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.

That was very brave and a large step getting it out. Take a rest Jet, you deserve it. In my prayers.

Jet, you have no doubt suffered an endless amount of shit in your life, enough is enough I think. What are you doing now in regards to the stability of your life? Do you now have full-time employment? Do you have a stable home life? Are you going to look at getting your children back?

I work part time, three days a week. Soon to be four. I am also working on getting back into school so I am not sure how the extra day will work out in the end.
No plans on trying to get the girls back. I allowed them to be adopted for several reasons including safety, and a stable home life. I want to picture them laughing and playing not feeling like this. Sometimes that is the only thought that gets me through.
My home life is relatively stable, although it could use some improvement. I share an apt with my older brother (we were both looking at the same time and it seemed practical- I think I need my head examined). I have a dog, two ferrets and a boa constrictor.
I used to see myself as all F***ed up. That was all I ever saw. I curled up inside my own wound because it was easier than dealing with the demons buried there. But I think that the realization that this is simply part of my path helped. Then it became a journey to travel instead of something to fight against and fear.
The truth is I figure that I lived through all of this for a reason. Don't know exactly what that is yet (maybe I'll never know). I just know that I am choosing not to waste it. I asked him once, why he just didn't kill me and get it over with. His response was "it's more fun this way". Well, we will see who has the last laugh.
And on that note I am off to watch the Seahawks/Vikings game. GO HAWKS!!!!

Jet,
You've been through hell and back, with no one there for you. WE are so much alike.

I'm glad you are healing now, calming the chaos. Take care of yourself around your brothers. Know your limitations, set your boundaries.

I, myself, know that my 'family' isn't safe. They've proven it over and over,even though I love my brother dearly, he is so damaged and in denial, the only thing he can do, is attack me for it.
Doesn't make any sense, but does any of this?

My heart is with you Jet. We are in the same area now. Perhaps, if we both feel safe, we can talk more..........personally, I'm scared. Maybe too scared right now. But let's keep in touch through here, OK?

I haven't been around in a while...almost a year actually. Before I was working on a private diary but I have decided against that. Tlight responded to this old post the other day and brought it to the top of the list...somehow writing here just felt like the right thing.

Anyway, I am not sure what made me come back. Life is going pretty good these days. I have reconnected with my son (to some extent and I believe the rest will come with time) and I have someone wonderful in my life. I am happier then I have ever been in my life.

So why am I here...because I still feel like a wreck inside even though I have made a lot of progress. I still feel like I am falling apart or that if the wind changes direction I will be blown away in a quick minute. Because even though I am happy I am also waiting for the other shoe to fall...because I keep waiting for the day when Brent wakes up and tells me it is a mistake...or the day when my son tells me he really hates me.

I love Brent dearly. But for the life of me I can't figure out what he even likes about me, let alone loves. He tells me he loves me and all I can think is "what the hell...I am F*****g repulsive. Love me...how can you even want to look at me.

And my son...my beautiful boy. I hardly ever hear from him. Not that I blame him, after all I am almost a complete stranger to him. We have been in contact for almost a year and nothing has changed. He is uncomfortable and feels awkward...no idea how he feels beyond that as he doesn't say. I try not to imagine what he must think...it could be anything as we have not seen each other in 12 years.

Don't much like myself and it shows. I am fat...about 80 lbs overweight. And I dress in what ever happens to be laying around. Good thing I have a job that requires a uniform cause I would have no idea how to choose clothes. It is extremely difficult for me to do anything nice for myself...I feel horrible guilt when I do. And it is not even like I have people I have to take care of anymore. Hell I beat myself up for getting my own computer...had been wanting one for a while but something always came up. Found a killer deal but was not going to do it cause Easter was coming up and it was a choice between Easter baskets for my niece and nephew plus my Goddess kids or the computer. Never mind the fact that they all have parents who will get them Easter baskets...And I felt guilty...like I was choosing me over them and I was a bad Auntie or something. I own one pair of jeans, didn't bother to cut my hair for years (I hated my long hair cause it was heavy and gave me headaches but it was another thing to hide behind...just like my weight) and I rarely bother with makeup. Mostly I am just a blob.

I do get out of the house more and I have friends...but it is still like pulling teeth and if I can I will make an excuse to get out of it. Even if it is something I want to do.

My job consists of doing next to nothing and I am still exhaused at the end of the day. I would like to do something different...a little more challenging but I just don't see how I would ever hang on...maybe someday.

It makes me sad because I can see this whole life...I can see this person I want to be...and yet I have no idea how to even come close.

When I think about me...about who I am, all I see is this rotton, festering something...all covered in maggots. Yeah, I think maybe I have a ways to go.

Wow! Maggots...now that is cheery.

It terrifies me to think about the unintentional damage that can be done to a kid. I know that my parents never set out to cause the hurts that we felt as kids and which we still live with. And I know for damn sure that I never meant to hurt my kids.

How is it that people who start out with such good intentions and so much love in their hearts can go so wrong and hurt so many people? My kids were (are, even though they are not with me) my life...my heart... I would have died...cut my own throat before causing them one ounce of unnecessary pain. And yet, because I was messed up in my head I let it happen.

