Insanity at it's best

Part 1....

Tears rolled down her little pink cheeks. She was hunched over in a ball in the back corner of the hotel's stairwell. If only the school bus would show up, then she could escape the pain at least for a few hours. She was hiding from him, hoping he wouldn't find her in time. She was only four years old but in her mind she felt much older.

If only she could stay here hiding forever, she knew she couldn't though. Truth was she wasn’t even supposed to be in the stairwell but it was the only place she felt safe. She hid her face from view so no one could see her tears. He hated her tears. To him, her father, tears were a form of weakness. His daughter could never be so weak. When she did cry in front of him he would punish her to make her stronger. The more she cried the worse it got. She learned fast to hide her tears and pain until she was alone and could release the emotional baggage she tended to keep locked up tight.

Time slipped away fast and before she knew what was happening around her she heard a door open and bang shut, she jumped to her feet and wiped the tears off her cheeks with her sleeve as fast as she could, until she heard his voice penetrate her mind like a blade to butter, and she froze up. Unable to move or speak.

“There you are, girl.” he bellowed, “I told you not to leave for school today, didnt I?”

He glared down at her as he took hold of her tiny arm. Not waiting for her reply he began to pull her toward the exit. Finally her voice broke free and her little muscles bunched up in protest to being dragged through the door.

“But dad, I want to go to school.”

“I’m not sick and I don’t want to stay home today, we are having pizza for lunch.”

She felt trapped as she begged to go to school. He dragged her through the door and across the parking lot, her feet dangling behind her as she struggled to get free of his grip.

“I told you no.”

His voice vibrated deep to her core, causing her to tense up. That voice was meant to scare her, it was her cue to shut up and listen. She struggled more but it did no good because he just picked her up off her feet like a five pound bag of potatoes. He put her over his shoulder and carried her across the street and into the trailer park. Quickly making his way to the camper of torment and pain that she hated so much. As they entered the trailer park she could see her school bus turn the corner onto her street. It was coming to pick up her and her friends only she wouldn't be going to school today.

Her hell was only just beginning for the day. It was just her and her father today, alone. Her step mom and step sister were both out, one at work, the other at school for the day. He had all morning and half the afternoon to do to her whatever he wanted to do. No one was strong enough to stop him. It had been going on for a year now, maybe more.

For her the days seemed to blur together. As they reached the camper her heart picked up speed. She knew what was coming. She knew the pain that would follow. The feelings that would invade her system. Her thoughts raced, searching for a way out. How could she escape being as small as she was? Before she realized it she was already inside the camper and her father was putting her back on her feet. His hands petted her hair and stroked down her little arms. She looked up at him, her father, with his blue eyes of steel. He looked right through to her soul, or at least that is how it felt at times.

As her fathers fingers travelled and explored her small frail body she escaped into her mind and placed her body on autopilot. It did her no good to fight, scream or cry because he would do what he wanted or hurt her if he had too to keep her quiet. It was far safer just to let it happen and get it over with. She just wanted to crawl under the kitchen table and hide like she usually did. Hiding in her tiny spot playing with what little toys he allowed her to have was her only escape it seemed these days. It wasn't much, just a few toys from mcdonalds and a baby doll that one of her friends gave to her, but it was hers and she cherished it all like a leprechaun cherished gold. She tried to tell people that her father was hurting her but no one would listen.

She was a strong willed child though and she wouldn't give up. She knew one day she would free herself of the hell her father placed her in. She wanted to be free so bad that sometimes she dreamed about hurting him and running. She didn’t really know where she would go but she was only a little girl so chances where someone would see her running away and stop to help her. She could tell who ever picked her up what her father was doing and go to the police for help. They would hear the truth in her voice and save her.

As she allowed her mind to leave this place she found herself in, her thoughts came forward and she pictured a life without him. That is where she hid while he used her little body for his own pleasure. She felt numb, ignoring his hands and body touching her in her most private of places, causing her enough pain that she silently hid inside of her own mind. He couldn't touch her if she hid inside her head. It was her only form of protection and all she needed in this life she was forced to live.

