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

April 29, 2024April 29, 2024 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.

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

Abuse · Anxiety · Children · Depression · Domestic Violence · Health and Wellbeing · Mental Health · Suicide · Survivor · Therapy

How Does Domestic Violence Turn To Murder/Suicide?

April 14, 2024April 14, 2024 Looking for the Light30 Comments

Last week a murder-suicide happened in the neighborhood, the house behind us. I was very ill and on pain meds, my husband shielded me from conversations with the Police and the family. I felt the pain of my father’s suicide but quickly focused on the kids in our house.

The father had been released from jail for domestic violence, but he first stopped to buy a gun, then went home, killing his wife and himself in front of the kids.

My husband came upstairs saying two kids were downstairs, they thought the father killed their mother. I went down to get water and speak to the kids, nothing heavy, a half hug. The kids were 8,10,17 years old. My heart was breaking for them and their future pain. I offered some snacks and went back upstairs. By now there are 4 to 6 Police in the house. One said the 17-year-old ran out of the house when he heard the shot, and police were surrounding the house. The police knocked on the family’s door and he shot himself as they entered the house.

Both parents are dead. How do tell three kids their parents are dead. Your father killed your mother and then himself. Several officers were fighting back tears. I lost my breath thinking of the kid’s future. The girl called family members, they were on the way to our house.

Once the family arrived, a few facts came out. The parents had been separated for some time. He was in jail for Domestic Violence. His mother bailed him out and he went straight home. She was helping a son she loved, chances are violence never crossed her mind.

The Police took the kids and family to Advocacy Center. The center can start therapy and offer help from trained professionals.

After 11:00 a.m. two guys looking professional were talking to a neighbor. I went over to see if I could help. I didn’t know they were reporters. I shared how little I know. They wanted to do an interview, right or wrong I did. I could only say over and over, that my heart breaks for the three kids, they don’t understand, they’re in shock and they have no parents.

I ask God to carry the three kids in your hand, help them through the shock, and cradle them when they need you most. The traumatized kids will need help coping with the unbearable pain and need help working through trauma which can take years.

Xx M

Repost from 2016.

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

Survivor & So Much More First Posted 4/21/2014

March 12, 2024March 12, 2024 Looking for the Light10 Comments

I am alive, happy, productive and helping other Survivors. Very Blessed. My childhood and teenage years where so difficult I truly believed suicide was the only answer. My first attempt was at 9 years old, I took all the pills in my dad’s medicine cabinet. I got a buzz then my stomach pumped. Suicide was always on my mind since the abuse was everyday. If it wasn’t physical abuse, it was constant mental abuse by my mother. At the same time I saw my mother physically and emotionally abused by my alcoholic stepfather.

At 13 years old I left my abusive life behind. It sounds great but you are so wounded you don’t want to look anyone in the eye, they may hit you or call you names. My mind stripped down and filled with trash, my mother took every drop of confidence I had. Over time my confidence grew and I started building who I am today. I did get called names and had a couple good fights . Sounds like any teenager trying spread their wings.

I have many unresolved emotions, responses and fears. Who doesn’t? What I can say for sure, I’m a survivor and so much more. Survivors have to dig really deep after being kicked down. It took years for me to discover what I liked and longer to get over my fear of failure.

My mother told me I was stupid all the time. I know better when I look at the books I’ve read. I do research on the internet and find internal medical presentations. Last week was a 155-page presentation by the FDA on ECT to the medical community. I didn’t just find it, I understood entirely and told my husband about it. I’m not stupid.

I love art, music, photography, interior design, ancient history and archeology. At the height of my career, I earned over 300K a year, #1 in the sales force. I can grow beautiful roses, and collect antique cameras. I love travel and went to Russia by myself. I’m not stupid.

I’ve had over 20 ECT Treatments while battling the Black Dog, married three times, and started drinking at 9 years old. I’ve made plenty of mistakes while building the person I am today at 50 years old. I’m a survivor and so much more.

I am not stupid!

