Thoughts & Mandie’s Story

 Thoughts

By now my readers must be thinking – “How can it be that one person must have endured so much? How is it that this person has gone through the things she has and is still moving? Has she really endured this or are these events either made up or just one time event that she made into multiple events?”

I’m here to tell you, I don’t know how or why I’ve endured so much and I’ve only just begun to scratch the surface of the stories, the horror I lived through. I don’t understand why. I’ll never understand why someone didn’t come to my rescue and succeed. I did have a few who did try but were told basically to leave it to the professionals. The church was to deal with it. I’m sad to say, my church failed me miserably. In later years of my Sunday School teacher’s life I found her and she told me she tried to get me removed. Others tried to help. To no avail.

How did I go through so much and am still alive today? I don’t know. I don’t know how I didn’t succeed in my suicide attempts. I don’t know except God. While I didn’t think good of Him at the time, I had a friend in Jesus because He, too, had endured so much. I felt Jesus to be holding me so much of the time and we cried together in secret. I am still here also because God gave me the creativeness to split, to create others to endure; hence, my multiplicity.

Questions must abound about the validity of my stories. They have to because it isn’t normal for these things to happen and someone not escape. Because I know questions have to abound in common sense and critically thinking people, I realize I won’t be believed by some. That is ok. That is your right. This is my truth. This was my horror. And this was my life. I do understand not everyone will be able to comprehend that these events took place repeatedly. It is OK. For some, it is going to be just too much.

How can someone go through these events over and over again? These must just be one-time events that she’s embellished. I wish I could say that none of these things ever took place, even once; however, that just isn’t true. These things were constant and I never thought there would be an end to them. I never thought I’d ever see life any other way; yet, I hoped but my hopes were always dashed.

Introduction to Mandie’s Story:
After Kelsey’s story yesterday and Ron being gone for a while like he was, I thought maybe just maybe it was over but then that is when Mandie came to be. Mandie’s story isn’t one of physical or sexual but emotional abuse and betrayal. Her story, in fact, just isn’t going to make sense because it never should have been after all that had already happened. But, it did. Her story follows.

Mandie’s Story

After Ron got out of August State Mental and went to the Bangor Rescue Mission again, my mother would go see him repeatedly. She finally asked me one Saturday afternoon late in the summer if I would like to be a church pianist. I was 14 by this time and had been taking lessons for 3 full years. I was told later in life I’d done 10 years of lessons as Leah could never keep me busy. Leah knew things and knew that a normal girl wouldn’t do so much.

The Question:
Here I was being asked if I wanted to be a church pianist and finally my dream was coming to fruition. Oh how I had worked for this for oh, so long. I said yes not knowing what was coming next. She said, “How would you feel if Ron came back” or some type question like this.

HOW does a 14 year old answer something like that? How does a victim answer that kind of question. I answered in fear for the wrath of my mother in the affirmative. A neighbor asked me the same question and I told him I had mixed feelings. I wasn’t totally scared of Roy Daigle.

At the time I had no idea what phishing was. I soon found out as Roy told my mother and she came back to me about it. Mandie was created at that point to deal with whatever came….the rest of us just couldn’t handle the betrayal…that idea. No! When she inquired of me again, I knew then that Roy told her and she asked why I had told him different. I told her I was scared and she totally ignored it.

The “New Life”
I played the piano for their re-commitment ceremony and we became one big happy family – on the outside. There were those who were dead set against this but they had no say. Even though we moved to another town and I went to another school, because it was within close enough proximity to Bucksport, and my mother figured no one would know – they did.

Bucksport and Newburg/Hampden are not that far away from each other. Because people read, talk, and I was in high school by then, families discuss things and I was the new girl in town. Because the boys knew I was the new girl, the boys put condoms in my book bag on the school bus. It was so humiliating. It wasn’t long until I tried really hard NOT to take the early bus home but the late bus part way and then walk the rest of the way.

Yes, we went to church and yes, I was the Newburg Church’s pianist but I was torn apart. While Ron could not do what he had to me, it didn’t stop him from trying things like coming up behind me and grabbing my bottom or my breasts. It didn’t stop all actions toward me. I was still used, abused, and violated. What WAS my mother thinking????? What WERE the church folks who wanted this thinking??? Did not ANYONE have an inth of a brain??????

Now, 2014 and Mandie’s Discovery

Later in life, just a few months ago, we discovered Mandie. She slapped hubby across the face one day while we were standing in the exact same places in our house that my mother and I had been in my house on Elm Street the day she confronted me about Roy’s comments. The sun was about the same, our positions were exact, and he didn’t shut a dresser drawer the way it needed to be. I drew off and smacked him one not even seeing HIM but my mother. While this wasn’t the dresser, this was the window and it was later in the afternoon.  My poor hubby.

While the slap was not hard because I’d attempted to stop whoever was in the act, I didn’t manage in time. It shocked us both. We found out that Mandie was behind it and she told me her story later. I had had it written down on the heels of Kelsey’s stories; hence, the reason it made sense to follow it here in the blog postings.

My hubby has endured so much because he is my advocate, working through the painful memories with me as I move through them.  After yesterday’s post I told him I would understand if he wanted me to go.  He said to me, “You can just stop that little thought now” and that neither he nor I were going anywhere.  I was his now.  He was/is my protector now.

 

Kelsey’s Story

 
January 30, 1999 was the first time we’d written about Kelsey’s story. It wasn’t until August 8, 2004 that Kelsey’s name came up and it was just last week, June 20, 2014, she finally told us it was Her story.
Copying from two different journals, she is going to allow us to tell her story. I, Big Sherry, will tell you that it is quite graphic. Trigger warning advisory.
Also, there are some adult words as there are more writers writing and helping with it.

