About Me

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New Albany, Indiana, United States

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Now, we'll go back a bit.

After my mom left my dad, I got molested as stated in an earlier blog. Our mom couldn't care for us any longer and we went back to our dad. Apparently, he had a coming to God experience and started attending church except he still wasn't living his life on the right track but expect us too.Here's the real kicker of the story, we may have be 12 and 13 by this time. My dad would leave us at home for weeks at a time with no food, no money, no nothing to go be with his whore who was nuttier than a fruit cake. That's where they met. The Mental hospital.

The only thing my brother knew who to make was pancakes. They were good too. But, after so long pancakes were not that great. That's all we would we. For breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Until we ran out. Then we would eat mashed potato sandwiches, mustard sandwiches, mustard sandwiches. Anything we could find honestly when we weren't in school. My brother finally had to make the very hard decision in the 7th grade to quit school to help support me to continue to go to school so we could get the things we needed. I think for a long time he resented me and we fought. A lot. And, a lot of times we hated one another but we made it through. Without the help of a dad that wasn't there and a mom and sister that our dad refused to let be there because they chose to be with black men.

My brother and I had fist fights, he pulled a shot gun on me once and said he blow my brains out (he doesn't remember this) its understandable. He was a 13 year old boy having to basically try to raise himself and his little sister in a world that felt like it was never going to to work. I don't blame him for any of it and have forgiven for all of it honestly. I made peace with for that a while back and he knows that and this is the only reason I am talking about it. Right now. My brother is the best brother I have ever known, I kind of wish I knew him like this when we were little but I am loving knowing him like this now. We get to experience all this goodness together. He is not like he once was. He is my brother, he is Charlie Wright. I love him and I cannot wait for him to walk me down the isle on my wedding day.

I love you big brother!

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Being raped will tear you to shreds.....

It was a hot summer night. I had on khaki shorts. Not too short (anyone who has ever known me knows I have never worn short shorts). I had on a navy blue Tommy Hilfiger T-shirt. I was a friends house. We were partying hard. In the last blog I stated I was molested and it already damaged me pretty bad. At this point I started smoking pot heavily, drinking anything I could get my hands on, huffing anything I could but mostly gas, sniffing pills, taking pills. Just anything that would get me high enough to forget the pain. Anyway, at the friends party we were doing all of this. I was pretty bad off. I don't remember a lot. I was in and out of consciousness. I had remembered earlier that the friend invited some much older men over to come party with us. They arrived way later that night. After I had already been passed out on the ground in and out and not knowing what was going on. I do remember at one point being on the ground, raising my head, looking around and no one was in sight. Everyone was inside. There was nothing but a ton of cars that surrounded me and grass. I looked up and the stars was looking back down at me. A few minutes later I heard a mans voice say my name. It woke me up (I wasn't asleep). Just in and out of consciousness of being high, drunk, and whatever else I was. He picks me up, puts me in the passenger seat of his car and locks the door. I won't lie and tell you I can remember everything that happened after that point because I can't. I know he raped me though because from that point on I had flash backs of what happened. I bled after that. I had never had sex before that point. I didn't ask to have sex with him. The choice was not given to me. After it happened to me I remembered. I was sober after. It sobered me. I guess I was getting there through the process. He dumped me from his car. He unlocked the door, opened it, and pushed me onto the ground. I remember sobbing my eyes out. I could feels semen on my clothes beside me, he pushed me out with no clothes on. I was naked, exposed, in my friends yard for the world to see if anyone came out.

He got out of his car and said "we're cool, right?" Locked his car, and walked back into the house. I managed to put my clothes back on. Finally went inside. When I walked in he was sitting on the couch. I look around the room and everyone was looking at me. He was smiling. I ran to the bathroom and took a shower. I was bleeding. I had semen all over me. I scrubbed myself so hard with a bath rag all over my body I bled all over. I never thought I was going to get clean. I never talked to this friend again. She had no idea this had happened but I couldn't face her. I was mean to her, I wanted to make her think I didn't like her anymore just cause, cause I didn't want to be her friend.