Warrior

Alcohol · Caregiver · Child Abuse · Mental Illness · Moving Forward · Suicide · Survivor

(Repost) Nine Year Old Living In Hell

March 11, 2024March 12, 2024 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

Abuse · Bipolar Disorder · Child Abuse · Children · Domestic Violence · Suicide

Reposted *D I V O R C E

February 15, 2024February 15, 2024 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

Alcohol · Bipolar Disorder · Child Abuse · Domestic Violence · Men & Womens Health · Mental Illness · Parental Abuse · Sexual Abuse · Suicide · Survivor · Therapy

Post From 2014-About Looking For The Light Blog

December 26, 2023December 26, 2023 Looking for the Light9 Comments

My mother, stepfather, and father abused me until I was a teenager. All the scars hurt particularly of my father who sexually abused me. It’s hard to wrap your head around sexual abuse. My father committed suicide in 1992. It was an extremely difficult time, my grandmother never recovered he was her only child. In my father’s suicide note, he wanted me to take care of all the details. Estranged for years but the heart still breaks. Because of how he killed himself, we had to have a closed-casket funeral. It’s very hard to reconcile death when you can’t see them. I gave the eulogy however I don’t remember.

I struggle with Treatment-Resistant Bipolar Disorder and the anxiety it brings. I was diagnosed at 19 years old struggling for years without medication or over medicated. In 2005 I had the Vagus Nerve Stimulator implanted. The device sends electrical signals to the brain to increase Serotonin. I have taken over 40 prescriptions or protocals. Some worked for a while then you have to try another mix. I thought the VNS device would keep me on the rails. Naïve thinking on my part. I was not as lucky as many in the FDA clinical trial. I realized the device was like any other prescription and it was another that didn’t work.

I’m 50 years old, and the Black Dog drags me down deeper as I age. I’m alive with the help of God, my Husband, my Therapist, and my Psychiatrist. I’m blessed with a husband that won’t give up. It takes a village.

I hope we can build a resource for all including the ones who love us. Please leave your thoughts in the comment section. Your thoughts help make me a better person and blogger.

Warrior

Bipolar Disorder · Child Abuse · Family · Men & Womens Health · Mental Illness · Parental Abuse · Rape · Suicide · Survivor

Repost From 2015-Guilt is the Shadow in the Mirror

November 5, 2023November 5, 2023 Looking for the Light22 Comments

All Gramps said is your daddy has done away with himself. I screamed then said I’m on the way. Calling right back to ask were they sure he’s dead? Yes. I think years of abuse left a permanent hole in my heart. I go there to do actions requiring no emotions. It’s like autopilot, it has served me well. I started to think about work, and who I needed to call. I’m driving with emergency lights on going at 100 mph calling my work team. I stayed on autopilot until I pulled up to my grandparents.

Estranged since I was a teen, I thought it odd when he started calling. He sounded delusional and extremely paranoid. Nothing made sense, he was not talking in sentences. I pieced together he didn’t have any money and couldn’t work. Why he could not work must have come from the madness.

I would do anything to avoid my granny being hurt. I paid his bills. Over the next several months the phone calls were my hell on earth. He would threaten to kill himself then go off on what didn’t sound like words. I couldn’t make out anything he was saying as he yelled on the phone. I would keep trying to redirect him back to our conversation. I did not tell anyone what Daddy said. He was mentally ill. It had been years since we talked, maybe this was his norm. I didn’t know.

Everyone was sitting on the floor when I entered the door. The first words out of my mouth were “he told me”. I felt overwhelming guilt, I let my family down. I knew it wasn’t logical but emotions rarely are. My mind scrambled, my father sexually abused me and I’m feeling guilty. I forgave my father, cut him out of my life, paid bills, and felt guilty.

My grandparents and I went to Daddy’s the next morning. The disarray would alert anyone that something was wrong. On his coffee table, his lockbox was open with every card I had given him, every school photo. The divorce paperwork to my mother laid on the table, his Bible open to Job. You could see tear stains on the pages. The house had papers scattered everywhere, dishes piled up, and everything thrown around. My father had reached the bottom long ago and no one knew.