From the January 30, 1999 entry, someone writes,
“This day 1978, the day I found out that my mom knew about the molestation. That day started the suicidal thoughts and want the because I knew then that my step father would kill me. That day the shame, the guilt and dirtiness overshadowed me for the rest of my life. That day, January 30, 1978, I was still 10 years old, That day I’ll never forget that day.
That day. I sit in my counselor’s waiting room, scared, writing my feelings over that day 21 years ago, frightened at the feelings that grip me, afraid of every move, scared to ask, trembling at every thought that comes to mind especially over that day.
The fear that mother might come again, the slaps that she puts upon Ron – almost killing him. I now know she knows what he has done to me and the guilt is so much too much for Sherry to bear the fear of Sherry dyeing because this awful thing has come out. Victoria Rose is beside me on my lap as I write. (I figured out that Victoria Rose was Kelsey’s doll that we had given up; hence, Kelsey’s new doll now has a name). Sheryll sinned, she told, she will die at Ron’s hands for this. The pain she carries the same. Yet at 31 I am still alive. How? Suicide rages in my being. I am no longer Sheryll – who was Sheryll? Why is it that I can’t bear that name?”

From the August 8, 2004, Big Sherry allows Kelsey to write:
Remembering Kelsey is 10 and she allows Big Sherry to begin; however, Kelsey takes over and writes here and there and Big Sherry writes too….

Kelsey is the sad one and many of Kelsey’s memories seem to be from 1977-1982 or 1983 and maybe into adulthood. Cathy doesn’t know how old Kelsey is but one thing she knows is some of the memory. Memories begin when my father sent me back to my mother. I’ve not talked about that time much. Daddy sent me back to my mother 12/1977 just before Christmas break that year.

The night Kelsey was created:
January ’78 after the cat ate the only meal we had left, my mother asked Ron back to feed us. He was there a short time when one night, as I usually did, when I was sitting at my desk in the sewing room, on the other side of the wall of the living room, doing my homework. I heard beating and yelling. My mother came to me falling down begging me to answer her questions truthfully about what Ron had done to me. She went out to the living room, beat him some more, broke his glasses and then came back to me. This lasted, it seemed to me, for hours. I was 10. Kelsey was created that night.

Then after a while I went out and told my mother to stop beating him. The next day, after school we went to Helen Tapley’s house while the police took Ron away to jail for a short time. After that short stint, he went to the Bangor Rescue mission, where he stayed for a while until my mother brought him back. He did come back in time for Christmas that year because that was the year I got my piano. 1978.

Life after Kelsey’s creation:
Its blurry memories as to what was happening during the 1978 – 1980 years with him because it was a yo-yo. He was there and gone again and I never knew what to expect. I remember he was there in the spring 1979 when my grandfather died and in June 1979 when I had my appendix out as well as in July when we went to Acadia National Park. He insisted on taking us rock climbing and my mother was totally against it. He took me, nevertheless.

She brought him back when the men from the church told her she couldn’t divorce him or the church wouldn’t help us anymore. He came back, but for a few weeks, wasn’t allowed to be alone with me. I say he wasn’t allowed to be alone with me for the first couple weeks because that was when my mother started leaving me alone – she wasn’t ever to leave me alone.

 

Graphic content follows:
Alone and What Happen
She would go to her friend’s house and when she left, Ron would call me downstairs and molest me.  This was our house, these photos, but at that time it was yellow with brown shutters. The living room was right inside those windows.  He would lay me on the floor between the couch and coffee table, take my panties down and put his body part on my private area and hurt me, pumping me, hurting me. If I struggled, the pain became more intense. I couldn’t scream outwardly. I tried to close my eyes and go away until it was over. I felt violated every time, dirty and my panties were wet. My panties being wet has never gone away.

My Grandmother’s Death and the Week of Hell

I would cry myself to sleep, wet my bed and then smell the next day. This happened many nights until my Grandmother Lawton died in September ’79. My mother went for the funeral alone, leaving me with Ron for a week. That week was a week of horror for me. He made me sleep with him and repeatedly molested me. One night he had me on his lap when my mother called. She asked if everything was ok. He was listening so I had to say yes. Then she asked the same question again and added “you know what I mean?” And again, I said yes. I was very fearful of him. I knew he would hurt me if I told the truth.

Side note: When he came back from the rescue mission, I’ll never forget that day. He knelt down to become eye level with me and told me how sorry he was and that he wouldn’t hurt me again. That didn’t last long. Now back to my story..

We hung up with my mother and back into bed we went, him raping me again and again, rubbing me down with lotion and again and again. I was so sore, the pain was in my entire body. My mother returned on Saturday afternoon, we ate dinner, got showered for Sunday and went to bed.

The Question:
Sunday afternoon we went to Barbara’s for lunch and my mother asked the question. I absolutely dreaded and in front of Barbara. I don’t remember the question, I don’t remember my answer but he left and went to the August State Mental home for a while.

I talked to Barbara later in life and she told me that the question and my answer made up her mind. She said she told my mother that if my mother did not call the police, SHE would. My mother called Ron and then the police. He was taken to the August State Mental Hospital and I was put through major interrogation from 2 people, the detectives. We had to go to Ellsworth and we sat in a big room. Things were very different then. It seemed to go on for hours. I went to school during the day and Ellsworth at night. Seems like this went on for days/weeks.

This is my 8th grade school picture, Fall of 1980. I was 13 and had already gone through so much…. in my short life.

The detectives told me that I was a surviving victim and that I could help other girls by telling my story. They also told me that I would some

time have to testify in front of Ron, the judge, and 12 jurors. That was very scary for me. A 12 year old standing in front of all this – it was frightening. When all this was over, I remember the judge sentencing Ron to jail for 6 months. I remember thinking – 6 months for all these years? For all the horror, hurt, and anguish. We left the courthouse, went home and I don’t remember much else about that day.

