My Eraser Doesn't Work, and My Ink Is White

[Miss_Fit]

I feel that way a lot, like what is the point? I used to write things down, wait three days, read them, and then destroy them, but it still felt trapped in me. Maybe by sharing, someone will relate or be able to help me see things in a better light than I allow myself.

My childhood trauma's are like a big bee hive, many different incidents swarming around a hive, and it is hard to pin point one without including another. I often tell myself 'it is no big deal, get over it you weenie', and that helps. What pisses me off is when I smell something or hear something and I react to that without a memory. Heart palpitations, panic attack, or the need to go shut myself up alone. I know this is for my own benefit, if someone actually reads on, thanks in advance for taking the time.

My earliest memory, around four years old I think, as things get jumbled, is I am outside in the dirt, eating eggs. I used to love to take my toast and draw squigglies in the yolk, but you have to do it fast or it will dry up. My brother comes out and asks, "whatcha doin?" I continue to make the squiggles, he starts to tickle me, I laugh, I don't want to, he tickles me more, I laugh more, I want to stop but I can't, it hurts, he won't stop, I pee. He goes away, I try to go back to playing with my egg yolks, but the joy in that is gone, it is all dried up and it just drags in clumps.

Near that same era of time, I am walking to the grocery store at the bottom of the hill for my mother, she has given me a note to give to the store man, he gets the items together, takes the money, places the items in a bag, and I walk back up the hill. I do this often, but on this day, some Mexican boys halfway home, grab me, pull down my panties, laugh at me grab themselves in the crotch and I don't remember everything. After they go away, I pull up my panties, put the items back in the bag, and walk up the hill to give the items to my mother.

Same time area, my sister, has me on the bed, this has happened many times I feel in this memory, she is slapping and tapping my face, then tickling me, I cry, she won't stop, she keeps laughing at me, I can't get away,. It lasts forever it seems, my brother comes in and tells her to leave me alone. She is seven years older than me, he is eight years older than me. I go hide.

My mother has left me with some people I don't know, I sit outside on a cement donkey staring up the hill for a red car. I am afraid of the man. I am talking to Jesus.

I am around seven now, and I am left with my aunt and uncle, my mother is in the hospital again. I like my uncle at this point, this day he told me he was going to teach me to paint. We go out to the shed, it smells of gasoline and cut grass, he has already prepared a board and a can with some white paint, and a little paintbrush in it. It is all sitting on a little desk or table, I am excited, I like to draw and paint. He sits in the chair, puts me on his lap and explains to me how I must paint all in one direction, with the grain of the wood, there are no other colors, he says maybe next time. I take the brush and begin to paint, meanwhile he begins to touch me in my private area, I am acting as if I have no idea what he is doing, he begins to ask me if I like what I am doing, I cannot speak. I just keep painting. This is not unfamiliar to me, it is best to act as if nothing is taking place. I don't like him after today.

Suddenly I feel as if I may offend someone, so I am leaving things out. I don't want to provide food for a predator, and if a moderator feels this is too much for the public forum, then you may delete it. I really hate that my childhood cannot be treated as such, but this is enough for me today.

[batgirl]

Suddenly I feel as if I may offend someone, so I am leaving things out. I don't want to provide food for a predator, and if a moderator feels this is too much for the public forum, then you may delete it. I really hate that my childhood cannot be treated as such, but this is enough for me today.

Good job on starting your diary. You don't have to leave anything out because you're worried about offending anyone. People are told on this forum not to read the diaries if they are going to be triggered. Everyone here has to take responsibility for themselves, it's as simple as that really. I write all sorts of things in my diary, venting, etc, and it's all been permitted. Consider this a safe space to share whatever you wish.

If you're worried about the diary appearing in a search engine, and thus being available to a predator, or anyone else whom you don't wish to read it, you could post in one of the more private diary areas, like Trauma PTSD or Trauma Private. I'm not sure if you can post in there immediately after joining the forum, but I would PM one of the forum editors and ask them to help you.

Once again, well done for starting your diary. You are doing great.