Who is this girl? This girl is me, and this is my story. It is a story of strength and the will to be saved from the pain we all seem to hold inside our souls. At 5 years old I saved myself from my abuser, my father. My memories of the years I spent with my father are still as vivid and colorful as the day they were created. I don’t want to forget about what happened to me because it made me into the woman I am today. I understand the pain others feel, better, because of what I had to endure during my thirty-five years of life. I listen and pay attention to those in emotional pain because no one was there to hear me when I was crying out for someone to come save me. They didn't hear me because I was just a child who didn't know how to tell people her father was molesting her because I didn't have that kind of vocabulary yet. I can assume that those I had told about my father hurting me just didn’t understand what I really meant. I don't want anyone to go through what I went through because I know it hurts and that emotional pain is harder to heal then a broken bone in my book.

Thinking back on those years I spent in my own kind of personal hell used to be difficult to do, not so much anymore. Now it is like telling a story I had memorized years ago. It isn’t always easy but it is worth the pain if it means I get to heal and help others do the same. The unique chance to tell those sitting in darkness suffering from mental illness and abuse, that they are not alone, is a blessing most don't notice. I can’t be blind to other people's pain and leave them alone with musings of their minds. We all need someone strong enough to hold us together when we feel as though we are falling apart. I have held so many in my arms that they now stretch all the way around the world.

When I was a little girl hiding beneath the campers table so my father wouldn't touch me I pictured a world I had never seen before. Maybe I had though and I just didn’t remember. The image in my mind's eye looked so real that it was possible I had seen this place before, maybe in a dream after sleep had finally taken my thoughts into my dreamscape. My mind was one of the few escapes I had when life became too difficult for my small body and mind to handle. It wasn’t all bad though. I have faint memories of the good times. They are not as vivid but they are there and I can pull them up with ease anytime I want too.

There is a small part of me that wants to see my father. My mom asked me,

“Why would you subject yourself to that kind of torment?”

Because she could not understand my thinking. For her it seemed easy to forget my father and with him in jail at the time my mom had gotten full custody of me. My mom came and took me out of that place and moved me to Maryland with her, my sister, and Donnie, the man my mom had fallin in love with after I was taken from her. She wanted to forget my father even existed and put everything he had put me and her through those few years behind us both. I suppose for her it was easier than facing the truth. I am not my mother though. I didn’t, couldn’t, forget because the memories would never let that happen. It was imprinted on my subconscious mind at an impressionable age and it wasn't going anywhere until I healed.

As a child I didn’t go around telling everyone I knew about my past. That’s not to say I didn’t talk about it though. If I ever felt the need to share my story with another it wasn’t because I wanted pity or attention, no, it was because I wanted whoever I told to understand me better as a person. It was also a good way for me to relate to others who had similar pain and heartache to my own. The wisdom I carried along my path in life helped me to guide others towards healing as I walked. Everyone needs at least one person on their side to help when life knocks them down.

My emotions give me an advantage in life. They are a gift that I cherish and one I refuse to exploit for fame or wealth. I wasn’t given this gift, this insight, to make a profit at the expense of others emotional baggage. I was entrusted with this gift so I could use it to help others heal from their inner pain. If I happen to make money which I don’t expect, I will do what others can't seem too. What money isnt used to keep a roof over my kids head and food in their bellies will be given back to those who need it most. I can’t sit back and watch people suffer in the streets of my country and not do something about it. That is just not who I am and it is not someone I want to be.

I used to dream about saving the world. I still dream about a world that sits in peace within my lifetime. If only more individuals would hear the cries and communicate how they feel and what they think better maybe we could be free of this tormented world. Unfortunately most people are deaf to others voices and they would rather hide their own thoughts then be judged by someone who doesn't know them. I suppose I can consider this trait part of the human condition. The way I see things is simple though. These traits are very much a choice. I would even consider it a selfish choice because if you choose not to listen or communicate with those who are simply trying to understand you and themselves then isn't that kind of selfish. That could just be my opinion though because I feel selfish if I don't share my thoughts and feelings with those I love and care about.