I remember too that that summer or early fall she sent me down to the church to see the Pastor. I had looked up to this man as a father figure. I will never forget him telling me that my mother wasn’t leaving Ron. I was devastated. I had hoped it wasn’t true but I’d heard the meeting with the men AND I’d read my mother’s journal she kept in the dresser. I knew but I wanted it to be false.

I do remember that Ron got out after 30 days, just under the wire of having to register for the sex offender registry, I was told in 2011. I feared Ron. After that stint in the jail, he returned once again to the Bangor Rescue Mission.  Today, 2014, I believe Ron owes a practical form of restitution.  What he has done to me can never be undone and I can never be made legally whole again; however, as he told me in later years during a phone conversation with him, he said to me, “It is all my fault.”  So, while he is sorry…. I am dealing daily with the pain, I am broken.

 

 

 

Loyalty

Commitment and communication along with love and respect for one another are four components of a wonderful and life-long marriage. A committed spouse is one who will honor the other spouse with a dedicated loyalty which cannot be broken because each spouse believes totally in their vows “till death do us part.” No matter what happens, the loyal spouse team will build the other up, protect the union, forgive where forgiveness is due, and provide the utmost of care and support for the other.

Another area of the marriage team that many couples, especially in this day and age neglect, is that of emotional baggage or childhood traumas that must be exposed and healed. Dealt with much like one would deal with an onion and peeling those layers till the end of the pain is either gone or neutral. Neutral pain is that pain that is at a normal level, one in which if you were to cut your hand, the average Sally would react in the same way.

When my hubby married me, my emotional baggage FROM not only childhood traumas but also from my previous marriage was a heavy load and the load was to become much heavier than I, much less him, could have ever imagined.  I didn’t know just how broken I was at that point because I had no idea what lay ahead.

As the almost last 4 years have progressed, we have progressed emotionally about 5 years. When we married, I was on the level emotionally much of the time to that of a 3-6 year old. Now, today, that emotional level is more towards the 9-10 year old. While we have a long way to go still, progress is being made.

That commitment, communication, support, encouragement, love, and care for my brokenness brings me closer every day to becoming a whole person. Each time hubby goes to my counseling with me, takes me to my chiropractor, spends that time talking to me about this issue or that issue, his righteous indignation over the horrors I’ve experienced, that trust he builds with me daily…builds me up more and more.  Adversity?  Absolutely!!  Committed? You bet. Loyal? Certainly!
Each issue I have, he makes an observation followed by some critical thinking on a deep, deep level, followed by an inquiry. For example, last Easter I was going to go buy some groceries and milk. I had planned to go to Aldi not realizing they were closed on Easter.

I dropped him off at work and headed merrily down the road, arrived in the parking lot and discovered to my dismay, that they were closed. I didn’t know what to do. I headed over to Wal-Mart but with all the kids screaming even in the parking lot, I could not think and did not know what to do. I happen to be on the phone with Momma at the same time and while it was a good thing, I lost it. I didn’t know how to figure out my problem.

I texted him and told him “I failed” and he asked what I meant. I texted back and told him I couldn’t do the shopping and was going home. Once home, I hung up with Momma, came in the house, and cried. I failed. I was such a bad wife. I didn’t deserve anything but punishment.

Obviously by now my readers are probably wondering who I was that day. I’m here to tell you that while I don’t know who I was, I know that I was NOT the competent adult but a child, maybe older child, but still a child driving that van.

In his dedication and desire to help “us”(our internal system and I) find a resolution to the problem, he inquired of me…”Were you ever able to ask for help when you couldn’t do something growing up?” to which I replied, “I always was required to figure it out on my own or be punished.” Therein lied the problem and therein lied the solution. From now on if I got into a situation like that, I was to ask for help from him and if he couldn’t help me, then I was to ask from another be it Momma or another friend and I was most certainly NOT a failure. Whoever it was that couldn’t do what needed was most certainly NOT a failure either but lacked the skills needed, due to the childhood traumas, to ask for help.

Once again, like my post “On Perfection,” hubby used his kind words, his observatory skills (and man does he have an arsenal of them), and his deeply loving care to share those things with me to help me succeed, to help me learn another set of skills I didn’t know. A man who would take a woman of 40+ years old who was a basic child emotionally and teach that child those emotional tools for life is a man who is loyal and knows what loyalty is.

To my hubby, I love you more than you’ll ever know. The risks you took in marrying me filled with the mission and desire to take the broken and shattered pieces of my life and put them together has taken so much work, love, patience, skill, compassion, and dedication to me, to your mission, and to our marriage. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. While I know we have a long journey ahead still, I know you will be right there beside me all the way. I love you. Your Sugar.

The Accusation

When children are sexually molested, the mantra is, “they’ll likely go on to abuse their children” I was told as a 12 year old. I remember we had a Pensacola Christian College record that had the song “Done Made My Vow” and I sung that over and over again as I played it on the record player that day. That day I made a vow to myself and to God that day that I would NEVER hurt ANY child EVER. That was in the Fall of 1979 after my Grandmother had passed away and my step-father had finally been arrested for molesting me, and I might add, only because Barbara had told my mother that if she didn’t call the cops, Barbara would. She’d had enough. She knew I’d had enough. I am eternally grateful for Barbara’s intervention that day.

The Year 2007
Fast forward to adult life and 2007 as a 40 year old. It’s already been shared that I had been previously married and had a daughter.  She always loved Tinkerbell so one of her nick names is Tink. Born in 1988, she’d turned 18 the summer before, in 2006.

By this time I also had purchased my very own home and car as well as established myself well in the nursing field as a Certified Nursing Assistant and in the field of accounting working as a Credit Card Specialist at Ryan’s Restaurant Group with my own department that I had developed and run. In summer of 2006, my daughter had left with Cathy.

