by people I had not heard of. Philosophy wasn’t in my vocabulary. I started a newspaper for the school, me the kid who wouldn’t amount too much. My grandparents were the only people who gave me positive affirmations. Starved for positive feedback and learning provided a foundation of leadership. Father George spent an hour everyday trying to teach this tone def kid. He smelled like cigarettes and mold. I ask him questions about the church as they came to mind, probably to shorten the lesson. The affirmations about being smart started sinking in. I was given more responsibility and privileges as time went on. The nuns and staff were devout Catholics and would share information if asked. The convent was huge sitting at the top on a large piece of land, it was over 100 years old. I was studying to become a Catholic at this point. My counselor and Father George instructed me. There was a small chapel on the grounds used mostly by the nuns. One afternoon Father George took me to the smaller chapel to learn The Stations of the Cross. We walked around while he told me the story and why it was important.

Looking back it was one of the first decisions I made. I believe the big decision to convert to a Catholic propelled me in an upward motion. I didn’t want to be told how stupid I was ever again. Father George baptized and confirmed me before leaving. My grandparents came to watch. It was a special time for me in many ways I did not know yet. I leave and go to live with my grandparents. I went to church until 19 years old. The service one Sunday talked about adultery. To make sure I heard the priest correctly, I ask him specifically about adultery applying to someone who remarried. I didn’t enter a Catholic Church for over 20 years. Ok, what about the stations of the cross you ask. During a very dark time I started listening to the bible and programs on television. The Stations of the Cross had left my memory a long time ago. I couldn’t recall any of Stations and did a search to read them. The Stations of the Cross is not a Catholic thing, it’s a Jesus thing. I will butcher the correct way to explain but I’ll give it a go. The Stations are twelve significant events starting with Jesus being condemned to death. I was praying all the time for help with my depression. The Ninth Station is when Jesus falls a third time. I thought about it for a long time, then knew I could get up. Nothing magic, it could have been any of them. The Convent provided me a priceless education and the beginning of my life without abuse.

Warrior