I found a shoebox full of cassette tapes from recorded phone conversations. It took seven months to listen to every tape. I would have a couple of drinks, listen and cry. Like a tornado in my head, being in the house my sexual abuse took place, Daddy putting 357 mags to my head, being a drug addict, and my boyfriend and I planning how to kill my father. These are the times the hole in my heart is useful. Granny didn’t know about the abuse and went to her grave not knowing. To help my granny cope, I would not cry or show emotion around her. I wanted to piece her heart back together. Holding emotions inside extended my grieving process a long seven years.

A couple of weeks later the morgue called asking me to pick up the gun. I rang the side doorbell, and someone brought the original suicide note, autopsy report, and gun with dried blood. My mind could not prepare for reading the autopsy report. Every detail of how he shot himself. The trajectory of the bullet, lobes damaged, bones crushed, and exit wounds.

I believe my father died so I could live. Learning about his mental illness pointed me to my own. Through Ancestry, I connected with Daddy’s half-brother and several family members. There were over ten suicides in only three generations and many now with severe mental illness.

Daddy

1940-1992

Melinda

Bipolar Disorder · Family · Health and Wellbeing · Men & Womens Health · Mental Health · Mental Illness · Suicide · Survivor

Guilt is the Shadow in the Mirror

May 25, 2022 Looking for the Light3 Comments

May is Mental Health Awareness month and I wanted to share a post written in 2015. Suicide is one of the reasons we need awareness, it can happen to anyone, with or without notice.

All he said is your daddy has done away with himself. I screamed then said I’m on the way. Calling right back to ask were they sure he was dead? Yes. I think years of abuse left a permanent hole in my heart. I go there to do actions requiring no emotions. It’s like autopilot, it has served me well. I started to think about work, and who I needed to call. I’m driving with emergency lights on going 100 mph calling my work team. I stayed on autopilot until I pulled up to my grandparents.

Estranged since a teen, I thought it odd when he started calling. He sounded delusional and extremely paranoid. Nothing made sense, he was not talking in sentences. I pieced together he didn’t have any money and couldn’t work. Why he could not work must have come from the madness.

I would do anything to avoid my granny being hurt. I paid his bills. Over the next several months the phone calls were my hell on earth. He would threaten to kill himself and then go off on what didn’t sound like words. I couldn’t make out anything he was saying as he yelled on the phone. I would keep trying to redirect him back to our conversation. I did not tell anyone what daddy said. He was mentally ill. It had been years since we talked, maybe this was his norm. I didn’t know.

Everyone sitting on the floor when I entered the door. The first words out of my mouth were what he told me. I felt overwhelming guilt, I let my family down. I knew it wasn’t logical but emotions rarely are. My mind scrambled, my father sexually abused me and I’m feeling guilty. I forgave my father, cut him out of my life, paid bills, and feel guilty.

My grandparents and I went to daddy’s the next morning. The disarray would alert anyone that something was wrong. On his coffee table, his lockbox opened with every card I had ever given him, every school photo. The divorce paperwork to my mother laid on the table, his bible open to Job. You could see tear stains on the pages. The house had papers scattered everywhere, dishes piled up, and everything was thrown around. My father had reached the bottom long ago and no one knew.

I found a shoebox full of cassette tapes from recorded phone conversations. It took seven months to listen to every tape. I would have a couple of drinks, listen and cry. Like a tornado in my head, being in the house my sexual abuse took place, daddy putting 357 mag to my head, being a drug addict, and my boyfriend and I planning how to kill my father. These are the times the hole in my heart is useful. Granny didn’t know about the abuse and went to her grave not knowing. To help my granny cope, I would not cry or show emotion around her. I wanted to piece her heart back together. Holding emotions inside extended my grieving process for a long seven years.

A couple of weeks later the morgue called asking me to pick up the gun. Ring the side doorbell, someone brought the original suicide note, autopsy report, and gun with dried blood. My mind could not prepare for reading the autopsy report. Every detail of how he shot himself. The trajectory of bullets, lobes damaged, bones crushed, and exit wounds.

