Sorrow

I am so hurt and angry today.I just don't know what to do. I feel like I don't even matter. public humiliation at the hands of a stranger wouldn't be so bad,but having my own son pretend his grandmother was his birth-mother! He could have just punched me in the stomach. I just feel sick.

Birth of my son

many times I have thought about the circumstances of my son's birth. I have remembered the fear, the pain and confusion. I have been angry for the dangerous conditions of giving birth on the the basement floor. of never being seen by a doctor.of being more of a slave than a daughter. But one thing, something terrible I have tried to avoid thinking about was the danger to my baby. Not thinking only was he exposed to germs, but with no medical supervision, he could have been injured or killed. Not just at the moment of his birth, but also when my father placed him, wrapped in a brown bath towel, into a cardboard box and transported to the trunk of the car. He was in the box inside of the trunk until after we arrived at the house on Henderson Ave. He certainly could have died. I can never forgive that horrible treatment.

anguish

it seems to be eternal anguish.

so, two hours of sleep and then mental anguish. Not a new thing, it happens on a regular basis.

Yes, there is a pill for that, but it does harm of it's own, on top of the anguish. So; no thanks.

When I try to think of good memories, they are always out of reach, far beneath the horrible memories, swirling through my head like black ink on oil and water.

I need peace inside, and it flees from me. I sometimes wonder what peace is.

What my father did to me. What young men did to me. What random strangers did to me. What my first husband did to my children. What my second husband did to me. Who the hell told them it was ok to be horrible beasts?

I never deserved it. Nobody ever deserves it. No baby, girl, boy, child or woman ever deserves it. How can brutality and crime like this run rampant and destroy our lives?

Does it ruin their sleep? I have heard them snoring.

Do they have no souls? I see no evidence.

Their eventual time in purgatory or eternal time in hell is not ever going to restore my life to what it could have been.

I drive home from shopping and feel like I need to cry. There is no crying while driving. I lug my bags into the house and I feel like crying. There is no crying while my dog needs her treat. I put everything away, and just drop onto the couch. Anguish doesn't evaporate in front of the tv.

Throwing a squeeky toy for my dog doesn't eradicate the pain. She loves the squeeky.

I fix my diet meal, and I am only filled with anguish. I can't have icecream. It used to help me for a few minutes. The fat and the inflamation don't help me.

I drop a few pounds, and when I look in my mirror, I see my mother's face. She betrayed me. I don't want her in my mirror. Anguish sends me to eat something.

Physical pain coupled with anguish sends me to bed. Sleep escapes me. Anguish gives the demons wings.

I need to find a way to clip their wings. God help me.

D.I.D.

I know a lot of what is written about Dissociative Identity Disorder [multiple personalities] seems extreme.

In my own experience, there have been compartmented experiences, with the blackouts being either partial or complete.

Sometimes I know nothing of what is happening, in extreme crisis, as my more powerful self takes over, and

something akin to peeking through a keyhole to see what I am doing/saying... as I can only see a tiny bit, and at other times words just pop out of my mouth that I can not control and never thought of.

it has never been like the movies; the 3 faces of Eve for example, and my worst persona

are completely erased since I stopped being a heavy drinker.

I know, a lot of people behave differently when plastered, but that is not what used to happen to me, it was more like being completely out of body, and things I would never do or say occur.

Sobriety is a wonderful empowering thing.

I highly recommend it.

Maybe you have some "missing time" or blackouts in your past and wonder if there is something wrong.

This could be D.I.D.

I saw a photo of myself wearing clothing I have no memory of owning....... and people have told me that I did something I have no memory of.

This has been disturbing, and nobody accepts my factual condition.

Having been badly abused for most of my childhood and having had a series of bad relationships as an adult

is the norm for being one with D.I.D.

I cannot tell how many times my father banged my head into a wall, or the floor when raping me.

I was strangled, and he also used chloroform on me. That was the worst because I would come out of it groggy and confused

with loss of memory for a long time.

Migraines can also be part of the problem, as the really bad stress of trauma can cause blinding headaches.

I know that many therapists don't even acknowledge this situation, so I had to do most of my own work repairing my condition.

I am glad to say; I have recovered most of my memories, and have allowed myself to take a long hard look at my personal history.

I was never sure it could be done, but I have not had any blackout episodes for a few years now.

