So I have had flu shots nearly every year since I became a nurse, while I have had other viruses, I have never had the flu in any year I had a flu shot, until now. I like to believe I am one tough cookie, after all I have given birth to six children without medication, I usually have the dentist do drill work without numbing me and I am a mother.
So imagine my surprise when I get sick and it turns me into a shaking, weak, baby who could barely get herself to the bathroom, to say I was feeling sorry for myself is too mild. I am nearly 45 years old and I wanted my MOM, not that that was realistic, but I wanted someone to take care of me. That wasn't going to happen either, but the boys pitched in to take care of my grandson who we are raising so he got to preschool, my house on the other hand looks as though a tornado ran through it. I whined a bit to my friend, who told me to go to bed, the house was still going to be dirty when I felt better, that's what I was afraid of.
By Saturday I knew that I couldn't go to work, every time I got up I looked like a newborn giraffe trying to take its first steps, I knew I needed to go to the doctor but couldn't drive myself, and there just wasn't anyone in my household who was available to take me. Lee was running the snack bar at the local high school our children attend, and the others were in various places and at 14 my youngest son Morgan obviously doesn't drive. We have some very good friends, Nise and Horatio and since Nise was at work Horatio took pity on me and drove me to the clinic, Morgan agreed to watch his nephew and off we went.
It took the doctor less than five minutes to give a diagnosis, influenza, I told him it wasn't possible, I'd had a flu shot, he laughed, the flu shot isn't perfect, while it can't give you the flu, you can still sometimes catch the virus anyway, lucky me. I was so dehydrated he offered to have the clinic start an IV on me but I have this extreme resistance to having anyone be inconvenienced by me, even if I did want to be taken care o,f so I stoically(I can be such a martyr) turned him down. He prescribed an anti nausea medication, bed rest, and lots and lots of fluids, gave me a note for work saying I was not to work for the next five days, and sent me on my way.
Horatio asked if I wanted to go to his house, I turned him down(reluctantly), he has enough of his own responsibilities, and there is the whole I'm a big girl, I'll just put on my big girl panties and deal with it(can you say martyr)thing. So after taking me to get a few groceries, I wanted ramen and diet soda, he dropped me off at home admonishing me to take care of myself. Well what good martyr does that? As soon as I came in the door Morgan disappeared to a friends and no one else was home, the house hadn't magically cleaned itself and in fact I swear the dishes had had babies while I was gone.
I made ramen for me and Boo wanted a ham sandwich, while the ramen was cooking I started cleaning, feeling picked on of course because I was in martyr mode. Nise had pointed out one time that I sounded a bit like Eeyore, then she had her turn, so I decided that we needed an Eeyore so now I have a stuffed one in my car so that I remember that it is okay to be a bit melancholy but once in a while it gets to be wearing to be Eeyore if you take it too far. So I did something unusual, I stopped cleaning, took Boo and our food and went in and just rested, I didn't get on my computer, I didn't clean anything, I just watched sponge bob and let all the dishes keep multiplying in the sink.
You know what? The world didn't end, the house certainly didn't get clean, but the men in my life managed to make sure it didn't end up featured on the messiest house show.
I'm better now, still not quite up to speed, I'm back at work and when I find myself slipping into Eeyore mode I try to remember, the world isn't going to end if the kitchen isn't cleaned my way. I still would like someone to take care of me but I don't need to be a martyr about it.
Enough for now.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
I Need to Live
It has been awhile since I last posted, I have been fighting my own demons of depression and pain, sometimes it is so overwhelming I can barely make myself function to do the things I absolutely must and so I took a break for a time. There were other life issues that have kept me away but none that I could not have overcome if this mortal body was not so fallible. Depression and the vertigo of menieres have left me exhausted and struggling to take each step that I must.
You would think after knowing the heartache of losing my own son to suicide that I would never let the thought of my own death at my own hand be a thought that crosses my mind. Unfortunately knowing that the death of a loved causes so much pain does not take away the thought that I want to die more often than I want to live. I try very hard to not give those thoughts a home but they are always there. I want to die, I need to live.
I need to live for those around me who count on me, I keep thinking that the time will come when I am not really needed and I can then check out of mortality without guilt and then something will happen and no matter what I tell myself I can't find a time when there isn't someone who needs me here. I am and have been the primary provider in my household for years. I used to believe that I was worth more to my family through my life insurance and death benefits at social security than I was as a working mother, but we no longer have as much life insurance, my death needs to be accidental for them to get more and my children are getting older and so the amount of social security that would come in would no longer support the needs. I need to live.
I can laugh, I can joke and play around and sometimes I even genuinely enjoy myself but the war inside my own head is always there. I have been to therapy, years worth, and many different types of therapists, I have been on MANY different types of medication, on them, off them, know I do better on them so I make myself keep going to appointments and tweaking and adjusting and on and on. It never goes away it is chronic and is worse in the winter as the daylight hours dwindle. Winter solstice has become a strange kind of goal, if I can just make myself live until then, when the daylight hours start to lengthen again, I can make myself live through till the spring. I need to live.
It is often said suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem and that those who die at their own hand are short sighted, I don't believe that, people with chronic illnesses know that their disease is not a temporary problem. No matter what I do or how much counseling I get my disease is not going to go away. I try to control my thoughts so that they don't become actions but death does not scare me so much as living through the pain I feel in every part of myself. I have found the poem Just for Today from AA to be helpful, the first line is: "Just for today I will try to live through this day only and not tackle all my problems at once. I can do something for twelve hours that would appall me if I felt I had to keep it up for a lifetime." If a day is too much I live through an hour, a minute, a moment. I need to live.
It is interesting that I want there to be some kind of after life for the son I lost and yet for myself I want oblivion. I don't just want to have my mortal body die, I want to cease, I don't want to have an existence of any kind, living as a spirit seems like more punishment. I want my reality, I don't want the christian heaven, I don't want to be reincarnated, I don't want to be disembodied energy, I especially don't want the heaven that Mormons believe in. I want peace. I need to live.
Two other things keep me from killing myself, number one is that someone has to find me, I know that people never get over that, I have thought how easy it would be to die in the hospital where it would be medical people who found the body and I still hesitate. Someone has to find me and the worst person I know still would not deserve that kind of emotional pain. I have flashbacks of the day Colley died whenever I see magpies clustered together a certain way and I didn't find his body. The second reason is that I would be autopsied and they will not know the difference between scarring from a willing participant and a victim of abuse, there is still shame tied to the sexual abuse I have suffered at the hands of others, if I was absolutely sure there was nothing after this life it would not matter but I am not sure and I don't want anyone to think I invited that abuse. I need to live.
I still want to die, I need to live. Enough for now.
You would think after knowing the heartache of losing my own son to suicide that I would never let the thought of my own death at my own hand be a thought that crosses my mind. Unfortunately knowing that the death of a loved causes so much pain does not take away the thought that I want to die more often than I want to live. I try very hard to not give those thoughts a home but they are always there. I want to die, I need to live.
I need to live for those around me who count on me, I keep thinking that the time will come when I am not really needed and I can then check out of mortality without guilt and then something will happen and no matter what I tell myself I can't find a time when there isn't someone who needs me here. I am and have been the primary provider in my household for years. I used to believe that I was worth more to my family through my life insurance and death benefits at social security than I was as a working mother, but we no longer have as much life insurance, my death needs to be accidental for them to get more and my children are getting older and so the amount of social security that would come in would no longer support the needs. I need to live.
I can laugh, I can joke and play around and sometimes I even genuinely enjoy myself but the war inside my own head is always there. I have been to therapy, years worth, and many different types of therapists, I have been on MANY different types of medication, on them, off them, know I do better on them so I make myself keep going to appointments and tweaking and adjusting and on and on. It never goes away it is chronic and is worse in the winter as the daylight hours dwindle. Winter solstice has become a strange kind of goal, if I can just make myself live until then, when the daylight hours start to lengthen again, I can make myself live through till the spring. I need to live.
It is often said suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem and that those who die at their own hand are short sighted, I don't believe that, people with chronic illnesses know that their disease is not a temporary problem. No matter what I do or how much counseling I get my disease is not going to go away. I try to control my thoughts so that they don't become actions but death does not scare me so much as living through the pain I feel in every part of myself. I have found the poem Just for Today from AA to be helpful, the first line is: "Just for today I will try to live through this day only and not tackle all my problems at once. I can do something for twelve hours that would appall me if I felt I had to keep it up for a lifetime." If a day is too much I live through an hour, a minute, a moment. I need to live.
It is interesting that I want there to be some kind of after life for the son I lost and yet for myself I want oblivion. I don't just want to have my mortal body die, I want to cease, I don't want to have an existence of any kind, living as a spirit seems like more punishment. I want my reality, I don't want the christian heaven, I don't want to be reincarnated, I don't want to be disembodied energy, I especially don't want the heaven that Mormons believe in. I want peace. I need to live.
Two other things keep me from killing myself, number one is that someone has to find me, I know that people never get over that, I have thought how easy it would be to die in the hospital where it would be medical people who found the body and I still hesitate. Someone has to find me and the worst person I know still would not deserve that kind of emotional pain. I have flashbacks of the day Colley died whenever I see magpies clustered together a certain way and I didn't find his body. The second reason is that I would be autopsied and they will not know the difference between scarring from a willing participant and a victim of abuse, there is still shame tied to the sexual abuse I have suffered at the hands of others, if I was absolutely sure there was nothing after this life it would not matter but I am not sure and I don't want anyone to think I invited that abuse. I need to live.
I still want to die, I need to live. Enough for now.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Aftermath
How do I describe what the hours, minutes, seconds were like after the death of Colley, the police did come into the house eventually, Lee took them down to Colley's room. In my panic I had not noticed how carefully he had prepared, he had cleaned his room, put notes on various items as to what he wanted us to do with them, had lit a candle and had music playing in the background. I am sure he intended his father to find him when he went down to wake him for church, while I would have spared Todd's dad the agony of finding Colley's body, I am grateful it was not Lee or I believe I would have been burying two instead of one. Yes he left a note, the words are burned into my soul, "Please don't blame anyone, it's no ones fault but mine. Love you all, Colley".
