tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29910130462441442732024-02-20T08:10:28.403-08:00Beauty For AshesBeauty For Asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09026781074651930290noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2991013046244144273.post-6165111515451318332010-11-10T21:48:00.000-08:002010-11-10T21:52:04.747-08:00Still HereSorry that I have not written in quite some time. As difficult as the last post was to write, I believe what followed is harder. <br /><br />I just wanted to check in to let you know that I'm still here--Fully committed to finishing what I have started. Please stay tuned..........Beauty For Asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09026781074651930290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2991013046244144273.post-89261994794911586942010-04-18T23:00:00.000-07:002010-04-19T16:55:19.052-07:00Seize and PlunderI had written off my mother.....She had disappointed me. Her phone calls were in vain, as I strove to punish her by ignoring them. At the same time, my father's deep grief and sadness was too much for me to take anymore. I couldn't bear to hear him crying on the other end of the phone, so I ignored them too. Ironically, <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> ignored all my phone calls and voice mails to him, and never returned one. The ground under my feet was crumbling, and I was spinning out of control into a place I had never been. Reality was setting in that <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> had moved on and wanted nothing more to do with me. I convinced myself that I could always call off our "time out", and jump right back to where we left off whenever I wanted. This simply was not so. <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> had a new life......One that did not include me. <span style="font-style: italic;">My</span> pleas were in vain. I didn't know how to accept his rejection. I still loved him.<br /><br />The truth is, I didn't know how to be present in life as I was now being forced to know it. So, I saturated myself in the night life of drinking and going out. My co-workers became my "friends and family". It was odd to me how these people (including myself) could execute these very different lifestyles. We were closing down the bars, but alert bright and early with our suits and card keys and brief cases........Smiling and accomplishing business.<br /><br />Soon, a couple of "baby attorneys" showed an interest in me. These "baby attorneys", as we called them, were first year attorneys at the firm. It was flattering to be pursued by them, and I was naive enough to think they might want to date me. One night while out at a bar, <span style="font-style: italic;">Luke</span>, one of the "baby attorneys" began buying me drinks, and eventually pulled me aside to have me to himself. I enjoyed flirting back, as I was certainly attracted to him. Later, when he asked me to go home with him, I laughed, telling him that I wasn't <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> kind of girl. Drunk, and not in my right mind, I ended up spending the night with <span style="font-style: italic;">Luke</span>. I don't remember a great deal about that night, but despite his persistent efforts all night, I did not have sex with him. Thankfully, he would adhere to my decision. I did, however, do more than I wanted.....more than I should have. <span style="font-style: italic;"> Luke </span>drove me to my car the next morning on our way to the office. I soon realized that he wasn't happy that he put forth that much effort and never got what he wanted from me. At no time did he want a relationship with me. Who was I kidding? I was an amateur to this world. <span style="font-style: italic;"> Luke </span>and I passed each other daily in the halls of the law office, never again to speak.<br /><br />At that same time, an attorney who was up for partner that year needed a few file clerks to do a document production assignment on location for a couple of weeks. My boss put me on this assignment. The attorney who we were working for was, <span style="font-style: italic;">Stuart</span>, who I saw out at the bars sometimes. However, I had never actually met him. All of the file clerks assigned to this case had a brief meeting with<span style="font-style: italic;"> Stuart</span> before he sent us out. Every day for two weeks, we worked on location gathering documents for this case. During this time, <span style="font-style: italic;">Stuart</span> asked me to report to him daily after work to review our progress. Immediately after our first meeting, he invited me to dinner and later drinks with the rest of the group. This became a daily routine. <span style="font-style: italic;">Stuart</span> was thirty-one, and I was nineteen. It was public knowledge that he had just broken up with a woman whom he lived with. It was a foggy line of boss/employee when he would take me to dinner every night and then out for drinks. I felt confused as to why he wanted this, but obligated since he was now my boss temporarily. He wasn't blatantly flirting, but it wasn't completely innocent either. For days, I was simply perplexed. After all, we were always in a big group hanging out together. Although I was still drinking tremendously, I always made it home safely to my apartment.<br /><br />At the end of our two week assignment,<span style="font-style: italic;"> Stuart</span> invited me to a Super Bowl party he was throwing at his house. Everyone that we hung out with would be there too. Even though I could have cared less about any football game, I was looking forward to a party with my friends. I felt privileged to be invited. Not unlike any of our other gatherings, everyone got completely wasted. I remember feeling like I had passed the point of no return. I had gone too far. For some reason, this time was different. I felt sick, and just wanted to go back. Unfortunately, I was stuck in my drunken stupor, unable to escape this plight. I found a chair to sit in while I tried to escape my haze. Hours went by, and I started to sober up. When I walked back into the room where everyone was, no one was there. I looked out the window to find it dark and the driveway void of cars.......Except for mine! Frantic, I walk around the house looking for <span style="font-style: italic;">Stuart</span>.