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[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'][/FONT][FONT='Times New Roman','serif'][FONT='Times New Roman','serif']From the outside looking in my family seems pretty normal. My two boys and I enjoy the same activities as any other American family. We attend Church, have a cute little house in town, own an SUV and have two great cats. One would never suspect that I was physically and sexually abused and neglected as a child or a victim of incest. No one would guess that as an adult, I have overcome a horrific divorce, domestic violence, kidnapping, and rape.[/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif']Right now your reaction is one of shock or surprise, one of suspicion and disbelief. You’re thinking to yourself, this woman has been watching too many Lifetime movies or that it’s all made up. I don’t share my story often, but when I do, I always get the same reaction. Most people begin distancing themselves from me after I share my story. Either way, all of what I am about you is the truth. There are many other people out there who have suffered similar difficulties as the ones I am about to share. My hope is that I can reach someone else who is suffering or hiding behind a mask like me. A smile that tells the world, that I am a happy person and my life is just fine because they cannot or are not willing to understand the true me or the truth behind my life.[/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] My first memories are of sitting in my Papa’s lap at a huge oak table in my Grandma’s kitchen. I couldn’t have been over two or three years old. Papa would pull me into his lap and when no one was around his very large hands had a way of wandering. After his twisted violation, his stern warning would come: “You can’t tell anyone because you will be in very big trouble if you do.” At such a young age, it is hard to realize that what was happening was not your fault and that the real reason you shouldn’t tell was because the predator would go to prison. At the same time, one is taught to love and respect their grandfather, so you are always riddled with the guilt of feeling upset at him about what he’s doing, shame for doing something that you think you’ve done wrong and then love because that is what you are told to do. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif']Of course, later I was questioned by an officer when one of my cousins did tell. All I knew was that police officers took people to jail if they were bad. There was no way that I would have confessed the truth to that very intimidating figure with handcuffs and a gun on his hip. I kept the secret feeling ashamed for lying and even more ashamed because I had participated in an activity that was obviously very bad.[/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif']Fast forward…At age five my memories are of lying in bed at night with my older sister and hearing my father screaming in the next room at my mother. This was a nightly occurrence in my home, so I never realized that it wasn’t normal. One night I decided to sneak out of bed into the kitchen while one of the beatings was taking place. My sister warned me not to do it, but I made up my mind that I was going. As I rounded the corner to the kitchen, the first thing that I saw was my mother being slammed into the wall by my father, and as I turned in terror to go back to the bedroom he saw me. He flew across the room after releasing my mom and swiftly lifted me from the ground and proceeded to give me the worst spanking that I could ever remember. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif']From that point forward, I decided that I had to be the good kid. My sister was six years older than me and had a different father, and my own father hated her existence. I always tried to protect her from him and would lie to keep her out of trouble. Nevertheless, she had a lot of spirit and would rebel against him and his over the top rules, often. He would then beat her senseless and then lovingly tell me that she was just a very bad person. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif']The night he left, I remember my mother and my sister crying hysterically and wondering why I wasn’t crying. I remember not feeling anything, except maybe confusion over what was going on and why I suddenly had to take a taxi to school which complicated my life even further. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] My mom knew the taxi driver. He was the father of her best friend at the time and later she would date his son for several years. I didn’t like him at all. His car smelled like sweat and cigarettes and it wasn’t long before I found out that he had the same wandering hands as my Papa. However, his warning was different. “If you tell, I’ll kill your Momma and your sister,” he would say. I would beg Momma not to make me go with him, but I didn’t want her to die, so when she would ask why, I would come up with a random excuse. Later, we moved into town and to my relief the school bus became my primary means of transportation. The creepy taxi driver would sometimes pull up to my stop to make sure I hadn’t revealed his secret.[/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] School brought about a whole new set of difficulties for me. I excelled in my studies, but had nothing in common with any of the other kids. Other kids picked at me obsessively, and looking back I understand why. I was different. I had never had a birthday party, and I was never dressed like the other kids. Simply put, I had nothing to draw on that could help me fit in. Other kids would go home to cooked suppers and help with homework. They would go home to play with the other neighborhood kids and ride their bikes.