I had collapsed after yelling at the police officer who told me my son was dead, I wanted him to take it back, it wasn't true, I wanted to throw up everything I had ever eaten in my life, I wanted to escape somewhere in my mind and never come back. My husband ran to me and I pushed him away, I told him it was his fault, not because he had argued with Colley but because the guns were too accessible and I had asked him less than two months before to get a gun safe, even as I said the words I wanted to take them back, I meant them and I didn't mean them, I loved Lee and hated him. I wanted to die, Oh how I wanted to die! How do you describe the agony of soul and body and mind and yet the world refuses to stop moving and keeps pushing, forcing you to make decisions that no parent should ever have to make.
Your home becomes a crime scene, photos are taken, some of Colley's belongings were taken along with his note, those few last words we were left with, documents must be signed, questions answered. Lee handled the questions, took them around to see what they needed to see, I sat, frozen, hoping to die, hoping to find this wasn't real. The female member of the sheriffs office who was taking photographs left with tears in her eyes, she is the only one I saw any emotion from and it touched me, I do not know her name, I wanted to thank her but I could not make myself move.
We wanted to go to him in the trailer, they wouldn't let us, not until he had been moved out of the trailer onto the stretcher and in the body bag. I could not see him that way, not in that bag, I know what they smell like, feel like, I have carried the little bodies of lost babies in those bags, we carefully swaddle those little babes and my son would not have that same care and I just could not see my son that way. My husband and my oldest son did go out to say a last goodbye before they took Colley away. When someone dies violently it becomes a case for the medical examiner and as a family you lose any right to refuse an autopsy, my precious son was going to be taken away and I had no power to control what was going to happen.
I donated Colley's eyes, I don't know why it became important but I needed some part of this make sense, I never thought I would be able to donate a part of my child but I wanted to have something good come from the loss of this part of my heart.
So much happened in the space of a few hours that felt like days, we were surrounded by people and yet felt alone, isolated, we had to find someone to clean the trailer, family needed to be notified, paperwork signed, we had to find a way to tell our younger children their brother was dead. I am not sure I could tell who all the people were at our house, I wanted to bring my other boys home, I wanted to wrap them up and keep them safe, I had to call work and tell them I would not be coming in. My son was dead. I had to make arrangements with a funeral home so that my son could be released once they were done at the medical examiners. People kept coming by, words must be said comfort given, food showed up, I couldn't eat. The magpies kept coming back. I needed to sleep and yet my brain would not allow it. A funeral must be planned, a cemetery chosen, Colley's friends needed to be called to let them know their friend was gone.
As on that day a brain can only take so much before it will begin to shut itself off trying to isolate the pain that is too much to bear all at once. Memories can be the same way, reaching a point where you must stop for a time or you must perish. I must stop, enough for now
I had collapsed after yelling at the police officer who told me my son was dead, I wanted him to take it back, it wasn't true, I wanted to throw up everything I had ever eaten in my life, I wanted to escape somewhere in my mind and never come back. My husband ran to me and I pushed him away, I told him it was his fault, not because he had argued with Colley but because the guns were too accessible and I had asked him less than two months before to get a gun safe, even as I said the words I wanted to take them back, I meant them and I didn't mean them, I loved Lee and hated him. I wanted to die, Oh how I wanted to die! How do you describe the agony of soul and body and mind and yet the world refuses to stop moving and keeps pushing, forcing you to make decisions that no parent should ever have to make.
Your home becomes a crime scene, photos are taken, some of Colley's belongings were taken along with his note, those few last words we were left with, documents must be signed, questions answered. Lee handled the questions, took them around to see what they needed to see, I sat, frozen, hoping to die, hoping to find this wasn't real. The female member of the sheriffs office who was taking photographs left with tears in her eyes, she is the only one I saw any emotion from and it touched me, I do not know her name, I wanted to thank her but I could not make myself move.
We wanted to go to him in the trailer, they wouldn't let us, not until he had been moved out of the trailer onto the stretcher and in the body bag. I could not see him that way, not in that bag, I know what they smell like, feel like, I have carried the little bodies of lost babies in those bags, we carefully swaddle those little babes and my son would not have that same care and I just could not see my son that way. My husband and my oldest son did go out to say a last goodbye before they took Colley away. When someone dies violently it becomes a case for the medical examiner and as a family you lose any right to refuse an autopsy, my precious son was going to be taken away and I had no power to control what was going to happen.
I donated Colley's eyes, I don't know why it became important but I needed some part of this make sense, I never thought I would be able to donate a part of my child but I wanted to have something good come from the loss of this part of my heart.
So much happened in the space of a few hours that felt like days, we were surrounded by people and yet felt alone, isolated, we had to find someone to clean the trailer, family needed to be notified, paperwork signed, we had to find a way to tell our younger children their brother was dead. I am not sure I could tell who all the people were at our house, I wanted to bring my other boys home, I wanted to wrap them up and keep them safe, I had to call work and tell them I would not be coming in. My son was dead. I had to make arrangements with a funeral home so that my son could be released once they were done at the medical examiners. People kept coming by, words must be said comfort given, food showed up, I couldn't eat. The magpies kept coming back. I needed to sleep and yet my brain would not allow it. A funeral must be planned, a cemetery chosen, Colley's friends needed to be called to let them know their friend was gone.
As on that day a brain can only take so much before it will begin to shut itself off trying to isolate the pain that is too much to bear all at once. Memories can be the same way, reaching a point where you must stop for a time or you must perish. I must stop, enough for now
Colley's Story
I don't know precisely how to tell the story of my son, how do I pack the emotion I feel into a few words, how do I show his heart and soul, my second born son. He lived on this earth for a short 14 years, 4 months and 10 days, what a privilege it was to have him, bright, beautiful, mischievous and in a hurry to experience everything life had to offer.
He was born on a cold February morning, he was what they called a compound presentation and should not have been able to be in such a hurry, he had one hand tucked under his chin and the other straight out in front of him, it was as if he was saying "look out world here I come". He had beautiful red blond hair and one of the nurses took him around the floor to show him off to everyone, I loved him with a fierceness only a mother can understand.
He was a beautiful little boy, fearless, in a hurry, he would do everything his older brother did and was smart, curious and impulsive, his exploits often ended with injuries, I began to think they were going to name a room for us at the local ER. He protected his older brother, fought with him and they loved each other not just as brothers but as friends.
He had lots of friends and he included everyone in his circle, he thought of others often before himself, he was charming, played hockey, and remained impulsive, he seemed oblivious to the fact he could be hurt. He was a typical teen, he tried smoking, drank a little and smoked pot to deal with the despair he hid from nearly everyone. Somewhere along the line he too became a victim of childhood sexual abuse, a fact he hid from everyone, he took the name of his abuser with him to his grave, I have suspicions as to the identity of his abuser but no proof.
He was typical in other ways as a suicidal teen, he told his friends of his increasing depression, his previous attempts, of his continued desire to end the pain of his heart. They were typical in that they did not tell anyone, the unwritten code of teens is that you don't break a confidence, the fear of losing a friend by telling overrides any thought that they would seriously die at their own hand.
In the days leading up to his death he must have felt that everything was piling up on him, he broke up with his girlfriend because he couldn't take being hit by her anymore, her sister retaliated by egging our house and by verbally abusing Colley, he got into a fight with a much older boy who he had thought was a friend. The night before he died I was scheduled to go to work, I didn't really want to go, I had a headache but wasn't really sick, I didn't have a foreboding, I just wanted to be with my family. I talked to him before I left, told him I loved him, that nothing he did would ever change that and I left not knowing that I had spoken to him for the last time.
Later that night I received a call from Lee, he had overheard a telephone call that had been made to Colley, some kid wanted him to get pot from another kids mother, as parents do he assumed the worst and Lee and Colley argued. For my boys I can get mad at them, yell, ground, whatever, and they hate it, but if their dad gets mad it is as if they are destroyed from the inside out, like the impact of the words leaves them barren, without hope. Lee had to be to work that night also, he didn't want to go but had to, I didn't want to stay at work but couldn't leave, my only desire was to hurry home to my son, to make everything better like I always did after a talk with their dad.
I pulled into my driveway opened my door and found a pool of blood placed so perfectly I would have thought it had been deliberately placed so that I would find it, my first thought was for our dog but with no evidence of paw prints my second thought was pure agony, Colley! I flew out of my car around to the other side of the trailer, I tried the door, it was locked, I pounded on the door, no one came, I don't know why but I never tried the second door of the trailer, or I would have found my son, my beautiful baby. My panic increased and I sprinted to the house, ran down the stairs and went to Colley's room, he wasn't there. I yelled, I looked behind me and saw a bloody rag, all I could think now was that the blood by my car was a message, Colley wanted me to find him and save him.
I ran up the stairs to my room, frantic to find the key to the trailer, I couldn't find it! I woke my oldest son who was sleeping in my bed and he grabbed the keys to my car and left to see if he could find his brother at one of his friends. I ran out the back door of the house, I had three of my little boys following me as I leaped onto the roof of the changing room of the pool, to see if my son was back there, both hope and fear rode on my shoulder, I was trying not to show how panicked I was, trying to reassure the other boys and get them to go inside. Where could he be! I ran down the street to his best friend Todd's house, pounding on the door, shaking, frantic, Todd's father opened the door, no Colley wasn't there, I yelled about the blood, turned and ran for home.
I remember thinking that I was going to feel silly when we found Colley whole and safe as I ran home again and yet the part of me that is a nurse knew there was too much blood and if he was alive he was critically ill. I ran to the house and called the police, Todd's dad showed up just as I hung up the phone, seeing his face I was sure he had found Colley, that my baby was dead, then I shut down, I would not believe that, God would not punish me by taking my son, I sat. Todd's dad had Todd come and get my four younger boys to protect them from what was to come.
I ignored the police when they came, Todd's dad went out to meet them, I didn't move again until I heard Lee drive up, I walked straight out to him, told him there was blood in the driveway, Colley was missing and we had to find him, I then turned around and walked back into my house, wondering only slightly as to why the police were standing around instead of looking for my son. A police officer followed Lee and I to the door, Lee had tried to rush past the officers to get to the trailer, already acknowledging what I would not. The officer who followed stood just inside the front screen door, he didn't even come in far enough to close it, I will never forget his next words, "Mr and Mrs Hanson it appears your son has committed suicide".