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span> As I'm walking around, I become painfully aware of the pain in my head and the unsettling in my stomach. I found <span style="font-style: italic;">Stuart</span> sitting in a chair in the living room. Something was strikingly different about him. It was alarming to see him awake, but not alert. He sat there emoting nothing, but staring straight ahead, eyes glassed over and red. When I called to him, he slowing looked my direction, still emoting nothing. I explained that I was sorry that I got so drunk, and that I should be leaving. He sloppily told me that I should just stay in his guest bedroom because it was late and I had been drinking. I agreed, and thanked him as I headed for bed. What happened next is a nightmare. The horror of it still crushes me today.<br /><br />At some point in the night, I was awakened to <span style="font-style: italic;">Stuart</span> clumsily staggering into my bedroom. My eyes were trying to adjust to the small bit of light that was shining into the dark room, which frightened me even more as I heard him struggle. I asked him what he was doing, receiving no reply. As I felt him collapse next to me, I told him that he was scaring me. <span style="font-style: italic;">Stuart</span> just laughed. He wreaked of hard liquor, and when he began kissing me, I was repulsed by the taste. I pushed him off, saying that I didn't want this. <span style="font-style: italic;">Stuart</span> was the size of a linebacker. I was getting nowhere with my attempts to stop him. He was talking, but it was all a jumbled mess. He slurred and laughed and forced his way on top of me. My cries got louder. I begged him to stop. I looked into his glassed over eyes, hoping he would see my fear as I cried uncontrollable tears. The more I resisted and fought him, the more forceful and violent he became. "Please don't do this"! "Please stop"! "Please, I don't want this"! I remember pleading this over and over. He was starting to really hurt me as he fought back, and became angry with my resistance. He said things I didn't understand, but I knew what he meant. I could fight him no more. The physical pain was too much for me to endure any longer. When he ripped my underwear off, <span style="font-style: italic;">Stuart</span> was successful in accomplishing his goal. I stopped fighting. I just laid there as he stole from me what was not his. At first, in that moment, everything went completely silent. I thought of <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> as <span style="font-style: italic;">Stuart</span> continued to pillage. I was overwhelmed with shock, grief, and sorrow. Then, I began to wail, "why"! <span style="font-style: italic;">Stuart </span>was unmoved by my state. Finally, he was done. He got up, and stumbled out of the room.<br /><br />I lay in the bed, completely numb. I swear I heard my own flatline. I was paralyzed; unable to move. Was this real? Did this really just happen to me? All of a sudden, reality set in. This was real! <span style="font-style: italic;">Stuart</span> really did rape me! Was this my fault? After all, I <span style="font-style: italic;">did</span> stay the night at his house. <span style="font-style: italic;">Was</span> this rape? I felt as if I had cheated on <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span>. He was the only man that I had given myself to. But it was consensual. <span style="font-style: italic;">This</span> was not! I began to cry wildly; moan deeply. The physical pain<span style="font-style: italic;"> Stuart</span> left me with was great, but the pain I held inside was massive-immeasurable. Again....Amateur. That's what I was to this new world. What now?Beauty For Asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09026781074651930290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2991013046244144273.post-11681939751315998212010-02-16T18:52:00.000-08:002010-02-16T20:05:45.979-08:00ShatteredUpon arriving at my parents' home later that evening, I soon came to find out why it was so urgent that I return. I walked into the living room, and waiting on me was my mother, father, and brother. They all sat silent, each on their own piece of furniture. The looks on their faces were heavy, and I felt anger building up inside me as I knew what I was about to hear.<br /><br />My mother broke the silence by saying that she wanted us all to be together because she had something that she had to say. She began by saying that she had already spoken to my father about it, and now wanted her children to know. <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I love your father.......I'm just not "in love" with your father."</span><br /><br />With that, I let out a sarcastic, boisterous laugh......"<span style="font-style: italic;">Right!.......Who's the other guy?</span>" I asked. "<span style="font-style: italic;">There's no one else.