Looking Back

From My Private Blog:

It’s rather funny thinking about this since I just got done watching Shutter Island again. But. I remember when I first started talking about mom, and everything that has happened as a result. I felt like I was going crazy.

To be honest, I still feel like I am sometimes. I wonder if it all happened, what if its all a figment of my imagination?

I know it’s all true, but sometimes I think it’d be easier if it wasn’t. I’m turning 20 next month and I still can’t face the simple fact that my mother doesn’t love me. Maybe she did, at some point.

But how do you get from carrying a child in your stomach for 9 months, to selling them for sex? I can’t wrap my mind around it. I don’t think anyone can ever understand it.

And the fact that I never will understand it drives me mad. I’m not sure if I want to understand something as horrific as that. How did she ever think it was ok? She shows no remorse. She admits no wrong doing. Does she think that she was in the right?

How can you ever argue that? “I think it’s ok to sell my child for sex. And let men fuck her. And record it.” Maybe mom is the one who deserves to be locked up in a mental institution. Whenever I open up to people one of the firsts thinks they say is “That explains so much about you”.

That can’t be said about mom. She’s a pathological liar. She says her dad beat her. He didn’t. He hit my grandmother, and cheated on her. But he never laid a hand on her and or my aunt. She is the one who told him she wanted to flush his ashes down the toilet.

I wish I could pinpoint something that makes me go Ah-Ha! To try and understand it all. But I never will.

People keep telling me I need to forgive her. How can I do that? How do I even begin to do that? Every time I think I’m ok, I slide backwards. I fool myself into thinking that it doesn’t bother me, and that all my own issues that sprung up from it have passed.

But then someone asks me about her, why we don’t speak and I feel like my entire body has weights and I’m sinking. My heart races and my body shakes, when I close my eyes I hear my own voice saying “no I don’t want to do that” and I see her and I can smell her. I feel it. I relive it. Over and over.

How can I forgive someone who affects me in such a negative way?


Taking Risks

I’m back with my husband now. After having to live in my hometown since December. I flew in a week ago, and have been adjusting since. It’s weird being back, and my marriage suffered because of it. For a few days it looked like filing for divorce was a viable option.

Things are better though, But I realized in thinking about my martial problems that a lot of them stem from being scared. I scare myself constantly. When I came back I was so scared of not knowing where I will be in a year or two that I wanted to leave my husband. I haven’t gone to college yet because I am scared I’m not smart enough and I’ll flunk out.

My entire life I have scared myself shitless. I’ve talked myself out of doing wonderful things because I was scared. Why am I scared?

I am terrified of being hurt again. Today I told my dearest friend details about a rape I endured at the hands of two “friends”. While that was difficult to talk about, discussing how it makes me scared that even someone I love would betray me was even harder.

When I talk to someone I assess their risk factor. “Is this person trustworthy?” “Do they have the potential to betray me?” I analyze everyone this way. This isn’t healthy. I let fear rule my entire life, all because when I was a toddler my mother decided to use me instead of love me.

I’m reblogging this blog post because I think it rings true for every single survivor of sex abuse. I hope that you all appreciate this post as much as I did. It rang so true to me that it gave me goosebumps.

A co-worker and I were discussing the issue of child sex abuse, and I told her that I feel it is wrong, no matter what.  She told me that a friend of hers is perfectly fine as a victim of child sex abuse.  Apparently, for her friend, the only time her grandfather was nice to her was while he was molesting her. This did not surprise me, since the only time my brother was nice to me was when he was molesting me.  And then she came out with this: "C … Read More

via Reasons You Shouldn't Fuck Kids

I found out today that my biological mother/abuser is rather ill. She is anemic, her hemoglobin levels are dangerously low and her doctors believe she has internal bleeding.

I am faced with a dilemma in hearing this news. How am I supposed to feel? I am concerned that she is horribly ill(partly for myself, as I have been showing signs of anemia as well), but I also feel like she deserves it.

No one deserves to get sick, but in a horrible way, I want her to suffer the same way I have suffered all these years because of the horrible abuse she subjected me to. Does this make me a bad person? I should be taking the high ground, hoping she gets better, but a part of me just wants her to be in pain and not get better.

Even saying that out loud makes me feel rotten. I try to be a compassionate person and not let my anger and hate drive me, but it’ rather hard when the person who abused you and betrayed you is sick.

On another note, I confronted my step mother this week as well. I had driven her out to my eldest step-sister’s house, they are going on a trip and she went to help them pack. On the way back to our house after I picked her up we began talking about D.I.D. (dissociative personality disorder, my other step-sister was diagnosed 2 years ago).

I began to get really angry at my step-mom when we discussed this. I told her that she and my father must have known something was wrong with me when I started to act out in school, I was mean to everyone and I manipulated people and tried to sell sex and myself to get what I wanted. I said that things were horrible in high school, and the reason i turned to drugs and other things was because they never paid attention. I flunked an entire grade(but the private school I was at knew something was amiss and passed me anyways) the year I began to remember the abuse, and my parents just thought it was me acting out and going through another phase. I began cutting that year and I stopped eating, both things my parents knew about but did nothing.