He went and told his friends I agreed to have sex with him and was bragging about it, which was a lie obviously. Which got back to his girlfriend. I didn't know he had a girlfriend obviously cause I barely knew him. His friend ended up telling everyone I had sex with him instead of his friend having sex with me (raping) me. So his girlfriend wouldn't leave him. They ended marrying a few years later, had a kid or two and divorced. I had to see him every time I went to MS to visit my family and he will never acknowledge what he did to me. But, I will say this right here and right now. If I see him the next time I am down there. I am 27 years old now. I will tell him that I think he is a nasty old bastard and he is a pervert and he deserves to rot in hell (if there is one). If there isn't he deserves to be tortured to the max for what he did to me. He will deny it like they all do, but I know what he did to me.

He not only took away a little 13 year old girls virginity he took sense of safety (what little I had left) of men and everything else you can imagine. After  this happened I started to cut myself. I would slit my wrists on a regular basis, I would slit my stomach, my arms, my legs, ankles, back, any part I could get too. The back of neck, behind my ears. You name it. I wanted to hurt myself. I wanted to die but was a coward and couldn't do it myself. On many occasions I took so many pills to try to kill myself but never took enough. I was too much of a coward. I didn't know how to do it. I hated my dad for it too. I think if he had of been around enough and not always gone this would have never happened. I was so mad one day at him when we were coming home from Bentley, MS and he was being an asshole I tried to run us off of a bridge. Both of us. I was going to kill us both. Get rid of him for the world and get rid of me for the pain I was feeling. But, he grabbed the wheel and asked "what the hell I was thinking"? I lied and said I blanked out. He drove the rest of the way home.

The rape affected me in many, many ways. I started having sex with any guy that would show me attention. Which wasn't a whole lot. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't some whore to be quite honest. I didn't get a lot of attention. I got all the wrong attention but I took it. I was actually quite mean to the nice one's. I would fight the nice one's.

I would like to think I was one of the lucky one's though. I didn't end up in a garbage dumpster or alley way, killed. Although I would have liked to have been several times. But, I wouldn't have all this now. I love my life now.

Since the molestation and the rape I have had a bad case of paranoia. I have always been afraid of certain things and have a high sense of my surroundings that most people do not have. The first thing I have gotten rid of. The second I would like to keep. Anyway, its not easy having that because you are always on edge, thinking that something may happen to you. I remember living in an apartment with one of my good friends and some of her male friends came into my room at 3 A.M. one night picking with me and jumped in the bed with one. I grabbed a butchers block knife and started trying to hack away at them. They were screaming it was okay and telling me who they were, I knew them. I was half asleep but I didn't know at the time what they were doing to be so it was kill or be killed. Luckily, it was joke. I can take jokes now. It took me a long time to get from there to here.

Even after moving here, I was afraid of everything and even looked over my shoulder. Hard to trust anyone. I trust a little easier now but still am a bit withdrawn to feel you out so to speak.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

This one will hurt......

When I was 10 going on 11 my mom went into rehab to try to get herself clean and sober. We were all happy about that. My dad seemed to be happy about everything except for the fact that she would be gone from him for more than 30 days. Afraid she might find someone that might treat her better than he did. Well, she did. Or, so she thought. She didn't tell us though. Not at the time. She continued a relationship with this man through the entirety of her stay at the drug rehab center. My dad would get my brother and I in the middle of the night in the car to go stalk on the rehab facility to see them coming out in the middle of the morning. At 5 A.M. to be exact. To see if they were coming out of the same room. They wouldn't let them bunk together of course but when they would come out together they would hold hands. When my dad saw this he fell apart. This woman he claimed to love had fell in love with someone else. I think the part that made him angry was the fact that instead of it being a white man it was a black man. He was furious. I remember us driving home in complete silence. When we got home my brother and I sat on the couch just waiting to see what was going to happen. My dad grabbed his gun and walked around with it for a few minutes and then went back and put it in the gun cabinet. He then put his head through the wall and screamed.

