My Story - My Beginning

I would like to post a warning before I continue. Much of what I share may be very disturbing to some. If you are easily triggered or upset, please proceed with caution. This may be difficult for some to read.

My life has been complicated, and very difficult at times. I often look back at my actions and reactions. I feel so embarrassed for the young girl I once was. I also hurt for her. I did the best I could with every aspect of life. I had to learn almost everything on my own. Those in my life and those I crossed paths with in life, often looked down on me, judged me, and pushed me aside. I often find myself wondering, “If they only knew” if they had known my path through life would they have been a bit more patient, kind, or even willing to help me learn?

I am a very private person. I grew up at a time when people simply did not air their proverbial dirty laundry. A time when you learn to protect those who hurt you the worst. Some of this I’ve never told a soul, and other parts were shared with only two people. One was with a counselor I saw years ago when I began trying to figure out what was wrong with me. She was the first person to look me in the eyes and tell me my mom was crazy. That planted a seed that helped me slowly realize so much of what happened to me was not my fault. The other person I told was a guy I once crossed paths with. He forever changed my life in major ways, both for the good and not so good. He was the first, and the only person who stood up for me, and took up for me. Times when I couldn’t, and/or didn’t know I should stand up for myself. There still has never been anyone who did that. He helped me realize more about myself and my life than he’ll ever know. If it had not been for my counselor, and that guy, I probably would not be here now. I would have ended up dead, or even worse, an atheist.

Over the past few years, I’ve shared a few small snippets of my life. All of that was nothing compared to what I share now. My Mom and Dad brought new meaning to the term dysfunctional. I realize now they were fighting their own life battles. That does not help the hurt I went through, but it does soften the blow a bit. As I look back on that child, it is as though I’m on the outside looking in. I once had a friend tell me she didn’t know how I was still standing. There are times when I think back, I do not know either.

My Dad was a horrible, mean alcoholic. My Mom was the type to lie, cheat, or steal to get whatever, or whoever, she wanted. You did not dare go against her. I had an older brother and a younger sister. My brother had a different Dad, but I never thought of him any differently. My brother took his life in 1981. My sister passed away in 2019 in a very difficult situation. I tried to find her for years. I would have tried more to help my sister. Life sent us on different paths. It took all my strength to get myself through life. The emotional, physical, verbal, and sexual abuse I was subjected to for years and years, destroyed any sense of self I should have had.

There were many times I watched my dad beat mom bloody. There were also times when my mom beat my dad bloody. My mom would often grab us and leave in the middle of the night. She often pushed too many of his buttons, and he would go nuts. One night, he threw a brick into the windshield of the car we were trying to leave in. Another night he came in, falling down drunk, and told Mom to pack a bag, we were all leaving, and we did. A long ride, another state, another school, and another strange place to try to sleep. During another night of one of his drunken stupors, he started pulling the drawers from our dressers and throwing them into the fireplace. It did not matter that the few clothes we had were in those drawers. He said we were all ungrateful. My sister and I went to a closet, closed the door, and stayed there until the next morning.

Many other events happened during that time. I know it happened, but my self-conscious self has blocked the memory. I’ve been told it is a tool of self-preservation. I do remember Mom finding me sleeping underneath my bed, on the hardwood floor, many times. Other of those memories are just too difficult to talk about, even now.

As we got older, we were often left alone for hours and even days. My brother and I were often dropped off at stranger’s houses while Mom and Dad went off and did whatever. The people would go out of their way to make sure to let us know they did not want us there. We were a major inconvenience to them. Again, nothing was ever said. Some saw what was going on, but no one tried to help.

At some point, Mom finally got away from Dad. She had met a guy with whom she started having an affair. He was married and had five children, but Mom didn’t care. She decided she wanted him and would have him. When he would come over, we would be locked out of the house for hours while she spent “private time” with him. I can still see the sheets she put over the windows so we could not see into the house.

There was a time when we were forced to move from a rental house and Mom was furious. She had us kids throwing paint all over the walls in every room. Then, she poured bleach all over the carpet as we were leaving. Another time, she ran a car off into a bayou close to Houston. She had my brother pick her up and they both went to report the car stolen. I saw her blatantly steal from employers who had fired her. She would have us kids collect money during the Jerry Lewis Muscular Dystrophy telethon. She would then take the money we had collected and spend it herself. There were dozens of instances where Mom took revenge on others. She could, and did, talk her way out of almost anything when she got caught. She once helped my brother break out of a juvenile detention facility where he was being held. She then drove for over five hours to help a 15-year-old girl run away from home. Why? Because the girl and my brother liked each other.

Now for the part that is very difficult for me to talk about. Throughout my very young years, I remember so many men taking advantage of me in different ways. I was never taught that it was very inappropriate. I was never taught that I had the right to say no. My Dad, an uncle, my brother, my mom’s boyfriend, and so many others through the years took, or tried to take whatever liberties they wanted with me. I remember walking home from school terrified to the point where I was sick to my stomach. Why? My brother was there waiting for me, expecting something from me. Thankfully, I don’t remember what happened. After all these years, I still remember the fear and dread I felt.

The one time I tried to tell someone about inappropriate acts, I told my mom how her boyfriend kept trying to bother me. She didn’t say a word. A few days later she told me, “He just didn’t trust himself around me. She told me not to bother him again.” Wait? What? Really?

I had been beaten down so much by the time I was eleven years old that none of it mattered anymore. At eleven, I was raped by a stranger who threatened me with serious bodily harm if I screamed. I remember being completely numb. No fear, no fight. The sad part, I walked away from it and never told a soul. I told no one. I joked and laughed it off. I was ELEVEN YEARS OLD.

