* TRIGGER WARNING - GRAPHIC CONTENT - ABUSE - RAPE *
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) from childhood and adult violence. I find it difficult to deal with anxiety and depression unless I'm on medication. They currently have me on Zoloft, and it helps a lot.
I find peace having forgotten a lot of the awful things that were said to me by the perpetrators of violence. Having a sketchy memory is sometimes a curse, like in science and history classes, and sometimes a blessing, when it comes to my family. However, I remember fairly clearly what was done.
My biological mother, Elinore ** was both lucky and unlucky. She escaped the violence of this world when she ran her car into a telephone pole on August 23, 1973. I was three. She died and went up to Heaven when she went through the windshield. God only knows why she wasn't wearing her seatbelt.
This happened within a couple of years after she divorced my biological father, Mike **. He left her to marry our babysitter, Sue **, who was fifteen at the time she started babysitting us. This is only part of his tacky behavior. He was a drug imbibing second-rate musician at the time. Most of my family thinks it's amazing that he completed college with a masters degree in Electrical Engineering. I suppose with all the drugs he was doing, it was quite the accomplishment, after all.
I can only speculate on how he treated my mother, but considering his unwillingness to communicate with or forgive me, I'm sure he was the same with her. My mother did not smoke, and he did. I have no idea if she partook of the drugs my father did. My father loves pornography, and I'm sure that had something to do with the divorce.
After the divorce, my biological mother married Vietnam veteran Steve **. He was not a nice man. He liked to drink and play drums. He used to beat me with a belt for no reason at all. He probably was not just violent with me. He was probably violent with my mother too. I don't remember though.
Steve remarried Peggy after my biological mother's death. Peggy is a Native American buddhist. She does not know which tribe she is from since she is a child of rape. Her biological father never told her white mother what tribe he was from. They both adopted me after my biological mother died. It wasn't long before I started to call her "mom."
The beatings continued. Occasionally Peggy would step in between us and put a stop to it. This was very brave of her, although she hit me too, sometimes. I can't honestly say she hurt me. She used to put Tabasco sauce and soap on my tongue for lying.
Peggy's brother, Jim, is a child molestor. He came over to babysit when I was seven once and he was 18. He french kissed me, which grossed me out at the time. He raped me. He licked my nipples and did everything but penetrate me. He crushed the breath out of me when he laid down on top of me, because I was so small and he was not. He left his sputum in my underwear and on my vagina, and lied to me by saying it came from me. I knew he was lying, even though I had no idea what it was. He babysat me about seven more times after that, and he raped me each time he babysat. Finally, the last time he babysat, I shouted "no!" at him. He offered me a quarter to let him molest me, and I threw it against the wall. The rapes stopped after that and he stopped babysitting me. I think he was afraid I'd tell someone if he didn't quit.
I must have been suffering from paranoia at the time because I really believed my mom, Peggy, put him up to it. I had no name for what he did to me, at the time, and it didn't occur to me to tell my adoptive parents. I didn't trust them. I had no idea what he might've done to the baby, my little brother, and it didn't occur to me to ask. I didn't figure it out till I learned about sexual intercourse in my freshman year of high school. I really wish someone had taught me about child molestation or talked to me about sex before that.
Finally in 1979, Peggy got tired of me allegedly hitting my little brother, Shane. Which he was doing to himself and saying I did it. I also had other emotional problems including rage, which was not violent. I was against violence because of the death of my mother and the violence of my stepfather, Steve. I stopped hanging around other kids in the neighborhood after they stoned a crow to death. They saw me throw one stone at it and they never stopped. She sent me to live with my biological father.
My biological father had never sent me a letter, birthday gifts, Christmas presents or an "I love you." on the phone. But, I went willingly because I knew I had an older brother that I wanted to see. I believed I was just going for a visit, but it was really an adoption. Imagine my surprise when I found out my biological father and his wife were adopting me. I said, "I don't suppose I have a choice," when they asked me, and indeed, I didn't. I was against it because Sue seemed mean and not very compassionate.