That summer also, Ryan’s had begun the Merger & Acquisition process of combining with Buffet’s, Incorporated out of Egan Minnesota, which by the way, the employees did not know about at first. Once we did know though, people began leaving and as with any M & A, “every circus brings its own clowns” so says my hubby and he was right.

The first round of lay-offs I was told I was staying, the second round three weeks later, I wasn’t so lucky. They told me my last day would be February 15, 2007. I guess they realized they better get rid of me before I turned that magic 40 years old just a few days later on March 10.

Because I had held down two jobs, my Ryan’s job and a part-time job with Kelly Home Care at the time, I felt it wrong to leave Kelly after I got the news. So, I stayed and after my magic day, I went to work with Kelly working over 100 hours a week, though some of the hours were “sleep-over” hours. While I was still responsible for the client, I could sleep for a certain period of time during the night, “with one eye open” so to speak.

May 7 I was at a client’s home helping her get ready to go and as I bent over the bed to make it, I wrenched my back. My body was finally saying “enough.” I fought it but by the next day, I was in the doctor’s office. I took some medications and they exacerbated my asthma and I landed in the hospital. That was the end of my nursing career as my back would sustain no more.

My daughter’s high school graduation was coming in June. I’d bought my ticket already and I was going to be at her graduation no matter what. Here I was though, no job, no second job, in the hospital for a short stint, and then home to recover. As the summer wore on I was still in school taking classes so I had those funds as well as my short-term disability, which wasn’t much, to live on for a short time. I did make it to my daughter’s graduation as well.

Going to physical therapy and having shots in my back only caused other issues. While I had a car, I couldn’t drive it so had to find rides for things. I lived so far away from everyone so that made things hard. As time wore on, I was able to drive again and for that I was thankful.

I was having trouble by September meeting my financial obligations. My church helped me “one last time” so I didn’t lose my house then, however, I did end up in the end losing it just a few short months later. My other bills were piling up as well and I just didn’t know where to turn and how to make ends meet any more. I was so spent, so discouraged, so weary. What would I do? Where could I turn? I hate asking for help because to me, if I can’t do it on my own, I would die. Yet, I couldn’t do it alone anymore. I started reaching out and in October I had an appointment with United Ministries to get help for my power bill.

That Fateful Day
United Ministries took people on the last Wednesday of the month so, October 24, 2007 with power bill and West’s Business Law 10th Edition in hand, I went to get help. I had to find them, not an easy feat for me, and then go in and wait. In the first row of chairs that day, I received a call on my cell phone from Cathy about my daughter. I put my textbook down and went out in the hallway. After the questions about me, she started in about the real reason for her call when I couldn’t make her go.

The Call
She said the doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with my girl and continuously stated that I must have done something to her. She questioned me and interrogated me like I was on some kind of trial. I felt like a criminal as one accusation after another was hurled my direction and the worst of them was that I had molested my little girl. Because I was/am a multiple, she went on and on about…. “are you sure one of your alters didn’t do anything?” It mattered NOT what I said, SHE believed that I had molested my daughter and that THAT was what was wrong with her.

To my CORE being I was shaken because I vowed I’d never hurt a child that day in 1979. I vowed that I’d always protect a child, no matter, and I did that to the best of my own ability. I would NEVER molest a child. HOW could she, a purported abuse survivor herself AND knowing my severe abuses, EVER accuse me of such a heinous crime??????? HOW????

A Helping Hand
I went back into the big room and waited the last few minutes till my name was called. The person who saw me that day, an elderly and kind gentleman, could see I was shaken. He asked if there was anything he could do for me and what was wrong after he helped me with my power bill. I told him “No” but I so wanted to scream out! I so wanted to tell the whole world what I’d been accused of by this sick woman who just months prior had threatened me with the life of my child! I so wanted to scream out and say HELP ME! I didn’t. I couldn’t.

I went home. I cried. I talked to Momma. How could this be happening? How could this woman do this to me? How? Why?? Where would it ever end? I worked on my Peachtree Accounting software for my Applications for Accountants class and had a hard time. I worked on my Excel class, again just not able to concentrate. By this time I had gone from in-class on campus to online classes so I could work at them as I had time and time, I had. I got up and tried to do some cleaning. I was just so distraught. I think I finally ended up going over to Momma’s. I can’t remember much of that day after that or the following days after that for a while.

The Start of The Seizures
At that time I was still going to church, so Sunday, October 28th, just 4 days later, I went to the service in the morning, back to my home, and then to the service in the evening. The service in the evening is when it all broke loose. Sitting beside Momma, I began to have an asthma attack. I pulled out my inhaler to use it.

Fall is a bad time of the year for my asthma and I always make sure I have inhalers with me. After I used my inhaler, I was trying to listen but I began shaking internally, which….. came out externally and in no time flat I was shaking uncontrollably. I was SO embarrassed. As we were close to the end of the service and not to make any more of a scene, once the service ended, her husband took my keys and got my car to the doorway. She helped me to the car. She took me home.

Once at home, we called my Pulmonologist. While waiting for that call Momma got me inside and held me. The call came and since I had been on Xanax and still had some so my doctor told me to take some for them. Yes, I had developed two things – 1.) an allergic reaction to Albuterol and 2.) Emotionally induced seizures and I knew what it was from – the accusation.

The Pain of the Accusation
The accusation had gone so deep into my being and it needed out, it needed to be dealt with, it needed to be heard. It never should have been spoken! It was wrong, dead wrong. To me, it meant my vow in 1979 had been broken. To me it also meant that my hopes and dreams of never being accused were dashed. I had been accused and yet; I hadn’t committed the crime. I was innocent of any wrong doing. I had NOT committed that heinous crime and I had no representation to prove it. I was charged with that horrid “guilty” verdict from a woman and her hateful, cruel words. “GUILTY!”