As a child I kept my mouth shut, unless someone did something inappropriate to me or another child. No one really listened to me anyway, I was just a kid. I learned growing up that the adults in my life spent a lot of time protecting other adults' reputations and yet failed at protecting their own children. Ignoring the cries for any sort of attention. Brushing off the issues and problems their children are dealing with in their little lives. Yet, giving advice and helping their adult friends was less problematic. It seemed easy for them to listen, give advice and attention to their friends but not so easy to do for the kids they brought into this world.

I can never be that kind of an adult because my kids mean way too much to me. Hurting them will always hurt me. It's one reason why I don’t spank them unless I absolutely have to. I speak to my kids how I would have liked to be spoken to by the adults in my life when I was a child. I can sometimes lose my cool, yes but, when that happens I usually take a step back and cool off. I don’t want to emotionally damage my children, not if I can help it.

As I got older and my friends moved away or got new friends, I found myself spending more time indoors. That was until I got my license and my first car. After I was able to travel on my own I started finding new places to go to in order to hide from the world. I found myself trying to get lost in the mountains on the old back roads that have never been paved and wound around all the best hiding places. I pull off and park whenever I get the itch to stretch my legs and explore a bit. To me the woods were like walking through my own personal heaven. A place where I could go to escape from reality and my own inner pain. I always found peace in the simplicity of nature. The woods were like a second home to me. The silence that surrounded me. The fresh smell of dirt and moss, or what I consider the scent of earth, that took over my sense of smell. The feeling of the cool breeze and warm sun coming through the trees bathing me in their essence. It is where I wanted to be. Even today I long to return to the trees I climbed and the waters I swam. To explore every trail, cave, valley, and gorge hidden behind the trees and hills is my passion. This area has been home to my family for decades. I know this area better than I know myself most days and that is saying a lot.

I was born in California back in September of 1985. In July of 1991 my mom got me back from my father and moved me to Maryland with her. It wasn't easy though my step mom decided to fight to keep me and I was honestly scared to death of leaving with this woman who was my mom. I had no real memories of her and I had only met her once before right after my father went to jail for what he did. When my stepmom reported to the police that my father was molesting me they ran my name through their database and found out that my mom was actually searching for me and had been since my father took me from her when I was only 2 years old. Which let me know that even though I didn't know this woman because I was too young to really remember her, she loved me enough to search for me. It explained why my father had us living in a travel camper and why we seemed to always be taking road trips. He tried to hide a lot of things from my stepmom, her daughter, and myself but I wasn't a blind child and I noticed a lot of things that he thought I didn't see. I have always had a pretty good memory even though I act like I don't sometimes.

My stepdad Donnie, I call him pops, was always interested in what I could remember of my childhood. We could sit and talk for hours about our lives growing up and how different it was in the 50s of his early childhood compared to the 80s of my early childhood. I found myself drawn to my stepdad in a way that I wasn't with most people. Most of the men in my life, when I was a kid, I was scared of in a way because I didn't trust them due to what my father had done to me. My stepdad was different though, something about him made me feel safe and protected. Deep in my soul I knew I could trust him with anything and everything. He is who I went to if I needed advice about something. As much as I love my mother she wasn't the brightest crayon in the box. I didn't trust her like I did my stepdad, I know that sounds odd but it's the truth. A part of me has never fully trusted my mother because a part of me that hides deep holds pain in my soul for her lack of intellect when it came to my father. A part of me feels like she knew who he was and she still followed him like a love sick puppy without a care to her child's well being and in that neglect what transpired changed everything for me.

I can forgive my mothers neglect because I love her. I know she isn't the smartest person in the world and even though that is no excuse it wasn't really her fault. She made a bad choice yes but she did so because in her mind she loved my father at the time and she was blinded by that love so she refused to believe in the evil that lived inside my fathers soul. Forgiving her isn't hard because I know if she was given a chance to re-due her life she would have chosen a different path for us both, one that bypassed my father and went straight to my stepdad. I know this because I know my mom and I know what pain she hides deep in her own soul.

