FYI

I just wanted to say that although it has been a long while since my last post, I fully intend on picking back up where I left off very soon. Unfortunately, I have let life get in the way.......So busy....
I promise to be back soon to continue my story.......
~Peace~

Welcome to the Real World

After graduation, Dean and I attended our local junior college. I went so that I could spend time with Dean, not because I had any real plans of getting a degree. You see, college was never stressed, or even talked about in our home growing up. It just wasn't something that mattered. Girls got married and became stay-at-home moms, and boys went to work at nearby chemical plants. That is what my parents did, and most families that I knew. I don't fault my parents for not encouraging something more; it was all they knew.

Dean and I worked out our schedules so that we had all of our classes together. We both got jobs. Mine was in the continuing education department at our school. His was as a carpenter's helper. We began to attend church together, something that Dean had never done. Through that church, we met many friends, and Dean was able to play on the church's basketball league. Things were moving in the direction that we both wanted, and it was only a matter of time before we were married with a family.....I was sure of it.

When Dean asked me to marry him, I was ecstatic! It was a sweet moment that he put a ton of thought and preparation into. Although I wasn't sure at first, it became clear by his nervousness as the night went on, that Dean would be proposing to me........I mean to be honest, I had been hoping for and anticipating it. It was, of course, the next step. He had saved for that engagement ring for so long, and I knew he was now broke. We both were! So, we decided that in order to have enough money for our wedding, and to prepare for our new life together, we needed new jobs.......Higher paying ones.

Through our church, Dean found a good job. He was working for the city. However, it was a full-time job, so he had to quit attending college during the day. Night classes were available for his certificate as an instrument tech at a chemical plant, so that's what he did. I didn't have a clue what I was going to do. One day, on the way to school, I just dropped in an Attorney's office on a whim. After speaking with the attorney, he hired me on the spot as a secretary.

I still lived at home, but my parents' constant fighting kept me at Dean's most of the time. They did start spending more and more time away, however, with their new business. My mom had been going to nursing school too, and was about to graduate. When Dean rented his own place, I was thrilled to stay with him as much as I could. My parents did not approve, but rarely enforced their rule of me not staying the night at his house.

In fact, I began spending most nights with Dean. And although we struggled with having sex before marriage, (something we both felt convicted of since attending church and becoming familiar with the Bible) we continued. Even though I was on birth control, I was still an immature teenager who sometimes missed a pill or two.........and I became pregnant.

Misbegotten

MISBEGOTTEN

Today is the day
on purpose
I walk past
the seeds you tried to plant
on my infertile soil

Clean air fills my lungs
replacing the toxic pain
that you've choked me with

Years of non-existence
explain what words cannot
Your chances have expired
I don't recognize you; Just a foreign face
Your love is a farce

So, I'm taking my blood with me when I go
You can't have it anymore
Just sign your name
and I'm gone

Because you don't know how to love me
All you do is hurt me
and a name is only a name

Today is the day
on purpose
I walk

away from you

I wrote this poem about my father a while back. I know it is harsh, but rest assured.....I have moved forward to a place without bitterness. I'm aware that right now it doesn't make sense as to how I could write such a thing, but as my story unfolds, maybe it will. Don't get me wrong, I am still hurt, confused, and full of sorrow where my father is concerned, but not drenched in the anger. I have called the lack of relationship with him, "the most desperate feeling I know". More on this to come.

I felt it necessary to back up a bit to give a more descriptive back story. Even though I have touched on my estranged relationship with my father, I was general in my explanation.

My father was born to young mother. After only a year of marriage, my grandmother divorced my father's biological father. She quickly remarried the man that adopted and raised my father. However, my grandmother was married four times in her life, and was in the middle of her fourth divorce at the time of her death. When he was eighteen years old, he searched for his biological father whom he never knew, and after locating him, moved out-of-state to live with him. My father had always had a strained relationship with his own mother, I'm guessing due to watching her go through so many different men. I don't think he has ever forgiven her for what she put him through which has caused him to, I believe, have a vendetta against women.