There is more I could tell you, how they turn your home into a crime scene, separate you to question, the total loss of control you feel, the utter blackness of despair, I wanted the rest of the world to stop, I wanted to rip my heart out of my chest, everything takes on an unreal quality like you are outside time. The pain of losing a child never goes away, it is the wound that leaves such a thick scar that just touching upon it causes pain, it gets softer as the years go by but it never fully heals. I am still broken, my family is still broken, we have learned to function in a different way but it is never the same.
Enough for Now.
He was born on a cold February morning, he was what they called a compound presentation and should not have been able to be in such a hurry, he had one hand tucked under his chin and the other straight out in front of him, it was as if he was saying "look out world here I come". He had beautiful red blond hair and one of the nurses took him around the floor to show him off to everyone, I loved him with a fierceness only a mother can understand.
He was a beautiful little boy, fearless, in a hurry, he would do everything his older brother did and was smart, curious and impulsive, his exploits often ended with injuries, I began to think they were going to name a room for us at the local ER. He protected his older brother, fought with him and they loved each other not just as brothers but as friends.
He had lots of friends and he included everyone in his circle, he thought of others often before himself, he was charming, played hockey, and remained impulsive, he seemed oblivious to the fact he could be hurt. He was a typical teen, he tried smoking, drank a little and smoked pot to deal with the despair he hid from nearly everyone. Somewhere along the line he too became a victim of childhood sexual abuse, a fact he hid from everyone, he took the name of his abuser with him to his grave, I have suspicions as to the identity of his abuser but no proof.
He was typical in other ways as a suicidal teen, he told his friends of his increasing depression, his previous attempts, of his continued desire to end the pain of his heart. They were typical in that they did not tell anyone, the unwritten code of teens is that you don't break a confidence, the fear of losing a friend by telling overrides any thought that they would seriously die at their own hand.
In the days leading up to his death he must have felt that everything was piling up on him, he broke up with his girlfriend because he couldn't take being hit by her anymore, her sister retaliated by egging our house and by verbally abusing Colley, he got into a fight with a much older boy who he had thought was a friend. The night before he died I was scheduled to go to work, I didn't really want to go, I had a headache but wasn't really sick, I didn't have a foreboding, I just wanted to be with my family. I talked to him before I left, told him I loved him, that nothing he did would ever change that and I left not knowing that I had spoken to him for the last time.
Later that night I received a call from Lee, he had overheard a telephone call that had been made to Colley, some kid wanted him to get pot from another kids mother, as parents do he assumed the worst and Lee and Colley argued. For my boys I can get mad at them, yell, ground, whatever, and they hate it, but if their dad gets mad it is as if they are destroyed from the inside out, like the impact of the words leaves them barren, without hope. Lee had to be to work that night also, he didn't want to go but had to, I didn't want to stay at work but couldn't leave, my only desire was to hurry home to my son, to make everything better like I always did after a talk with their dad.
I pulled into my driveway opened my door and found a pool of blood placed so perfectly I would have thought it had been deliberately placed so that I would find it, my first thought was for our dog but with no evidence of paw prints my second thought was pure agony, Colley! I flew out of my car around to the other side of the trailer, I tried the door, it was locked, I pounded on the door, no one came, I don't know why but I never tried the second door of the trailer, or I would have found my son, my beautiful baby. My panic increased and I sprinted to the house, ran down the stairs and went to Colley's room, he wasn't there. I yelled, I looked behind me and saw a bloody rag, all I could think now was that the blood by my car was a message, Colley wanted me to find him and save him.
I ran up the stairs to my room, frantic to find the key to the trailer, I couldn't find it! I woke my oldest son who was sleeping in my bed and he grabbed the keys to my car and left to see if he could find his brother at one of his friends. I ran out the back door of the house, I had three of my little boys following me as I leaped onto the roof of the changing room of the pool, to see if my son was back there, both hope and fear rode on my shoulder, I was trying not to show how panicked I was, trying to reassure the other boys and get them to go inside. Where could he be! I ran down the street to his best friend Todd's house, pounding on the door, shaking, frantic, Todd's father opened the door, no Colley wasn't there, I yelled about the blood, turned and ran for home.
I remember thinking that I was going to feel silly when we found Colley whole and safe as I ran home again and yet the part of me that is a nurse knew there was too much blood and if he was alive he was critically ill. I ran to the house and called the police, Todd's dad showed up just as I hung up the phone, seeing his face I was sure he had found Colley, that my baby was dead, then I shut down, I would not believe that, God would not punish me by taking my son, I sat. Todd's dad had Todd come and get my four younger boys to protect them from what was to come.
I ignored the police when they came, Todd's dad went out to meet them, I didn't move again until I heard Lee drive up, I walked straight out to him, told him there was blood in the driveway, Colley was missing and we had to find him, I then turned around and walked back into my house, wondering only slightly as to why the police were standing around instead of looking for my son. A police officer followed Lee and I to the door, Lee had tried to rush past the officers to get to the trailer, already acknowledging what I would not. The officer who followed stood just inside the front screen door, he didn't even come in far enough to close it, I will never forget his next words, "Mr and Mrs Hanson it appears your son has committed suicide".
There is more I could tell you, how they turn your home into a crime scene, separate you to question, the total loss of control you feel, the utter blackness of despair, I wanted the rest of the world to stop, I wanted to rip my heart out of my chest, everything takes on an unreal quality like you are outside time. The pain of losing a child never goes away, it is the wound that leaves such a thick scar that just touching upon it causes pain, it gets softer as the years go by but it never fully heals. I am still broken, my family is still broken, we have learned to function in a different way but it is never the same.
Enough for Now.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Doubts
I am a descendant of the first Mormon pioneers to enter the Salt Lake Valley, I am amazed at the faith they must have had to make the journey. My ancestors were persecuted, their money, possessions and property taken from them, they were forced from their homes and even at one point a declaration of extermination was made. In spite of this and all the struggles on the trail they persevered, they endured to the end, I know along the way some fell into apostasy, I have relatives in the eastern United States and up into Canada who are the descendants of Joseph Scotts' daughter who left the church while the saints were still in Missouri.
I admire the tenacity of my ancestors and hope I have in some small measure the internal fortitude they showed to not only endure but to thrive. My parents are fourth generation descendants of those who came into the valley, my parents have not always been active members but they instilled in us their belief that the LDS church is the fullness of the gospel come to earth. I never really questioned whether or not the gospel was true, there is something in me that can see that this world is too complex to have been a random act and then after I was abused I thought the only way to salvation would be to be the most perfect member I could.
Any time that I began to question anything I squashed the thought, I read my scriptures, attended, seminary, and prayed, always believing that if I did it right, if I endured, then maybe, just maybe, I would see heaven. If I wasn't accepted, or if I questioned, I figured this was my failure, it was that nameless evil within me that I could not have a constant and enduring testimony.
Heaven is a place I shall not see, Heaven was not made for such as me.
Still I continued to attend, I went to the temple and was sealed to my husband and children for time and all eternity, I am not saying that I would not have ever gone to the temple at a later date, but they day we went I think I would have left if there were not so many of our family members and church members there to see us. I did not do it for myself, I did it for my parents, the people who I felt judged me for being a teen parent and because it was expected if I was ever to erase the stain on my soul.
I still did not question, I raised my children in the LDS church, baptized each at age eight, and agonized over their salvation since if parents do not teach their children then they are under greater condemnation by God. I thought that to be a good member that anything that appeared evil need to be avoided, I could not associate with anyone who had views differing from what was taught, I lost opportunities to spend time with friends and family who were not members or were not active members to avoid this "appearance of evil",or I so tightly controlled those times we were together that true closeness never developed. I regret every day the missed closeness I could have shared with good people.
Religious people(myself previously included) explain away hardship, tragedy and the failure of such things as blessings by the laying on of hands by saying such things as it was God's will or that it was your fault because you obviously didn't have enough faith, or you have not prayed hard enough or the right way or long enough. You need to endure to the end and God doesn't give us more than we can handle. I internalized this well, my depression, chronic physical illness, the death of my child were all because of the flaw in my own soul, no matter that I spent countless hours asking, not to be healed of my illness but just to know what was causing my illness, relief from my depression and above all for my sons to be protected, somehow it was my failure, I caused it. Supposedly God doesn't interfere in the natural course of events, and yet stories of miracles abound, stories of healing, timely interventions, and yet there was no such thing for my son. God was fickle, of course thinking this just proved I was bad and I pushed my doubts away.
I was angry, well meaning people would spout the phrase about God not giving us more than we can handle, I just nodded my head and refrained from telling them I didn't believe that. I thought about Emma Smith, she was the wife of the prophet Joseph Smith, she left the church after the death of her beloved husband after years of tragedy after tragedy and finally the martyrdom of the prophet.She could not take one more thing and stayed in Nauvoo when the other saints left, this great woman could no longer endure. Push the doubts away.
Four years ago I went on a pioneer reenactment, they needed a nurse for the medical staff, I was really excited and really wanted to go and have a small taste of what my ancestors experienced. The other staff members had been meeting for months previous to the trek and had established relationships, I was a last minute add on when the original nurse could not attend. Talk about being an outsider, there was no room for me in the staff circle, and as staff we were not part of the families that were put together of the other participants. If two people had not taken pity on me I would have been sleeping on the ground by myself, they even forgot to feed me the first day and I had to mooch off others. There were things that were wonderful and I have some good memories of the trek, but my feelings of being an outsider in the LDS faith were growing.
I chose to no longer be active just over a year ago, I gave up my card carrying status and began questioning the beliefs that I had been afraid to question before. I am sure I shocked people when I said that I was not so sure that there was a benevolent God watching over us or if there was he either had a wretchedly wicked sense of humor or he dropped us off here and left our world to its own devices to succeed or fail as we will. LDS beliefs are unique in our view of the universe and I just can't accept them at this time, my friend calls me rebellious and I suppose I am, but I also feel free for the first time in many years, I am still a Mormon by covenant and record but I will choose if I return for the right reasons, it won't be for guilt, or for family, it will be for self.