I can forgive my father for his treatment of me. I know my father was mentally ill in a way, even if he didnt know it or understand it. Now don't get me wrong, what he did was wrong. I am sure he knew at the time that it was wrong because if he didnt he wouldn't have tried to hide it from everyone we knew back then. I will also never truly trust him because of his actions. He lacked control over the demons in his head and in doing so he allowed them to play with me like I was some toy instead of a child and his daughter. None of those things can be changed though and holding on to them only darkens my soul more with each passing moment. I choose to forgive him in order to heal myself of the pain caused by his actions.

Part 2…..

There are so many stories I can get into from the earlier years of my childhood, I can read my life like a book in my head. I have gone over everything in my memories so many times I don’t think I will ever forget my past. Trying to take the story in my head and put it to paper has proved more difficult than I expected it to be. There are so many lessons I can put down. So much wisdom I can share. Truth is I can keep writing until the day I die and it still wouldn't be the end of my story. Part one of my story was simply a prelude to a much longer, more epic tale. There is so much more to be said, so much more to be shared, so many dreams that have yet to come true and so many ideas still swirling around in my head. Where this life leads me will be a story for ages to come.

In every person’s life there is a moment that seems to define us, some search for this moment in earnest only to come up just shy of their goal because they searched too hard, expected too much and missed the moment when it came. Once we realize we missed our moment we try getting in back, searching for a replacement and yet never truly finding one, only to miss all the moments that came before and after the moment we spent so long waiting for. Why does it seem that so many fall short of those defining moments? It seems so simple to accept each moment as better than the last but it's just not reality, is it? I know that was never the case in my reality even though it could be the case in others reality. Truth is my view of reality has never been normal not since I can remember anyway.

One of my first memories was one such moment. I was always a fast learner and a smart child. I was walking and talking earlier than most children my age. My mom said I was walking by my first birthday and I have a picture to prove it. I was talking sooner than most kids my age, although I think I did have a slight speech problem when pronouncing some words as I got older but with a few speech classes that was quickly fixed. I learned how to roller skate when I was about 3 years old. As one of my first memories i can only recall single moments In time around what had happened to cause the memories to last. Its probably one of my safer memories, one that took place before the abuse started when my father was still my dad and I was his little angelface.

It was one of those warm days in spring and we were living on a little piece of land my dad was renting somewhere in california. It wasn't a big piece of land, only a few acres I think. It was Just big enough for a yard and a small grazing field for a few animals. I remember we had billy goats about 4 of them. I loved going out with my dad every morning to feed them because their beards tickled my palms when they ate the grain from out of my tiny hands. I can still remember the sound of my dad's deep amused chuckle as I giggled out of pure joy. I had no idea what true pain was in those moments. I had no fear when my dad picked me up to hold me or move me. I saw my dad as my hero. We had a few chickens and a cow but the animal that was my pride and joy was the pony my dad had got me for my 3rd birthday. It was an all white female horse and I got to name her sugar all by myself.

I was so proud of how much of a big girl I was becoming and I took responsibility for my horse without fussing. I got up with my dad every morning to help with chores and to feed the dogs, horse, and goats while my dad mucked out the stalls and pins and fed the chickens. I remember being scared of the chickens because they liked to chase me and peck at my feet. That day after the chores were done my dad decided to give me skates because my step sister's skates were too big for my feet. After I put on the skates I decided to use the patio as a skate rink. Dad was on the patio washing it off with a hose because one of the dogs had pooped on after we had all gone to bed the night before.

As I came around to the patio I heard my dad yell. “ be careful, the patio is wet and slippery and I don't want you to fall and bust your head open.” I didn't listen though and before I knew what was happening I was falling head first towards the patios corner edge that protruded out of the ground by about 4 inches. I don't remember going to the hospital but I know dad took me because my next memory is right after we got home from the hospital. It was later in the day and the sky had already darkened into night. It was so late that dad allowed us all to stop and get fast food so no one would have to cook. We got home and all the lights were out so instead of going in the front door of the house dad walked us around to the kitchen door at the back of the house. As we all had come around the corner I remember hearing what sounded like an animal in pain and my dad looked worried so he told my step mom to take my step sister and I into the house while he went towards the back of the yard and the sounds echoing through the darkness.

