Getting back

It’s been quite some time, 3 1/2 years since I did much with this blog. I’m going to get back to it. Encouragement and admonishment from a few individuals of late…to tell my story AND to help others learn HOW to help someone in my situation.

The first way to help someone in my situation – come up alongside them, don’t expect anything from them, meet them at their level, and LOVE them. Build that trust. Acceptance is a major key. The journey is not a couple of days, couple of weeks, couple of months, or couple of years. The journey is life-long.

I’ve been pretty sick, physically, for quite some time. I am finally getting better. There have been a lot of changes in our home and in our lives in these past years.

Molly’s First Bra

A girl’s first bra and for that matter, anything having to do with such personal and private matters of a girl’s femininity, should be made special between the mom and the girl. It matters not what the event or issue is, the little girl in her growing years should have a relationship with the mom that is just between them in “girl things.” These developmental changes are not to be made fun of, used to be an embarrassment to the little girl, or to make the little girl feel ugly and dirty.

This morning, while preparing for my chiropractic visit, I began to dress. This event triggered a difficult and painful memory for Molly – her first bra. You see, in 1976 it was apparently getting time for Little Sherry to start wearing these awful things. The fullness was becoming obvious. My mother hadn’t taken care of that detail and it was mentioned to her while visiting someone she was friends with that day.

We remember that day, that experience, vividly. We were at Nellie Burpee’s house in Orland Maine. My step-father’s brother, wife, and cousins were there as well as my family less my step-father because he was working at the mill that day. Because Nellie and Aunt Edith mentioned to my mother my need for a bra and put much pressure on her to do so, she left and went to the Bucksport Main Street shopping strip.

At that time I don’t know what name the five and dime had but at times it was Trueworgy’s and at others it was the Ben Franklin. In 1976, I can’t remember.

Being that I’ve realized and learned that I was nothing but a paycheck for her, it makes sense the disgust she portrayed when she brought this nasty thing back to me. She came in the house, took this box out of the bag, and demanded I go to the bedroom at the end of the hall and put it on.

It wasn’t even pretty but just two foam triangles put together with bias, white, bias tape. There was nothing pretty about it or the events that took place that day. The picture above is prettier than what I was handed and IT is ugly. No lace, no beauty, no care…. Nothing. Pain.

I was instructed to come back and “show it off.” I couldn’t do the back and called out for help. She came and put my arms and hands behind my back and “showed” me how to clip it. I finished and went to grab my shirt.

“No, go show everyone” she said. I was mortified. My Uncle Wolfred, his sons who hurt us when we were 4, and Mr. Burpee were all in the living room. How could I go out there with this on and no shirt? I was so embarrassed.

What mother does this to her child?????? What person condones this kind of behavior? First, she buys the bra out of pressure and is angry about that, then she parades me in front of men who’ve hurt me and some who haven’t?
I never remember going back to Nellie’s house again. Once I did what I was told, I was allowed to put my shirt back on. I don’t remember the rest of that visit and as I said, I never remember going to visit Nellie again.

I remember the ladies talking in the kitchen but not what was said. Is it possible that Nellie and Aunt Edith chided her? I would hope so!

When we left there and went to pick up my step-father at the mill, we went home. I was to, once again, parade in front of him. Him who’d been hurting, molesting, and abusing all of us so badly. Him who’d continue to do terrible things to us in the coming years. How? Why??

What is the point of humiliating a young girl like this? What is the point of humiliating ANYONE like that? Nothing was pretty on me, nothing about me was pretty, I wasn’t worth pretty, and only worthy of humiliation, embarrassment, and deep, deep hurt. Why?? What had I done? What was it about me that deserved such treatment?

What would have been so bad about just a little bit of beauty such as the photo to the right? Couldn’t there be any privacy? What about a cherishing of that time for a girl? Something a mom would do with her little girl as a “rite of passage” if you will? Yes, this is a very painful memory of an event that took place 38 years ago when we were 9 years old. Why? What mother does this? Such agony for a child……

Such agony for me, now 47 years old, in remembering this event.  Such pain and deep hurt.  Tears.