I was raised in a very charismatic church growing up. My father was extremely hypocritical, legalistic, and judgmental.......Holier than thou, if you will. There was no room for grace......To him, everything was black or white. Instead of encouraging me with scriptures from the Bible, he would rather condemn me with them. I felt hopeless in this type of relationship; always falling short of what he wished I was. His love for me has always been conditional. He was never around except for the times that he could be seen.....The times when he could stick his chest out and be proud......When I made him proud..... Like when I won first place in my track meet, made cheerleader for the first time, was on the Homecoming Court, sang in church, scored the winning shots in basketball, and when he got to give me away in my first wedding. (Although, he was quite upset that I was wearing white, as he was adamant that I shouldn't be) At these times, he showed up for me with a smile on his face like the Cheshire Cat. Honestly, other than the times that I mentioned above, I really don't recall him being proud of me. I always felt like a complete disappointment to him.

My mother left my father for another man, ending their 20 year marriage. I'll get to that later, but it just adds to the reasons that my father has something against women.

I could go on, but the point is, women always let my father down.

And all of these are not counting what I contributed to that list as an adult, after graduating from high school. Trust me, as you'll see, I gave my father a plethora of reasons to be bitter towards women as time went by...........

Rebel With a Cause

My mother was a stay-at-home mom for most of my childhood. I really feel fortunate to have had her so involved in my life. She took my brother and I to all of our extra-curricular activities, taught us how to play basketball, baseball, football.....how to tie our shoes, read, drive a car...you get it. My mother never missed a game that I played basketball, track, cheered at, or danced with the drill team; she was devoted to her children. My father, on the other hand, worked shift work at a chemical plant, so he was either working or sleeping......or vegging out on the couch watching t.v. Even when he was off, he was pretty "absent". I grew up knowing that my father loved me because he provided for me, not because he spent time with me. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that he was a hard worker-- I just wish that he would have given us quality time every once in a while. Mostly, I feel as if I grew up not really "knowing" him.

When my parents found out that I was having sex with Dean my senior year of high school, they had two totally different reactions. My mother was disappointed, and immediately made an appointment with an ob/gyn to put me on the pill. My father was utterly disgusted with me. He told me that I would never make anything of myself--That I would end up a single, unwed mother.......just like my aunt. My aunt, his sister, had just become a mother at the age of 19. Be careful of what you speak, you may just speak it into existence. Little did he know, I would soon be just that-- a single unwed mother at 19.

As close as my mother and I had been, things changed my last year of high school. We argued continuously. Because we are so much alike, we butt heads about anything and everything. Not to mention the fact that I thought I knew it all;) For the most part, I was a pretty respectable girl. I didn't go out drinking all the time like so many of my friends, I made good grades, and I always made my curfew. Except for Dean's prom.

Every year for prom, for as far back as I can recall, people would rent beach houses for prom weekend.....It was sort of a rite of passage. Now let me just say, as a parent, I am frightened by this idea. What good can come out of a bunch of unsupervised teenagers partying all weekend at a beach house? Well, at the time, I thought it was a perfect idea. Not only that, but I had been looking forward to it since I was a freshman. So, you can imagine my disappointment when my mother told me that I couldn't go to the beach after prom. Actually, it was more like my life was going to end. I was so upset.....then angry. All I could think about was spending time with Dean for a whole weekend--without parents! I begged and pleaded and fought with my mother up until the day of prom, trying desperately to change her mind. She stood firm. Eventually, I boldly told her that I didn't care what she said; I was going. My mother whipped around and very sternly said that if I knew what was good for me, I better be back home that night when prom ended. I looked straight into her eyes and defiantly told her that when I didn't show up that night, she knew where I'd be. I still don't know where I got the courage to say something like that to my mother, but more importantly why she didn't slap me across the face. At the time, I was clueless that my mother was dealing with other issues in her life. I don't think she had any more "fight" in her, where prom was concerned.

I went to Dean's prom, and then the beach afterward for the weekend. My best friend went as Dean's best friend's date. We all stayed at the same place at the beach. It was definitely all I had hoped it would be and more. We partied like we were rock stars for sure.....sex, drugs, and rock and roll, right? It was more like sex, alcohol, and rock and roll for me, as I hadn't tried drugs yet. I didn't even give one thought to what awaited me when I got home. I didn't care--this was worth it. The consequences fit the crime. Half of the punishment for me was enduring the "lecture" when I got home. The other half was being grounded from time with Dean. It was truly torture.