With my decision to revisit tightly held beliefs I worried my children would be angry or feel I had lied to them, I was surprised and relieved when talking to them, they accept and love me without question. I told them they are each old enough to make their own decision about what they choose to believe, that I want them to do it only for themselves, to be driven by their decisions, their faith, to never do it for me, or for any other person on earth. Lee is having a little more trouble understanding the me I am becoming, I don't have all the answers and he too will have to find out what he wants for himself without me dragging him along like if I could get him saved I could hold onto his coat tails into heaven.
Enough for Now.
I admire the tenacity of my ancestors and hope I have in some small measure the internal fortitude they showed to not only endure but to thrive. My parents are fourth generation descendants of those who came into the valley, my parents have not always been active members but they instilled in us their belief that the LDS church is the fullness of the gospel come to earth. I never really questioned whether or not the gospel was true, there is something in me that can see that this world is too complex to have been a random act and then after I was abused I thought the only way to salvation would be to be the most perfect member I could.
Any time that I began to question anything I squashed the thought, I read my scriptures, attended, seminary, and prayed, always believing that if I did it right, if I endured, then maybe, just maybe, I would see heaven. If I wasn't accepted, or if I questioned, I figured this was my failure, it was that nameless evil within me that I could not have a constant and enduring testimony.
Heaven is a place I shall not see, Heaven was not made for such as me.
Still I continued to attend, I went to the temple and was sealed to my husband and children for time and all eternity, I am not saying that I would not have ever gone to the temple at a later date, but they day we went I think I would have left if there were not so many of our family members and church members there to see us. I did not do it for myself, I did it for my parents, the people who I felt judged me for being a teen parent and because it was expected if I was ever to erase the stain on my soul.
I still did not question, I raised my children in the LDS church, baptized each at age eight, and agonized over their salvation since if parents do not teach their children then they are under greater condemnation by God. I thought that to be a good member that anything that appeared evil need to be avoided, I could not associate with anyone who had views differing from what was taught, I lost opportunities to spend time with friends and family who were not members or were not active members to avoid this "appearance of evil",or I so tightly controlled those times we were together that true closeness never developed. I regret every day the missed closeness I could have shared with good people.
Religious people(myself previously included) explain away hardship, tragedy and the failure of such things as blessings by the laying on of hands by saying such things as it was God's will or that it was your fault because you obviously didn't have enough faith, or you have not prayed hard enough or the right way or long enough. You need to endure to the end and God doesn't give us more than we can handle. I internalized this well, my depression, chronic physical illness, the death of my child were all because of the flaw in my own soul, no matter that I spent countless hours asking, not to be healed of my illness but just to know what was causing my illness, relief from my depression and above all for my sons to be protected, somehow it was my failure, I caused it. Supposedly God doesn't interfere in the natural course of events, and yet stories of miracles abound, stories of healing, timely interventions, and yet there was no such thing for my son. God was fickle, of course thinking this just proved I was bad and I pushed my doubts away.
I was angry, well meaning people would spout the phrase about God not giving us more than we can handle, I just nodded my head and refrained from telling them I didn't believe that. I thought about Emma Smith, she was the wife of the prophet Joseph Smith, she left the church after the death of her beloved husband after years of tragedy after tragedy and finally the martyrdom of the prophet.She could not take one more thing and stayed in Nauvoo when the other saints left, this great woman could no longer endure. Push the doubts away.
Four years ago I went on a pioneer reenactment, they needed a nurse for the medical staff, I was really excited and really wanted to go and have a small taste of what my ancestors experienced. The other staff members had been meeting for months previous to the trek and had established relationships, I was a last minute add on when the original nurse could not attend. Talk about being an outsider, there was no room for me in the staff circle, and as staff we were not part of the families that were put together of the other participants. If two people had not taken pity on me I would have been sleeping on the ground by myself, they even forgot to feed me the first day and I had to mooch off others. There were things that were wonderful and I have some good memories of the trek, but my feelings of being an outsider in the LDS faith were growing.
I chose to no longer be active just over a year ago, I gave up my card carrying status and began questioning the beliefs that I had been afraid to question before. I am sure I shocked people when I said that I was not so sure that there was a benevolent God watching over us or if there was he either had a wretchedly wicked sense of humor or he dropped us off here and left our world to its own devices to succeed or fail as we will. LDS beliefs are unique in our view of the universe and I just can't accept them at this time, my friend calls me rebellious and I suppose I am, but I also feel free for the first time in many years, I am still a Mormon by covenant and record but I will choose if I return for the right reasons, it won't be for guilt, or for family, it will be for self.
With my decision to revisit tightly held beliefs I worried my children would be angry or feel I had lied to them, I was surprised and relieved when talking to them, they accept and love me without question. I told them they are each old enough to make their own decision about what they choose to believe, that I want them to do it only for themselves, to be driven by their decisions, their faith, to never do it for me, or for any other person on earth. Lee is having a little more trouble understanding the me I am becoming, I don't have all the answers and he too will have to find out what he wants for himself without me dragging him along like if I could get him saved I could hold onto his coat tails into heaven.
Enough for Now.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Ideations
When you are so distressed you have thoughts about but no plan or actions tied to committing suicide they call these ideations. Most people have had transient thoughts when things are tough of killing themselves and if all followed through our population problem would cease to exist. As it is suicide is the third leading cause of death for children 14-19 years of age and children as young as 8 years of age have died of intentionally self inflicted injury.
In previous posts I have told of my own attempts starting at approximately age 9. For many years I found comfort in having my plan formulated, it gave me a kind of peace that treatment did not. I am a sufferer of chronic depression. If you know someone with chronic depression you know that living with them day in and day out can be draining, medications that worked suddenly stop working and you start the cycle of trying to find balance all over again. We also have a tendency to stop taking meds when we are doing well because there is still a heavy stigma attached to mental illness and we think the depression won't reoccur.
Suicide is often referred to as a selfish, cowardly act, a permanent solution to a temporary problem, I do not see suicide this way. One of our most basic internal instincts is that of survival, the tiniest of premature infants will try to push away things that touch their face and are occluding their airway, they are not strong enough to stop it but they will try.
Suicide is self execution, the person must override the most ingrained instinct to preserve their own life often using methods of execution that the ACLU would brand as cruel and unusual.
Why this subject? On November 18th my youngest son will be 14 years, 4 months, and 11 days old, he will have outlived the brother who we lost on Fathers Day June 17, 2001. Colley was our second child, part of the Sensational Six, bright, talented, not perfect, but perfectly ours. I name him here by his pet name because I want to remain as anonymous as I can, although I so dearly want to see his name and hear it, to feel this most important part of my heart has not disappeared. Colley died of depression, the instrument he used to self execute was a nine millimeter handgun, I do not often talk about him not because I am ashamed but to protect him and his brothers from the intentional or unintentional cruelty of others.
Colley has a story and in time I will give voice to it, I miss him fiercely, I will never be who I was before he died, but he was not selfish or cowardly. He was broken and felt that he was so damaged by his own secrets of abuse that for our family to be whole he needed to remove himself. I know that pain only chance has kept me here.
Enough for Now
In previous posts I have told of my own attempts starting at approximately age 9. For many years I found comfort in having my plan formulated, it gave me a kind of peace that treatment did not. I am a sufferer of chronic depression. If you know someone with chronic depression you know that living with them day in and day out can be draining, medications that worked suddenly stop working and you start the cycle of trying to find balance all over again. We also have a tendency to stop taking meds when we are doing well because there is still a heavy stigma attached to mental illness and we think the depression won't reoccur.
Suicide is often referred to as a selfish, cowardly act, a permanent solution to a temporary problem, I do not see suicide this way. One of our most basic internal instincts is that of survival, the tiniest of premature infants will try to push away things that touch their face and are occluding their airway, they are not strong enough to stop it but they will try.
Suicide is self execution, the person must override the most ingrained instinct to preserve their own life often using methods of execution that the ACLU would brand as cruel and unusual.
Why this subject? On November 18th my youngest son will be 14 years, 4 months, and 11 days old, he will have outlived the brother who we lost on Fathers Day June 17, 2001. Colley was our second child, part of the Sensational Six, bright, talented, not perfect, but perfectly ours. I name him here by his pet name because I want to remain as anonymous as I can, although I so dearly want to see his name and hear it, to feel this most important part of my heart has not disappeared. Colley died of depression, the instrument he used to self execute was a nine millimeter handgun, I do not often talk about him not because I am ashamed but to protect him and his brothers from the intentional or unintentional cruelty of others.
Colley has a story and in time I will give voice to it, I miss him fiercely, I will never be who I was before he died, but he was not selfish or cowardly. He was broken and felt that he was so damaged by his own secrets of abuse that for our family to be whole he needed to remove himself. I know that pain only chance has kept me here.
Enough for Now
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Shoulding on Myself
I once heard Richard Blaise, who competed on Top Chef, state that he has these great ideas for wonderful meals and makes those meals reality only to hate them the second they were completed and want to throw the food away and start over because he never feels he had done good enough and should have done this thing and that thing different.
A counselor of mine called this "Shoulding on Yourself". I am very good at shoulding on myself, in fact I am so good I could teach classes. I judge myself constantly on what I feel I should have done and cannot see that I do anything well. For example I have created wedding cakes for family and others and like Richard Blaise would toss them out and start over because no amount of perfection would make me feel I had done well. I brush aside any praise and point out whatever flaws I perceive may be present.
So I decided I would stop shoulding on myself at least for a moment and list those things I have done, without putting the usual self qualifiers as to why it isn't good enough and without "shoulding".
1. I graduated from high school while married and after having a baby
2. I delivered six beautiful healthy baby boys without medications.
3. I have written two songs
5. I can sing
6. I went to college/nursing school while raising three small children and had a fourth child while
attending college and graduated with honors.
7. I have been married to the same man for over 27 years.
8. I completed a bachelors in nursing, graduating respectively while mourning my child's death.
9. I survived the death of one of my sons.
10. My husband and I have opened a business/franchise and currently have two tax prep. stores
11. I have recently started a business with a long time friend
12. I decorate creative character cakes and have made a total of six wedding cakes, all self taught
13. My husband and I are raising one of our grandchildren.
Just a few things listed and hard for me to do without feeling that niggling little voice at the back of my head that tells me how my accomplishments are minor, not enough, so I'm squashing the should monster. I am good enough.
