And now my story. I am the product of parents who, after 6 years of being together, decided they didn't really want to be anywhere near each other but continued to stay in the same house. The amazing thing is, they never said anything to that effect but I can pinpoint the day it changed. I remember it very clearly. I have often referred to it as "The beginning of the Silent War." The only time they did talk was to discuss bills or what I had done wrong. My dad started drinking very heavily and turned violent towards me within a short time of "the War" starting. My mom suddenly became "blind" to the bruises and such. My parents didn't talk to each other at all if it could be avoided. They worked seperate shifts and kept seperate lives. I was shoved off to babysitters.
The babysitters were an older couple who lived next door. She was hopelessly addicted to Bingo and was gone four nights a week soothing her addiction. Her husband turned his attention to me. It went on for 3 years before I said a word to my parents. I went to my dad because I was bleeding and knew I couldn't hide it. His response was "you know nothing happened. It's just your period. You just don't want to stay with a baysitter. I don't have time for this" and hit me in the mouth. I was 8 years old. It was not my period. When I was 10, I started staying with a different babysitter during the week and with my grandparents on the weekends.
My grandparents were wonderful people. I don't know why I never went to them for help. I think I may of been afraid of disappointing them. As a kid, I honestly believed the sun rose and set on my grandpa's shoulders. He was the greatest man I have ever known. I miss him deeply. He passed on in 1981.
At the end of my 5th grade school year, my parents lost their house. We ended up living with my other grandmother. We lived there for 1 1/2 years. The abuse had stopped. Or so I thought..
We moved into another house and by this point I was a teenager in a small town. My parents were still continuing the Silent War and were both spending most of their time in the local bar. If I needed to get ahold of them, it was there. Then I got in trouble for calling there. It was a hopeless situation.
When I was acknowledged at all, I was told "I don't care what you do as long as you don't embarass us in front of our friends." Being a teenager, I kind of "ran with it". I started doing alot of things that I deeply regret now. I did drugs, drank heavily, and slept around...alot more so than the average teenager. Noone seemed to notice much of it. When I did screw up and they heard about it in the bar, the beatings were horrific. I learned to be more cautious about doing things downtown but I didn't slow down any. If anything, I reached out more to the other sex for attention. I got alot of attention in small doses. It didn't fill the void my parents left behind.
I also turned violent. I was basically a bully. I was alot tougher than most of the guys my age so it was really easy to push others around. It gave me a sense of superiority where I had only previously felt inferior. I know it was wrong but at the time, I couldn't see it.
When I was 18, things changed again. My dad left my mom for one of the women he met in the bar. I went to the bar and saw him one day and when I asked him why he waited so long to leave, he told me "I refuse to pay child support on any of my mistakes." This pushed me further into the lifestyle I had found. I started drinking all the time-even just sitting home watching television, I was bombed. The party lifestyle got way out of hand. Somewhere in there, I got pregnant with my daughter. I am thankful for that every day because it took that to stop the things I was doing. I married her father 4 days before she was born in front of a judge. The only people who came were a friend from school (who walked me down the aisle at my second wedding), my best friend at the time, her husband, and my dad (how ironic).
My former husband turned out to be an evil man with some major mental problems. He ran around, hung out in adult bookstores, hired prostitutes, and took what he wanted when he wanted it. My son is a product of one of his attacks. I got out in November of 1993. I ended up going to live with my mother and stepfather with my 2 kids. In February of 1994, he came to my mothers house. He had been doing so before that to spend time with the kids. He had seemed to have mellowed out and was good to the children. I left him unsupervised for 20 minutes while I took a shower. When I came out, I didn't see the kids anywhere. I went upstairs to my room and found them. He was laying in my bed with my 2 year old daughter sitting on his stomach and my 1 year old son laying next to him- all 3 were naked and he was watching an adult movie and using an adult item in his rectum while masturbating. I grabbed my children and ran downstairs with them. I locked them in my mothers bedroom and headed back upstairs. He met me in the stairway. I told him to leave and he stated that he was taking our daughter. An all-out war errupted. I told him to leave again. He said he wouldn't unless he could take my daughter with him. I called the police. It took them about 10 minutes to get there. By the time they arrived, he had half beaten me to death and was attempting to get out the door with my daughter. When the police pulled in, were fighting in the doorway. He was arrested and I was taken to the hospital. I suffered 4 broken ribs, a broken cheekbone, fractured arm, concussion, breast injury,and a permanent brain injury which to this day causes problems. My daughter had vaginal bleeding and my son was okay. He was in jail for 11 days until his father bailed him out. He went to stay with some friends of ours about 40 miles away. He told them he had been in jail for hitting me BACK. While he was out on bond, he attacked a mentally handicapped 12 year old in their home and was arrested there. He ended up serving 28 months of a 2-15 year sentence in a maximum security prison. The local authorities dropped all of the charges pertaining to us. They said my daughter couldn't testify as to what he did so there was no way to prove what had happened. It was his word against mine and he denied any of it ever happened when the Prosecutor questioned him about it. He has to register as a sex offender. I am not sure for how long though. I hope it is forever.