A few weeks later my mom got out of rehab and informed my dad she was leaving him and taking us with her. I was happy, of course. Never been so happy in my life. Although, I didn't know this new man in her life I knew he couldn't be any worse than our dad. Wrong. Well, I guess he wasn't worse. But, he was no better either. He ended up on the streets again. He was a crack user and why he was in rehab in the first place.

Anyway, we lived in a really nice home. Had the best things money could buy, went to the nicest school in Amory, MS. My dad ended up finding us. He threatened to blow our house up with a stick of dynamite he had hidden behind the cab of his truck and he cut the lines of out electrical outlet. We called the cops. Well, our mom did. The cops came and nothing ever came of it. Our dad ran of course and we didn't hear from him for a while.

Right after that the guy we were living with was busted for crack cocaine and our mother had to find us a house to live in. It was one bedroom blue house. It was so tiny. We could barely fit in it. When he got out of jail he came to live with us. He was mean. I remember one day my brother and I got into an argument over nothing like kids do and he beat my brother with a switch till he had blood running down his legs. About 12, my brother was. Another time my brother was helping my mom make the bed and he accidentally knocked over a whole red solo cup of cigarette ashes. Yes, ashes. We all know what that is for. He was on crack again.

Soon after he was caught again and we had to go live with his dad, brother, sister, her husband and two kids. I loved his sister. She brought my brother and I a half frozen capri sun every night before we went to sleep. We ended up having to share a room with the brother which was in his late 40's I would say and they would always shut the door. He would come to bed later and shut the door behind him. Well, one night my brother went to spend the night with a friend he had made at our new school. The brother we bunked in the room with waited until the wee hours of the morning and he started to touch me and molest me. I felt him touching me all over yet I was paralyzed. I couldn't move. I couldn't open my eyes. I couldn't scream for help. I didn't know what to do. I had been in many situations of abuse but I had never been in a situation like this. He felt down my thighs and on my tiny 11 year old breasts. He touched my vagina all over and my butt. This must have went on for hours and I lay stiff as board and paralyzed. Acted as though I was asleep the entire time. I remember hearing footsteps coming up the hallway and him running back to his bed and covering up. I was still laying in bed acting as though I was asleep. It was my mom coming in the room to wake me up for school. She shook me a few times. I finally got up, she said come eat breakfast and get ready for school. I did so and never mentioned this until about a hear ago. I never went into detail until this moment right now.

My brother blames himself. He was only 12 at the time. He thinks he should of been a better protector of me. He should not blame himself. He didn't do it. He was kid. What more could he have done. If the guy was going to do it he would have found a way either way. I love you Charlie and there is no way in this world there could have been anything you could have done to do anything about this. I am stronger because of  this. I have to fight my demons because of it but he has not won. I do not own this anymore. He does. He owns it!

Friday, February 24, 2012

My mother, a beautiful young soul.

She was kind, caring, and compassionate. She would do anything in the world for you. She didn't care how many times someone did her wrong she was still there for them. A quality most people don't have, including myself. My mom had lots of friends but only a few true friends. A lot of her friends did her dirty and stabbed her in the back. But, of course she forgave them like she forgave my daddy for all he done to her.

She was raised the best either. Her daddy was an alcoholic who dealt out his fair share of ass whoopings as he called them and her mother was bed ridden with no legs. Her uncle sexually molested her and her sisters and then they were put in a foster home where they were all sexually abused there as well. But, in the end she was able to show her kids the kind of compassion and love only she could. I can't explain it but she loved us like no one ever did. It was love I have never felt from anyone else. She believed we could do anything, that we could conquer the world if we wanted to.