Sometime during the next year, my mom decided to marry a 26-year-old guy so she could legally use his last name to hide from my dad. Even now, I don’t understand that. The worst part of it, she was still having an affair with the married guy. She wouldn’t, and didn’t, sleep with her “new husband”. She put me in bed with him instead. This went on for months until the day I made a simple passing comment. I remember saying something to the guy about wondering what would happen if I got pregnant. The guy disappeared into thin air that very night. My Mom was furious. I do mean livid. Of course, I was blamed for something that was never discussed. Then, a week later, she took me to the police department to file rape charges on the guy. She told me to make up a story. It was my fault, so I did as I was told. Shortly after this happened, she put me to work as a waitress at a coffee shop. I would have to work every day after school and every weekend. Occasionally, my mom would give me a couple of dollars to spend as I wanted. She kept the rest of what I made.

Another situation that further demonstrated just how “damaged” I was then, keeps coming to mind. A girl in her mid to late twenties was furious with me over something. I do not remember what was said or done that made her so mad at me. She threatened to cut off all my hair (it was down to my hips) and to give me a gasoline douche. Later that same night, her brother took advantage of me. Once again, I never felt a need to tell anyone. Why should I?

When I was 14, I ended up with my dad and his new wife. I do not remember what happened, or why I went to live with him. He was still an alcoholic, but not as mean. Most of the abuse was still there though. My stepbrother and even my stepmother’s brother were very inappropriate to me. I was finally in a good school. I had finally made a few friends and was making straight A’s for the first time. I was even voted to be the homecoming queen.

That same school year, right after I turned 15 in January, my dad pushed me into a marriage to a guy I had only gone to a few football games with. The guy was a naive, over-protected, country boy. I was the popular, new girl in town. I covered my abuse and neglect well. He jumped at the chance. My stepmom didn’t like me and didn’t want me there anymore. Once again, no one stood up for me. I still did not know I had the right to say “No”. That was a lesson I didn’t learn until I was well into my twenties. That marriage brought a whole new level of abuse. I continued to do what I had done my whole life; I made the best of a very difficult situation.

No one knew how badly wounded I was. I didn’t know how broken I was. My in-laws thought it was funny to tease me about my husband’s ex-fiancé. They saw her as “the good one” who got away. A year into my marriage, my husband met my sister for the first time. At some point, he told me if he had met her first, he would have married her instead.

My in-laws were very religious Pentecostal Holiness. I remember them calling me the devil and saying I was pure evil if I disagreed with some of their ideas, or beliefs. My husband never took up for me. We would make a decision together, but if his mom or dad didn’t like our decision, I was the bad one. He would back out on plans, and I was the one in the wrong. I tried my best for many years. I learned he only wanted me when he thought he didn’t have me. I was his toy on a shelf. I slowly listened to my true heart. I did not belong there. Life had other plans for me.

I raised my two children while earning a degree in Respiratory Therapy. I worked in the medical field until life once again showed me the heavens had other plans. It was during this time that I quit the medical field which I thought would be my lifelong career. I fought the changes tooth and nail. I tried counseling, changing employers, everything. At some point, a calm came over me and I had that soul feeling that let me know my life needed to head in a different direction. It was during this time that events occurred that shocked me into opening to my true reason for being here. It was during this time I learned that I had to unlearn all I had been taught.

Fast forward several years, I was no longer able to work. I faced years of more very difficult experiences. I learned why some hurting people will physically hurt themselves in hopes that the physical pain would cover the emotional pain that wasn’t understood. Instead of cutting myself, I started getting tattoos. They created a pain I could understand. For a while, I self-medicated myself to cover the pain of my past and the pain my son caused me. For almost ten years, I was emotionally, and verbally abused by my son, and his girlfriend. They lived with me off, and on. They both were raging narcissistic, gas-lighters. I didn’t know how to deal with it. I frequently tried to get them out of my house for good, but he wouldn’t leave. He would make empty promises to change then he started the gas lighting all over again. I cannot count the number of times I was called crazy. I was judged and criticized by those who somewhat saw what was going on. But, once again, no one offered to try to help. Instead, they turned their backs on me.

This has gotten rather long. There is so much more to my story. But I will end it here, for now, with a few thoughts. Except for two, maybe three people, everyone preached on the Bible. They touted the God described in the Bible. There were very “preachy” Mormons, Church of Christ, Southern Baptists, Holiness Pentecostal, and others. They all said their way was the only way. They tried to shove their beliefs onto anyone and everyone who happened into their circle. They always had “excuses” for their actions, right or wrong. Everywhere I turned it was “God this”, “God That”, God in every ounce of pain, hate, and lies. My child within, the innocence of life, knew there was something very wrong with the environment, especially the religions, I was subjected to growing up.

In time, the entire facade broke. I walked to the edge of insanity, looked it in the eyes, and found my way back to reality. I had to unlearn everything I had learned, and experienced. Yes, I turned away from the God in the Bible. Instead, I found the Higher power in my heart. I turned from man-made religion and found my inner spirituality. It was not given to me by others, and it cannot be taken from me by others. After all I went through, I kept a kind heart. If I were to die tomorrow, I would forever be at peace knowing that I kept a kind heart and tried many times to share it with others.

Even with all of this said, I am still a person. I can still be hurt by the hateful words of others. My coping skills run short some days. I still do not handle conflict very well, though I am getting better with it every day. I am not perfect, and I make mistakes. However, I refuse to let anyone cause me to lose my kind heart. I remember telling a friend, “I’m just trying to live in a world I do not understand”. Years later, I realized just how profound those words were for me and my life.

Many years ago, I described my past as feeling as though I had been put through the trials of Job. Job from the Bible. My Grandma Odom often told me that those who are tried and tested the most have the most to offer. I’m here to offer my wisdom and knowledge. I chose this life because I knew I would be strong enough to survive it and help others with all I have learned.