[/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] From the time my father left and even before, I came home to an empty house. Once he was gone, there was also an empty refrigerator. I had no bed to sleep in anymore either. My only toys were a few Barbie dolls. There was a little girl close to my age who lived across the street. Sometimes her mother would let me play there, but she picked up pretty quickly that something was wrong with my family and forbid us to play together. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] My mother was a nurse and she worked odd hours. The time that she wasn’t working was dedicated to men, drugs or sleep, so even when she was home we rarely spent time together as a family. My sister was a teenager and rebelling. She was rarely home and spent most of her time with her gtrandparents. They bought her cute clothes and paid for her to have her hair done and other things that normal grandparents do.[/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] From time to time, my Grandparents would call. They would pick me up and wisp me off into a life of luxury. Well to do families keep the best secrets. I learned very quickly that it was unacceptable to air the family laundry in public. They also hated my mother and would question me about her activities. I once told my Grandma that my father beat my mother, and she became enraged that I would make such an accusation. She said, “My eldest son would never do such a thing.” [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] She had a very strong bond with her eldest son because for years my Grandpa drank heavily and would beat them both severely when he would rage. She would cover the black eyes with makeup and carry on as if nothing had happened. Then they would send me home with a few new clothes to “the monster” as my father liked to call her and life would go back to normal.[/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] At some point, my sister came back home because she was getting into trouble and rebelling. Finally, I had some company. However, she had discovered boys and boys discovered that she wanted to try new things. Things that I now know are completely inappropriate for a fourteen year old girl. I saw her engage in sexual acts with these boys and when my mom was home she would brag about her sexual activities. I was around eight or nine years old at the time. My mother would justify sharing these stories with us girls because she didn’t want us to be “surprised” by these things when we got older. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] One afternoon, I was out playing alone and wandered into a bad neighborhood where I met an older boy of about fifteen. He told me that I was his girlfriend and that girlfriends had to do certain things. He took me to a clearing in a wooded area, nearby. I was told to get undressed and in the grass he took what was left of my innocence. Before I made it home that night he shared what had transpired with another boy the same age, who drug me to a dark area of the neighborhood and had his way with me, also. Having no other experience to draw on, except what my mother and sister shared about such activities, I felt like I had done something that was normal. It wasn’t until I proudly told my sister and she panicked telling me that it was bad that I felt any shame. I’ve never told anyone else of that night and a few years later my sister told my mother and I denied it. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] A few weeks later we were evicted and my mother moved us to another town to be near a new boyfriend. I felt that I could leave my shame behind me in the old town. My great grandmother lived one street over, also. The new guy my mom was dating was the only good man she had ever brought into our lives. For awhile, she walked the line, was home more and would cook. She hid her drug habit from him for a long time, too. It was then I thought there was hope of having a complete family, again. The honeymoon phase lasted a very short period. Mom decided she had unfinished business with an old boyfriend, and left my sister and I home alone for a full week while she went to the city to rekindle her old flame. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] I went to my great grandmother’s house every night that week and offered to help in the yard. She invited me to stay for supper and that’s how I survived that week. No one knew that she was ever gone because I never told it and neither did my sister. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] My great grandmother was a Christian woman. She never missed a service and began taking me to church with her. She bought me dresses and church shoes, and I found that I really liked going with her there. The people were nice and they noticed me. Most of the time adults ignored me. On Sunday mornings, I would stay in the adult service and flip through the Bible as I listened to the preacher talk about sin and heaven and hell. At the end of each service, we would have an alter call while the piano played hymns of salvation. I wanted so badly to be a part of the Christian family, and have the peace that I was learning so much about. However, the idea of walking to the front of the church in front of all those people was intimidating.[/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] I finally became so distressed that I pulled my great-grandmother aside after service and told her I wanted to be saved, and that I was afraid to go up there. She took me to the preacher’s office where he explained the whole process. We prayed the sinner’s prayer and a few weeks later, I was baptized. That week at school another girl told me that she got saved over the weekend. I told her that I had also and she immediately called me a liar.[/FONT]