I remember on days in the summer when daddy would be at work and she wouldn't be babysitting any kids. She would make pinto beans in the crock pot. Well, at lunch we would all get a cup full and she'd make a pawn of cornbread as we'd call it and get us a nice big tea cup full. Put a bit of may on there and sit on the couch and watch werewolf movies. Mostly sliver bullet. Those were the most fondest memories. Cuddled all 4 of us on the couch together eating that, drinking our sweet tea, and watching that movie. What I give just for one more day of that. Can't bring her back though. Although we all wish we could.

Lets talk about her death briefly and then I will end this post. My mother went into South Arkansas Medical Center for symptoms related to pneumonia. They put her in a room, started her on IV fluids like they normally do. All was good. My mom seemed to be getting a little agitated so they were going to give her some atitivan which you do not do with a patient who has COPD which I know and I am no a nurse. My sister said no and they did it anyway and gave her a mask to wear. Sometime shortly my sister ask them to move her to the ICU to better watch because she was not breathing well and she needed to be monitored closely. They said they would try. My sister told them she was running home to get a shower and would be back in in 15-20 min to please check on her frequently. When my sister entered the room the nurses where on top of my mother giving her CPR saying they didn't know how long she had been down but the lady who was bunking with her said at least 15 minutes because she had been calling the nurses that long and they didn't respond. They then moved her to ICU but it was too late. In my eyes she was already dead. I was already living in KY. So I got the news she was on life support from my sister. She had no brain activity what so ever. We kept her on life support I'd say a good week or close to it hoping and praying she would pull through it. Of course she did not. I remember when I got to AR and seen my mother for the first time I could not believe my eyes. I thought they took me into the wrong room. That was not my beautiful mother laying on that bed with barely any hair and barely any skin on her bones, and all bruised and battered. I remember whispering in her ear and what I said to her. I told her that I loved her and to please pull through this. I need her more than anything, after all I was all 22 years old. After I whispered to her she coded and they called for a crash cart. I remember freaking out and running as fast as I could. I didn't know where or how and who I was running too but I needed to get somewhere. I ran to the doors. They wouldn't opened. I banged on them hard. They wouldn't open. I could see my ex-husband, and my aunts on the other side and they said they couldn't let me out there was no way too. I screamed for them to let me out and finally the door opened. I ran into the bathroom nearest there. My aunts came in and tried to console me but it wasn't helping me. I knew right at that moment my mother was never going to wake up again. She was gone. It didn't matter how long we kept her there, she was gone. her soul was gone to wherever souls go. It was hard to come to terms with this and I still didn't. She lost her battle 5 years ago on this very day. Of course we found lawyer who we thought was going to represent us well and he did not. If you ever hear the name Bruce Flint, run for the hills. He is not a good lawyer and he will pretend to represent you in a good manner but he doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground and I would almost be willing to bet I know more about law than his sorry ass. Thank you, come again. Sorry about that little rant.

After my mom's death I took a supervisor position to stay gone from home as long as possible to not think about things as much. When I was home I tried to stay to myself and I cut myself in places that no one would see. I wasn't trying to kill myself. I wanted to feel physical pain so I wouldn't have to feel emotional pain. I was having panic attacks all the time. I couldn't stand myself much less anyone else. I hated myself and everyone around me but I put a face and a front for everyone else but deep inside I wanted to die and wanted everyone else to feel like I did. I did have good days sometimes at work or out with friends but when I went home I was miserable. I hated home, I hated church, I hated the people at church, and I hated God. Judge me for this if you want but this is how I feel. This is me. This is how I feel.

Since today was her 5 year anniversary and we want to start celebrating her and stop mourning her we set balloons off for her. Her favorite color was yellow so here are a few photos of that. Thanks for reading as always.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

What would you do?