[Miss_Fit]

I can't believe that little bit I wrote earlier made me so frustrated. I wonder how exposing memories can help if they make you want to throw the microwave through a window because the door didn't shut after two times.

I figure if I don't add a few others today, I will give up on this whole idea, so here goes.

My uncle, married to my biological aunt, was a higher echelon in a Mormon church, I am not of the Mormon faith so I would not know what that position was at 5-6 anyway. He did however tell me someday I would be with him in heaven forever and ever, and I would be his. They had me for I don't know how long, I went through chicken pox in their care and well, it seemed like an eternity.

My aunt was a very mean woman. I can't put into words what it feels like to a small child to come to the realization that an adult does not like you, I tried to do things correctly, but it just never worked. I wet the bed when I was with them, and she hated that. She felt the need to re teach me how to wipe my butt, to this day I wipe how I want to wipe, right or wrong, it's my way of "being myself". What a great way to feel a sense of individuality eh?

Kids are curious, I stuck a nickel next to a wall socket, how was I to know it would blow a fuse? She came apart at the seams, and trust me, the stitching was pretty damn loose anyway. She went on a rampage, screaming things to me I did not even understand. She came out of her bathroom with a bloody thing and held it in my face and said I made her bleed. (it was a sanitary napkin).

While there with them, they had a family picnic, their son and wife the grand kids and two cousins that were her brothers twins. They were the "perfect example of well behaved children" I was to watch and learn, as apparently I was a heathen. At this point in my life I do not speak. I nod, or shake my head. Dessert was pumpkin pie, my favorite. My aunt asked if I wanted a slice of pie, I shook my head very eagerly yes, I even managed to give her a smile. She said the only way I would get the pie is if I repeated,"yes Aunt Bitchy, I would love a slice of pie, thank you" (OK, so I changed her name) That was a mouthful of words that just could not come out. She continued to command me to say it, and I may have whispered it through my hair, "yes" but that was it. She became so disgusted she sent me out to a telephone pole and I had to wrap my arms around it and hug it until I was ready to say the words. Arizona summers are not very pleasant in direct sun. The tar on the pole burned my arms, but I took my punishment and watched out the corner of my eyes the other "good" kids eating pie, and having a great time. I thought to Jesus. It was if everyone forgot I was there, her son finally said, "Mother, don't you think she has been out there long enough?" My uncle came out to me, and said there there, I will rescue you, you know how special you are to me, now dry your tears and stay by me. Trusting the untrustable.

He went away on some business trip, as he was a high up at the main electric company in Arizona, and she made me sit at a window and pray for his safe return, I asked Jesus to keep him, forever.

I am back and forth with these people, as my mother was sick a lot. I went with my aunt to visit her once, and she left me in the car, I stared up at the windows hoping to get a glimpse of her. Apparently my mother had been in an auto accident and was in a real hospital this time. Usually it was mental hospitals, but I did not know the difference at that age.

I was my mothers sounding board, she called other members of the family names and told me all the things that were wrong with them and why she hated them. I had to listen and when she would ask me questions like, "don't you think I am right, I had to really weigh which way I nodded since I never knew the right answer. She was suicidal, and would take pills all the time. I was a sickly child and had had to have b-12 shots as a baby, as I would not eat as I was told.

My teeth came in rotten and I spent a lot of time at the dentist. I was terrified of the dentist, as he was not a nice man. He would slap me if I cried and I just so dreaded going every Saturday and missing Mighty Mouse. He was going to rescue me someday. I never told anyone anything because, I did not talk. This may have been only three times, but kids remember things a little different. Once would have been enough, he was just a wretched man.

Anyway the whole point is, I had a lot of pain as a child, in my legs and knees and back, my mother would slip me pills and tell me they would help me go to sleep, they were probably just baby aspirin, but, I figured she may be trying to "get me dead" so I would hide them under my mattress. I am still afraid of trying new medications, mainly because of my allergies to most drugs, but that could be a major thing in all this. I was a sleep walker, I would wake up cornered somewhere in the house, mostly the bathroom in the dark, that was when she would push the pills. I wanted the liquid stuff, I knew it was safe already.