If you have this condition, keep a journal of what happens, and go back and read what you have written from time to time.

You can improve. You can also be proud of yourself for surviving abuse.

Not everyone does.

God bless

life ponderings

I nearly lost my sight in my left eye back in high school, it went from 20/40 to 20/200

in a couple of days. I was bumping into trees and falling off curbs, and close friends thought

I was snubbing them but I just couldn't tell who they were.

Fortunately, my grandfather Auldridge took me to an opthamologist [my parents didn't care]

and we were able to reverse the infection that was damaging my optic nerve.

That was pretty frightening, I am glad my art teacher, Mr. Fowle, insisted I get someone to help me. I might not have thought of asking my granddad.

vexation to my spirit

instead of sleeping, I am remembering how policemen failed to help me protect my children, how they could look me in the eyes and say; "it's a domestic dispute" when he abducted my baby.

if the police are not here to keep an oath to provide for the defense of innocent children, what ARE they here for? I was doing everything possible to uphold the oath I had with God when he entrusted my baby to my care....... from the moment she was conceived. Parenting is an awesome responsibility, and I completely understood that. There was never anything more important to me than the lives of my children.

How could his paternity be an excuse for the damage he was doing to my baby? She was not property. She was an innocent and totally defenseless toddler. His depravity was all that mattered to him, what he wanted and what his lusts demanded. Innocence and defenselessness had no meaning to him.

Power over a small victim does not, and never will, make anyone into a man. It destroys humanity. He thumbs his nose at all that is decent and good in life, and at God who gave him life. This creature is not man, but beast. Not only damaging those in his grasp, but long afterwards, ruining any real chance of a normal future for all those in his wake.

That is in no way true power, but the ugliest imitation of power; wanton destruction and violation. The torment should turn in on himself. His beard being the only mask to keep him from looking at the foul creature he is deep within as he faces a mirror.

Surely, God will turn his back on him in his hour of need. That would be a mercy for me and the children he harmed. We need mercy.

the sorrow stays

Night after night I have the same thing; too much sorrow to sleep. I have sorrow for the life that was stolen from me, a life where I could cuddle my own baby son and name him what I wanted to name him and sing to him and teach him the things he needed to know.

I had to have permission. Permission to burp him. Permission to choose a tv show for him, because I knew Sesame Street was very educational. I had to fight for his right to watch it. I had to have permission to take him out to lunch when I was working at the age of 18 and had my own money to spend. I wasn't allowed to drive, so I had to ask my mother to drive us to the IHOP and let us have lunch.

As long as she lived, I was never allowed to be angry at her. My memories were ridiculed and mocked. I was tormented every day of my life.What would it have cost her to be kind to me for a few minutes?

When I was old enough to date, I had to make a bargain with her. I could only go out with my boyfriend one night a week, she had to go out on the other weekend night and have me stay in and 'babysit' my son. I could never call him my son. I learned my lesson on that when he was 3 days old. Never stand up for myself, never speak the truth, never be a mother to my baby.

Now that he is 48 years old, nobody can make me shut up. Nobody can call me a liar or insane, I just won't allow that abuse in my life ever again. It was deeply abusive. Being forced to live a lie against my own nature. My own mind was a prison. My sorrow was a secret shame. I didn't know what was the matter with me, I only knew what I was told; to be careful to not let anyone know I was crazy.

Disrespecting me every day of my life was the craziness. Putting a false front on our whole lives was the craziness invented by my mother. Building emnity between my sister and me was her idea too. Reward the younger girl whenever she made me feel worthless or ugly or foolish. Heaps of praises on her when she lied about me........ pretending her big sister was going to a seance in a graveyard on halloween......... something I would never do. But she was believed, and her lies greatly received. What a lesson to teach a child; to reward foul play, and praise division.

THERE was insanity in our family, but it wasn't mine. "He's an alcoholic" and "I've always had my sneaking suspicions about him." all lies to make her seem like a good mother. Solid proof is not the same as a sneaking suspicion. She always had proof. She always bolstered her life with denial, a pretty and tame way of saying a huge stinking lie.

Bullcrap by any other name, still stinks.

So thanks Mom, for making me suffer so much through all of those years, that I can't go to sleep at night without the tears. I can't go through my days without the huge hole in my heart. Breaking a child's trust is the most harmful way to break their heart. It never gets unbroken.