For nearly three years, I suffered with these seizures. I had to keep Xanax on hand at all times. I could usually feel the seizures coming and if I could catch them in time, I could stop them in their tracks. It was not an easy time because there were times when they would start and my Xanax was not with me so I bought a medical necklace. Those times when I couldn’t get the Xanax, Momma would come to help me. I’d given her a key and I’d call her to come. She’d find me shaking uncontrollably, get my medicine into me, and in a few minutes, things would calm but she’d hold me so close while we waited and after they calmed. Momma was right there for me always. I will miss her deeply when her time on this earth is done.

Seven Years Later: Currently
Even while I have written this blog post, I have been very, very upset. Those same feelings from 2007 have come back; yet, I know that I am not guilty as I was charged and I know too that most of what this woman claims is probably not true.

Additionally, my daughter has absolved me of it as well stating to myself and others that

“my mom never abused me in any way. the things that happened were because she was not mentally stable. the only “abuse” was “neglect” in that she would honestly forget to feed me because it wouldn’t occur to her that I should eat.” July 3, 2011.

She’d told me prior to this that she forgave me for the things that I’d done wrong and our relationship today is what I’d always dreamed of but, it hasn’t been without much pain; however, SHE stated I never abused her in any way. I was NOT guilty as charged.  My daughter is a beautiful woman now, turning 26 years old this coming Sunday and ever so special to me.  I’m so very proud of her!  The pain of those words though still hurt me.

 

A Broken Heart Becomes a Mended Heart

Hubby shared this photo on my Facebook Timeline.

  It is so very fitting for this post.

A journal entry, made in 2012:

“My Heart is Broken”

November 10, 2012

Dear Journal,
Feeling so empty, numb, and heavy-hearted. Such a burden to everyone around me. Why can’t I learn something and keep that knowledge in my head? Why can’t I remember something and repeat it back or explain it? There is so much I just don’t get, so much overwhelming my heart, so much sadness. I’m missing so much common knowledge.

Being 40 plus years old and not knowing what the Pentagon was until yesterday, the word or what it even was, I just feel lost in my world. My world outside my head. I love my hubby but only frustrate him. I just want to give up.

The world is so confusing and I feel so numb, dumb, and stupid. People tell me I am not yet with so little common knowledge how can I not be? When my Auntie tells me I am the most “ass backward” person she’s ever met-this does not compute. When people make comments referencing something I should know about but instead it leaves me scratching my head wondering what they mean, when hubby reads something and I don’t understand it though it should be so simple and it is for him; these are the times and the reasons I feel so dumb, stupid, and empty. My world in my head is dead but no one knows, no one understands, no one realizes the emptiness, the void, the pain of it all, the feelings.

My brain has been raped just as my body was all these years and my brain just like my body is spent. The problem with my brain unlike my body, is that I need my brain to think; something I was not allowed to do growing up so instead of my brain being used, it sat empty, lethargic, yet spent trying to not learn, not think, not remember academia. Now I’m in a jam and have nothing to draw on, no foundation and as such cause great sadness for hubby.

I’m so distraught, overwhelmed, and feel like I have nowhere to turn. So many topics, so much that doesn’t go round up in my head that goes in other people heads. How do they remember things? I try to learn and I have to spend so much time. I have to repeat things over and over again, so much that it makes people tired. How do I go on like this? How do I function and work through it all? It hurts inside so very much. I’m such a burden.

I have a report for science to do by Monday. I don’t know where to begin. I tried to pick a topic and that one didn’t work so picked another topic and I don’t know how to answer the questions so don’t know if I can do that either.

I feel so alone, defeated, and overwhelmed by it all. What am I to do? I’m only frustrating hubby and I don’t want to ask him to help. It would only frustrate him more. I feel so useless, inadequate, and bummed. The emptiness overwhelms me. I hate being this way. I hate it. I wish I had someone to help me, walk through it with me. What to do now?? Where to go from here?? Blank.

I’m just too much, too much for others to handle. At this point, I wish I had walked away from life in early 2010 because then I wouldn’t be such a burden on others. So alone. So very alone and numb. Tears haven’t come to my eyes but they are in my heart. My heart is broken.”

Today’s Mended Heart

Currently:

Today, June 16, 2014…….

So very thankful I didn’t give up, that I DO have someone to walk me through it all: a soul mate. Hubby. He did help me through the dull drums that day in November 2012 and we went on to succeed.

The success was outstanding…..   

My graduation as Magna Cum Laude with a 3.82GPA in the top 8.67% of the graduating class in the School of Business.
Yes, today, I do understand so much more than I did 18 months ago. In 6 months from now I will be graduating with my Masters of Science in Accounting.

Today, I can comprehend and understand so much more…

My vocabulary is not that of a 5th grader any longer, my ability to comprehend has dramatically increased, and my retention abilities have created a foundation of things allowing me to build upon it daily, adding new things continually.

Today I am so glad I am alive! I truly AM blessed. I have a wonderful soul mate.  I love you Sweetheart!  You’ve given so much.

Little “Six”

Her Story of Beginning

This photo reminds me of freedom – the freedom I need, the flying I have to do away from this memory and the riding of my bike later. The healing that needs to take place now, not only for the original memory but also now for the betrayal.

There are times in life in which we often wish we’d never met someone. I have at least one of those types of people. That person I had a friendship with for over 13 years, as has been shared on a post entitled “Lessons Learned,” Well………

One of the little girls in our internal world has been deeply hurt this evening. Betrayed by that someone who I wish I had never met. You see, this woman has incorporated Little “Six’s” story as part of her own story. We accidentally found it tonight. Never before when I had read this woman’s blog had there been such an almost identical, verbatim how we told her, and basically in our words, part of her story as this and it brought us to tears.

Each of the little ones inside has her own story of how she came to be. Little “Six” has her story. It involves toilet paper and my abusive step-father. One spring day my mother had gone to shop in Bangor and we (myself, my younger sister, and my younger brother) were left with my step-father. We were outside playing but he opened the bathroom window and called for me to come inside. I obeyed.