This adoption effectively stopped Steve's beatings of me, but I wasn't thankful at first because Sue was handy with a belt, too, and she liked to slap me across the face. She'd also grab me and dig her nails into my arm until she'd draw blood and bruise me around the wounds.
Neither her or my biological father ever told me they loved me or hugged me. They never attended any of my sporting events to cheer me on or anything. They didn't want anything to do with God and openly mocked my requests for love. But I was thankful I no longer had to attend Christian church (Lutheran to be exact) like I had been doing when I lived with Peggy and Steve. I still believed my biological mother was an angel in Heaven.
My biological father kept pornography in the only bathroom in the house we were allowed to use. We were not allowed in my "stepmother's" bathroom, ever. She never turned him in for the drugs either. He put LSD in my older brother, Chris, kool-aid when he was about four years old. He remembers going on the trip. Sue never said one bad word about the pornography to him or anyone else. She was emotionally and psychologically abusive. She made me use OB tampons and go to the gynecologist when I was 16 to get birth control pills.
We also had to do a lot of work around the house with no pay. They never gave us money for anything but lunch at school. We did all the yard work without even a polite thank you. She'd also lock us in the basement when they weren't home and even when they were or we had visitors, we had to stay in the basement. They kept their marijuana upstairs.
I was severly depressed, had really low self esteem and I was suffering from paranoia but they refused to take me to a counselor. I presume because they were afraid I'd turn them in for abuse and neglect. Finally, at 17, I signed up to join the Navy because Sue told me if I didn't join she'd take me to court for being an incorrigible minor and put me in foster care. I had been caught shoplifting and I was afraid of her threat. They put me in the Delayed Entry Program (DEP) until I turned 18 and was legal to join the military.
While in DEP I met Steve **, and he sexually abused and raped me. He pushed sex on me in public bathrooms and at his house. The first time he raped me was when he drove me home from a DEP meeting after I told him I didn't think it was a good idea that we sleep together. I had such low self esteem I didn't expect any better. I put up with it for almost a year because it was better then the rapes I experienced at seven, and I confused this with love. I dumped him because he cheated on me with a girl he met in Guam.
I left home 22 hours before I turned 18 so they couldn't report me as a runaway. I stayed at the Salvation Army until September 21, 1987 when I was shipped off to Orlando, Florida where I went to boot camp.
After boot camp they sent me to the Naval Submarine Base in Groton, Connecticut. I worked in an office for the students of the Naval Submarine School. In February, 1988 I met my ex husband, Donald ** He was a dungeon master of Pallidium games. I though he was smart and creative like me. Shortly after we met, we exchanged poems and started dating. He pushed himself on me in a hotel room. I believed at the time, he had just gotten carried away with passion. He was delusional, he believed in a pantheon of Gods and told me my diety was Baal Gortha. He believed he was some sort of wizard. I believe he was talking about devil worship now, because he tried to summon a demon once when we were together. He got out on a mental health discharge.
I got out on April 17, 1989 after I told them about the pot I smoked in DEP. I did not tell them it was my father's pot. I had discovered his stash. This lead to my discharge, as I knew it would. I was frustrated with not being allowed to go to a school, the rules, and depression. I moved out to Ferndale, Washington to be with Don, who I believed loved me, because he said he did. We moved in with his father, who he had said raped little girls right in front of him. I allowed his sexual abuse to continue. He pushed anal sex on me many times. He also pushed LSD on me. He loved pornography, not me. We had a daughter in 1990, and I gave her up for adoption because I didn't trust him with a baby. He pushed me up against the stove once and threatened to punch me once. He obsessed about me, calling hospitals and police if I was a little late. He threatened to destroy my stuff. The only way I could figure to get out of it was to push marraige on him, so we got married on April 19, 1991. He raped me because I told him I didn't want to and he kept insisting we had to consummate the marraige. We moved shortly after the marraige and I forgot the top of the wedding cake in the freezer of the old house. He finally asked me for a divorce on July 9, 1991 (One year and a day after the birth of our daughter) and we separated. I did not get my divorce until 1995.
