I have always said that if I ever wrote a book about my llfe I would call it "My Life in a Box" because it always seems like I am packing up everything into a box and moving on. Either that or "Cleaning Up After the Pony Parade" for reasons I probably don't need to explain.
I was born in a little town called Algona Wa. Not much there. One street, a store/bank/post office and later a Tavern that the town picketed when they opened. The town was so small and quiet that the main job of the Chief of Police was to drive around town handing out candy and letting us kids hear the siren.
I don't remember much about that time since I was really small when we moved. I do remember the animals and the space.
My parents had been together several years by the time my older brother came along. My mom was 34 and my dad 54 and they had pretty much given up hope when they found out they were expecting. I came along three years lator and my younger brother two years after that.
When I was 3 we moved to the house in Skyway. It was just another stop along the way. What we were really looking for was a house that was close to the city. Close to the VA hospital. My dad was dying.
When I was 4 we moved to the house on 3rd Ave. It was there that real life started to sink in. My dad was almost completely bed-ridden. It was a miserable existance that went on for years. It drove everyone crazy. My dad was angry (wouldn't you be if you had to watch your kids grow up through a bedroom window?). He took it out on my mom (verbally/emotionally).
My mom drank. My family has a strong history of alcoholism (which is why I do not drink) and my mom was no exception. She also developed a perscription pill habit.
I don't remember my mom ever being physically abusive to me when I was small but I do remember always feeling like she did not like me. That was something I never understood (until I started learning about PTSD) because I was the "good" one.
I do have one memory (one of the few I "know" is true) of my mom standing over me screaming at me as I cowered against the dining room wall (I had gotten a B in math - I was 8 ) The memory is only a flash but I can feel the wall against my back and how small I felt.
Most of my memories from this point are merly flashes, or snapshots. There are a few basic memories (such as I remember friends, and school teachers) but not much else.
I know that my mom had breast cancer when I was around 8. I know that she attempted suicide and ended up in Western State (I remember visiting her once at my Grandmother's house on Valentines Day and going to Skippers for lunch). I remember the suicide attempt and walking her around the house in order to keep her awake.
Shortly after the hospital stay my mom went to live with Chuck. After my Dad died they would get married. But for the moment she needed a place to go because the hosp. said she could not return to our house and to my dad.
During this time my Aunt came to live with us. She was there to take care of my dad. She had no interest in caring for a bunch of screwed up kids (we were screwed up by that time). Mostly I remember that she was just mean. Although apparently not to my brothers. Although for her I was probably an easy target. My younger brother was the baby. He pretty much got away with murder. My older brother was just scary. But I was me. The quiet one. The strong one. The one who felt nothing.
My Aunt eventually disapeared after my Uncle Stub cought her holding my head under water. He talked to my mom (it's not safe to have her around Jet) and then took her home. I did not see her again until my dad's funeral when I was 10 and then three years later when my Uncle Stub died.
All of this time my mom was a raging alcoholic. She drank and drank and then drank some more. She could not forgive herself for so many things. She was living with Chuck who not only drank but was extremely violant when doing so. And he was always doing so.
As I said my dad died when I was 10. I never cried. By then I had learned that crying was a weakness better avoided. It only left you vulnerable to preditors.
I guess that my mom tried to keep it together. Honestly I don't really know because she was drunk all of the time. We always had strange people around our house. And we never knew when or if she was coming home. We were always hungry.
Before the year was out we were in a foster home. Not a good one but not one of the worst. After about three monthes we were moved again. This time to the closest thing to a real home I have ever known.
That lasted for about a year and we moved again. This time to the last foster home we would be in before they sent us back to my mom. It sucked but again there are far worse and it was only for 3-6 mo.
We went home to absolute hell. My dad was dead. My Mammo (Grandmother) had passed away while we were in second foster home. There was nothing in our lives that amounted to security.
Our lives got worse as the years passed. My mom continued to drink, my step-dad was so bad that he had bottles hidden out by the trash dumpsters so he could get a swig while taking the garbage out.
My brothers both developed chemical dependency issues. Life in our home was extrememly violent. Everyone we knew was from the ghetto (so to speak) and they were all bar brawlers.
I met my son's dad when I was 16. Thought I was in love. We were together for 6 years. In the beginning he was just manipulative (although I did not see it at the time). Later when the stress of being the perfect son, husband and father and student set in he became abusive.
It was funny. I had never pictured myself as the kind who would let a man (if you wanna call him that) hit me. As a kid, even though I was quiet I stood up for myself. My brothers made sure of that.
But I couldn't. I wouldn't hit in front of my kid and I felt like crap for wanting to leave. How do you leave someone who is hurting (this is a theme in my life). Someone who is broken (let me tell you... you pack your bags and walk...fast). But I was a kid and I thought if I loved him enough it would make up for the ones who didn't.