I went inside and he said he needed toilet paper. He told me to get it for him and throw it to him. The way the bathroom closet was set up there were two cabinets on top of each other with a narrow opening between them that a child could toss a roll between and turn their head to not see. Being that I didn’t want to see, I did just that……only to be pulled in.

Little “Six’s” Beginning:
Once in the bathroom with him, he started doing whatever it is that makes that white stuff come out and he did it in my mouth. Another abusive event, one in which Little “Six” was created to handle it as I could not. As he was doing this, he said for me not to swallow. When he was done, he told me to spit it out and brush my teeth. Then he reminded me not to ever tell anyone.

When it was all over, I went back outside and rode my bicycle for a long time. I was “gone” too, gone inside. Gone, scathed (though at that time, I didn’t understand some of these terms). The trauma of that event has scared us for life.  These horrible events make intimacy so very difficult and Father’s Day is a difficult day all on its own. The very term “father” is difficult because we had no real father, really.

Betrayal:
What does one do when one finds something incorporated like that? We cried. We hurt. Deeply betrayed. Wounded to the core. You see, this woman – many of us called her or thought of her as “mommy” and she promised never to tell our stories. Now she has. She lied. It hurts. There were tears. There continue to be tears for the little one hurt, scathed at the time, scared by the event, and now betrayed by lies…… 😦

 

What Is A Father?

A century ago it was the norm for men to be good fathers. Maybe I’m just naive. A century ago it was also the norm for men to be wonderful husbands. Again, maybe I’m just naive.

In today’s world, it’s been said that there are wonderful fathers in the world. In fact, many people in my own life assert that there are wonderful fathers in their lives today. Many people also assert that they have wonderful husbands too.

While I didn’t have the wonderful father they had or purported to have, I do have a very wonderful husband as I’ve referred to in other blog posts.

The father that had a hand in my creation was not in my life and as I’ve been told, walked out of my life when I was 1 month old. One month old to the day, the day my step-sister was born. My father married her mother and adopted her but …..what about me? Yes, it hurts.

A bit of history behind my parents:
My father and mother met on Labor Day weekend 1965 after she graduated from High School, finished Basic Training, and had arrived on the base. They married March 19, 1966. Their relationship was tumultuous from the beginning, even from the Labor Day meeting from what she says. After they married, they stayed in base housing for a few months until they were both discharged and then moved to my father’s home state.

Between August 1966 and April 10, 1967 when my father walked out of our lives, there were three separations; him either setting her up in an apartment, sending her to her mother and demanding her back, or him working in another city just to be away. They were together a week shy of 13 months when he left and filed divorce papers.

While my tenure with my mother was also very hard and very abusive with so much more to come in future posts, my father’s leaving my life, not getting attached to me, and not being there to protect me presents difficulties for me. Yes, as time went on, he did the customary child support, the obligatory monthly calls to me, and nice presents, but he missed all of my growing up except the short stint I spent with him at age 9.

Short stint:
My time with my father was difficult due to his wife. She couldn’t accept me for his daughter, just like my step-father couldn’t really accept me for my mother’s daughter and so molested me to hurt my mother, which it did. So much happened during that short time with my father and then he sent me back to my mother with the command that my step-father never return. My father never should have sent me back and that quack psychologist was a part of that because he told my father there wasn’t a thing wrong.

Going back & no way out:
Unfortunately for me, that man did return and the perils grew much worse for me. My father didn’t know he’d returned because those obligatory calls were listened to on the second extension; hence, my father could never ask. I was threatened within an inch of my life that if I ever told….. Letters were censored as well so I could never get a letter out that included anything about it. This is not my father’s fault but what was his fault is not standing up for me when it came to making a choice between me and his wife that she dictated. Had she accepted me, there would not have had to be a choice. I never would have ended up back with my mother. My life would have been so different from 10 years old on.

My life after being sent back:
While there is much pain in my life over my father and many might say and have said– “he did what he could” – I say…. “No, he did not do what he could.” I don’t believe the “he did what he could.” So many reasons why. So many things that happened that my readers will learn at a later date as they read the little girl’s stories, the little girls who live internally.

My father didn’t even make it to my high school graduation after he told me he would try. He didn’t make it to my first wedding but did my second, however….. He didn’t even make it to my college graduation last May after he promised me he would.

College graduation 2013:
My graduation disappointment removed my 10 year old little girl idealization I’d carried for 36 years. What a painful and hurtful time and to this day, it has put a major break in what relationship we did have – mostly one-sided as I was continually the one to reach out and chat. The disappointment given to me on the heels of forgetting my birthday, once again, and telling me so. He didn’t want to tell me the “real” reason either. Basically it boiled down to, consistent with the rest of life with him, priorities. I wasn’t a priority. He never said that outright but I knew. I knew because I never had been a priority before.

Different topics we had to stay away from but until then, we had chatted a lot online. The breach has made that relationship ever so different now. I’ve often, throughout life, felt I was on the “back burner” and there is nothing that makes that even more true as to have a parent break the promise of being there for such a monumental occasion as a college graduation. He said he was proud of me. Whoopie. Proud but not proud enough to fulfill a promise. Mmmm…..

Silence from him:
After the graduation he didn’t communicate with me for over a month – waiting for ME to contact him in order to send me my card and gift. While I’d “erased” the hurts of the past with his attendance at my second wedding and thought our relationship would then become two-sided and what it should have been, I have been sadly disappointed and so very hurt. I’ve also come to realize that I am still so very hurt over childhood traumas. As I work through these things, I realize ever so much more about him. So to me, Father’s Day is not all wonderful.