There once was an incident where my dad was beating my mom so badly that she was already bleeding out of her face and probably a few other places where he then drug her outside and threw her on the ground. She was screaming and crying for him to stop. "Please, Bobby, Stop". I can still hear those words. He was yelling obscenities at her. I am sure the neighbors heard but no one ever stood up to him. No one. Except for my young, very small, brother. My dad picked up a cross tie that lined our driveway. I will remind you all that these things are not light and can do major damage. My dad was getting ready to hit my mom with it while she was laying on the ground helpless when my brother ran out of the house with a gun. He still threw the cross tie but he threw it beside her to scare her. Luckily, the gun my brother had was bb gun and he had the barrel pointing at himself and had every intention of beating the shit out of my dad. Sometimes I wish he did, but at the same time I know if he did he would have gotten dealt what our mom did.

As usual we took mom inside and helped her clean herself. Loved, hugged, and kissed on her and told her how much we loved her. I believe on this night I laid in bed with her and begged her to please leave our daddy. If she didn't, he was going to kill her. Even me being as young as I was, I knew this. I grew up before I should have. I had to think like an adult. My brother feels the same way, as he should. I am not really sure where my sister was at this point. Maybe already moved out. Like I said before. Dates run way together for me.

One time he and my mom went to Arkansas to visit my aunt. I was supposed to stay with a good friend but something happened and I didn't get picked up. My sister took me with her, to her friends house. It was actually fun, they played dress up with me and all. When my parents returned to get us and found me there, my dad was very angry. He cursed at my sister and slapped her a few times in the car. He figured that wasn't enough so he stopped in front of the hospital road in Calhoun City, Ms about 3 A.M. and beat my sister like he never beat anyone before. He beat her like she was a grown man. She couldn't have been but 15, if that. She had both eyes blacked, he had on steel toed cowboy boots and was kicking her also. He slammed her head against the car and finally shoved her back inside.

After we got home I don't remember a whole lot. I remember my sister and I pulling a mattress into the living room by the door to sleep because it was cold in our room. We snuggled and went to sleep. The next morning our dad woke up and was walking through the living room and collapsed onto the floor. At that moment I had hoped he was dead. As bad as that sounds. I really wished for it. Our life would have been easier. We are still unsure of what made him do that, maybe Karma, if you believe in that. I do. He is still alive though.

With that I will close out this posting. Tomorrow will be dedicated to my mother as it will be the 5 year anniversary of her death. I will tell her death story one last time, I will tell of my wonderful memories of her, and I will post photos of her.

Goodnight all.

Things do tend to run together.

When you are little and scared most of the time, things really do run together. You don't remember dates or ages but you sure do remember things that happen.

Like the time my dad got mad at my mom and locked my brother, her, and me out in the cold. We couldn't get inside the house. My brother and I had made a little tin fort that day or the day before. It was super small. Had to crawl to get inside of it. It had one hole at the end where we would crawl in and out. I remember that night very vividly. I remember thinking in my young mind how someone could leave his family outside all night especially when it was cold out. Not freezing but it was cold. I remember what my mom was wearing. She was wearing a very worn, ragged, cut off t-shirt. Its what she always wore to bed and her panties. So I know she must have been cold. We cuddled together and I know my brother and I eventually went to sleep but I am not so sure she did. She probably watched over us.

Our dad finally let us in the next morning. I don't remember much about going inside or what was said. I know we just woke at dawn and went in. Mom and dad probably got into another argument. I remember it being a daily thing. Well, I guess I could say daily but it was more like daily and every time they were together.

Like I said there were some points that were ok. Good memories. Like, when my mom would sing some CCR to my dad or some Rod Stewart, BB King, Queen, etc. when we were driving to and from somewhere. She loved to sing. She wasn't a good singer, like me. I can't hold a tune, but she loved him and wanted him to know it by some of the songs she sang. I do believe he loved her back. He was just dealing out what he had been given when he was a child. The cycle of abuse. It never ends until you realize its there and take control. Sort of like I am doing. My brother and sister are doing the same.