Enough for Now
A counselor of mine called this "Shoulding on Yourself". I am very good at shoulding on myself, in fact I am so good I could teach classes. I judge myself constantly on what I feel I should have done and cannot see that I do anything well. For example I have created wedding cakes for family and others and like Richard Blaise would toss them out and start over because no amount of perfection would make me feel I had done well. I brush aside any praise and point out whatever flaws I perceive may be present.
So I decided I would stop shoulding on myself at least for a moment and list those things I have done, without putting the usual self qualifiers as to why it isn't good enough and without "shoulding".
1. I graduated from high school while married and after having a baby
2. I delivered six beautiful healthy baby boys without medications.
3. I have written two songs
5. I can sing
6. I went to college/nursing school while raising three small children and had a fourth child while
attending college and graduated with honors.
7. I have been married to the same man for over 27 years.
8. I completed a bachelors in nursing, graduating respectively while mourning my child's death.
9. I survived the death of one of my sons.
10. My husband and I have opened a business/franchise and currently have two tax prep. stores
11. I have recently started a business with a long time friend
12. I decorate creative character cakes and have made a total of six wedding cakes, all self taught
13. My husband and I are raising one of our grandchildren.
Just a few things listed and hard for me to do without feeling that niggling little voice at the back of my head that tells me how my accomplishments are minor, not enough, so I'm squashing the should monster. I am good enough.
Enough for Now
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
The Furry Hoarders Cache
Because being serious all the time is wearing to the soul, so I want to go back and discuss one of my four footed furries. The Hoarder gets her name from her habit of taking packages of food down to her kennel where she either opens the package and proceeds to consume the contents prior to stashing the evidence of her crime under her bedding, or she stashes the whole thing under her bedding to be stealthily eaten at another time. One of her favorite things in the world is to get hold of a jar of peanut butter, how does she get to the contents? She somehow manages to chew the bottom out in a perfect circle like those can openers that open the side of the can instead of inside the top.
The other day I walked downstairs to change the laundry and seeing that the blankets in her kennel seemed to be gaining in height decided maybe I needed to clean it out. Here's the tally and identity of the remains.
Her kennel contained: 1 soft shelled flour tortilla wrapper, 1 hard corn taco shell box, 2 Slurpee cups(the big plastic ones), 1 Subway sandwich wrapper, 6 empty fry sauce containers, 8 ketchup packets, 1 knife, 1 fork, 1 spoon(maybe she is trying to be lady like), 1 peanut butter jar, 1 plastic bag that used to hold a half dozen bread rolls, 6 paper plates, 1 empty bread bag, 2 butter wrappers(her other favorite food) and last but not least, 1 Styrofoam take out food container.
She should be fat, or at least normal weight, but alas no, she constantly looks as if no one ever feeds her, German Shorthairs tend to be thin but if dogs wore pants she would be a size zero, with room to spare. She is otherwise healthy, hyper and loving just as her breed tends to be, in fact I have always described Shorthairs as springs covered with a small amount of fur. Fat Dog knows she is a Hoarder and is constantly surveying that kennel just in case something got missed, after all a good mother dog cleans up after her children and though she never had any litters of puppies, she has decided all the other dogs and babies must be kept clean, and if she gets a little treat for her work, then it's like money found in the dryer, it belongs to she who finds it!
The Hoarder still can't find a treat under a cup even if you show it to her before you put it under the cup but with her other skills who needs that treat anyway. She can just go down and console herself with peanut butter after all.
Enough for Now
The other day I walked downstairs to change the laundry and seeing that the blankets in her kennel seemed to be gaining in height decided maybe I needed to clean it out. Here's the tally and identity of the remains.
Her kennel contained: 1 soft shelled flour tortilla wrapper, 1 hard corn taco shell box, 2 Slurpee cups(the big plastic ones), 1 Subway sandwich wrapper, 6 empty fry sauce containers, 8 ketchup packets, 1 knife, 1 fork, 1 spoon(maybe she is trying to be lady like), 1 peanut butter jar, 1 plastic bag that used to hold a half dozen bread rolls, 6 paper plates, 1 empty bread bag, 2 butter wrappers(her other favorite food) and last but not least, 1 Styrofoam take out food container.
She should be fat, or at least normal weight, but alas no, she constantly looks as if no one ever feeds her, German Shorthairs tend to be thin but if dogs wore pants she would be a size zero, with room to spare. She is otherwise healthy, hyper and loving just as her breed tends to be, in fact I have always described Shorthairs as springs covered with a small amount of fur. Fat Dog knows she is a Hoarder and is constantly surveying that kennel just in case something got missed, after all a good mother dog cleans up after her children and though she never had any litters of puppies, she has decided all the other dogs and babies must be kept clean, and if she gets a little treat for her work, then it's like money found in the dryer, it belongs to she who finds it!
The Hoarder still can't find a treat under a cup even if you show it to her before you put it under the cup but with her other skills who needs that treat anyway. She can just go down and console herself with peanut butter after all.
Enough for Now
Growing Pains
Marriage at any age is difficult, add in teen parenthood and too often you have an almost certain set up for divorce, I was determined I would not fail, I was already sure that I was a condemned soul but if I could save Lee then I could maybe have some small measure of hope.
We started attending church meetings, if you are not familiar with LDS(or Mormon) church services we meet on a block schedule three hours in length, the first hour men and women meet separately, middle is Sunday school, and last is Sacrament meeting where families are joined together in the chapel. Adult women are expected to meet in Relief Society starting at age 18 where we are given lessons on subjects such as being a good homemaker, so here I was 17 still in high school and put into a class where, while most were kind, I still felt the condemnation of not having been properly married in the temple. Still I went to class each week hoping to find some comfort in the words I heard but in my mind I was sure I would never attain the perfection a person like myself would need to enter into my Fathers' kingdom. We were married in the temple at a later date but that is a story for another day.
One other thing that happens when you are a child of sexual abuse is that intimacy is difficult, although I felt that I had given myself to my spouse and I felt that by the teachings of my faith that I was to submit to the will of my husband, I had difficulty responding, I rarely said no to his wants, I felt I had no right to. So I continued my role of shame, I wanted to feel, I wanted that normal release, I found it only when I could separate myself from the act, even when I didn't want to do the things that were asked of me, but didn't feel I could say no, separating myself led to different feelings of shame and so the circle continued, shame, guilt, remorse, fear, further separation, back to shame.
Lee never struck me with a fist, there are other types of abuse that can be just as devastating if not more. I never said no even when I felt shame or physical pain from what was asked for or even just taken(he would have called it persuading), I felt it was deserved, earned even, everything was my fault. On one side we were told to submit ourselves to our husbands and on the other we were given strict guidelines as to what types of intimacy were appropriate, so my guilt and shame increased. I was sure my sin could be seen by anyone who looked at me, like I carried some kind of scarlet letter on my head. It was six children, and many years of marriage and lots of therapy(for me) later before I ever stood up to my husband and called it abuse. It was one of the hardest things I ever did to admit to a counselor that I was being used that way, I thought they would blame me, or say it was his right.
Why did I stay? Why am I still married to Lee after more than 27 years? A counselor once told me I needed to decide what scared me more, staying or being alone, I hadn't told her of the abuse, that was too shameful, and at the time being alone was to be feared and being that I still felt I was damaged goods and could expect nothing better, I stayed. In the months just prior to the time that I finally told of the abuse I had an emotional affair, it seemed safe, he was out of state, I wanted to feel cherished, and I did for a time.
I wish I could say it had stayed long distance and emotional, but I met him in person just once, we kissed, held hands, we had some physical contact although my husband is the only one I have ever been fully intimate with, I ended up feeling used, and dirty and evil, I actually contemplated death, I wanted to cease existing, I also felt like I was now responsible for any sin on his part. He never spoke to me again, he just disappeared, use them and lose them, and stupid me I let it happen again. I know a part of me wanted to give Lee a reason to leave me, to hate me. Obviously I went home, I ended up telling Lee what had happened, he wanted to know why I fell for such an obvious cad, I was probably just his newest conquest, surely I didn't think he hadn't been doing this for years?
I ended up confessing to our bishop, because of my guilt and shame and I was called to a church court and put on probation for my sins, Lee who had abused me for years and my bishop was aware of it by this time, was told to get counseling. He did go to counseling but I am never quite sure how much of it he absorbed, I know in couples counseling he wouldn't do the things we were assigned to do, we had one counselor tell us we were wasting her time, he was good at deflecting onto me and being the good little victim I was then, I accepted the blame.
Needless to say I have trust issues, while I don't think he would ever again force me, he still tries to repeat acts I find painful, I can at least tell him no know and he will stop, as long as I am firm about it, but I don't ever dare let my guard down. I still struggle to respond, I still separate emotionally during intimacy with him, it is a continuous battle within my head and heart. He can be more tender than he was but I cannot fully trust, I still feel this is my shameful secret.Most of the time I still sleep on the edge of the bed, as far away as I can, looking at us from the outside you would never guess that we are anything but what we appear, a married couple raising a family with a successful marriage.
So why do I stay? I don't know how to answer that, maybe it's just that I cannot imagine my life without it being intertwined with his, we have history, we know each others stuff and over time we have learned to accommodate each other to an extent that allows us to have some peace and believe it or not I do love him.
Why am I sharing this? I don't want pity, or anger, or protection, I am learning to be strong for myself, it is a continuous process, giving up that black and white thinking is a hard thing to do. I have to work at it, finding forgiveness of myself is a work in progress too, but sometimes you have to let go to move forward.
This is the story of me, my life still unfolds a day at a time, I am not through growing, I am learning I am not responsible for the salvation of others, that it is okay for me to find out who I am, I work daily to remind myself I am not evil, irredeemable, too damaged to expect good, to trust. I do not give trust to others easily.
I am still a Mormon by birth, by heritage, and by ordinances, but I have stepped away from being active, some would say I am apostate, or that I am having a midlife crisis, maybe, but what I feel is free. I want my choices to be my own, I no longer want to continue to be ruled by guilt and shame.