Mind you during all this time, I am regularly being molested by my brother. To be treated as a sex object was nothing new to me.

One time my mother told me the TV repairman was coming over to work on the TV, that was back in the day when color TVs got the round wand treatment. She told me when he is here, you stay away from him, with the finger shaking and all. So I am outside with her while she is hanging clothes. She then suddenly tells me to go into the house, into her room and fetch her something. I feel afraid as I have to walk past this man. So I pretend I don't see him and start down the hallway. He reaches out, grabs me and like instantly has his hands in me. I am sitting there trapped on the crouched knee of this stranger to me, and he is telling me I am beautiful, and does this feel good. My mother comes in and he pushes me away and says I am such a cute little girl. My Mother gives me the evil eye, and takes me outside and asks me why I went near him. She tells me I am bad.
Years and years later I find out he was a suspected perv in the neighborhood anyway. Why would she have put me in harms way like that?

When she would get angry while driving she drove like a bat out of hell, the back windows were down and I sat on the door holding onto the little rain gutter thingy on the roof. She is going down the freeway cussing up a storm and here I am with the wind in my hair. It felt wonderful. She told me I was going to kill myself, and I just remember proudly saying, "Jesus said I will never die". She sped up, and I finally slipped back into my seat. I would have a heart attack if one of my kids did that!!

So my time lines here are between 5-6, the bee's are thick.

More later. I feel so exhilarated remembering that ride down the freeway!! Not.

[Miss_Fit]

I am having a hard time going through with this in some chronological order. Not that it really matters. I just feel like I have no me, no pesona, no character, no personality. It is like I went from age 0 to 30, and never developed into whoever I should be, and I set myself up for all the crap that befalls me. I don't feel sorry for me, I figure I have been dumb enough to endure some stupid situations, I get what I let me accept. I have forgiven the wrongs done to me, with the exception of my present estranged husband, I battle daily with that.

Aside from not having a childhood, the worst traumas came in my adult years, those are the events that make me hate myself more than anything in the world. I don't hate my brother, or my uncles, or the many strangers from the past, I had no control over the choices they made to sexually abuse me. I hate myself for being so stupid as an adult.

My first husband, who I married three times, was verbally and mentally abusive, he tried for the first five years to be physical, but against my better judgement, I nailed him in the jaw, he never hit me again. After 18 years of thinking we were going to make it, I find out he was molesting my daughter. That was one of the hardest things to deal with. I had arranged for him to be arrested away from the home so the younger children would not be traumatized by seeing daddy hauled off. My daughter was 15 at the time this all came to light, and the police said without her co-operation, there would be nothing they could hold him on. She begged me not to do it.

Needless to say, nothing was done, he did go into counseling with a church, but as that turned out, it was not a fair trade for the damage done at all.
Three years later in a burst of anger over getting a car, my daughter said I should have done more when it came to prosecuting him. I lost it.

I did my best to raise my kids with knowledge of what is good touch and what is bad touch, but apparently, they choose not to talk.

Another daughter was involved in a child molestation ring, I just happened to find out from a kid who told another kid who told my oldest daughter. (That man went to prison and has since died from what I understand). When I found out about it, I went to the police, who blew it off as a joke, and I lost a lot of respect for the profession. They said the girls did not act traumatized enough. As if they needed to be huddled in a corner somewhere. What happened was they were in a waiting area, which happened to be under surveillance, and there was a phone booth, My daughter said lets call 911 and see how long it takes for a cop to get here. Then we all got the giggles. There fore child rape is OK if the kids are resilient enough to crack a joke. As it turned out, 17 children were involved in this "ring of molests", which they were going to sweep under the rug had I not thrown the fits I threw. The evening they told me they were going to do nothing, I had every intention of ripping that mans throat out, I drove by the house and the house was being torn apart. They found every bit of evidence the girls told them about, hidden exactly where they said he kept it.