I remember a lot of times when in public she wasn't aloud to speak out or give her opinions. Mostly around his friends. The one's he thought he had to be manly in front of. He would tell her "shut the fuck up and go get in the car". We always heard these things. He would tell us the same thing. Or he would tell her "I am going to beat your ass when we get home". And, he did that. He never threatened and not follow through. He would tell us the same and follow through on those too.

There was a time we went to my Aunt Debbie's (May she rest in peace) and my sister forgot her shoes. When we got home my dad beat her with one of those big orange extension cords. She was young. Kids forget things. Its not like she harmed anyone or cursed anyone, she forgot her damn shoes. It wasn't just her responsibility either. As parents you should make sure your kids have everything before you leave. If they weren't too drunk maybe she would have gotten them. They were both smashed. They stayed that way a lot. They shouldn't have even been driving. We are lucky to even still be a live as many times as they drove drunk. My dad was a bad alcoholic. I mean bad. He also tried every drug he could get his hands on. Smoked pot mostly though. I honestly think that my mom had to drink and smoke pot to deal with the life she was leading. She was a sweet woman and caring but had to deal with an asshole, abuser on a daily basis. I think that would be enough to drive anyone insane. I am surprised she held on for as long as she did.

More to come later.......

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

There were some good memories.

I will say we did have some fun times when I was growing up, but more bad than good. So sometimes the bad out weighs the good.

The tidbit I will tell tonight is about the objects in the picture I saw the other night while writing my story of strength. It was a blue and white figurine. Very heavy. It was a horse and carriage with a person on top. So it wasn't small. It was medium sized but like I said. Pretty heavy. My dad came home from work one day. I don't remember everything that happened that day but he was pretty mad. Probably drunk and high. That was a pretty regular thing in our house.

Anyway, he starts to argue with our mom. I won't lie my mom stood her ground a lot and it got her beat a little worse but she wasn't one to give up. The argument escalated and my dad picked this figurine up and hit her right in the face with it. Slashed her lip wide open and she had cuts all around her face. Her, my brother, my sister, and I all ran to the bathroom and locked ourselves in. He came to the door screaming through the door. Cursing at her still and saying letting him in or he'd kick the door in. We didn't let him in and then I remember him screaming "I am the sorry son of a bitch that did this to your mother".

I don't remember much after that except helping her get cleaned up as she was crying and weeping. We were all hugging on her and telling her we loved her. I just remember the pure terror I felt that night. I was afraid. Not only for my mom but for my brother, sister, and I.

The picture below is of my mom, I am sitting in her lap, my brother, and my sister with her eyes closed ;)
I posted this photo because I wanted you all to see the object that was thrown at my mom the night of the incident. I circled it in black. There are actually several other objects in this photo that were thrown at her on different occasions.  Like the metal ducks you see on the wood shelf in the background. Those things were super heavy and sharp beaks. The bit ashtray on the coffee table was thrown at her as well on a different occasion as well.

This is were I will leave this post tonight. As much as I hate the object in this photo as the memory it caused I love this picture and memory with my beautiful mom. She was a wonderful woman and I loved her so very much.

Monday, February 20, 2012

The Earliest I Remember

I don't remember a whole lot about being put into a foster home. Only the bits and pieces that my sister, my dad, and my mom told me. I do know that where we were placed was no better than our home life. In fact, we were also abused there. So, whoever was responsible in that made the wrong decision. They thought I guess they were protecting us when in fact they were doing more harm than good.

While in the foster home I caught pneumonia from being left outside almost all night because I was crying, wanting my parents obviously. I was around 1. Apparently, I had a hospital visit and almost died because of what they did. What they did to my brother was far worse. They beat him. Badly. He is only a little over a year older than I am. He couldn't put his own clothes on obviously at 2 and every time he couldn't they would beat him for it. With whatever they could find. They made my sister do everything. I mean everything. I don't know of any abuse to her but I am sure there was. She just hasn't been as open about it. They once made her walk about a half mile (she was around 5) in the pitch black dark to the nearest neighbor to borrow something. Their was a convict on the lose. Can you imagine what that must make a child at that age feel like. Especially, after going through everything we had already been through at our tiny ages. The foster parent also tried to drown my sister.