My step-mom has told me she figured out I was deep in drugs and self-mutilation and anorexia but thought that I needed to figure it out on my own because I was an adult and she let me make my own decisions.

I never quite realized just how mad I was at my parents until I told my step-mom how pissed I was. They ignored me because they both suffered from depression. I know depression is serious and it makes you very self-absorbed, but even depressed parents still notice when their child’s wrists bleeds over dinner. I know she noticed, because I caught her staring at it. But she never did anything. The only time in high school that she addressed it was after my grandmother passed away, and I picked up the habit again. A concerned mentor noticed and discussed it with her.

I feel much better that I said all of that to my step-mom. I think it made her cry, but it hurts a lot to know that she knew all along something was wrong and she never got me help, it could have saved me a lot of pain and suffering.

The Apartment

The other day I was going to walk in a park to get exercise. Instead of driving to the park, I ended up driving to the small town 30 miles away from the city. I used to live in this small town with my grandmother and step-grandfather. Before I lived with them I lived with my mother. She rented a small apartment off the highway on the outskirts of the town.

I had been back there once before. I drove over the last night I lived here, and I took my fiancé, now husband with me. When I was there last I told him that “this is where bad things happened with my mother. ” I didn’t go into detail, and he didn’t push me on it. We sat there for a bit then we drove back to my house.

When I went there the other day though, my reaction was completely different. Right when the apartment came into view I pulled over so I could cry. I cried and cried for a long time. I never really let myself cry about what my mother did to me.

I had cried once before and I scared myself so bad when I let myself really feel all the pain that I swore I would never let that happen again. But happen it did.

I’m still processing everything, crying is very scary for me. To me, it has always been a sign of weakness. Whenever I’ve felt like crying, I tell myself to suck it up and be a big girl. I’m a grown woman, I shouldn’t need tears.

How I feel about my husband is better. I just realized I can’t let my fear control my life. And the second it looked like I wasn’t going to be able to see him again for a while, I got very upset, which reminded myself how much I love him.

But that’s not the topic of this post. Last weekend I was hanging out with my guy friends. One of them is a high school teacher. He(Adam) teaches at my and Dennis'(other guy friend) alma mater. We always tease Adam about how he’s the type of teacher that would sleep with his students. That evening we were goofing off and the joke was that if I had a child Adam would wanna sleep with my daughter. I was in the kitchen while the guys were in the living room and I yelled at them “Adam, I’m not having a child just so you can molest them” and Dennis yelled back “No, you’d be the one doing that”.

An innocent joke. Adam knows about my past with my mother, Dennis doesn’t. Needless to say I got very upset. I just dropped everything I was doing and walked out, I even left the freezer open. It was night out, so I walked behind Adam’s house, sat on the gravel and curled up.

I must have sat for a while, because Dennis actually came out and went around calling my name and looking for me. I couldn’t even answer. The whole time I was there I just kept getting flashbacks of what my mother did to me and I felt like I was going to faint.

I went back inside when I felt ok, but the second I walked in Adam came to give me a hug and I just lost it. I collasped in the middle of the kitchen shaking horribly. Whenever I get upset about my mother and I am with friends I try to hide I am upset, and this was the first time I truly lost it in front of them. Dennis must have saw me because he walked out.

When I calmed down, I sat at the kitchen table and thought about what to say to Dennis. Adam ran off to find him, and they talked for a while and came back and sat in the living room. I eventually found the courage to talk and I called Dennis into the kitchen.

The second he walked in, everything I wanted to say flew out the room, he walked in with tears in his eyes and said “I didn’t know, I am so sorry”. I told him it was ok, and he didn’t know, but just to please refrain from saying things like that around me again.

While this whole ordeal was upsetting, it showed me that they are true friends. They saw me fall apart, and comforted me when I did, and apologized for a silly joke that shouldn’t have been said.


“I was still stuck in the terror of that moment. I was afraid that something was seriously wrong with me. Had I been so damaged that I would never be able to have a normal relationship?”-Mineko Iwasaki

This quote sums out how I feel all the time. Due to circumstances that until last month were out of my control, I have been living apart from my husband. Our one year anniversary is the end of June, and I have been living in my hometown for almost 6 months now. While I was on vacation, I had a lot of time to think about our relationship. I realized that I can see myself without my husband, living my life. This scares me.

Dwelling on this more, I realized that I thought that because I’m scared. I live in constant fear. I haven’t gone to college because I’m terrified of failing. I don’t work because I’m scared I can’t handle the stress and pressure. I don’t open up to people who love me, like my husband, because I’m terrified to let people get close to me.

I feel like if someone does get to know me, all they will see is this rotten, damaged person who let’s a few “mommy” issues ruin her whole life. I know in my head this isn’t true, my problems are very real and understandable, given what I grew up with. But my heart says otherwise.

I try to write to help others to let them know they aren’t alone. But at this moment, I can’t do that, because I feel alone.