As my dad stepped into the darkness I broke loose from my step mom and ran towards the sound only to hear my dad bellow for me to get back. As I ran closer my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I could see the shadows in front of me viciously tearing into a mass laying on the ground. I heard my dogs growls and then realized too soon that the other noise being made was my horse sugar neghing in pain because my dogs had attacked her and were chewing on her hind quarters and front legs. Too soon I was ripped away from the scene by my dad picking me up and handing me off to my step mom.

“ take the girls inside while I deal with this mess.” I heard my father tell my step mom as she quickly made her way back towards the house. I could hear my dad yelling at the dogs to release as he proceeded to kick one in the head and swing a shovel he had picked up at another one. Tears streamed down my face as I yelled to my dad not to hurt my dogs and to save my horse. I knew dad was mad because of the tone in his voice as he yelled the dog's names and every cuss word he knew into the night sky. I don’t remember the rest of that night but I know dad put down all my dogs and my horse. It wasn’t long after that that we left our house and moved into the travel camper attached to dad's pick up truck.

The abuse started after we moved into the camper. I don’t think I remember the first time my dad became my father but he did and it was that first moment of pain that changed my life forever. It was after that moment that nothing would be the same for me. My innocence was lost in that moment and everything I thought I knew was now completely wrong. My trust in those around me was broken and I became a scared little girl hiding from a very cruel world that I no longer understood. If a girl can not trust her own father to do the right thing for her how could she trust anyone else too? I was only 3 or 4 years old when life turned upside down for me. There was no changing it and no going back anymore. The memories began being burned into my mind and that is where they have remained this whole time.

I know I am not the only woman who has suffered at the hands of her father. I have met a few who had it worse than I did and some who were subjected to abuse for longer periods of time then I was but that doesnt make my story any less valid because everyone's story is different and we all heal different so my story will never match anyone else's story but we can all learn something from listening to each others stories. I only wish to be understood better by those in my life. Is it too much to ask for? It would seem so most days.

I spent the first year in my new hometown of Frederick Md trying not to be scared of everything and everyone. I was alway the odd one out because I wasn’t like all the other kids. I was smarter and more mature for my age because of what I went through. That first year was hard. I made a few friends but I had trouble connecting and therapy was no easier then going to the doctors for tests and checkups to make sure I had healed from the abuse my father subjected me too. I learned fast how to hide how I felt so everyone in my life would stop treating me like a porcelain doll that would shatter if you even looked at it the wrong way. My family thought they hid their pity and pain for me so well but I could see it every time I made eye contact with someone. It was so bad for me that I stopped looking people in the eyes and just kept my head down like the scared child I was.

Within that first year I had to travel back to New mexico for the court trial to put my father In prison. I was to testify and speak in front of a jury and a courtroom full of people. I was going to be questioned by both the state's lawyer and my fathers lawyer. Before I was put on the stand to speak I remember the judge coming into the room they had me waiting in to talk to me. I was terrified and I was holding onto my moms hand for dear life just wishing I could go back home. I can’t remember the Judges name and the transcript from court I lost years ago when my room had leaked water all over my tote of papers. I remember the Judge asking me if I was strong enough to sit on the stand and tell my side of the story and I simply nodded my head yes. The judge then told me I would be handed dolls in order to show the jury where I was touched and what my father had done to me and asked me if I could handle that in person or if I wanted to do it in a live video feed. I only wanted to get it over with so I told him I would just talk on the stand. I remember spending hours on the stand answering questions and playing with these barbies they had handed to me. After everything was discussed in detail I was asked to point to the man who had done these things to me and it was at that moment I realized I would have to look my father in the eyes as I told the room of people what he did. I remember having a hard time seeing clearly through my tears. It hurt my little heart to put my father in jail but I knew I had to or he would do it again. Maybe not to me but to someone else and I couldn't let that happen. Not if I could prevent it.