For a long time I suffered from major depression and the anxiety that comes with PTSD. I also felt a learned helplessness and a lack of self respect that took years to overcome. I drifted in and out of sexually abusive relationships, leaving when I felt I had killed whatever interest these men had in me to begin with. Depression and anxiety kept interfering with my work life and I had a history of absenteeism from calling in sick, except when I worked as an Assistant Head Housekeeper at Park Motel in Bellingham, Washington. I worked at that job until they dissolved the position. I didn't feel good at a job until college where I worked as a writing and math tutor. I started college in 1992, graduated community college in 1994 and attended the university in 1995.
College was good for my self esteem. So was Wicca. But I kept running into men who'd push anal sex on me. Although nobody really beat me up until I met David *** who was a cross dresser, an artist and a pot head. He threw me on the ground, pushed me down and broke my things on purpose. Apparently he had bipolar too. I interfered with him and his ex-girlfriend Autumn. I was "the other woman." I'm still not sorry I broke up that relationship.
I finally dropped out of college in 1995 because of paranoia and a rape that happened in the computer lounge I always used. Shortly after this I went on a spiritual journey. Somewhere in California, I met some Native American men in a cafe. I went to their house because I wanted to tell them about the relocation of the Navajo in Arizona. Three of them raped me, and a fourth, a half breed (for lack of a better term) punched me six times in the head. I hit him with a kitchen chair and threatened to poke out his eyes. He stopped then. I said "I'm leaving your house now." I reported it, and because I wouldn't let them pull out my pubic hairs, nothing was done about it.
In 1995 some time I went back to Verona, Wisconsin where my biological father lived and paid him a visit at work. It was the first and last time I ever gave him a hug. He put his hand on my rear end.
In 1997, I was being stalked by John **, a convicted rapist. He had been a friend at the time of his date rape. He had sex with all my friends and then pushed sex on me. He kept calling even though I asked him to stop. He wrote me nasty letters. He fathered my youngest daughter after he pushed sex on me. I could not get a restraining order even though he was convicted of rape. In 1997, my schizophrenia became full-blown. I gave birth to my youngest daughter. I ran, on foot, away from John *** a crack addict karaoke singer, and hitchhiked. I was really paranoid and lost in delusions. I was out of my head when they took my daughter away from me in Missoula, Montana. I tried suicide that night because of depression and schizophrenia. I was institutionalized at St. Patricks hospital for several weeks. I had them send me back to Bellingham, Washington.
They put my daughter in foster care. I lost all hope of getting her back when CPS and the courts gave John **nsupervised visits, refused to drug test or treat him, believe me about him, and wrote nine paragraphs against me and one against him. I gave her up for adoption to the foster family to keep her away from John ** and his father, Max **, a child molestor who molested the daughter of two friends of mine. After this I lost my housing and ended up homeless until 2002 when I finally got treatment for both schizophrenia and PTSD.
Only one guy beat me up during my stint as a homeless woman. This was at the Greyhound bus station in Seattle, Washington. He worked behind the counter. He tried to lock the bathroom door and almost shut the door on my arm. My arm was in the way because there were older women there and I tried to prevent him locking the bathroom door. He shut the door anyway and I slapped him. He threw me outside. I got back up and went inside. This time when he threw me, I landed on my head. The police charged me with assault, and I spent a month in jail before the judge threw the case out of court. He was a mulatto, and I don't know his name. This was in 1998. Although I spent most of my time in California, where it was warm and dry, I travelled all over the country. I rarely stayed in one place long enough to be found by any person who'd prey on the homeless. I was scared of stalkers. Nobody in my family, except my older brother, Chris, offered me shelter or money.
For a long time I could not handle being in crowded places or sitting with my back to an open room. But I took example from Peggy, and stepped in wherever I saw abuse going on. That helped my self esteem a lot.
Now, I see a light at the end of that tunnel and I'm sure it's not a "freight train coming my way." (to quote Metallica). I'm sure now there is such a thing as love and God and that I will find justice. Jim, the man who raped me at seven, got away with raping my cousin, too. He only got probation for that. I pray that next time he gets caught raping a child, he will get sent to prison for life.
That is my story. Thank you for listening.
October 8, 2006