However, my parent's new business venture kept them away on weekends, so it all worked out for me. I sneaked around to see Dean when they were gone.....I would drive to his place, or he'd come to mine. This brings me to something........

The Birthings of Love

Most of my girlfriends had lost their virginity long before I did. It was known by my peers that I was "the last of the Mohicans", if you will. In fact, I was told on many occasions in high school, that there were bets on who would be the one to take it. So, you can imagine the frustration when I started seriously dating Dean my senior year in high school. He was from a neighboring town--our school's rival. Dean was at six feet five inches tall, his school's star basketball player. He was my first love.
My cousin attended the same school as Dean, and thought it a good idea to show him a photo of me on the Homecoming Court from the previous week. After seeing the photo, Dean convinced my cousin to give him my phone number. He called, and asked me on a date for that Saturday. I remember when he came to my house to pick me up to go to the zoo that Saturday. He was tall, skinny, had an earring in one ear, a tattoo, and shaved his head--except for a small patch of hair in the front that stuck straight up. My parents didn't know what to think....and neither did I. To my surprise, he was kind, intelligent, a complete gentleman, and the funniest person I had ever met.
From that day on, we were inseparable. There are so many wonderful memories that I hold of Dean. I wish I could put into words what your first love is like. The innocence and sheer joy is inexplicable......Never to be captured again. Not that you never have a love deeper....just not the first feeling of love in it's most raw form....a beautiful birth....irrefutable in its infancy.
I shared many firsts with Dean.....My first love, my first time to have sex, first time to be engaged....well, that story is for a different day. The point is, I was in love.....we were.
When he got a scholarship to play basketball for a college out-of-state, I couldn't imagine being without him. He decided he didn't want to be away from me either, and we both made plans to attend a local junior college after graduation. Of course, looking back now, I wish he would have gone. We were young and in love, and didn't care what anyone else thought.......immature and naive.
But, life has a way of taking you in directions that you never expected. Or rather, people make decisions that puts their life on a different path......................

The End Of Innocence

I lost my virginity when I was seventeen years old, but I lost my innocence and ignorance to sexuality when I was just four. I guess this is where I should start, because it is the crux in my life; at least the first one.

It's funny what you remember......and what you don't.

My memories of being molested are like snapshots taken by a Polaroid camera. They are flashes in my mind captured so many years ago. I remember playing in my front yard with my dog. Then hearing my neighbor say hello to me. We'll call him, "J.B." I thought he was so nice to ask me to play a game with him, and he even said he had cookies for me. My initial thought was one of excitement and curiosity. I wondered what new game we would play. I didn't think twice when he said to follow him, because the game was inside of his house. As we entered J.B.'s bedroom, I asked for the cookie. He told me that he would get it after we played the game. Then, the "game" began. As he started undressing, he told me that I had to do the same thing. I don't remember what I had on that day, except one article of clothing......My socks. They were thin and white with lace around the edges......the kind that you folded down. I don't remember what J.B. was wearing, I just remember feeling very confused when I saw him standing there naked. I had never seen anything like it, and couldn't understand why we were so different. I only remember one part of him molesting me, but there is one thing that I remember vividly.......My mother frantically screaming for me. That was the first time I sensed that anything was wrong........really wrong. In her voice, you could hear fear, sadness, regret, guilt, and desperation. I also remember J.B.'s reaction when he heard my mother. I knew something was really wrong. He told me to hurry up, as he threw my clothes at me. Over and over again, he told me not to tell my mother what we had done. This only confirmed that something was really wrong. After haphazardly throwing my clothes back on, I ran out of that house the same way that I came in......All the while, listening to those horrifying sounds continue to come out of my mother's mouth. The only thing worse than those sounds, was the look on her face when I rounded the corner and saw her. All I knew was that I did something bad......something so bad that it upset my mother tremendously. That was my four year old mindset. Whatever I had just done was so bad, that I should be ashamed of myself.....It made my mother cry. This is when I took on the shame and guilt for being such a bad girl. This was the moment in my life that I became aware of sexuality.....Even if it was a skewed version.