Molly’s Fall

Molly wanted us to tell about the fall. We hurt so badly. We can’t sleep either well. Hubby said he knew we were struggling last night badly since we moved ever two seconds for the first several hours. Molly isn’t able to remember just when the fall took place but she feels like it was in 3rd grade, which would have been 1975 possibly.
It was in the morning on the way to school at this place. We were just getting ready to turn the corner off Broadway into the school playground when Molly stepped wrong, twisting and breaking her foot, as we learned much later in life – 9 years later, and landing on her right side, as we’re finding out now with all the pain. The grass was not there at this spot then like it is now; however, this is the entry to the Jewett School in Bucksport Maine.

We don’t remember much about that day after the fall. We don’t remember whether we got up or the teachers found us but we remember next being at home. A couple of days after the fall, my mother took us to the doctor’s in Bucksport but the doctor said nothing was wrong. We were denied any care and made to go on as if nothing was wrong.

2014
Now, 40 years later, the pain from the injuries is so strong. Molly is being treated at the chiropractor for her injuries sustained all those years ago. The pain is so much worse now than it would have been back then. The thought is that while her left foot twisted and broke, it was her right side she landed on; hence, now the right rib cage, right arm, and right back buttock is so much in pain. Even her hand making life so difficult.

We went to see Renee on Tuesday and tomorrow we will go again. The pain we are experiencing now is much worse than the pain we would have experienced had we been treated back then. We cannot sleep well, we walk in much pain and with much difficulty, the right arm pain is excruciating, and the right hand is somewhat asleep, making typing difficult but Molly wanted this written. There is a pinching pain also going up the left back buttock as well as the right shoulder pain. Renee was able to make the right side rib case feel much better and we’ve had no problems since. Am so hoping to have these same results with the rest of the body. It hurts so badly and causes such crying.

It makes no sense why we weren’t cared for then. None. Today, now we have to heal. The healing is much worse today than it would have been then.

 

Molly’s Story

July 4, 2014

Holidays for survivors can be and usually are very hard. We are no different. Yesterday, having been July 4, was a very teary and difficult day for my internal world and especially for Molly, the 9 year old. Her story is horrific, covers many facets of life, doesn’t begin at 9 years old, and encompasses her own parts – four parts, all named Molly. As I travel this journey, I learn so much about my internal self, the girls who took over for me when I couldn’t handle it. Molly never had negative issues with bunnies; hence, I’m now understanding why she loves them and also am understanding why I have 5 of them for her.

The numbness and pain I’ve felt for so many years is now finally being explained and let out. I know why now. The numbness encompasses the first 43 years of my life. The pain encompasses my whole life; however, now the journey toward wholeness and freedom continues. Here is Molly’s Story.

Rock Climbing
Many July 4th’s our family would go to Bar Harbor Acadia National Park in Bar Harbor, ME near Bucksport where I was raised. Each time we did that, Ron would take me mountain or rock climbing. We’ve already talked about it in one of the girl’s stories – Kelsey. After our appendix surgery in 1979, we spent July 4th at Bar Harbor and Ron took us Rock Climbing where Kelsey endured. So many of us endured. Because Kelsey had endured such horrific abuse and had been created after our return from CA, she took that 1979 July 4th for Molly.

Trips to Penobscott
Since Ron’s mother was still alive, he would go see her taking me along – alone. His mother hated me as I was not HER granddaughter. Why did he not take his OWN children? I dreaded each trip knowing what would take place on the way there or way back. He had his favorite spots off the highway…. It was just like the trips to Bar Harbor. I hated these trips yet loved the other facets of the Bar Harbor ones. It was a Catch 22 in a sense because I was “paying” for the rest of the family’s fun time and my own privilege to swim in the ocean. I loved the water. What is a child supposed to do?

Molly’s Story Begins

Molly after the hair cut.