</span>" she said. My mother explained that she and my father were getting divorced. I looked at my father sitting across from me, still silent with tears in his eyes. Then I turned toward my fourteen year old brother, <span style="font-style: italic;">Jack</span>. He was falling apart.....crying like a baby. I thought about what he would now have to endure in that house, while at the same time being so grateful that I wouldn't have to be there. My heart was breaking for him.....and my father. My mother stood stoic and numb, watching us all process this new information. It seemed so cold that she wouldn't comfort us, but truthfully, I didn't want her to come near me. Maybe she just knew better. I was livid, and I knew that I was about to unleash mountains of anger and resentment. <br /><br /> I walked up to my father, hugged him, and told him that I loved him and that I was so sorry. Tears began to stream down my face. Next, I just held my baby brother, assuring him that I would take care of him. I had to get out of that house, though! What could I do for him? As I thought about it, I knew what needed to be done. <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean </span>was like a big brother to <span style="font-style: italic;">Jack</span>. He looked up to him, and loved hanging out with him any chance he got. I immediately called <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> and told him what had just happened, and he came straight over and picked up <span style="font-style: italic;">Jack</span>. To this day, I don't know exactly what they did, or where they went that night. All I know is that I'll always be so thankful for what <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> did. He did what I could not......what I did not do. <span style="font-style: italic;">Jack </span>needed someone, and <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> was there for him.<br /><br />After making sure that <span style="font-style: italic;">Jack</span> was taken care of, I went back into the living room, walked up to my mother, and said things that I shouldn't have.....things I regret. I don't remember all of the words spoken in my fit of anger, but I do remember that at some point, my mother started to cry. I had not one bit of compassion, and mocked her as she broke. Finally, at the end, I told her that I knew she was lying......There was someone else. I said that I didn't want her calling me or trying to see me. With that, I left. I showed her no mercy.......no grace. It made me feel better to hurt her like she was hurting us. The truth is, I had no idea what she was feeling.......where she had been.....hurts in life.....her failures......her losses.....her disappointments.....what had gotten her to this point in her life...........And I didn't care to. <br /><br />This news only drove me further into drinking every night. It was my escape. I called my father every day to check on him and <span style="font-style: italic;">Jack.</span> My mother left a couple of voice mails on my phone; none of which I returned. A week went by, and I got another phone call from my mother. She said that she needed me to come home one more time........There was something else that she had to tell me. I did not want to see her face, but wanted to make her say those words to me. So, I returned home that weekend.<br /><br />When I got home, she drove us to the high school football stadium parking lot. Not a word was spoken the whole way there. Once we parked, she turned toward me and confirmed my speculations. "<span style="font-style: italic;">You were right. There is someone else</span>", she said. Smugly, I blurted out, "<span style="font-style: italic;">I knew it!"</span> She told me his name, and how she met him. I was disgusted and at the same time stunned. The woman sitting across from me felt like a complete stranger. It seemed impossible that this could be the same woman that I called "mom" all of my life.......The woman that I loved so.Beauty For Asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09026781074651930290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2991013046244144273.post-58987435090821318002010-02-01T20:11:00.000-08:002010-02-01T21:36:36.330-08:00He has a FaceI have to interrupt my story to write about a new development.......I told you in the beginning that it was on going.<br /><br />Today has been a really weird day, to say the least. I've been tending to two sick children, which is always quite a bummer, as I so hate it when they feel bad. I'm happy to report that it looks like we are "out of the woods." <br /><br />Anyway, I recently received a friend request from someone on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Facebook</span>. Over two weeks ago, when she sent it to me, I was puzzled because I didn't know who she was. Normally, I'll look over the person's friend list if I don't immediately recognize them to trigger my memory. When I did this, nothing made sense......But, her maiden name was the same last name of the guy who molested me when I was four. I decided to ask someone that I am close to who had her as a friend on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Facebook</span>. After much discussion and research, we finally confirmed that this girl was related to my perpetrator.<br /><br />Even though this girl had done nothing to me, I will admit, the whole situation really freaked me out. It is times like these that I want to cancel my account....retreat......be completely under the radar--stealth. It all just felt too close. I won't do this, though. It's not me.....I'll not live my life like that. However, I'll be more cautious from now on who I let into my life......Even through <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Facebook</span>. I'm so happy that I didn't confirm her without further investigating.<br /><br />So, this whole thing started a bigger endeavor. I never remembered the face of <span style="font-style: italic;">J.B.</span>, the guy who molested me. When I think back to what he looks like, I remember only some things, but his face is always a smudge and blur of distortion. As I mentioned in an earlier post about my molestation, I always wondered if he did this to anyone else, among other things. As my friend and I investigated further, we ran across a man with the same name as my perpetrator....the same age......from the same town I'm from. His name is an obscure one, so I felt sure it was him. The only way to confirm this, was to ask my mother.