My past does not rule me

I feel the need to talk about something from my past. I’ve been watching Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, and if you’re reading this, the statute of limitations is long, long past for me, so please, do ask me to report anything. I’m writing it here, because there is less traffic than if I were to post it on Facebook. I’m doing this more, because maybe someone out there can relate and heal just by knowing someone else was able to survive.

I was born in Calgary Alberta Canada but have been in Alaska for nearly 30 years. I am 36, and for the last 30 years I have had to deal with the knowledge that men who raped me never got arrested. I was somewhere between the ages of 3 and 4 the first time it happened. Bear with me, I may seem a little distracted and my story may jump around, this is hard for me to tell.

My mom was an alcoholic. She’s been sober nearly 30 years now, but she was sick, and I know now it was never her fault. She was with a group of friends, I know I was supposed to stay in the tent, but I snuck out and watched the fire. When I went back in I lay there and listened to the group laughing and drinking. The zipper on the tent opened and I thought it was my mom. Someone lay next to me, and then under the blankets a hand touched me. At first it was tentative, and I knew it wasn’t my mom. But then a male voice asked me “Can I play with you?” He told me to lie very still and not to say a word. He said my mom was right outside and if I didn’t let him play with me, she would be very mad.

            He put his fingers inside me, both sides, and even though I cried, he kept pushing. I don’t know if he did anything else to himself, but at some point he made noises and stopped. He called me a good girl and then left. I curled into a ball and I cried myself to sleep. The only thing I remember of the rest of that trip was my mom telling me to leave people alone, and stop pestering her. 

            Children are resilient and often bounce back no matter what they endure. I suppressed the memory, and went on being a child. My mother’s drinking got bad and she often hit me or used her belt, and I’m not sure what else might have happened, but the next bad memory I have was when a women came to the door and asked me where my mom was. When I told her mom was sleeping she told me that I needed to go with her. She was a social worker and my bruises had been reported, she took me to an office. I played for a while then I was taken to a house. A lady and man met us at the door and smiled and were very nice to me. The lady took me to a bedroom, and there was a beautiful pink bed with a canopy and lace and it was something a girl dreams about when she dreams of being a princess. There were toys and even some clothes and everything was frilly and fun.

            At some point in that next week I had an accident and wet my pants. The foster mom grabbed my arm and dragged me to the bathroom, where she made me strip and then told me to wash my clothes in the bathtub while I was naked in front of her. They had a son, and he came and she let him watch. I know now that the sexual abuse I had been through had made me susceptible to bladder infections, and at that age I pee'd my pants a lot. I remember crying and begging them to stop, but she turned the tap to freezing cold and just stared me down.

            I began to hate that room, and those pink lacy things. One day I was either out with them at someone else house, or it’s a room I don’t remember as being in the house, this is another memory I suppressed for so long. I was playing and the boy told me to come with him. We went into a room and he told me to get undressed and climb into the bed. He said we were going to pretend we were married. I only remember that he touched me and made me cry. I tried to tell, but again I was punished and for lying I was made to stand with my nose against a wall….and miss dinner.

            I know that while my mom drank, there were several times when I was put into foster care, and I recently sent a message to an archives person hoping to gain access to any police reports or social services findings. I think it’s only fair that I learn some of the things that I have suppressed to far that I may never truly remember them. I was once told that when a child suppresses memories they often suppress the good ones too. I don’t remember much about my childhood, but I remember some good things.

            I remember my mom taking me to Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm. I remember almost drowning in the hotel swimming pool because I wanted to use the slide and my mom was sleeping off a drunk. I remember the day she brought home a small little wiener dog, and named her Jasmine. I remember a tree near the apartment that I used to climb and look out at the world from. I also remember starting a fire under it one time after my mom had hit me. I remember searching for eggs on Easter and a house with a man who has Piranhas’.

            But I have many upsetting memories, as every child has. I once chased a group of dogs to a tree and climbed up and rescued the little cat they had chased. The poor thing bit me but I still carried her in my shirt passed the barking dogs and into the building I was staying at. I remember my mom leaving me with a couple of different people when she went out. One girl I knew who was a small statured and shy girl. Kids used to pick on her and I recall that I stood up for her. I think I might have started a fight, but I don’t know for sure. The girl later met me in middle school and treated me with disdain.

            Another girl whose mom worked in the canneries and the house always had a sort of fishy smell used to lock me out of her house just to laugh at me. She would give her mom and massage when her mom got home from work, and one day I was asked to do it, and the mom told me I did a better job than her daughter. I guess that’s why she thought it was funny locking me out in my jammies in the middle of the night. Their house was tucked back in the trees and fairly secluded. One time we were out walking and she thought we had gotten lost. But I have always had a knack for not getting lost in nature. I took her home.