Enough for now.
We started attending church meetings, if you are not familiar with LDS(or Mormon) church services we meet on a block schedule three hours in length, the first hour men and women meet separately, middle is Sunday school, and last is Sacrament meeting where families are joined together in the chapel. Adult women are expected to meet in Relief Society starting at age 18 where we are given lessons on subjects such as being a good homemaker, so here I was 17 still in high school and put into a class where, while most were kind, I still felt the condemnation of not having been properly married in the temple. Still I went to class each week hoping to find some comfort in the words I heard but in my mind I was sure I would never attain the perfection a person like myself would need to enter into my Fathers' kingdom. We were married in the temple at a later date but that is a story for another day.
One other thing that happens when you are a child of sexual abuse is that intimacy is difficult, although I felt that I had given myself to my spouse and I felt that by the teachings of my faith that I was to submit to the will of my husband, I had difficulty responding, I rarely said no to his wants, I felt I had no right to. So I continued my role of shame, I wanted to feel, I wanted that normal release, I found it only when I could separate myself from the act, even when I didn't want to do the things that were asked of me, but didn't feel I could say no, separating myself led to different feelings of shame and so the circle continued, shame, guilt, remorse, fear, further separation, back to shame.
Lee never struck me with a fist, there are other types of abuse that can be just as devastating if not more. I never said no even when I felt shame or physical pain from what was asked for or even just taken(he would have called it persuading), I felt it was deserved, earned even, everything was my fault. On one side we were told to submit ourselves to our husbands and on the other we were given strict guidelines as to what types of intimacy were appropriate, so my guilt and shame increased. I was sure my sin could be seen by anyone who looked at me, like I carried some kind of scarlet letter on my head. It was six children, and many years of marriage and lots of therapy(for me) later before I ever stood up to my husband and called it abuse. It was one of the hardest things I ever did to admit to a counselor that I was being used that way, I thought they would blame me, or say it was his right.
Why did I stay? Why am I still married to Lee after more than 27 years? A counselor once told me I needed to decide what scared me more, staying or being alone, I hadn't told her of the abuse, that was too shameful, and at the time being alone was to be feared and being that I still felt I was damaged goods and could expect nothing better, I stayed. In the months just prior to the time that I finally told of the abuse I had an emotional affair, it seemed safe, he was out of state, I wanted to feel cherished, and I did for a time.
I wish I could say it had stayed long distance and emotional, but I met him in person just once, we kissed, held hands, we had some physical contact although my husband is the only one I have ever been fully intimate with, I ended up feeling used, and dirty and evil, I actually contemplated death, I wanted to cease existing, I also felt like I was now responsible for any sin on his part. He never spoke to me again, he just disappeared, use them and lose them, and stupid me I let it happen again. I know a part of me wanted to give Lee a reason to leave me, to hate me. Obviously I went home, I ended up telling Lee what had happened, he wanted to know why I fell for such an obvious cad, I was probably just his newest conquest, surely I didn't think he hadn't been doing this for years?
I ended up confessing to our bishop, because of my guilt and shame and I was called to a church court and put on probation for my sins, Lee who had abused me for years and my bishop was aware of it by this time, was told to get counseling. He did go to counseling but I am never quite sure how much of it he absorbed, I know in couples counseling he wouldn't do the things we were assigned to do, we had one counselor tell us we were wasting her time, he was good at deflecting onto me and being the good little victim I was then, I accepted the blame.
Needless to say I have trust issues, while I don't think he would ever again force me, he still tries to repeat acts I find painful, I can at least tell him no know and he will stop, as long as I am firm about it, but I don't ever dare let my guard down. I still struggle to respond, I still separate emotionally during intimacy with him, it is a continuous battle within my head and heart. He can be more tender than he was but I cannot fully trust, I still feel this is my shameful secret.Most of the time I still sleep on the edge of the bed, as far away as I can, looking at us from the outside you would never guess that we are anything but what we appear, a married couple raising a family with a successful marriage.
So why do I stay? I don't know how to answer that, maybe it's just that I cannot imagine my life without it being intertwined with his, we have history, we know each others stuff and over time we have learned to accommodate each other to an extent that allows us to have some peace and believe it or not I do love him.
Why am I sharing this? I don't want pity, or anger, or protection, I am learning to be strong for myself, it is a continuous process, giving up that black and white thinking is a hard thing to do. I have to work at it, finding forgiveness of myself is a work in progress too, but sometimes you have to let go to move forward.
This is the story of me, my life still unfolds a day at a time, I am not through growing, I am learning I am not responsible for the salvation of others, that it is okay for me to find out who I am, I work daily to remind myself I am not evil, irredeemable, too damaged to expect good, to trust. I do not give trust to others easily.
I am still a Mormon by birth, by heritage, and by ordinances, but I have stepped away from being active, some would say I am apostate, or that I am having a midlife crisis, maybe, but what I feel is free. I want my choices to be my own, I no longer want to continue to be ruled by guilt and shame.
Enough for now.
Monday, October 31, 2011
The Pregnancy Test
I have mentioned in a previous post that I was married at age 17 in the August prior to my senior year of high school, I did not go into detail about that time and would like to share a little more. Surprisingly although my husband and I were not using any birth control it was a year before I became pregnant with our first child. Why didn't we use birth control, well the only way to really compound the sin of having sex outside of marriage would have been to use birth control, I already was sure I was the spawn of evil and didn't want to cause any more sin to fall upon the head of my partner.
When I first missed my period we waited for the required few days before you could use a home pregnancy test, back then the test took 45 minutes to process and it was done in a test tube that you had to read by looking for a circle at the bottom of the tube. We drove far out of the area close to our homes to furtively purchase a kit, we then had to wait until everyone was gone from my home before we could begin the process of testing. We carefully followed the directions and waited impatiently for the required time to pass, once it was done the conversation went something like this. "It's positive, I can see the ring at the bottom of the tube" I said. "Are you sure it doesn't look like the picture on the instruction sheet", said Lee in a shaky voice. "Yes I'm sure, look see the ring, you can see it in the mirror" I replied. This went back and forth until I finally suggested we get it followed up by a blood test.
I was sure we would have the same results with a blood test, this was one determined little being and I was already having symptoms of "morning" sickness. We went the next day and had the results by that afternoon, I was definitely and without a doubt pregnant. Now what, we knew we wanted to get married and had been planning to marry sometime after I graduated from high school but how on earth were we going to tell our parents. We had visions of my father with a shot gun, we needn't have feared my father it was my mother we should have been afraid of. Before I was able to tell my parents a sibling had gone into my room to use my phone and found the papers from the clinic we had gone to. I was confronted by a very disappointed, angry parent and I won't go into the details but sometimes when parents are hurt and angry they say things that they later regret. We nearly ran away that night after the confrontation, but decided to wait it out for a few days. That night my boyfriend told his father and was told any decision we made would be supported.
A few days later my mother talked to me again, expressing her love for me and her disappointment because she had wanted so much more for me than to be a young mother, she said if we wanted to marry that she would allow it only if Lee came to her and asked. When he came to her later that day and asked for permission she looked at him and said he had her permission but that she wanted to make clear to him that he was Never to say he had to marry me because he didn't. I could stay home and keep the baby, place the baby for adoption, or we could marry and raise the child but marrying was a choice not a requirement and she would never want me dishonored by his ever saying we married not by choice but because of this baby.
I would have been content to marry in front of a justice of the peace, to go quietly and spare my parents any more upset, but my mother stepped in and said I would have a wedding. She had been married by a justice of the peace and she wanted me to have a real wedding, a memory to cherish, with all that came with it, so we set about to plan a wedding.
We were married on a sunny August day, my mother and sister provided all the food and family served in the kitchen, we had the ceremony and reception in an LDS ward house. My sister made my wedding cake and it was decorated with fresh roses. It was wonderful and more than I expected, more than I felt I deserved, I am so grateful to my mother for seeing that having this start was important, I have beautiful pictures and a lovely memory.
Enough For Now.
When I first missed my period we waited for the required few days before you could use a home pregnancy test, back then the test took 45 minutes to process and it was done in a test tube that you had to read by looking for a circle at the bottom of the tube. We drove far out of the area close to our homes to furtively purchase a kit, we then had to wait until everyone was gone from my home before we could begin the process of testing. We carefully followed the directions and waited impatiently for the required time to pass, once it was done the conversation went something like this. "It's positive, I can see the ring at the bottom of the tube" I said. "Are you sure it doesn't look like the picture on the instruction sheet", said Lee in a shaky voice. "Yes I'm sure, look see the ring, you can see it in the mirror" I replied. This went back and forth until I finally suggested we get it followed up by a blood test.
I was sure we would have the same results with a blood test, this was one determined little being and I was already having symptoms of "morning" sickness. We went the next day and had the results by that afternoon, I was definitely and without a doubt pregnant. Now what, we knew we wanted to get married and had been planning to marry sometime after I graduated from high school but how on earth were we going to tell our parents. We had visions of my father with a shot gun, we needn't have feared my father it was my mother we should have been afraid of. Before I was able to tell my parents a sibling had gone into my room to use my phone and found the papers from the clinic we had gone to. I was confronted by a very disappointed, angry parent and I won't go into the details but sometimes when parents are hurt and angry they say things that they later regret. We nearly ran away that night after the confrontation, but decided to wait it out for a few days. That night my boyfriend told his father and was told any decision we made would be supported.
A few days later my mother talked to me again, expressing her love for me and her disappointment because she had wanted so much more for me than to be a young mother, she said if we wanted to marry that she would allow it only if Lee came to her and asked. When he came to her later that day and asked for permission she looked at him and said he had her permission but that she wanted to make clear to him that he was Never to say he had to marry me because he didn't. I could stay home and keep the baby, place the baby for adoption, or we could marry and raise the child but marrying was a choice not a requirement and she would never want me dishonored by his ever saying we married not by choice but because of this baby.
I would have been content to marry in front of a justice of the peace, to go quietly and spare my parents any more upset, but my mother stepped in and said I would have a wedding. She had been married by a justice of the peace and she wanted me to have a real wedding, a memory to cherish, with all that came with it, so we set about to plan a wedding.