My divorce was final in June, 1994. I ignored everything but getting that done. Including my health. My divorce was the first one that my judge had ever waived the statutory waiting period on.
In August, I underwent surgery on my breasts to remove damaged tissue. I still had the bruises on my breasts from our fight and they wouldn't go away. My doctor sent me for a mammogram which led to a biopsy, which led to surgery.
My daughter suffered from "night terrors." That is a nightmare in and of itself. It lasted until she was about 4. I met my now husband through some other friends. He was a godsend from the beginning. We became the best of friends. Then we became platonic roommates. We shared a house for six months. He moved to another state for family reasons. He came home to visit and we have been together since. We realized that we cared alot more for each other than we had previously acknowledged. We were married in December of 1997.
In May of 1999, we were in the process of moving and I got in a car accident. It did more mental damage than physical damage. The other person involved was my cousin. For some reason, I suddenly was terrified to drive.
As I said, we were in the process of moving. My mother and my stepfather had the kids. They brought the kids home on a Sunday. When they got out of their truck with the kids, both were trashed. My mom could hardly talk and my stepdad had an open beer in his hand. I watched all of this and honestly, it took a while to click what I was seeing. When it finally did, I came unglued. But at that point they had alreay left.
I didn't have any contact with them for 8 months. I spent that time sorting out my life. Both past and present. The only people I was around were my husband, and my 2 kids. At some point in there, I totally lost it and tried to commit suicide. I ate an entire bottle of prozac and waited to die. One of my children screamed out in their sleep and I forced myself to vomit. I cried myself to sleep that night and when I woke up the next day I was determined to get my life together. I came to terms with alot of things from my childhood and my adolescence. And some from my adult life. It is a constant process of growing and healing that has gotten me to where I am now. My aunt calls me "a wounded bird." She is right. At points in my life, I have found the strength to soar. At others, I am frail with broken wings. But I know now, with a little love and kindness from those who are around me, eventually I will soar again.
Update: July 3, 2003--Following my step-dad's suicide, my mother moved out of state with us. (I had moved to get myself and my kids away from their lifestyle) She slipped into a major depression. My husband's job took us to another state in September. The day after we moved, my mom had a minor stroke. We did not know that it was a stroke at the time. In October, she had a massive stroke and we found her here at home on the floor. We had her taken by ambulance to the local hospital. While she was there awaiting transfer to a "real" hospital, she had a heart attack. They missed it entirely. She got to the second hospital and they caught it. She was admitted into the ICU in critical but stable condition. She was paralyzed on one side. They took her for an MRI after she (and myself) refused it. They did it 20 minutes after I left the hospital. They said she became combative and they sedated her. She had another heart attack and a stroke in the MRI tube and came out of it in a coma. She spent 3 days in a coma and went into a nursing home for rehab and therapy after about 3 weeks in the hospital. At first she was doing very good with her therapy and rehab and there was a possibility of her coming home. At Christmas, she got sick and ended up in the hospital again. I had been fighting with the nursing home for 3 weeks because she was bleeding and they kept trying to say she was having a period (she was 53)..It turned out to be Ulcerative Collitis and she almost died then. She got out of the hospital in mid-january. She went back to doing her therapy and was doing good until march 24th. Mike killing himself hit her all at once on the anniversary and she began a downward spiral of depression that led her to giving up. A few days before Easter, she started cheeking and hiding her heart meds. She was finally taken to the hospital Easter Sunday because she was non-responsive and lethargic. The nurse from the nursing home told me she thought she was faking it and took mom to the hospital simply for evaluation. On Monday, they discovered at the nursing home that mom had not been taking her meds. They did not notify me or the hospital of this. The hospital thought she was becoming toxic and withheld her meds thinking she would improve. She was moved into the ICU when her kidneys stopped working. She passed away on Arpil 24th. She had basicly committed suicide the same as Mike had.
On May 3rd, I had a heart attack. I am in the process of recovering and rebuilding what is left of my life now. I am battling a major depression. I am told this is normal after a heart attack but in my case, I think it is a combination of things that are kicking me square in the backside. I am working on it though.
It will be awhile before I can get back to adding information to this site. I am sorry for the delays. Please bear with me.
I hurt I need I fear I cry
And I know you do the
same things too. So we're
really not that different,
Me and you.
in all we do...
What you do touches me
What I do touches you.