That is my biggest pain I think...I try to look back on the past with forgiving eyes. I have a very clear memory of how chaotic it all was...how insane.

I remember the first time I was told I had PTSD. I was trying to explain my feelings to my state appointed therapist, trying to figure out how, when I loved my kids as much as I did (and I was a good mom...even the shrink and the caseworkers thought so) I could let things get that out of hand. I knew that things were bad and that my kids were suffering because of it...and yet I felt completely powerless to stop it. She looked at me and said "well, that's because you have PTSD" like that was supposed to make some giant light bulb go off in my head or something.

Now she was a good woman and a good therapist. She really wanted to see me get my kids home and for things to be better for us. But what she never explained (and I was to messed up still to ask or search for the answers) was what it really did to me.

Sometimes I think that if she had just expained it then maybe things would have turned out a little different. I have no way of knowing for sure but what I do know is that I worked my butt off to get them home. I fought tooth and nail. Did everything the state asked and then some. But the whole time I was doing it I was I was battling full blown PTSD. Kept it together really well actually...they never saw me cry (actually that comment was made after I gave them up and I completely broke down in front of them), I was at every appointment, did extra parenting classes, went to DV classes...you name it I did it.

But I could never understand the fear, the feeling of being pulled in two directions and never being able to trust anyone. There are so many things I could have said...if I had just told the shrink I was his payee she could have helped me get out of it and would have...but I was too afraid. The state had my kids and Mike had me...felt like the wishbone from a thanksgiving turkey. I went meekly along tryng to apease everybody because I was afraid....

The thrapist said one time that I was ambivalent about bringing my kids back...hell no I wasn't. Would have cut my right arm off and given it to the judge on a silver platter. But I was afraid of being weak...afraid of letting them see how desperate I really was.

The last time I saw my girls was December 2000. I took the bus to Lutheran Social Services and waited in the lobby for them to show up. Their foster mother had tried to make them look pretty...I think trying to give me that one last memory. But she had failed...their hair was done in these terrible pony tails (she was never good at doing their hair) and they had on some rather ugly dresses.

We all went in the back to this little room...not even one of the rooms used for visits with toys and such. Just this little office where no one could see us or hear us crying.

As soon as I saw them I had burst into tears so they new something was wrong. The two babies started crying and wouldn't stop. They were too little to understand what was really happening but they knew that Mommy was sad and that was enough.

Eris though was another matter entirely. She was five and a half and she got it when I told her that she and her sister's did not get to come home and that it would be a really long time before we saw each other again. And I remember that her big beautiful blue eyes filled with tears and her little face just crumbled. More than ever I hated myself at that moment.

I loved all of my kids but Eris and I were especially bonded. I had miscarried her twin and had spent months on bedrest with her. I was a single mother for the first two and a half years of her life (and then with a pycho after that). More than any of my kids Eris was mine. I held her on my lap and rocked her. Told her that I loved her and that it wasn't her fault in anyway. I wanted them home...but I wanted them safe even more then that. And I couldn't keep them that way.

I don't know how long we were there. The visit seemed too long and too short at the same time. Pictures were taken and copies were given to both me and the kids. I threw mine out. Could not stand to look at them.

I couldn't help but think that if I had only known how it would all turn out I would have given them up in the beginning...it would have saved them a lot of heartache. I also felt guilty because about a year before the offer had been put on the table that if I gave up the two babies I could take Eris home free and clear. I refused to choose between my kid...but later I would think that maybe I f****d up because Hailey and Lecie would have probably been adopted by their foster parents at the time and since we had become friendly and they loved Eris they would have allowed contact.

Everyday I wonder who they are now. Eris will be 14 on June 7th, Hailey will turn 12 on April 28th and Lecie will be 11 the day after. I would sell my sould to be able to look into their faces one more time....

Jet,
Your pain must be utterly tremendous. You have done he right thing for your children, the greatest sacrifice, and all the fighting you've had to do to see them & get them back. You must have felt so alone, so terribly alone........

You are a good mother, don't ever doubt that. I'm sorry for your suffering. More than you can know.

It's so hard to let go of the past. The hurt, the regret, the pain. I don't know why I insist on carrying it around. I'm trying to change that. Trying to get out of myself and move on. But trusting anyone after the things I've been through and the terrible losses you have had is so hard.

You are not alone. I want you to know that. Thanks for being here. The planet needs people like you who are willing to do what's right instead of what's selfish. Thank you.

Sometimes I feel like I will never heal, not so much because of the trauma itself but because everyday I wake up without my children and it is like ripping a scab off of a barely healed wound and then pouring salt on it.

I do not tuck them in, I cannot tell them that I love them, I cannot take care of them when they are sick....During the holidays I buy gifts for my niece, nephew, and Goddess Children but I cannot buy for my own. On their Birthdays I bake a little cake and make wishes for them....I wish for you to be happy, healthy and whole, I wish for you to love and be loved...and then I put cards away in a box so that maybe someday they will see them and know they were never forgotton.

People have told me that the pain will lessen in time...I would like to know when that is going to happen. I feel empty without them, like part of me is missing (and I suppose it is). Because everyday I wake up to the realization that I am not their mother anymore.