I believe my father died so I could live. Learning about his mental illness pointed me to my own. Thru ancestry, I connected with daddy’s half-brother and several family members. There were over ten suicides in only three generations and many are now with severe mental illness.

Daddy

1940-1992

Melinda

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

Daddy was 52 on 2/22/1992

May 29, 2021 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 · Bipolar Disorder · Child Abuse · Depression · Mental Health · Mental Illness · Parental Abuse · PTSD

Running to Stand Still

May 29, 2021 Looking for the Light1 Comment

May is Mental Health Awareness Month and I wanted to shine a light on my own mental health struggles. I believe trauma in our early years greatly impacts our mental health. I got the short in the the stick as they say and I’m so glad to have had the right people in my life and the will to fight to get where I am today.

I have Bipolar Disorder on top of trauma related PTSD but today I’m stable. take my meds 99% of the time, keep a schedule, work hard to reduce stress in my life since that is one of the big triggers with my Bipolar Disorder.

I want to say to anyone out there who is struggling, do something. Anything, a step forward is a step forward. If you are at the bottom barely hanging on, check yourself in to a Psychiatric Hospital and ge the help you need. There is no shame, NO SHAME! I’ve been hospitalized several times and I’m alive today.

If you want to live and don’t know who, reach out to someone. Call 911 if you have to, go to the hospital, do something. Your life is important!

Original post from 3/2014

The song “Running to Stand Still” by U2 pierced my soul. I can’t explain the feeling. It describes my life in four simple words. I have fought most of my life to stay alive, many of my own bad choices. In the early sixties, my parents met at a party. I don’t know if they dated or a one-night stand. At 17 years old she was pregnant and engaged to another man. Women didn’t have the voice we do today so it was a shot-gun wedding. I don’t know what baggage she brought to the relationship. I know both of her parents were alcoholics. I believe one issue was the two kids with picket fence fantasy and displaced anger. I was physically and mentally abused by my mother from birth. We lived in a two-story duplex. One afternoon my grandparents came over. My grandmother learned my mother had left me upstairs in the bathtub at six months old. On another visit in the middle of winter, they found me in a diaper, my high chair pushed up to an open window. I was running a fever and was crying. She opened the window because I was hot. I was not physically able to run but believe my mind started running early. Running from the pain, feeling unloved, lack of trust, and believed the terrible things said to me were true. It’s been a long journey to learn who I am. Most days I think positive, keep the pain locked away and maneuver my Bipolar Disorder. I buried the past for survival and to move forward. I’ve learned from years of therapy, pain finds you or affects your health. Both have found me, we work on my inner child each session.

M/Warrior

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

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

October 15, 2019February 18, 2024 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

Bullying · Suicide

Where Do You Turn When Teacher is Bullying

September 27, 2019 Looking for the Light7 Comments

This is a repost from 2014, the point is schools have gone from sending notes about children being overweight to lunch shaming. I look back at my childhood, kids were bullied by other kids if they had a lunch coupon. I didn’t understand the problem then and certainly find it unacceptable this is happening by school staff today.

Melinda

Monday, May 26, 2014

Mom Upset That 9-Year-Old Girl Brought “Overweight” Notice Home From School

Great video, please see the kids reaction to letter.

http://www.nbcnewyork.com/video/#!/on-air/as-seen-on/Mom-Upset-That-9-Year-Old-Girl-Brought-Overweight-Notice-Home-From-School/260472731

The mother of a third-grade girl says she’s upset that the city Department of Education sent home a health assessment in her daughter’s book bag that categorizes the 9-year-old as “overweight.” Roseanne Colletti reports. Each year, 870,000 New York City public school students in kindergarten through grade 12 are handed their Fitnessgram assessments and told to bring them home without peeking inside.

Laura Bruij Williams says her daughter, Gwendolyn Williams, looked at hers, and asked her about it one night while getting ready for bed at their Staten Island home. Gwendolyn is 4 feet 1 inch tall and weighs 66 pounds.
The analysis said her Body Mass Index is “overweight.” “She said ‘Mom, school told me that I’m overweight,'” Williams told NBC 4 New York. “I was very angry and upset because I don’t want this to be the kind of thing that sticks with her.”