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[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'][/FONT][FONT='Times New Roman','serif'][FONT='Times New Roman','serif']From the outside looking in my family seems pretty normal. My two boys and I enjoy the same activities as any other American family. We attend Church, have a cute little house in town, own an SUV and have two great cats. One would never suspect that I was physically and sexually abused and neglected as a child or a victim of incest. No one would guess that as an adult, I have overcome a horrific divorce, domestic violence, kidnapping, and rape.[/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif']Right now your reaction is one of shock or surprise, one of suspicion and disbelief. You’re thinking to yourself, this woman has been watching too many Lifetime movies or that it’s all made up. I don’t share my story often, but when I do, I always get the same reaction. Most people begin distancing themselves from me after I share my story. Either way, all of what I am about you is the truth. There are many other people out there who have suffered similar difficulties as the ones I am about to share. My hope is that I can reach someone else who is suffering or hiding behind a mask like me. A smile that tells the world, that I am a happy person and my life is just fine because they cannot or are not willing to understand the true me or the truth behind my life.[/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] My first memories are of sitting in my Papa’s lap at a huge oak table in my Grandma’s kitchen. I couldn’t have been over two or three years old. Papa would pull me into his lap and when no one was around his very large hands had a way of wandering. After his twisted violation, his stern warning would come: “You can’t tell anyone because you will be in very big trouble if you do.” At such a young age, it is hard to realize that what was happening was not your fault and that the real reason you shouldn’t tell was because the predator would go to prison. At the same time, one is taught to love and respect their grandfather, so you are always riddled with the guilt of feeling upset at him about what he’s doing, shame for doing something that you think you’ve done wrong and then love because that is what you are told to do. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif']Of course, later I was questioned by an officer when one of my cousins did tell. All I knew was that police officers took people to jail if they were bad. There was no way that I would have confessed the truth to that very intimidating figure with handcuffs and a gun on his hip. I kept the secret feeling ashamed for lying and even more ashamed because I had participated in an activity that was obviously very bad.[/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif']Fast forward…At age five my memories are of lying in bed at night with my older sister and hearing my father screaming in the next room at my mother. This was a nightly occurrence in my home, so I never realized that it wasn’t normal. One night I decided to sneak out of bed into the kitchen while one of the beatings was taking place. My sister warned me not to do it, but I made up my mind that I was going. As I rounded the corner to the kitchen, the first thing that I saw was my mother being slammed into the wall by my father, and as I turned in terror to go back to the bedroom he saw me. He flew across the room after releasing my mom and swiftly lifted me from the ground and proceeded to give me the worst spanking that I could ever remember. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif']From that point forward, I decided that I had to be the good kid. My sister was six years older than me and had a different father, and my own father hated her existence. I always tried to protect her from him and would lie to keep her out of trouble. Nevertheless, she had a lot of spirit and would rebel against him and his over the top rules, often. He would then beat her senseless and then lovingly tell me that she was just a very bad person. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif']The night he left, I remember my mother and my sister crying hysterically and wondering why I wasn’t crying. I remember not feeling anything, except maybe confusion over what was going on and why I suddenly had to take a taxi to school which complicated my life even further. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] My mom knew the taxi driver. He was the father of her best friend at the time and later she would date his son for several years. I didn’t like him at all. His car smelled like sweat and cigarettes and it wasn’t long before I found out that he had the same wandering hands as my Papa. However, his warning was different. “If you tell, I’ll kill your Momma and your sister,” he would say. I would beg Momma not to make me go with him, but I didn’t want her to die, so when she would ask why, I would come up with a random excuse. Later, we moved into town and to my relief the school bus became my primary means of transportation. The creepy taxi driver would sometimes pull up to my stop to make sure I hadn’t revealed his secret.[/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] School brought about a whole new set of difficulties for me. I excelled in my studies, but had nothing in common with any of the other kids. Other kids picked at me obsessively, and looking back I understand why. I was different. I had never had a birthday party, and I was never dressed like the other kids. Simply put, I had nothing to draw on that could help me fit in. Other kids would go home to cooked suppers and help with homework. They would go home to play with the other neighborhood kids and ride their bikes.