We finally got to go home but I will never know if that was the right decision or not either. As the abuse even continued after that.

I do believe my dad loved us. But, he sure had a funny way of showing it. He wasn't around much when I was that age. In fact, he wasn't around when I was still in my mothers womb. He was off cheating on her with another woman. Claimed I wasn't his. Said he wouldn't take care of another man's baby. Apparently the lady he was having sex with ended up pregnant. He went back to my mother and never claimed the unborn child of the other lady. He decided to end up claiming me though.

Years later I questioned him and he got angry. I kept questioning though because I believed if I had a sibling I would love to know about them. He finally made the connection but it was little too late. He had already been deployed to Iraq. He is 1 year younger than me and looks almost identical to our other brother. He has met my sister and brother but has yet to meet me. I don't hold this against him. I'm not sure I'd want to be around either if you lived your whole life without a father claiming you.

But, then again if he had of lived life with us he wouldn't have wanted that one either. He would have had to suffer the abuse we did.

With that, I will end the second segment of my life journey. Feel free to comment or ask questions.

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Ah, therapy.

I once associated therapy with something bad. What? I didn't know. I just thought it was all bad because they really didn't care, they were just there to get paid. Man, my mind has been changed. I love my therapist. The reason I started going is because my nightmares began again. I've had them since I was little. After being molested and raped. Vivid dreams. Where I feel whats happening to me all over again. I hadn't had an issue from the time I found out about Jace up until about 2 months ago. With me having Jace now I wanted to be sure I was mentally healthy for him. I didn't want him to see what I was going through. I would wake up balling my eyes out from the dreams. I knew my old baggage was about to come up so I searched and searched with help from a friend to find a good therapist. I found the best one I think ;)

Of course she was like all therapists and ask me what was my problem and I briefly explained my story which I will share with you all at a later date. Its been nice to share this information with someone who is an outsider and who will not judge me for the things that others did to me, not that I did to myself.

I think I made a major breakthrough between last night and today. I am part of a Mommy group forum. They have a section for people with PTSD, OCD, anxiety/depression and such. Which I have PTSD and OCD. Anyway, on the mommy group I am a part of it was my turn to tell my story of strength. How I came out of all the abuse I endured in my short life. As I started to write the first sentence I got tears in my eyes thinking of my parents, I didn't want to embarrass them even though my mom is dead. I looked up on my bulletin board which is right above my monitor and there was a photo there of my mom, my sister, my brother, and I. It was a fond memory. But, there were also objects in the photo which had been used to abuse my mother with, in front of us. I took a break and carried on. It took me quite a while to write it all out and I just skimmed the surface. Through writing everything I came to terms with it not defining who I am or what I do with my future. Its not mine to own. Its time for the burden to be lifted and carried by the true abusers. I won't let it hold me back any longer. No matter who I embarrass in the mean time, it has to be told and I have to release my inner demons. I have to stop being the owner of things that someone else did to my family and I. I have to stop feeling like its my fault things happened. I have to stop carrying around the secrets. It happened! It needs to be told! I need to let it out! I will let it out!

Its the best thing for me and my therapist agrees. So, in the next few weeks you guys will find out a lot of things about me and my family. I do advise you, I will go into detail. If you are family and don't want things about my dad said I suggest you stop reading here. Its time for the truth to be told and I am going to tell it. Besides, it not to harm him although it probably will but its to heal me. Its to heal Denise. Its to heal Charlie. Its our turn to feel healed and loved. Its our time to shine. Also, if you are a friend who is affected easily by people telling of tragic events in their lives I suggest you skip over it too.