My family met with attorneys, trying to decide what to do. After discussing their options, they decided not press charges and go to court, because they did not want me to have to get up on the stand and re-live it all again. They did the best they could do with what they had. It is the choice that my parents made. It is what it is. I only wish that J.B. would have had some consequence for what he did to me. Who knows? Maybe he has. The only things that haunt me now about him is this: Does he have any children of his own? Are any of them girls? Has he done this to anyone else? J.B. was a senior in high school when he molested me. My family knew that something had to be done.......we couldn't just live there. After all, we were next-door neighbors. So, my parent's solution was to move away to a different state.

I didn't understand what had just happened, and I didn't want to. So, that's exactly what happened. I completely blocked it out of my mind. It was like I had the whole ordeal surgically removed from my brain. I never again remembered anything at all about it.......Until I turned fourteen. I think they call this, "repressed memory." One day, out of the clear blue......bits and pieces of the molestation popped back into my mind. It was slowly unfolding, and I wasn't sure exactly what to think of it. Finally, I asked my mother if something had happened to me when I was young. That's as far as I got when tears began falling down her face. She said that she never planned on telling me, if I didn't remember anything. I believe that these memories came back to me at this time, because I was coming of age....into my own sexuality. At that time, after discussing it with my mother, it didn't really affect me. I just thought J.B. was a creep.

This situation didn't just affect me. It affected my parents. For years my mother suffered with depression, feeling as if my being molested was her fault......She thought it wouldn't have happened if only she had been watching me more carefully. My mother and father fought about how each of them handled the situation. Years of bitterness and resentment ( a great deal about my molestation) definitely played a part in their divorce much later. I never received any counseling about this matter, until I was in my twenties. That's because it really started bothering me then. When my oldest child was four, I had a very difficult time with the molestation, so I began counseling. My counselor didn't find it too odd that it only started bothering me when my own child was the same age as I was when it happened. In these counseling sessions, I was able to work through all of the feelings that I was having. The guilt and the shame that I had carried for so long, became a thing of the past. I'm so thankful that I did seek help. So many times, I believe we try to sift through our issues with no idea what to do with it. Just talking about it out loud with another human being was huge. I can say with full confidence, that I am not affected by the molestation anymore.

The only thing that I do feel is a sadness for a little girl.....innocence stolen from her.....from me.

A Story To Tell

I've always said that my childhood was so dysfunctional, because we(my family) were so functional. My family was your average middle class family. Nothing too scandalous to tell........ I had a very sheltered life. Except for that one thing that happened when I was four........But we'll get to that later.

It seems that my story begins the year that I graduated from high school.....At least a story that is interesting enough to tell. But hold that thought.....Let me back up for a moment.

For years, I've been told that I should write a book about my life. It seems a little narcissistic to me, and I truthfully have a hard time with it. There are people with far worse stories.....more tragic lives, trust me. However, I still have a story to tell.....My story. We all have a story to tell, don't we? For many reasons, I have not done so. First, it was too painful for me to think about....re-live, let alone write about. Secondly, I've held onto my story very closely. I've felt almost like if I let it go, that somehow these things would not belong to me any longer. Also, I didn't want to "out" myself. It was safer for me to pick and choose who I told, and how much I told them. Like any good story, I too have the good, the bad, and the ugly.

However, I know that I need to let it go, in hopes that it might help someone else. By sharing, I can "free" myself, tell my story, and most importantly.......connect with others who may have similar stories. If there is one thing that I have learned, it is that we think that we are so different.....But really, we are all the same. I was encouraged by some amazing friends of mine (you know who you are:) to start a blog for this purpose. I have chosen to remain anonymous to protect myself and my family. Also, names will be changed to protect the innocent......and the guilty. I'm not even sure at this point if I will blog chronologically, or not. My story is ongoing too......I'm still learning and growing.

I hope you will join me.......I have a story to tell...........