<br /><br /> You see, we found him on the state's public sex offenders registry website. There are four photos of him, which seem to correlate the number of offenses with the dates of offense. When I laid my eyes on him, I didn't remember that being his face, but my gut told me it was him. I just knew it. When I say that this guy is creepy, it doesn't even begin to explain it. His sinister smiles in his mug shots say what words cannot. He obviously has no clue the depth of hurt he has caused, and has no remorse either. <br /><br />I sent my mother the link to the page from the sex offenders registry via email. First, I called her to tell her what I was sending, and asked her if she was alright with it. I was so worried about her and how it would affect her. She agreed to view it. Today, I received an email from my mother. <br /><br />It read:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">So sorry, yes it is...</span><br /><br />This man is <span style="font-style: italic;">J.B.</span>! My worst fears have come to pass. He has done this to others........Who knows how many?! I had hoped that because he was found out when he molested me, that he'd never do it again. They say sex predators have a sickness....an addiction--That once they do something like this, it is likely not the last time. Guess what his offenses are?.......You guessed it. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Crimes against children.</span> It makes me sick......I'm so disgusted! This man is vile! My heart is heavy for the "others." Tonight, I pray for them........for healing......restoration......Beauty For Asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09026781074651930290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2991013046244144273.post-72974660360119007832010-01-31T12:27:00.000-08:002010-01-31T13:44:10.775-08:00Topsy-TurvyThis is where my story begins to gain momentum.... I got reckless.......My life was drama-filled......Full of disorder....Things began to move quickly in so many different directions. This is when my life began to be turned upside down.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> and I never re-gained whatever was lost after the miscarriage. Since we saw less and less of each other, we spent more time with others. We drifted further and further apart. First, we postponed our wedding. We both new what it really meant. There would be no wedding for us.<br /><br /> <span style="font-style: italic;">John</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean's</span> best friend and roommate, never really liked me. He saw me as the girl that took away his best friend--The "Yoko." He had actually stopped talking to <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> altogether when he found out that we were engaged. So, when <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> moved in with him, <span style="font-style: italic;">John</span> was on a mission to show him how much fun bachelorhood could be. Their apartment was the ultimate bachelor pad. Drugs, girls, alcohol, parties and more were almost a nightly occurrence. Every time I called, there was a party going on, and <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> was either high or drunk. Girls would be talking in the background, which increased my insecurities and worries. The few times that I visited their apartment, <span style="font-style: italic;">John</span> made it clear that I was not welcome. This was before cell phones, so when I called their apartment one day, <span style="font-style: italic;">John</span> answered and after saying some really nasty things, told me never to call his house again....and hung up on me. <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean </span>seemed more comfortable in his "new life" than he did with me. It became obvious that he was not ready for marriage, engagement, or me at all. He wanted to party, not answer to anyone (me), and enjoyed this new found freedom. I felt insecure and was not alright with his lifestyle. So, we talked about our relationship, and decided to call off our wedding altogether. Our relationship was sketchy and almost non-existent. It was clear, but unspoken that we both wanted a break. This was not a clean break, however.<span style="font-style: italic;"> Dean</span> and I left things undone....open-ended....Just in case.<br /><br /> I began hanging out with friends from the law firm after work. I had never really drank alcohol in my life. I think I tried a taste of a wine cooler once in high school. Growing up, alcohol was never in our home--Never. I was ignorant to anything alcohol-related. I had never been to a bar, because I was underage. So, it was such a surprise that at nineteen, I could get into any bar or club I wanted to........So long as I was with all the attorneys from my job. The first time I drank while out with them, I got completely wasted. It felt so good not to feel. I didn't have to think about how my heart was breaking over <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean.</span> I didn't have to think about the miscarriage that I had. I didn't have to think about my parent's constant fighting. This was a new world to me. I started going out almost every night after work. The group of people who went out together was a mix of attorneys, secretaries, and file clerks. I started to get to know many people at our firm from our floor (31st), and felt like such a grown up. Because I lived an hour and a half away from work, I started looking at apartments downtown to move into. It is only by the grace of God that I didn't kill myself or someone else driving home every night completely drunk. There are times that I can remember passing out at the wheel, and waking up to the sounds of the bumps on the shoulder of the road. Some mornings, I'd wake up to go to work, and have no recollection of the night before. I am ashamed to admit these things, but it is the truth.