            One group of kids of one of my mom’s drinking friends were especially cruel. There was an older girl and an older boy and I think a younger girl near my age. They often got stuck babysitting me. The little girl was very cruel and called me names or pushed me around. The older one just didn’t like me. One time they made prank calls and made me do a few. They threated to hang my dog Jasmine by her leashed and kill her if I didn’t. My mom would often tell me not listen to their words and then the next second to stop bothering her with little things. I tried to tell her about what the boy did. He took me into his room once, and he told me “Grown up boys need certain things, and only girls can give them what they need.” He said it was okay, but no one could know, because it was private. He placed me in his closet and took my pants off. He used his mouth mostly, and I hated it.

            I tried so many times to tell my mom not to send me there, but she never listened, her alcoholism was so severe. I have a horrible memory of him chasing me into the master bedroom and pinning me to the floor, I remember a lot of pain and when my saw bruises she listened, to a point. She didn’t believe me when I said he hurt me, that he had made lie still and let him use me. But she told her friend he had bruised my arms and that she didn’t want him around me anymore. He had raped me; I only remember the pain, because I can’t bring myself to remember the specifics. But I cried myself to sleep for weeks and I had nightmares for years after.

            I’m pretty sure that was near the time my mom finally went into recovery. I was placed in a very nice foster home. To this day I still call them and say hello. They were a great positive part of my past. They had a big house and there was a piano that I always played on. They had dogs and cats and the house was always warm and happy, and sometimes I wished I never had to leave.

            There was a trailer my mom took me to and I found a couple of dolls under a bed. They reminded me of Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls, but they were anatomically correct. I remember because the girl came in and found me playing with them and she freaked out. I asked her why they had the funny parts, but she just dragged me out of the room. I don’t know if anyone hurt me there, but I never forgot those weird dolls.

            I remember mom leaving someone with me, I remember that I thought her male friends were supposed to do things to me. So it seems it must have happened many more times than I remember. I climbed onto a chair and spread my legs, and I recall a man’s voice say “look she’s trying to tell you she wants you.” I don’t know if he did anything, but I recall the thoughts in my head, I was scared and yet worried mom wouldn’t love me if I didn’t le do the things.

            My mom had lived in apartments, with boyfriends and friends. I remember one house we called “The Broken House” it was back in the trees off a tiny little road from the main road going into Soldotna as if returning from Homer. The walls were cracked and the ceiling was caving in. I think there were pieces of wood holding the roof up and I remember often that the heat didn’t work. I had to help chop wood for the wood stove to keep warm and make my mom her coffee. I once saw a moose outside and to this day I’m positive I touched it. I waited late one time and when my mom still didn’t come I went out had tried to hitchhike down the road. I was lucky and a very good friend of my mom’s picked me up, instead of some bad person.

            When mom got out of recovery she met a guy and we packed up and moved to Oregon to be with him. We stopped at a gas station on the way and an amazing thing occurred. I stood outside in the sunshine and looked down the road and there was a clear line on the road, where it was still raining. I often wonder where that station is, it would be neat to find out if that happened often there. Mom’s boyfriend got mad at me for touching his computer and almost hit me, she left him then. Sometime later she had a breakdown. I don’t know if she started drinking or not, because I placed in another foster home. I don’t know how many foster homes I was in, I tell people 7, because it’s a number in my head, but it may not be accurate. We moved a lot, and in the Kenai area alone I know I went to at least 5 different schools. I tell people I have been to nearly 29 schools from the kindergarten to college. But the truth is I don’t know. That might something else I can find out about, maybe there is a way to track the school records.

            I’m 36 now, I’m married to a man who never forces me and hold me close when I need him to. I have a wife who I love and adore. I’m blessed with to amazing children, my son who is so smart he’s been put into the gifted program called Ignite, and my daughter who just started school and yet if in the top 4 of the learning scales. They make me very proud. But I don’t spend enough time with them; I’ve convinced myself somehow that I can’t handle them alone. I don’t know if it’s because of my past, but they need me, and I’m going to try harder.

This has been a hard thing for me to write, I’ve related the events to the best of my knowledge. Some memories are just snap images in my mind, others are full on sound, smell and feel, and those are the ones I hate. I have been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Chronic Depression, Borderline Personality Disorder and something called Vaginismus. I’m on an antidepressant as well as a sleep aid that prevents me from dreaming. I have nightmares so bad that I have lashed out and hurt my husband. I avoid sex, and have become almost a-sexual because of the pain from penetration. I have lost a few boyfriends because I couldn’t stand having sex.

But I’m alive. I have never turned to drugs or alcohol. I went through a phase of using men, and using the sex they wanted as a tool to control them. And over time I have learned how to appreciate myself and forgive myself. Thank you for reading my short autobiography, and I hope that somewhere, this might help someone else know that you aren’t alone and it’s possible to live a life with smiles and love. Blessed Be.