My son was born August 6th 1988 at 5:36 am. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Although I did not find out for a couple of years he was 6 weeks old the first time his dad hit him.
I got up the guts to leave when Jonathan was 2. We went to stay with my mom and step-dad because there was no where else to go. Evenutally we got an apt and went on with life.
Shortly there after my mom and my crack head younger brother showed up. By that time my mom had been diagnosed with the bone cancer that would end up killing her. She was also blind by that time.
I took care of my mom until her death. It was a wretched experience. At the same time I was going through a custody dispute with my ex (for the child he told people wasn't his). In the end we split custody.
My mom died in 1993. When she died we lost the apt... we lost everything. I had no income because I had been caring for her for the last three years. And since I was homeless and without a job my ex decided he should have full custody. I went along with it because I did not know what else to do at the time. My days with my son were numbered.
I gave birth to my daughter on June 7th 1994 at 4:59 pm. At 5 1/2 pounds she was small, with the longest legs I have ever seen on a newborn. The pregnancy had been a nightmare but she made it all worth it. I had not seen her father since I was 3 monthes pregnant and was not activly looking for him. Although he had never done anything (abusive) to me he had simply stopped calling and I had no energy or patience for him.
By this time my son was visiting on weekends and life had settled into something of a routine.
When Eris was about a year old I moved from the Seattle area to Olympia. I thought this would be a good move. My son's dad was going to go to school there and I thought it would be easier on all of us.
The next thing I know my ex is making up excuses as to why Jon could not come and visit. He had not seen the apt, etc, etc, etc... I finally got him out there to visit on Mother's Day.
We decided to go get pictures taken of the kids. On the way home my son ran into oncoming traffic saying he "just wanted to die like **** " a family friend who had commited suicide the year before.
We finally got him home and I made it a point to call his dad. I thought he needed to talk to someone. Apparently his dad thought otherwise. I have not seen my son since.
Once again life went on. My daughter grew. I had found out by accident that her dad had another baby. At the time I thought that these two babies, born a year and three days apart had the right to know each other. I still think that actually. What I did not know was that this little girls mom had packed her stuff and moved across the country because "daddy" had attacked her and her three month old baby with an axe.
So I wrote him a letter, sent it through support enforcement and asked him if he wanted the opportunity to know his daughter. He came for the weekend. Everything was fine. But after a few more weekends (he lived several hundred miles away- I had no issue with him sacking out on the couch) I noticed that he was starting to drink. Not in front of me. Hell no. My roommate babysat while I was at work. They drank together. Left the kids (my daughter, her son) locked in the bedroom. She let him give my daughter baths (although I did not know it at the time). When I told him he was not to come back she allowed him to come over while I was not home (saying I had no right to keep him from his daughter).
Eventually it got nasty. He raped me and I got pregnant with Hailey. I did not bother to report it to the cops. They had done little so far it was not worth the effort. I was four monthes pregnant, with a 2 1/2 year old when I climbed on the Grayhound bus. I went as far as $169. would get me. Lansing Mi. I had $2.00 in my pocket, it was cold and late. But for a minute I almost felt safe.
I did what most do in my situation. I stayed in the local DV shelter, found an apt and tried to get my life together. I met someone. Did not think much of it at the time. I was not coming out of a relationship so I was not looking at it as a"rebound" type thing. What the HELL was I thinking.
Sometimes it still seems like a dream. Or like a Lifetime Movie of the Week. Can't quite grasp it. I thought at first that it was me. That I was being paranoid or overly cautious. WRONG!!!!
Hailey was born on April 28th 1998 at 8:29 pm
I think that the first thing was that he got mad because I wouldn't have sex a week after having the baby. Then he threw a remote at me. It got worse. Beatings almost everyday. He was jealous of the kids. Especially the baby. If I would not fight with him he picked on them. He knew I would fight then.
It was insane. We would go to his family's house and pretend everything was normal. They knew him and knew it wasn't but they were just glad to pawn him off on someone else for a while. He had a history but I did not hear it for years and by then it was way too late.
I remember how crazy I felt, all of the time. Like there was a tornado in the room, everything flew by so fast I could never grab onto it. I knew what was happening but could not think far enough ahead to do anything about it. Could not see past the next 5 minutes much less a week or a month. I cried all the time and thought actively about suicide. I think the only thing that kept me even close to in touch with reality was my kids. They have to eat, get their diapers changed, etc... I could not let myself sink completely, no matter how much I wanted to.
I tried to leave him a few times. He worked as a snitch for the cops and always seemed to find me. Not only that but they would never take a report or anything else. We were on our own.
I still remember the day. I had talked to the one person I knew (the roommate from Olympia- she followed me to Mi) and asked her to call CPS. It was my last ditch effort. I knew that we were in real trouble and that I could not get us out of it.