The Department of Education says the assessments are “based on whether an individual student is in the Healthy Fitness Zone for their age and sex.” They are supposed to be sealed and given to parents only, so that the adults can start conversations with their kids about good eating habits and exercise. Williams, who says her daughter is active and healthy, said she would have preferred the assessment be given directly to parents so that children aren’t even tempted to look. She said a friend of Gwendolyn’s was in tears about her assessment. “I think they should be sent to parents, mailed home or have them finished for conferences,” Williams said.

Sometimes we think magazines and media portraying extremely thin girls and women result in body image issues. I have not seen any studies yet know first hand how it feels to have a warped sense of your body. I had unhealthy body image issues by fifth grade and dreaded P.E. class. I was probably 10 pounds under weight but wanted to look like my Farrah poster. I would not take part in sports because I imagined how fat I looked in the short shorts running track or playing basketball. I think most teacher’s understand the pressure on all kids today. This school and Teacher became part of the problem. Talk to the school Principle and Teacher to discuss their process for communicating with parents. If you feel the process it lacking or potentially harmful to your child let them know. Then write a letter to School Board addressing concerns. I would be the soft-spoken mother who loses it, the school is bullying the kids and parents. The scars on the kids that can last a lifetime. Not all parents would recognize weight issues that young and could miss an opportunity to save their kids and themselves much grief. You pay taxes for your child’s education, speak up and hold school accountable.

Warrior

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

Survivor & So Much More First Posted 4/21/2014

May 14, 2019 Looking for the Light14 Comments

I am alive, happy, productive and helping other Survivors. I’m very blessed.

My childhood and teenage years were so difficult I truly believed suicide was the only answer. My first attempt was at 9 years old, I took all the pills in my dad’s medicine cabinet. I got a buzz then my stomach pumped. Suicide was always on my mind since the abuse was every day. If it wasn’t physical abuse, it was constant mental abuse by my mother. At the same time, I saw my mother physically and emotionally abused by my alcoholic stepfather.

At 13 years old I left my abusive life behind. It sounds great but you are so wounded you don’t want to look anyone in the eye, they may hit you or call you names. My mind stripped down and filled with trash, my mother took every drop of confidence I had. Over time my confidence grew and I started building who I am today. I did get called names and had a couple good fights. Sounds like any teenager trying to spread their wings.

I have many unresolved emotions, responses, and fears. Who doesn’t? What I can say for sure, I’m a survivor and so much more. Survivors have to dig really deep after being kicked down. It took years for me to discover what I liked and longer to get over my fear of failure.

My mother told me I was stupid all the time. I know better when I look at the books I’ve read. I do research on the internet and find internal Medical presentations. Last week was a 155 page presentation by the FDA on ECT to the medical community. I didn’t just find it, I understood entirely and told my husband about it. I’m not stupid.

I love art, music, photography, interior design, ancient history, and archeology. At the height of my career, I earned over 300K a year, #1 on the sales force. I can grow beautiful roses, collect antique cameras. I love to travel and went to Russia by myself. I’m not stupid.

I’ve had over 20 ECT Treatments while battling the Black Dog, married three times and started drinking at 9 years old. I’ve made plenty of mistakes while building the person I am today at 50 years old. I’m a survivor and so much more.

Warrior

Anxiety · Bipolar Disorder · Chronic Illness · Chronic Lyme Disease · Chronic Pain · Fibromyalgia · Mental Illness · Moving Forward · Travel

Hypo-Mania Allowed Me To Travel

June 14, 2017April 9, 2022 Looking for the Light13 Comments

The post is from the archives, written in 19XX, and cleaned a bit. I’m depressed today partly due to exhaustion from Restless Leg which returned three weeks ago, which doesn’t help my mood. Chronic Lyme Disease took my memory, stress, pain, and on and on. My brain gave parts of it back with holes, today it’s gone again. I’m rambling….the reason? I’m lost again and used the WordPress Copy a Post Function for the first time. I can’t tell you the year it was written or if the WordPress Copy Function and my brain are on the same page.