We were married on a sunny August day, my mother and sister provided all the food and family served in the kitchen, we had the ceremony and reception in an LDS ward house. My sister made my wedding cake and it was decorated with fresh roses. It was wonderful and more than I expected, more than I felt I deserved, I am so grateful to my mother for seeing that having this start was important, I have beautiful pictures and a lovely memory.
Enough For Now.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Four Footed Furry Children
I want to step away from the more serious side of myself for a change and talk about my three dogs, it never ceases to amaze me that three animals can be as diverse in personality as three children in the same family. We currently have three, all three are rescues although the one dog doesn't count officially as a rescue since she was not part of an official rescue organization.
Fat Dog or Escape Artist is a Smooth Haired Fox terrier and Jack Russell mix dog who has decided I am her human, she follows me everywhere I go when I am home and cries for me when I am not. She is the alpha after me and rules the other two dogs, she is also the mother and thinks that she needs to take care of everyone, if you are sick or sad that means you need to have a grooming session, and she is very attentive, unless you can hide under the covers any exposed skin must be cleaned thoroughly. She loves everyone and has yet to meet a person she would not allow to steal us blind as long as none of her humans were threatened and they gave her attention and a treat. As fat as she is you would think she would not be able to fit through small places but we have found that if she can fit her head through a spot she will squeeze the rest of her chubby body through and take herself for a walk. She is our unofficial rescue since it was not an official rescue group that rescued her mother.
Snort, or pig, is a terrier mix of unknown parentage, he is a sweet dog who was abused before being dumped in the desert to die and has some airway damage that makes him have a snort. Fortunately for him he was found and taken to a rescue. He has made great progress and now barks at you while begging to be loved and petted, rather than barking from the basement. He always looks either guilty or pathetic and you can't help but love him. He isn't really named Snort, or Pig but snorts louder the happier he is and sounds a bit like a pig when he does.
The last of the crew is a pure bred German Short haired Pointer who is the smartest stupid dog I have ever seen and I call her the hoarder. She is so skinny that you would think she is half starved except for the fact that Hoarder takes food constantly, she will grab food from the kitchen in the wrapper, take it down to her kennel and either stash it for later under her bedding or she will carefully opens said package and devours the contents before stashing the incriminating evidence under the bedding. This is the same dog who can't find a treat under a glass after you have shown it to her before placing it under the glass. Go figure!
Enough for now.
Fat Dog or Escape Artist is a Smooth Haired Fox terrier and Jack Russell mix dog who has decided I am her human, she follows me everywhere I go when I am home and cries for me when I am not. She is the alpha after me and rules the other two dogs, she is also the mother and thinks that she needs to take care of everyone, if you are sick or sad that means you need to have a grooming session, and she is very attentive, unless you can hide under the covers any exposed skin must be cleaned thoroughly. She loves everyone and has yet to meet a person she would not allow to steal us blind as long as none of her humans were threatened and they gave her attention and a treat. As fat as she is you would think she would not be able to fit through small places but we have found that if she can fit her head through a spot she will squeeze the rest of her chubby body through and take herself for a walk. She is our unofficial rescue since it was not an official rescue group that rescued her mother.
Snort, or pig, is a terrier mix of unknown parentage, he is a sweet dog who was abused before being dumped in the desert to die and has some airway damage that makes him have a snort. Fortunately for him he was found and taken to a rescue. He has made great progress and now barks at you while begging to be loved and petted, rather than barking from the basement. He always looks either guilty or pathetic and you can't help but love him. He isn't really named Snort, or Pig but snorts louder the happier he is and sounds a bit like a pig when he does.
The last of the crew is a pure bred German Short haired Pointer who is the smartest stupid dog I have ever seen and I call her the hoarder. She is so skinny that you would think she is half starved except for the fact that Hoarder takes food constantly, she will grab food from the kitchen in the wrapper, take it down to her kennel and either stash it for later under her bedding or she will carefully opens said package and devours the contents before stashing the incriminating evidence under the bedding. This is the same dog who can't find a treat under a glass after you have shown it to her before placing it under the glass. Go figure!
Enough for now.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Screw Up
I don't try to be a screw up but seem to always find myself on the losing side of my choices on a constant basis. I want to be something wonderful but can't seem to maintain that normal that everyone else seems to hold to, I get too comfortable and I mess up those things I value the most, friendships, my family, at work I am described as quirky, I mess up all of it. Some would say it is because I hold myself to too high of a standard, everything I do must be perfect and when it isn't I lose all sense of perspective. Sometimes I think it is something inside of me that messes up on purpose because I don't think I deserve anything good in my life. I really think I don't deserve anything good, I am bad, evil, not worth redemption and so I make it my reality. Sometimes I fight against that belief but when I am tired or depressed, I hate myself, if I make a mistake I cannot forgive myself. I am too flawed to remain alive and not capable of removing myself from this life. Black and white thinking, all good, all bad, no room for errors.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Hopeful But Unbelieving
I have been told that when a child is molested they tend to get stuck in their emotional development at the age they were molested. For me being the age I was it meant that I see everything as black and white, right or wrong, good or evil, there is nothing gray in my world, nothing in between the extremes. I have worked very hard for many years to change my view of myself and my world, at times I see that I have progressed and yet it is an issue I still struggle with, others can make mistakes, but if I do I cannot forgive myself, I fall apart and want desperately to hide myself, to cease existing, it is not enough to die because I believed that I would live in my shame for eternity.
Mormons believe that after our life here and after the second coming of Jesus Christ we will be assigned to one of three kingdoms of Heaven based on how good of a person we were here, grace is also involved because no matter how good we are here without the sacrifice of the Savior we still would fall short of even the lowest kingdom. Being a child of abuse and believing myself to be evil I was/am convinced that no amount of my being a "good" Mormon is going to make up for who I am, for my fallen state. Somehow I think if I can "save" everyone around me then just maybe I might be allowed to be in the lowest levels of heaven. There is a part of me that realizes this is faulty thinking but I still go around in a state of anxiety because I still have a bigger part that believes it to be true.
I was still in many ways a typical child and teenager, I had my rebellious moments, I drank alcohol a couple of times, stayed out too late, dated before I was sixteen, smoked pot once and took pain meds I wasn't prescribed. I had friends but wasn't overly outgoing, I attended church meetings, got bullied, I still cried easily though not as much as I had as a younger child. I both loved and hated school, the perfection thing invaded here, if I couldn't do it perfect then I just didn't do it at all, so my grades often suffered.
When I was thirteen I was given a pamphlet by my church leaders called simply "Chastity" in its pages were the words of a talk given by a General Authority of my church, in it I read words that cemented my belief that I was evil. While I hope these words were not meant the way I took them, what I remember went something like this, "it would be better for you to die than to allow anyone to steal your virtue", I interpreted them to mean that I should have fought to the death rather than let my virtue be taken. Not only was I evil, I was without virtue, I had let a man steal my virtue and should have died at eight but even Jesus hadn't wanted me.
Mormons believe that after our life here and after the second coming of Jesus Christ we will be assigned to one of three kingdoms of Heaven based on how good of a person we were here, grace is also involved because no matter how good we are here without the sacrifice of the Savior we still would fall short of even the lowest kingdom. Being a child of abuse and believing myself to be evil I was/am convinced that no amount of my being a "good" Mormon is going to make up for who I am, for my fallen state. Somehow I think if I can "save" everyone around me then just maybe I might be allowed to be in the lowest levels of heaven. There is a part of me that realizes this is faulty thinking but I still go around in a state of anxiety because I still have a bigger part that believes it to be true.
I was still in many ways a typical child and teenager, I had my rebellious moments, I drank alcohol a couple of times, stayed out too late, dated before I was sixteen, smoked pot once and took pain meds I wasn't prescribed. I had friends but wasn't overly outgoing, I attended church meetings, got bullied, I still cried easily though not as much as I had as a younger child. I both loved and hated school, the perfection thing invaded here, if I couldn't do it perfect then I just didn't do it at all, so my grades often suffered.
When I was thirteen I was given a pamphlet by my church leaders called simply "Chastity" in its pages were the words of a talk given by a General Authority of my church, in it I read words that cemented my belief that I was evil. While I hope these words were not meant the way I took them, what I remember went something like this, "it would be better for you to die than to allow anyone to steal your virtue", I interpreted them to mean that I should have fought to the death rather than let my virtue be taken. Not only was I evil, I was without virtue, I had let a man steal my virtue and should have died at eight but even Jesus hadn't wanted me.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
I Am a Child of Abuse
I have been told that when a child is molested they tend to get stuck in their emotional development at the age they were molested. For me being the age I was it meant that I see everything as black and white, right or wrong, good or evil, there is nothing gray in my world, nothing in between the extremes. I have worked very hard for many years to change my view of myself and my world, at times I see that I have progressed and yet it is an issue I still struggle with, others can make mistakes, but if I do I cannot forgive myself, I fall apart and want desperately to hide myself, to cease existing, it is not enough to die because I believed that I would live in my shame for eternity.
Mormons believe that after our life here and after the second coming of Jesus Christ we will be assigned to one of three kingdoms of Heaven based on how good of a person we were here, grace is also involved because no matter how good we are here without the sacrifice of the Savior we still would fall short of even the lowest kingdom. Being a child of abuse and believing myself to be evil I was/am convinced that no amount of my being a "good" Mormon is going to make up for who I am, for my fallen state. Somehow I think if I can "save" everyone around me then just maybe I might be allowed to be in the lowest levels of heaven. There is a part of me that realizes this is faulty thinking but I still go around in a state of anxiety because I still have a bigger part that believes it to be true.
I was still in many ways a typical child and teenager, I had my rebellious moments, I drank alcohol a couple of times, stayed out too late, dated before I was sixteen, smoked pot once and took pain meds I wasn't prescribed. I had friends but wasn't overly outgoing, I attended church meetings, got bullied, I still cried easily though not as much as I had as a younger child. I both loved and hated school, the perfection thing invaded here, if I couldn't do it perfect then I just didn't do it at all, so my grades often suffered.