The night before the baby had woken up crying. I was pregnant with the last one and on bedrest. Phycho Boy said he would give her a bottle and put her back to sleep.
I could hear her fussing and crying. Really I thought he should let me do it because it would be faster and I was not going back to sleep while she was still up with him. Anyway, after a while I could not take it anymore. So I got up and went downstairs.
I still think that the creaky stairs saved her. When I got downstairs he was in the middle of the living room with her bottle in his hand. She was lying on the couch with a pillow over her face. He said that he was just coming back from the kitchen from getting her bottle (thought he was giving her a bottle the whole time but what do I know). Said he threw the pillow and that was where it landed.
I took the baby upstairs. Got her settled down and back into bed. The next morning when I went to get her up I saw the bruises. They were all over her face and her arm. There was also a bite mark on her chin.
Anyway, they showed up like the swat team. And HE LEFT. He walked out of the house, called his sister and did not look back. There was a knock on the door. They asked where he was going. Hell if I knew, but he was on foot so they could have cought him if they had wanted to.
I remember walking out to the car. I hugged Hailey. and they put her in a car seat. Eris was screaming and crying. She clung to me. I remember telling a female police officer to "take her" because she would not let go of me. Then I watched until they drove away.
I fell to pieces. His sister came and got me . I went to her house and her boy (the same age as Hailey about 10 mo and like my own son) crawled into my lap and just stayed there. He wouldn't leave. So I held him and rocked...for hours....for days.
I guess I thought I would be able to get some help. But he was willing to sign off on the kids. That made them happy. Then they lit into me. I don't know, maybe it would have been easier if i had signed off too. But that never entered my mind.
It is difficult for me to put this whole experience into words. It was hellish, confusing, frusterating... a complete nightmare. They charged me with failing to protect my kids. It did not matter what I had tried to do, all of the times I had called the police (not that there was a record anyway), had taken beatings in order to keep him away from the kids, all the times we had left only to be found again. No, as far as they were concerned I might as well have sat around with a bag of popcorn watching.
Alicia was born on April 29th 1998. I had a cord prolaps and she went to another hosp. I saw her there a couple of times. Then one day I went to the NICU and she was gone. No one would tell me anything until I fell apart and then all they would say is "she went with her foster mother"
Over time it only got worse. I felt like I was on a tightrope strung between him and the State of Mi. I was afraid of both of them. He was pissed. Honestly he thought I should just give them up and be with him. If I did not do what he wanted he would make "annonymous" phone calls to the state. But my caseworker would not listen when i told her "he will never leave us alone".
For 2 years I tried to juggle it all. I knew it wasn't right but I did not know what else to do. More than anything I wanted to explain it all to someone but there was no one I could trust. No one on my side.
More and more I got a little stronger. Sometimes it was not noticable but sometimes it was. I told him "no" more. Fought back more.
Eventually the kids were due to come home. I was over the moon. I had been so terrified that no matter what I did it would not be enough.
Christmas Eve was the day. It was all planned. We were going to go to the Christmas Eve pagent and then we would get dropped off and they would be home...with me, in my arms. Where I could see them, hold them....
But he found out. A family member who was connected to the state told him. He wanted the girls to come see his family and him for Christmas. I said no. I knew when I said it that it was over.
Because I knew the one thing he still had over my head. After we got together I became his payee through Social Security. Once I had started thinking for myself a little I tried to get out of it. But they were used to him and wanted no part of it (he threatened to blow up the last payee's house). They stalled and "lost" paperwork. By the time I had the guts to stand up to him it was too late.
He called the court and said one thing "how can she have a restraining order against me if she is my payee"?
There was one more visit before they were due to come home. When I dropped them off there was a note from my caseworker to call her. When I did she started to cry.
I had to go and explain it to them. Could not just leave them hanging. I will never forget it. I swear it is burned into my memory. I told them that they were not going to come home. That I would not see them again for a really long time. And I told them that I loved them. And that it was ok for them to love someone else. That it was not their fault, I just wanted them to be safe and I could not keep them that way.
He stalked me for 2 1/2 years after that. Killed my dog. Broke into my house. A couple of times I went back simply because it was safer to know where he was. I even raised his daughter for the first two years (I can't explain it now, but at the time all I heard was "you know how I get around small children and all I saw was my daughter's little sister).
I like to think I am stronger now. In some ways I am. But I still feel like it is all a lie. I feel like I am falling apart on the inside but no one notices because of the face I present to the world.
Lately it is worse and better at the same time. If that makes sense. I feel everything and can't seem to get passed it. I cry all of the time or am on the verge of tears. Sometimes it feels better to cry but sometimes it is scary as hell.
I feel like I am standing here, at the edge of something big. Like I am supposed to do this now (as much as I do not like this I do believe that it is simply part of my path). I just don't exactly know what "this" is.