<br /><br />I finally found an apartment in the city that I could afford. It was an efficiency, but it was exactly what I wanted. This made my commute to work half an hour with rush hour traffic, and close enough to drive home late after the bars and clubs. I packed up all of my belongings into my Toyota Celica, and started driving an hour and a half into the city. Upon arriving at my new place, I got a phone call from my mother. She told me that I needed to come back home immediately. She said that it was important.....She had something that she had to tell me. This was the same day that I moved out of my childhood home, and into my very own first place! My mom refused to tell me over the phone. I told her that either someone had died, or that she and my father were getting a divorce. I knew something was really wrong, so I headed back home to my parent's house.Beauty For Asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09026781074651930290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2991013046244144273.post-90014933300489894972010-01-20T20:50:00.000-08:002010-01-20T22:06:59.222-08:00Loss and ChangeI miscarried the baby with<span style="font-style: italic;"> Dean</span> several weeks into my pregnancy. This would be the first of four miscarriages in my life. It happened at his house on a Sunday. I'll never forget the pain, confusion, and sadness that I felt. At first, we had no idea what was happening.......We were so naive. As the pains got worse, and remnants of a lost life were being released from my body, <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean </span>and I realized what was happening.<br /><br />When I think back about that day, I am amazed that we didn't seek medical treatment. We didn't seek any advice, for that matter. No one knew. I was weak, in excruciating pain, running fever, had chills, was throwing up, and losing a great deal of blood and tissue from the baby. However, we never went to the hospital until it was all over. (I went to the doctor the next day) <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean </span>would have had to pick me up and put me in the car if he was going to get me there, and that wasn't going to happen. There is one thing above all the pain and sickness that I remember more than anything........The silence. Neither one of us knew what to say. I remember how helpless <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean </span>looked. What could he do? I remember his gentleness as he cared for me......He did the best he could. I laid in his arms on the floor of the bathroom for hours until it was over. Many tears were cried that day.<br /><br />As the next few weeks passed, things began to change. <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> had to move out of his place, because the owners of his rent house no longer wanted to lease it out. He moved in with his best friend, <span style="font-style: italic;">John</span>. I got a job at the largest law firm in the city as a file clerk. It was an awesome opportunity that I could not pass up. I too stopped attending college during the day, and took night classes after work. As a result,<span style="font-style: italic;"> Dean</span> and I saw less of each other. We were still trying to sift through all that had just happened emotionally between us after the miscarriage. It was something that we couldn't put our fingers on....It was just different.Beauty For Asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09026781074651930290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2991013046244144273.post-23246713998433792832009-12-21T19:19:00.000-08:002009-12-21T19:22:44.296-08:00FYII 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....<br />I promise to be back soon to continue my story.......<br />~Peace~Beauty For Asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09026781074651930290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2991013046244144273.post-21675074540171360162009-11-17T07:09:00.000-08:002009-11-17T07:57:25.455-08:00Welcome to the Real WorldAfter graduation, <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> and I attended our local junior college. I went so that I could spend time with <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span>, 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. <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dean </span>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 <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> had never done. Through that church, we met many friends, and <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> 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.<br /><br />When <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean </span>asked me to marry him, I was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ecstatic</span>! 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 <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean </span>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.<br /><br />Through our church, <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> 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.<br /><br />I still lived at home, but my parents' constant fighting kept me at <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean's </span>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 <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean </span>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. <br /><br />In fact, I began spending most nights with <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span>. 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.Beauty For Asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09026781074651930290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2991013046244144273.post-411983382368314992009-11-09T14:30:00.000-08:002009-11-09T15:54:31.776-08:00Misbegotten<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span>MISBEGOTTEN<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Today is the day<br />on purpose<br />I walk past<br />the seeds you tried to plant<br />on my infertile soil<br /><br />Clean air fills my lungs<br />replacing the toxic pain<br />that you've choked me with<br /><br />Years of non-existence<br />explain what words cannot<br />Your chances have expired<br />I don't recognize you; Just a foreign face<br />Your love is a farce<br /><br />So, I'm taking my blood with me when I go<br />You can't have it anymore<br />Just sign your name<br />and I'm gone<br /><br />Because you don't know how to love me<br />All you do is hurt me<br />and a name is only a name<br /><br />Today is the day<br />on purpose<br />I walk<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">away from you</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />I could go on, but the point is, women always let my father down. <br /><br />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...........