That is two daughters, and I really have not taken the time to deal with my own past at this point in my life. I just know I am hating myself for letting this happen to my kids.

I married a man I had known for three years, he was like a best friend, we laughed for hours on the phone and he listened to me when I talked about things that I and my kids had been through. He was supportive and seemed to genuinely care. He was a Viet Nam Vet, who had gone through a PTSD program in the Midwest, we moved out there from AZ.

Almost immediately, he was someone else. He was the most verbally abusive man on God's earth. He was being given large doses of meds from the VA, which he abused. He went through 90 Talwin in less than a week. He called me every disgusting name in the book and blamed me for his moods.

Also at this time I find out that another of my daughters was molested by her uncle. She had a more acceptable "aura", as she could not be separated from me. She was 9 at the time. So I am trying to get her where she needs to be to get the help she needs, and the whole time, this belligerent jerk is badgering me on caring more for my kids than him.

Once I got the out of state investigation going, and was able to have her accept that this man was not coming for her since I found out, I was ready for counseling. I was never so close to feeling like a loser and a worthless maggot in my life. How did I not know these things were happening to my own damn kids??? Why did they not run to me, I was there? I hated myself so much, but I tried to be strong for the kids and act as if everything would work out.

I started counseling, my husband insisted on being in on it. He took the session from; what my children and I was going through, right into his trauma. It was all about him. They sent him out of the room and asked me if I wanted him in there for the remainder of the time and I said NO! On the way home he threw a fit. He said I was talking about him, blaming him, making him the perpetrator. I just looked at him in amazement as to how I ever thought he was a good person.

I had a nervous breakdown, so I am told. If running your head through walls, and peeling the skin off of your face is such. I had such a hatred for myself I could not stand me.

I had no where to go, as I had given up my home to be with this farce of a man, and four children under 14. I stayed with him out of necessity. He told me things like, it is no wonder men molest your kids, your a worthless ****. What kind of a thing is that to say? He took everything I ever confided in him as a friend and used it against me like a bat. I had to drop counseling, and he called me a junkie because of the meds I was put on for depression, and anxiety. He would steal my pills, so I had to hide them from him. He would tear up the house looking for them. He even went to the pharmacy and picked up my prescription, so I had nothing to help me, he took them.

The VA put things in his medical records about me, that to this day piss me off. I am the violent one. Tards. He tranferred his actions onto me. This has been the most traumatic experience of my life. Twelve years with a psycho bastard.

I have been separated from him for 2 years and 3 months. I hate him with a perfect hatred. However, I still pay his bills, so I can squeeze some money out to help get mine paid. My son and I live on nearly nothing. He is still strung out on his drugs, freely administered by the VA. When I see the signs, "The veteran comes first", it makes me want to scream. He has been diagnosed as bi-polar with psychotic episodes. It took them 10 years to come to that conclusion.

He has lost two of my vehicles to repo by spending his benefits on running away, he deserves to treat himself to good things, he fought for his country and he earned this money. NOT! He is behind on a house payment and instead of paying it, he went and purchased a Harley he can't hold up, to ride with legs that have no circulation. God help us all. That is my home that will be lost next, that I had to leave to avoid abuse.

He is 100% due to PTSD, so it states. He has definitely made me shy away from VietNam Nam era veterans. My brother was a viet nam vet too, but I know the evil came long before they could blame it on politics and charlie.

There is no excuse for anyone to treat someone like dirt because they have PTSD. I have it, I withdraw. I will turn on myself before I will hurt someone else. I don't molest children because I was molested. People make choices, and some choose to blame bad behavior on these labels we have been given.

I know there are some really good guys out there who are Viet Nam vets, definitely not referring to you in any way shape or form. The three I have known are just ass's.

The whole point of this rant is I just freaking hate myself for being so "kleenex" to these losers. That's where my problems come from, I blame myself over and over and over.

I am just writing this so I don't explode inside. I hate me.

I don't fit in anywhere it seems, and actually, that is fine, except I have to deal with people.