From about 7 years old to 9 years old, I have very few memories of what life was. This is probably due to Molly keeping them all because of the horror she is about to finally share. It was a time of “blackout” for me, a time of just existing; yet, a lot happened during that time. She’s finally ready to tell me and I write to share her story; thus, she begins around age 7. Little Sherry also is 7 and it seems that both of them are involved here. Little Sherry is a spokesperson for others too such as Sally, Sarah, & Jane as we discovered last summer.
When Molly came forward in December 2013, she came forward as part of a group of 4. We had Molly, Maria, Kelli, and Mandie. We’ve shared Mandie’s story.

Molly would not tell me much about her story and only showed me a picture; a picture of a bedroom with her in the bed beside Ron and panties on the floor. I knew instinctively what that meant but just wasn’t ready to share it with the world nor was Molly ready to tell me the rest. It’s been a little over 6 months now and she’s learned she can trust me and hubby. Like the other girls, she calls hubby Mr. David but unlike the other girls, she calls me “Mommy.” Also, 6 months is about the amount of time between their first appearances and them being able to tell their stories, as we have found.

About Molly
Molly hates red, loves projects, and survived hunger and cold as well as much, much more. Molly was expected to do so much. By the time we were 7 years old, Big Sherry knew how to do all the laundry in the house, dust, sweep and mop floors, make beds, do dishes after meals, and anything else that encompassed keeping a house clean. Molly took this on and did it. The world didn’t see Molly doing it, though. Now, today, Molly does projects and hates housework but will help me with it. During the past week, I have completed so many projects. I realized last night that it was Molly running from the pains of the past, running from the memories – or at least trying. She can’t.

Our Quilt
While we weren’t to be caught crying, we did cry an awfully lot into the quilt that our Great Grandma Stewart made for us when we were 6 years old. We still have that blanket in tatters. If mother was gone, we were crying. If we were outside during the summer, we had our blanket and we were crying. All we could do was cry and hope not to get caught. It was during this “blackout” period that the other Molly’s within Molly were created. One to handle the starving and cold, one to handle the slavery in housework, one to handle the additional horrors of abuse other than the bedroom with panties, and one to handle the trips to Penobscott and Bar Harbor.

Additional Horrors – Another Molly
Molly reminded me about the holes in walls and tells me these are just some of the additional horrors she endured. Holes in my bedroom wall which was on the other side of the attic, the bathroom ceiling, the wall on the other side of the dining room, and the key hole in my bedroom door were all the places he could watch me fairly unnoticed. I began to realize and while I’d cover them with pictures, fill them with toothpaste, or any other thing I could do get away, he would just poke knew ones. I’d dress in my unfinished closet with no light – but he still saw. There was no place to hide that he could not see me. To this day, I can’t stand holes. I can’t handle the key hole in the bathroom door unless it has tape over it.

Ron loved wood working. He built Sherry a beautiful toy box with a seat bench on it and her name on it using pretty nails. He did his wood working in the basement. Other horrors happened in this basement. He would often expose himself to us when he was down in the basement and we were doing laundry. Often he would make us go down into the basement for his own purposes and it wasn’t laundry or to learn wood working. About half the basement was full of his wood working tools and things. The other half had a root cellar in half of it and then the laundry area. It was cold and damp in the basement.

Slavery
She was a slave in many senses of the word and with so little to eat. Being in the 25th %ile of girls her age in weight, Big Sherry was way too thin. At 7 years old she only weighed 47 pounds and the baby book gives no more weights until age 11 at which time it states that she only weighed 71 pounds for her tiny frame. It also states that this was underweight.

Starvation & Cold
Being at least 4 years older than my younger sister and 5 years older than my younger brother, I should have had more to eat; however, I only received the same portions. My mother believed in equal portions “to be fair” and no seconds were allowed on anything except maybe the vegetable and this usually consisted of corn, peas, green beans, or carrots. If we were hungry, we might get an apple during the day. We ate very little. The neighbors tried to help by giving us ice cream or doughnut holes – they knew what was up and specifically went the “extra mile” to be an aide to us.