I love to travel, and my goal is to see the world. Bipolar Disorder can dictate your life. The high side is dangerous for me. Life is great, who needs sleep? Not recognizing my Hypo-Mania can make it possible. The titter totter of Bipolar is balance. One side can suffocate you in hell, the other side is suffocating without you knowing there is always a fall.

I was an Executive Sales person, number one in the company, and making big bucks, I felt so lucky that Hypo-Mania stayed for 10 years. Looking back at the scars remember the higher you go the harder you fall. I lived in hell, thought I can cover this up, when I fell it was like dominoes tipping the next.

I went to Russia by myself, traveled with my friends to France and the Caribbean, a girl trip several times a year. My doctor told me the higher you go the harder you fall. I didn’t want to give up the person I was.

The fall began slowly. I got fired from my job, blew though my savings, we’re talking half million and filled for bankruptcy. Did I mention a divorce and building a new house. I lost everything.

What I lost was not worth the high. All the negative thoughts came back. My life is not as exciting, anxiety kept me in the house. Most days didn’t get of bed, used every excuse to cover my absents.

I’ve been suicidal many times, leading me to Psychiatric Hospital to save myself. Having 20 ECT treatments in the past 10 years is not an achievement. A Vagus Nerve Stimulator was implanted in my chest. I thought the newly approved FDA device was my chance, to leave my world behind. Well no.

The thing about research is moving forward. The brain doesn’t have a road map, navigation center, or instruction manual. Medicine and technology will take us closer to managing our lives.

My husband understands most of what he’s seen. The brain is a fascinating question mark?

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

May 31, 2017June 2, 2017 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

Freedom of Speech · Moving Forward · PTSD · Suicide · Survivor · Therapy

I Salute Men & Women fighting in Combat & War on Homefront- Today & Yesterday for American Freedom

May 26, 2017May 30, 2017 Looking for the Light1 Comment

Home of the Free

Sending prayers to family and friends for their loss of loved ones serving the Military.Daily I’m reminded of the sacrifices made to defend the freedoms we enjoy today in America. I pray every soldier comes home soon.

Gramps, I’ll never forget the sacrifices you made to win WWII. I love you.

Xx M

**Protecting our ports after Pearl Harbor.**

Advocacy · Moving Forward · PTSD · Suicide

Report: Majority of military misconduct dismissals linked to brain injury, mental health

May 16, 2017 Looking for the Light8 Comments

Mem and Women have given their lives since we landed in the country, we called America. Enlisting to fight for freedom, they knew the cost and it’s not free. With technology, our government is paying for state of the art equipment to protect and defend. The highest ranks of Military Officials lied to every Soldier enlisted the Military will take care of your health whatever it takes.

No war is pretty, nor free, every war comes advances in technology. International Relations is not looking good for America. The numbers of enemies are growing. The past several weeks North Korea is testing bombs and making threats against American. We can’t fight every country who hates America. Who is standing by our side and ready to fight if needed.

If we are to remain a free country, the Military needs to quit playing games and using dishonorable discharge for PTSD, Brain Injuries, Mental Illness, the list goes on as you will see in the video.

From the President, Chief of Staff and Military decision makers to take away the right to health is the least our government owes them. If you are dishonorably discharged you loose your benefits. The White House and Military are responsible for this horrific treatment of PTSD, Brain Injury and Mental Illness if they don’t fit another category.

Our government has to live with every suicide. Suicide which leaves widows, children left without a mom or dad. Mothers, Fathers, extended family and church family.

Our government lies to get what it needs and change the terms to suit them. This is not a government I have faith in and my naive blinders are off. The public does not serve our government, we vote on the bullshit theme of a campaign which is rarely delivered once voted in.

THE AMERICAN GOVERNMENT SERVES THE PUBLIC, NOT VICE VERSA.

Please reblog to everyone who will or may care about the abuse of Military Soldiers.

US Military not keeping their promise

Advocacy · Bullying · Moving Forward · Suicide

Texas Senate passes anti-cyberbullying bill David’s Law 31-0

May 13, 2017 Looking for the Light3 Comments

SB 179 is, also known as David’s Law named for David Molak, a local student who took his own life at just 16 years old. His family says he was tortured by cyber bullies from Alamo Heights High School.