[/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] From the time my father left and even before, I came home to an empty house. Once he was gone, there was also an empty refrigerator. I had no bed to sleep in anymore either. My only toys were a few Barbie dolls. There was a little girl close to my age who lived across the street. Sometimes her mother would let me play there, but she picked up pretty quickly that something was wrong with my family and forbid us to play together. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] My mother was a nurse and she worked odd hours. The time that she wasn’t working was dedicated to men, drugs or sleep, so even when she was home we rarely spent time together as a family. My sister was a teenager and rebelling. She was rarely home and spent most of her time with her gtrandparents. They bought her cute clothes and paid for her to have her hair done and other things that normal grandparents do.[/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] From time to time, my Grandparents would call. They would pick me up and wisp me off into a life of luxury. Well to do families keep the best secrets. I learned very quickly that it was unacceptable to air the family laundry in public. They also hated my mother and would question me about her activities. I once told my Grandma that my father beat my mother, and she became enraged that I would make such an accusation. She said, “My eldest son would never do such a thing.” [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] She had a very strong bond with her eldest son because for years my Grandpa drank heavily and would beat them both severely when he would rage. She would cover the black eyes with makeup and carry on as if nothing had happened. Then they would send me home with a few new clothes to “the monster” as my father liked to call her and life would go back to normal.[/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] At some point, my sister came back home because she was getting into trouble and rebelling. Finally, I had some company. However, she had discovered boys and boys discovered that she wanted to try new things. Things that I now know are completely inappropriate for a fourteen year old girl. I saw her engage in sexual acts with these boys and when my mom was home she would brag about her sexual activities. I was around eight or nine years old at the time. My mother would justify sharing these stories with us girls because she didn’t want us to be “surprised” by these things when we got older. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] One afternoon, I was out playing alone and wandered into a bad neighborhood where I met an older boy of about fifteen. He told me that I was his girlfriend and that girlfriends had to do certain things. He took me to a clearing in a wooded area, nearby. I was told to get undressed and in the grass he took what was left of my innocence. Before I made it home that night he shared what had transpired with another boy the same age, who drug me to a dark area of the neighborhood and had his way with me, also. Having no other experience to draw on, except what my mother and sister shared about such activities, I felt like I had done something that was normal. It wasn’t until I proudly told my sister and she panicked telling me that it was bad that I felt any shame. I’ve never told anyone else of that night and a few years later my sister told my mother and I denied it. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] A few weeks later we were evicted and my mother moved us to another town to be near a new boyfriend. I felt that I could leave my shame behind me in the old town. My great grandmother lived one street over, also. The new guy my mom was dating was the only good man she had ever brought into our lives. For awhile, she walked the line, was home more and would cook. She hid her drug habit from him for a long time, too. It was then I thought there was hope of having a complete family, again. The honeymoon phase lasted a very short period. Mom decided she had unfinished business with an old boyfriend, and left my sister and I home alone for a full week while she went to the city to rekindle her old flame. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] I went to my great grandmother’s house every night that week and offered to help in the yard. She invited me to stay for supper and that’s how I survived that week. No one knew that she was ever gone because I never told it and neither did my sister. [/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] My great grandmother was a Christian woman. She never missed a service and began taking me to church with her. She bought me dresses and church shoes, and I found that I really liked going with her there. The people were nice and they noticed me. Most of the time adults ignored me. On Sunday mornings, I would stay in the adult service and flip through the Bible as I listened to the preacher talk about sin and heaven and hell. At the end of each service, we would have an alter call while the piano played hymns of salvation. I wanted so badly to be a part of the Christian family, and have the peace that I was learning so much about. However, the idea of walking to the front of the church in front of all those people was intimidating.[/FONT]
[FONT='Times New Roman','serif'] I finally became so distressed that I pulled my great-grandmother aside after service and told her I wanted to be saved, and that I was afraid to go up there. She took me to the preacher’s office where he explained the whole process. We prayed the sinner’s prayer and a few weeks later, I was baptized. That week at school another girl told me that she got saved over the weekend. I told her that I had also and she immediately called me a liar.[/FONT]
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