Often I went to bed without my dinner if I had been bad or gotten into trouble. As I got older I was grounded – she must have been called on the carpet for sending me to bed without my dinner because the older girls didn’t experience this punishment that I can remember. I, Molly, did….. When the older girls got grounded though, they had to do what the military calls a “White Glove” on the house which was a lot of work. Mother would sit eating Ruffles potato chips and watch them work. She did that to us too when we did the regular housework.

It was never warm enough. Keeping the thermostat, in Maine in the winter, at 65* and with our frail and tiny body already compromised, we were always cold. If I spoke of being cold I was told to put on a sweater. Thankfully at that time, we hadn’t started wearing those thin dresses all the time yet. That was to come later. I remember at night sleeping under layers and layers of blankets. Staying warm was so hard.

 

As a kindergartener, one of the lunch room ladies who was also the doughnut hole lady, used to give me extra peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at school until she made the grave mistake of telling my mother. In second grade in the Jewett School, we would get breakfast and lunch “free” and tell the lunch room we forgot our ticket – just to get something to eat. We got into trouble. One time that early spring we fell into a swampy place behind a lady’s house, lost our Brownie dues, and got muddy on the way to school. She rescued me, cleaned me up, and I tried to tell her what was happening at home. So many times, we tried to tell but not tell all… and the people – no one could help. No one could get us away. No one.

Part of Kelsey’s story – the bedroom – Molly was the first to endure. Molly tried to leave a hint – the panties on the floor. Molly also cut our hair when we couldn’t brush it – oh so long it was. Mother wouldn’t brush it for us and told us that if we wanted long hair it was up to us to take care of it. One day we decided we’d had enough and between Molly and Crystal, we cut it. We wanted long hair but we couldn’t care for it. We got into so much trouble when she discovered what we’d done.

 

52 Elm Street – The Bedroom – to the right of the door.

The Bedroom Story
The bedroom story is so hard to tell. Mother and Ron were part of Amway and so went to those meetings all the time and the functions if they could. They’d secure a babysitter for us but when one wasn’t available, Ron would stay home with us. This one time, and many future times to come, was an extended meeting and that’s the night the bedroom of theirs became a place of horror for us. We remember exactly where the bed was, where pictures were on the wall on the side he had me on – a large picture of the Shepherd, Jesus and the sheep – and where the dressers were. I was trapped. I cannot sleep on that side of the bed if I am closed in. He was stronger than I.

That night, lotion turned into horror for me and red became anathema. This is the hardest part of the story for Molly to tell. Molly can’t write it so Sherry has to interpret and write it for us because we don’t have the words. Sherry went away that night while I, Molly, took the abusive racking her body endured by that monster. That nasty thing that raped her body and penetrated it causing such pain. Pain she’d never endured such pain before, pain that the body never forgets. Pain that left a little girl paralyzed and immobilized not only in fear but physically. He made us get up and wash. We slept in our own bed and cried ourselves to sleep. Living in fear and being watched at all times, never to tell a soul, threatened with death should anyone ever learn of “the secret.”

Children Then & Now
During the 1970’s and 1980’s there wasn’t the help for children there is today in the 2000’s and when children are leaving hints – people take notice. If even a smidgen of what I endured had happened now, the Child Protective Services (CPS) would be all over it and my mother’s stories would not have been allowed to pass for truth. Even in school – the lunch ladies would have to report and keep things in my school file today. If I’d gone to the school nurse, today – the nurse would have been a mandatory reporter. What I’m saying is that today, I’d have gotten the help I and others tried to get for me and couldn’t.

 

My Life Today
Now at 47 years old and 36 of us inside, we are working on that healing journey. It’s difficult, painful, and like peeling the layers of an onion, it smarts and hurts. There are so many tears still to come and many more therapy sessions to be had; however, one day I can be free of this pain and the memories, while they’ll never be gone, they can be neutralized so I may look at them from a different perspective and hopefully so they won’t hurt and haunt me any longer. Hopefully I will be one day free from the bondage and be Emancipated.

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…… 😦