AUSTIN – It was unanimous.

The Texas Senate voted 31-0 to approve SB 179, legislation that will crack down on online bullying in state schools.

http://news4sanantonio.com/news/local/texas-senate-passes-davids-law-anti-cyberbullying-bill-31-0

Xx M

Bipolar Disorder · Depression · Men & Womens Health · Mental Illness · Survivor

How to participate once diagnosed with a Mental Illness

March 30, 2016 Looking for the Light22 Comments

Years after my diagnoses with Bipolar Disease. I thought it was time to participate in my medical care. To understand layman’s terms, what to expect and when to call doctor. Getting on the same page as you learn doctor speak and how they hear.

A proficient Psychiatrist with a background helping Mentally Ill patients. Please save your time and money going to General Doctor. Most are not versed in how drugs work together or not. Psychiatrist understand drugs, spend more time to make diagnoses and discuss the drugs to help.

A Therapist, my foundation in healing. The key to healing is understanding yourself. They can help take the weight you’re carrying around.

Don’t stop taking your medication. Medications cause side effects, the drugs you buy at CVS have side effects. Every drug has side effects. It may take 6-8 weeks for the medicine to level off. If you want to change a drug in a week, please understand, there are no short cuts. Short cuts not only prolong the treatment and can be dangerous. If you’re determined to stop medicine, Call your doctor first! If you become delusional, psychotic or determined to hurt yourself go to local hospital.

Keep a journal to document the changes in mood. Keeping a log helped my doctor see my mood was cycling. A medication change was needed.

There are many ideas on how people were helped or not by medicine. I will admit a couple of times a new drug to current mix sent me reeling. I am always on the internet reading about each drug especially now with Lyme medications. I’m sharing my experiences in hopes of helping someone.

🙂

Abuse · Advocacy · Bipolar Disorder · Caregiver · Child Abuse · Domestic Violence

Reckless, When I didn’t deserve it God held my hand

February 26, 2016 Looking for the Light3 Comments

The honest lyrics describe me, no others words needed. God had his hand on me. Tomorrow I’ll believe. Having a bad ME day.

Sending love to you this weekend. Xx M

Bipolar Disorder · Child Abuse · Sexual Abuse · Suicide · Survivor · Therapy

What’s Love Got To Do With It?

February 21, 2016February 21, 2016 Looking for the Light23 Comments

Original post 5/2014

We do things for people we love not for those who do not deserve love.

I woke today with a tug, my introspective mood. I save difficult post for days like this. It’s not depression or sadness more logical than emotional. Dissociation is a conversation my therapist and I have talked about for 15 years. When I talk about child abuse at the hands of my mother and stepfather my mood is flat.

One of the ways I survived was putting each memory in a box to deal with later. After awhile some memories fade. Other’s are yearly reminders. My mother still sends Birthday and Christmas cards. About 15 years ago she sent a Birthday card triggering the last blow. She basically said “I’m not the only person with problems get over it.” Nothing ever changes, everything is about her. I had not thought about my mother yet would send thank you notes for Christmas gifts.

I didn’t think about it, just on auto pilot. This Birthday card was different, it pissed me off almost to almost losing it which I rarely do. I took the card to my next therapy appointment. I sit down and Diane knew something was very wrong. I handed her the card and the inscription written in the book. Diane was a cool therapist, she knew me well. She could tell the anger was building and ask what was my next step. I throw them in trash and send her a thank you card.

She pulled my reins in and asked why I would thank my Mother for kicking me in the gut. She helped me see I was being polite, acting the way my grandparents taught me. Diane turned around throwing them in trash saying my mother didn’t deserve me. Did I want to send a card? Was I doing the expected? I realized two things: I would no longer have contact with my mother, not open the cards, throw them with the $25 check in the trash. She helped me see I was in my own chains.