So, what is a father?
A father is someone who protects his child, cares deeply for his child, and carries the responsibility for providing for his child, not only physically, but emotionally, mentally, and educationally. A father teaches his child, walks alongside his child through the ups and downs of childhood and teenage years, goes through those monumental events with his child, goes through those teen love heartbreaks with his daughter, builds his daughter up finding her strengths and helping her develop them, and much more. A father develops that relationship by being there. Mine wasn’t there.

Now my hubby is picking up the pieces. Happy Father’s Day to my wonderful loving hubby. I love you with my whole heart.

On Perfection

 

“The Bar”

There are several aspects to this blog post.  Starting out with something  I’d written 18 months ago as can be seen at the beginning, followed by something just a month ago, and ending with something today.  Truly I’m learning I don’t have to be perfect and I’m not a slave to make everything perfect.  I’m human just like everyone else.  While I can have a goal of best, if I don’t achieve that goal, I’m not to be criminalized either.  The journey towards wholeness means freedom.

Written January 2013:

Over the last few days I’ve once again wondered what my hubby expects of me, wondered if I was doing right, wondered, wondered, wondered…. you name it and fill in the blank…K?

Well, I gave him an omelet for dinner on Friday night full of potato, ham, onion, – you name it, it was in there!! I felt so guilty though…. like I was not doing right by him. My insecurities what they have been, I asked him again what his expectations of me where. He’s always had none and I’m not used to living with none. Also, I grew up in such a performance oriented love – which by the way I have recently found out isn’t love at all but acceptance which I never could achieve because I was never *good enough* – where the *bar* was set so high I could never reach it.

So, after dinner and a 4 belch compliment, I asked hubby once again what his expectations of me were and told him about said *bar*. I also had been told that I had very *unrealistic expectations* for myself but that when I don’t know what the expectations are, then my childhood expectations of it all kick in.

Here is where it gets wonderful because he said first off- we need to get rid of that *BAR.* He said “It’s about time then that we get rid of that bar.” No more bar. Then he told me that he has no expectations of me at all, that I do better than his first wife, and I’m doing fine.

I asked him “How am I doing on the house?” He said the house is just about perfect, he doesn’t have to do his own laundry, I do just about right on dishes though I miss a day here and there it’s fine, I make the bed here and there and it is fine, he doesn’t have to worry about tripping on anything during the night from bedroom to bathroom – a 45 foot trek one way – and that he felt comfortable. I was just about right.

So, then I asked him about meals and he said that I am just about right there too… no complaints and that he enjoyed something different for dinner like the omelet. Also I needed to not worry about perfection unless I was doing for catering! He appreciated my efforts and I’m perfect just the way I am.

SO, while my home isn’t the cleanest in mansions and glass castles, he doesn’t want it to be and he wants me to not feel so guilty for unrealistic expectations that he hasn’t even set. No ax will fall and all is well in his land.

He finally was able to tell this to the “right” gal on the inside. While I’ve asked him many other times about this stuff, the answer hasn’t ever gotten to the right insider so the fears have never subsided….. now? We are starting to relax and be ok with not being that busy Proverbs 31 woman we have been conditioned to be. It is but a step in the healing process; however, we can relax and we know we are loved for who we are even though we knew before we were loved for who we are, now we know we are really loved for who we are because there is no performance needed. Performance is for acceptance and acceptance can’t be given if the bar is continually raised. So, no bar, no performance needed, complete acceptance given and full no-strings, completely unconditional love for me from hubby…. I’m truly *blessed* beyond all comprehension. This is the man who literally and truly *saved* my life 3 years ago this past week. I love my Sweetie so much. He is my all, my hubby, and my love.

Fast forward to today with a post from May 9 as well:

As I think about today and the strides of the last 18 months since the original entry, I think about how much easier keeping up the house is, how much nicer my home is, how much I have learned, and the extremely loving hubby I have. Just a month ago I’d written this in a group on facebook:

May 9:
Even though I have been married to my loving hubby now almost 4 years, I still can’t get used to the care. In my former life, even when I had school work to do at night plus was in school during the day, the dishes and house was my responsibility no matter what……. oh, and then when I began piano – I had to also get in my practicing time but that house better be clean.
Now, hubby tells me when I say, “I’m such a bad housekeeper,” that we’ve been pretty busy of late. School has been very time consuming. That used to not ever matter I told him. He said, “that was then, this is now, you have a different life now” and yet, I still can’t get used to it. I don’t know that I’ll ever.
Never before have I been allowed to NOT complete the housework if I had a plausible reason for getting behind or not getting it done daily. It was never an excuse……. ever. I still don’t excuse myself but he feels I am too hard on myself…. there is a reason and that reason is very plausible.
Wow…..wow….wow. It’s almost 4 years and still…….. I’m dumbfounded at the love, care, compassion, gentleness, and forgiveness when I falter. To him, I’m always “good enough,” no….. “Just right!”

Hubby’s love for me doesn’t change but only grows….. his care, concern, and compassion only intensifies…. Yesterday when I mentioned the upcoming Father’s Day to him and that I knew the restaurants would be packed, he said that they probably wouldn’t be as packed as Mother’s Day because the dad’s get stiffed. I told him that most likely rather than stiffed, is the mom’s stay home and do up a big family function for dad. I told him I’d tried but I was not ever “good enough.” He told me once again, I was always “good enough” but that my spouse had just an over inflated opinion of himself and couldn’t see the beauty in me and my efforts….. see, hubby just keeps working to build me up… to show me he cares…. To be that hubby I have needed, to be that man in my life I never had….. to show me how men are supposed to care for women…… I truly AM blessed beyond all measure.