<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div></div></div><br /></div>Beauty For Asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09026781074651930290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2991013046244144273.post-13006683598685234222009-11-05T16:33:00.000-08:002009-11-05T18:31:00.885-08:00Rebel With a CauseMy 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 "<span style="font-style: italic;">knowing"</span> him. <br /><br />When my parents found out that I was having sex with <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> my senior year of high school, they had two totally different reactions. My mother was disappointed, and immediately made an appointment with an ob/<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">gyn</span> 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. <span style="font-style: italic;">Be careful of what you speak, you may just speak it into existence</span>. Little did he know, I would soon be just that-- a single unwed mother at 19.<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean's</span> prom.<br /><br /> 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 <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> 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.<br /><br />I went to <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean's</span> prom, and then the beach afterward for the weekend. My best friend went as <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean's</span> 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 <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean.</span> It was truly torture. <br /><br />However, my parent's new business venture kept them away on weekends, so it all worked out for me. I sneaked around to see <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> when they were gone.....I would drive to his place, or he'd come to mine. This brings me to something........Beauty For Asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09026781074651930290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2991013046244144273.post-61130710900106478172009-11-04T14:14:00.000-08:002009-11-04T15:11:47.511-08:00The Birthings of LoveMost 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 <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> my senior year in high school. He was from a neighboring town--our school's rival. <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> was at six feet five inches tall, his school's star basketball player. He was my first love.<br />My cousin attended the same school as <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span>, 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, <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span> 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. <br />From that day on, we were inseparable. There are so many wonderful memories that I hold of <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span>. 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.<br />I shared many firsts with <span style="font-style: italic;">Dean</span>.....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. <br />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.<br />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......................Beauty For Asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09026781074651930290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2991013046244144273.post-72990100670357008262009-10-29T18:07:00.000-07:002009-10-29T20:00:18.776-07:00The End Of InnocenceI 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. <br /><br />It's funny what you remember......and what you don't.<br /><br />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, "<em>J.B</em>." 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 <em>J.B.'s</em> bedroom, I asked for the cookie. He told me that he would get it after we played the game. Then, the "<em>game"</em> 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 <em>J.B.</em> 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 <em>J.B.'s</em> 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. <br /><br />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 <em>J.B.</em> 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? <em>J.B</em>. 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.<br /><br />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 <em>J.B.</em> was a creep.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />The only thing that I do feel is a sadness for a little girl.....innocence stolen from her.....from me.Beauty For Asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09026781074651930290noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2991013046244144273.post-20739796185116320332009-10-27T13:18:00.000-07:002009-10-27T14:14:14.062-07:00A Story To TellI've always said that my childhood was so <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">dysfunctional</span>, 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. <br /><br /> 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.<br /><br /> For years, I've been told that I should write a book about my life. It seems a little <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">narcissistic</span> 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.....<strong><em>My story. </em></strong>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. <br /><br /> 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 <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">anonymous</span> 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.<br /><br /> I hope you will join me.......I have a story to tell...........Beauty For Asheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09026781074651930290noreply@blogger.com0