When I was thirteen I was given a pamphlet by my church leaders called simply "Chastity" in its pages were the words of a talk given by a General Authority of my church, in it I read words that cemented my belief that I was evil. While I hope these words were not meant the way I took them, what I remember went something like this, "it would be better for you to die than to allow anyone to steal your virtue", I interpreted them to mean that I should have fought to the death rather than let my virtue be taken. Not only was I evil, I was without virtue, I had let a man steal my virtue and should have died at eight but even Jesus hadn't wanted me.
Mormons believe that after our life here and after the second coming of Jesus Christ we will be assigned to one of three kingdoms of Heaven based on how good of a person we were here, grace is also involved because no matter how good we are here without the sacrifice of the Savior we still would fall short of even the lowest kingdom. Being a child of abuse and believing myself to be evil I was/am convinced that no amount of my being a "good" Mormon is going to make up for who I am, for my fallen state. Somehow I think if I can "save" everyone around me then just maybe I might be allowed to be in the lowest levels of heaven. There is a part of me that realizes this is faulty thinking but I still go around in a state of anxiety because I still have a bigger part that believes it to be true.
I was still in many ways a typical child and teenager, I had my rebellious moments, I drank alcohol a couple of times, stayed out too late, dated before I was sixteen, smoked pot once and took pain meds I wasn't prescribed. I had friends but wasn't overly outgoing, I attended church meetings, got bullied, I still cried easily though not as much as I had as a younger child. I both loved and hated school, the perfection thing invaded here, if I couldn't do it perfect then I just didn't do it at all, so my grades often suffered.
When I was thirteen I was given a pamphlet by my church leaders called simply "Chastity" in its pages were the words of a talk given by a General Authority of my church, in it I read words that cemented my belief that I was evil. While I hope these words were not meant the way I took them, what I remember went something like this, "it would be better for you to die than to allow anyone to steal your virtue", I interpreted them to mean that I should have fought to the death rather than let my virtue be taken. Not only was I evil, I was without virtue, I had let a man steal my virtue and should have died at eight but even Jesus hadn't wanted me.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Jesus Please Take Me To Heaven
Statistics state that one in four girls will be sexually abused, what that doesn't tell you is how much planning and careful selection a predator goes through to groom his victim prior to the ultimate act of betrayal.
First they will ingratiate themselves with the adults in the child's life. In my case he came over and spoke with my parents about our home, at that time my father was excavating a hole in our backyard to build an extension to our basement, literally shovel full by shovel full.
He flattered them, he was new to the neighborhood, he and his wife had just bought the home around the corner from ours. He was intelligent and articulate, well dressed, he seemed like a kind, normal older man, husband, neighbor, a grandpa. Adults taken in, check.
The next step is to casually arrange for the intended victim to be invited over, I wasn't the only little girl going over to visit, he asked one of his other potential victims if they knew me and then suggested she bring me over the next time she came over. I was happy to have a "grandpa" I didn't have one and over at "grandpa Bills" I was treated to things I rarely got at home, soda, cookies and I was allowed to watch whatever I wanted on TV. Child visiting the predator, check, check.
The real abuse starts so slowly you don't even know that's what it is. I was eight years old and as naive as an eight year old should be. I knew about strangers, I had learned about them in school but this wasn't a stranger this was my grandpa. The movements were slow, not alarming and seemed accidental. I loved him with a child's trust. Child taken in check, check, check.
The last is to make the final move, I can tell you what I wore that day, I can tell you what the temperature was like, the time of year, where we were. I won't go into details, at least he didn't rape me, as he was molesting me, he asked me if it felt good, I told him it didn't. Liar he laughed, I know it feels good,he told me, he knew that bodies respond even when the mind screams in fear, knowing the wrongness. Shame or threaten your victim so they won't tell, check, check, check, check.
I cannot begin to describe the shame I felt, the fear, I went home, and cried, and hid, and never told a soul. I was sure they would blame me, I had been baptized, I was now dirty, soiled, I almost expected to have the mark of Satan on me visible to all.
To say this act has had an effect on my life from that point on is like saying the tsunami in Japan caused minor damage. I went through what I would describe as a bought of depression at the age of nine. I had read a story about a boy who hurt so badly after being hit by a car that he wanted to go to heaven, another child in the hospital told him Jesus walked the halls at night and that if he would prop up his hand Jesus would lead him to heaven. I wanted to stop hurting, so I slept with my hand propped up for weeks hoping Jesus would take me to heaven. Needless to say it didn't work, so I decided I had to get hit by a car, I started running in front of cars trying to get hit, but I knew it would really hurt so I never did succeed, and Jesus left me here.
First they will ingratiate themselves with the adults in the child's life. In my case he came over and spoke with my parents about our home, at that time my father was excavating a hole in our backyard to build an extension to our basement, literally shovel full by shovel full.
He flattered them, he was new to the neighborhood, he and his wife had just bought the home around the corner from ours. He was intelligent and articulate, well dressed, he seemed like a kind, normal older man, husband, neighbor, a grandpa. Adults taken in, check.
The next step is to casually arrange for the intended victim to be invited over, I wasn't the only little girl going over to visit, he asked one of his other potential victims if they knew me and then suggested she bring me over the next time she came over. I was happy to have a "grandpa" I didn't have one and over at "grandpa Bills" I was treated to things I rarely got at home, soda, cookies and I was allowed to watch whatever I wanted on TV. Child visiting the predator, check, check.
The real abuse starts so slowly you don't even know that's what it is. I was eight years old and as naive as an eight year old should be. I knew about strangers, I had learned about them in school but this wasn't a stranger this was my grandpa. The movements were slow, not alarming and seemed accidental. I loved him with a child's trust. Child taken in check, check, check.
The last is to make the final move, I can tell you what I wore that day, I can tell you what the temperature was like, the time of year, where we were. I won't go into details, at least he didn't rape me, as he was molesting me, he asked me if it felt good, I told him it didn't. Liar he laughed, I know it feels good,he told me, he knew that bodies respond even when the mind screams in fear, knowing the wrongness. Shame or threaten your victim so they won't tell, check, check, check, check.
I cannot begin to describe the shame I felt, the fear, I went home, and cried, and hid, and never told a soul. I was sure they would blame me, I had been baptized, I was now dirty, soiled, I almost expected to have the mark of Satan on me visible to all.
To say this act has had an effect on my life from that point on is like saying the tsunami in Japan caused minor damage. I went through what I would describe as a bought of depression at the age of nine. I had read a story about a boy who hurt so badly after being hit by a car that he wanted to go to heaven, another child in the hospital told him Jesus walked the halls at night and that if he would prop up his hand Jesus would lead him to heaven. I wanted to stop hurting, so I slept with my hand propped up for weeks hoping Jesus would take me to heaven. Needless to say it didn't work, so I decided I had to get hit by a car, I started running in front of cars trying to get hit, but I knew it would really hurt so I never did succeed, and Jesus left me here.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Introductions
I am going to tell a little about myself, those who know me may recognize me in these words but that is not why I am writing, this is my alter ego my true self.
I was born in the great state of Utah with all that entails, I am a descendant of the pioneers, those incredibly hardy souls who came into the valley and laid down firm foundation in their homes and in their religion. I am a Mormon, I was raised not to question God too much, all things are for our good, we are never given more than we can handle, He has a purpose for all things, and with enough faith I would have all I ever needed,but maybe not what I wanted.
I am the youngest of seven children, all of us living and all with children of our own. We were raised in a home our parents built with their own hands, every shovel of dirt, every brick and shingle, placed in the perfection that only my father could imagine. I didn't doubt my parents loved me, I was oblivious to the abusive nature of our father's interactions with us, I just knew that when he got mad it didn't do to be too close since often it meant the belt for whoever was unlucky enough to be in range. I rarely was the target I was a softhearted child and cried if I thought someone was mad at me so crying or hiding kept me safe.
Being softhearted had its drawbacks, while I was safe at home I was forever a target once I left the front door of my home. I was teased and bullied by many of the area kids, this lasted throughout my childhood and adolescence. I wasn't without friends, I had some very good friends, but it was rough when there were so few kids my age in the area and most viewed me as entertainment.
I suppose my growing up was much the same as any other child, we weren't rich but I never went without, I both loved and loathed my siblings, I went to church, and was as sheltered as my parents and location could keep me. Sometimes being sheltered and softhearted leaves you vulnerable and predators pray on those who they know can be manipulated, I was such a child and evil has a way of finding you.
I was born in the great state of Utah with all that entails, I am a descendant of the pioneers, those incredibly hardy souls who came into the valley and laid down firm foundation in their homes and in their religion. I am a Mormon, I was raised not to question God too much, all things are for our good, we are never given more than we can handle, He has a purpose for all things, and with enough faith I would have all I ever needed,but maybe not what I wanted.
I am the youngest of seven children, all of us living and all with children of our own. We were raised in a home our parents built with their own hands, every shovel of dirt, every brick and shingle, placed in the perfection that only my father could imagine. I didn't doubt my parents loved me, I was oblivious to the abusive nature of our father's interactions with us, I just knew that when he got mad it didn't do to be too close since often it meant the belt for whoever was unlucky enough to be in range. I rarely was the target I was a softhearted child and cried if I thought someone was mad at me so crying or hiding kept me safe.
Being softhearted had its drawbacks, while I was safe at home I was forever a target once I left the front door of my home. I was teased and bullied by many of the area kids, this lasted throughout my childhood and adolescence. I wasn't without friends, I had some very good friends, but it was rough when there were so few kids my age in the area and most viewed me as entertainment.
I suppose my growing up was much the same as any other child, we weren't rich but I never went without, I both loved and loathed my siblings, I went to church, and was as sheltered as my parents and location could keep me. Sometimes being sheltered and softhearted leaves you vulnerable and predators pray on those who they know can be manipulated, I was such a child and evil has a way of finding you.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Small Beginnings
I decided that it was high time I joined much of the rest of the world and started my own blog. Not because I think I have things of great importance to say but because sometimes I am full of thoughts and feelings that I want to give voice to but don't expect a reply to, it's like having a confidant that is never too busy to hear what I have to say and is non judgemental. I know I can get that with a dog, I have three of those(don't worry they are all rescues and they are all fixed)I love my four footed furry children and their different personalities but it isn't quite the same. So short and sweet here it is, my great experiment a way of finding me in all the turmoil that is life.
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