 

A Good Heart Hurt

Those who have good hearts and good natures to help others in tragedy and crisis, and I believe we all do, often find themselves in very difficult spots in life and being used, abused, and taken advantage of. Also, in my nature is the desire to make it all better for others. This has cost me dearly because I did not know that others would take advantage of me. Because I try never, ever to hurt another soul, I believe others to be the same. Unfortunately, I have learned a lot of lessons in life that have taught me that others do take advantage of someone like me and not all of those lessons have been kind to me.
Growing up as I did, I was taken advantage of drastically; however, I always had learned that I was to obey my elders no matter what and without question. Additionally, I learned the consequences of disobedience and it was not kind. I also learned the consequences of questioning authority – those consequences also were not kind. I have been told that I had the “Perfect Little Girl Syndrome” because of this mantra. I did.
Consequentially, this did not set me up well for adult life. Because of everything else I had endured through my childhood, this was one more area where I endured abuse throughout my adult life, until about 4 years ago when I married my hubby. He loves me and adores me. He is teaching me so much. He is taking those broken and shattered pieces of my life and helping me put them together to make a whole person.
The first abuses as an adult began in my first year of college by those who I called “friend.” Then the abuses continued in my second half-year of college but in a different way. Also, it was during this time I met my ex-spouse. I thought that if they were at a Christian university, that meant they were Christians. I learned that was not the case but not until many years later after I married him.
That marriage was one of abuses of many kinds. Basically I’d gone from the frying pan of childhood into the fire of adulthood and it was so very hard. I was a child, a multiple we learned later, trying to raise a little girl. I feel in my heart, I failed miserably; however, I’m told that isn’t the case. It must not be the case because she’s grown up to be a very responsible and well-adjusted adult. She will be 26 in a week. She’s the joy and delight of my life. Was it easy? No. Did I lose her for a time? Yes…. but she came back and our bond is stronger now than ever it was.
Another lesson I learned, though painful, after giving of myself for years, was the betrayal of a “friend.” The hardships, the losses, the time spent loving and caring, the constant financial help, the cleaning done in her apartment, and the times of carrying her through this or that crisis, were not easy but I did them because I did care. Not realizing I was aiding her behavior and not realizing I was being used, because not only had she become a mother figure to many of the little girls inside who were to always, without question, be obeyed, but also because I had no fight left in me, I gave everything I had left and that included my daughter.
While my daughter was 18 at the time she went with this friend and by law, there was nothing I could do, I still lost my daughter and many special “senior high” times with her. My daughter, I will say, wanted away; however, this “friend,” while she said she was helping, was truly interfering in parental difficulties instead. Those were some really rough years; however, my girl came back after she got her head straight. I will eternally be grateful for that call on January 31, 2010 from my daughter.
It was May of 2008 when I finally realized some of what this “friend” had done and I told her not to ever contact me again; however, I at that point, had lost everything: my first marriage, my home, my job, my health, and most of all, yes, I know I mentioned it already, my daughter. In September 2009, I finally lost my car. With no money and living on a worker’s compensation settlement, I did not know what to do.
Here I’d given of my heart, my all….. and I was so hurt. How could it be? Where would it lead? Also, I had very few friends at the time too as this lady, no longer friend, had isolated me so much that I hadn’t made many other friends. Constantly crying, constantly depressed, constantly in need not only physically but emotionally as well as many other areas, among those close friends I had, even some of them had had enough. I was so depressed and discouraged. I just wanted to die. I’d been so betrayed, so beaten down by life, so used and abused…… what was left? Nothing. It was not for another two years that my situation would really change; however, the losses have been restored many times over. Another post will encompass “Broken Things” but for now…….
Thank you for reading.
Sherry

Life As A Multiple

 

As children grow up, they are supposed to mature.  I didn’t do that educationally.  Children learn to think, they learn vocabulary words and what they mean, they begin to understand concepts, they make parallels, and a number of other things.  When someone is sexually molested from a very young age, in my case 3 years old, threatened with death if they tell, and then when they begin to learn are once again threatened with death if they learn, this shuts that person down.  They fear learning for they know they will die.

With that, add to the fact that I was also a slave keeping our house clean from top to bottom and without enough to eat causing me to be in the 25th percentile in weight of girls my age, I was broken, shattered.  I spent my days/nights numb, empty, in fear.  This was my life.  This is why I became a multiple.  This is also why I am only now, at 45 really starting to learn because I no longer fear death if I do.  I learned some things growing up, yes; however, I did not learn so many things.

My vocabulary suffers terribly and what someone may say to me I don’t understand which causes me to have to ask.  Sometimes that person is willing to tell me or explain to me and at other times, they walk away.  I often feel very dumb, very isolated, and very left out.  Imagine being a system of over 25 people, all different ages, and the havoc that creates.  I can be 45 one minute and the next 10.  I may be Crystal, who is 8 one minute and the next minute Sherry who is 45.

God gave me, according to some, the “Gift of Multiple Personality” so I’d not destroy myself.  I thank Him for that.  Today I’m healing.  Today I’m learning.  Today I’m not fearful of death.  Today I am free.  While I may make wrong assumptions or make wrong parallels, I am learning.  I have truly come a long way.  I truly appreciate those in my life who have stuck with me, loved me in spite of my struggles, and accepted me.  I no longer have to hide and be embarrassed about who I am.  I’m thankful for those who have been patient with me.  One day I truly hope to be a help to those who have been down my road.

I am saddened by the number of people who have lived this kind of life.  We aren’t as rare as we’ve been led to believe either.  We all need to be much kinder to each other.  I’m not “demon” possessed as some would believe.  I’ve been hurt terribly by those who I was supposed to be able to trust.  This is not “humanistic” philosophy but it is what I live with daily.  Thank you to all who help me learn, answer my questions, and are so patient with me.  Thank you from my heart.  I’ve been given a very special love from my Sweetie who loves me totally unconditionally.  He loves me with a love divine at times which is more than I ever thought possible.  From the bottom of my heart Sweetie, I love you!

I am, today, now 47; thus, you can tell this was written two years ago.  I have had the emergence of more little girls since this was written.  This journey truly is one filled with pain, heartache, and difficulty but the freedom that will be mine when it is come to completion, will be so worth it.