I felt much lighter after making that decision. The other lesson learned: I’m not flying auto pilot anymore. I thought about the waisted energy and looked forward to my liberated self. I didn’t have any contact with her again until my brother’s wedding. Years had past, the older me asked, I would not look back and know I missed his wedding because of her. It was uncomfortable seeing my other grandmother and her. I answered the obligatory “fine” then turned my chair so she could see my back. It sent the message, I was not interested in talking. Flash forward to May 22, 2014. Karma. My mother told me at least once a day how stupid I was. I laughed when I receive notice my Andy Warhol “So Smart” shipped today.

My father sexually abused me, estranged from the age of 14. We saw each other some holiday gathers. My father was belligerent, anything could push him to out of control crazy. He would get so worked up, my grandmother would tell him to go outside. The smallest detail could get him to a point of making him sick.

I now realize this behavior was part of his mental illness. He was my grandmother’s only child, in many ways she still treated him like a child. I didn’t learn how sick my father was until he committed suicide in 1992. Ten years before his death, one of his roommate’s committed suicide in the bedroom he rented with my dads gun.

My dad was distraught and my grandmother didn’t want him to clean the room. She called me at work to tell me what happened and they were going over. Here is where the two situations are dramatically different. Horrified at the thought of my grandmother cleaning up the blood. I said I would meet them there. My grandfather tried to redirect my father’s thoughts. We cleaned and packed his room for family.

Cleaning after a suicide brings many emotions out. My grandmother and I worked without talking, it didn’t occur to me that he could have HIV/AIDS. It was a couple of days when my brain thawed, the question crossed my mind. My grandmother cleaned houses to have money, She wanted me to have nicer clothes for school. She knew how to clean anything from house cleaning.

We had to decide what to do with the mattress. Answer’s don’t roll out to questions like this. We could not leave it in the house, my grandfather took the blood soaked mattress to the curb for city to pick up. The image of neighborhood kids playing seeing the blood, ate at me but I had bigger things to do. I brought black trash bags in for his belongings. It was difficult going thru his dresser, I found 14 pennies which took my mind to a dark place. This person was alive yesterday and today his parents are picking up three trash bags, all their son owned. I fixated on the 14 pennies. He didn’t have any money in wallet, was 14 pennies what it came to? Is all that’s left of this person’s life, three trash bags? The thought of handing trash bags to his parents bothered me for days. Was this it? Someone’s life could come down to three trash bags.

I thought about how any times I attempted suicide. My mind switched to what I would leave behind. I don’t want my family to see? After the brain thawed, I started going thru my house throwing items in the trash. Mainly my journals, my grandparents did not know about the sexual abuse and they would go to their graves not knowing.

For a time I was outside of my body, the only way to describe is dissociation. I knew if my grandmother knew it would upset her. The same way we dealt with my father’s death. I believe this is one of the reason it took me 7 years to grieve before packing the feelings away.

I realized this was unconditional love coming from me. Arriving at the house after my father shot himself, I wanted to see the bathroom. In the bathroom was proof he is dead. I knew having a closed casket would cause my grandmother more pain than I could understand. Thinking I could handle anything, same as today. I’d planned to tell her I forgot something once we got outside. Then open the bathroom. She was to smart for that, she said if you’re going in I’m going with you. There was no way I would let her in the bathroom. I think any parent would break beyond repair seeing their childs brains on the wall. My love for my grandmother came before my wish. I knew it would be difficult to reconcile death with a closed casket.

I stopped by after work to get her mind on something else. It didn’t make it less painful just a reprieve from the pain. I never let her see me cry or it would set her off. The long grieving process was in part due to pushing feelings down for my grandmother.

Some people never give or get unconditional love. I’m blessed with unconditional love with my grandparents. With anyone. Love has everything to do with it.

Warrior

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

Good Times Gone Bad

February 21, 2016June 5, 2017 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 · Bipolar Disorder · Child Abuse · Mental Illness · Rape · Sexual Abuse · Suicide

Do you know me at all?

February 21, 2016February 22, 2016 Looking for the Light4 Comments

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*

February 21, 2016January 10, 2017 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.

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.

XO Warrior

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

I almost Killed my Father

February 21, 2016February 21, 2016 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