Long lost angel
New Here
Here's my story, some of it.
I am the product of an abused native-american mother and a father who became a career criminal (heroin abuser/dealer, card shark and zombie)
My father found his mother and her suicide note when he was 12 and immediately followed the path of evil as he was nearly alone living in E.losangeles in the early 60's. My grandfather owned bars and casinos, so he wasn't around much to raise or properly guide my father. It was unique times.
By the time I was 2 1/2 he was convicted of murder sentenced to life.
I remember everything.
EVERYTHING!
Molested numerous times by age 3. Penetration by another grandfather and my mother's room mate by age4.
At age 6 I witnessed an attempt of murder on my mother by his former cell mate. About 9 days before this occurred, we were at the downstairs neighbors apartment, we were having wonderful fun, eating playing crafting for the holidays. It was all hot and humid from all of the motion. But suddenly like a wave, I was hit with the cold air in my chest and face. My skin turned cold and I began to sweat and couldn't move or speak for a bit. The neighbor lady asked me what was the matter. I told her that I didn't know, but begged her to promise me that if they ever hear lots of banging coming from near the front door but no screaming, to NOT come up the stairs just call 911 right away. This was shocking for everyone and I had officially ruined everyone's good time. We had to go home.
(Christmas eve) Richard Garcia, he sliced my forehead with the bloody knife just after stabbing my mother 34 times in the chest stomach face breasts and lung. He held my 6mo old baby brother 3 feet over his crib by his hair and put the knife to his neck and told me and my little sister that if we scream he will chop his head off. I said we wouldn't scream. He proceeded to go in the bathroom and continue stabbing my mom in the bathtub.
I took my 4 year old sister and put her in the closet by the front door, told her not to scream but to stomp as hard as she could on the floor and never stop until someone let her out. Then I went back and watched my mother fighting through the bloody showercurtian. That's when he heard sirens and went to leave but tried to stabb me in the head first. He went out the front door and I followed to the balcony and watched him hide in the apartments dumpster. As soon as he hopped over the banister, the downstairs neighbors rushed up to help my mother. I held on tight so I wouldn't lose sight of him. Everybody was to busy trying to help my mom and couldn't hear that I was saying he is in the trash.
Eventually, as they were forcing me into the back of a police car with my siblings to take us to a facility, I raged up and I was finally asked what was wrong with me. They assured me they were taking care of my mom so she could come back and take care of us. I told them that no one would listen to me and that I could see him in the dumpster this whole time and I was afraid that he would get away. That sent officers to check, and I heard lots of commotion and gun shots. They rushed us off in a panic and that was that.
My mom survived, and I had to testify in court about everything. Twice.
Eventually we were released from foster care and given back to our mother. But we were still scared. So we came to California.
There was no family willing to take us in or help us get started with a new life. My mother's cousin gave us a ride to a homeless shelter. It was quite nasty. My father was somehow let out of prison, despite the murder conviction, and we knew he was now in San Francisco. So we traveled there to be with him.
Being the man that he was, the events led to my mother....she began to abuse drugs..again.
We left again, 100 miles away. We were granted welfare benefits and were able to get an apartment in a bad neighborhood. Soon, a little old man, my neighbor 2doors down, started giving us rides, bringing gifts, groceries. He was nice and gained my mom's trust. He would watch us occasionally.
He was the man who would molest me nearly everyday. Even then at age 7 I had a hard time with sleep. Sometimes I would wake late. Later than everyone else, and be overcome with fears that while I was sleeping in, my little sister may have been dragged into his house and he was doing the same to her. I would run over there and knock on the door to find her. She wasn't. But now I was.
So I always felt stupid, like it was my own fault, I went on my own two feet.
One time I found a little shiny package on the ground, my sister, another girl and I were passing his door to get to mine so we can ask my mom what it was. His door flew open. He took us inside so he could show us what it was. It was a condom.
He said he would show us how it was used. His pants down, erection out, I got right in front of him so the younger girls wouldn't see it. As he was explaining that I had to put this twisted end of the plastic thing in my mouth first to get it on HIM, I was wondering how I was going to get us out of this. All I could do was look around a bit, and then I blurted out "OH HI MILTON!" (His adult son's name)
MILTON wasn't really coming down the hallway (wasn't even home), but it startled him enough that he was on his feet fumbling himself back into his pants and rushed us out of his house angrily.
We moved into a duplex across the street with roommates. They were on SUBSTANCES. I was kidnapped.
I wound up in San Fran with my father. I saw a lot of heroin, needles, grown people doing what I call the "matrix"
We were even kicked out of a homeless shelter. We ate at church kitchens, and I didn't go to school or get to communicate with my mom or siblings. Finally I made him see reason, and take me back. The house was abandoned. The only person I knew was "grandpa Sammy" The daily dosage of molestation neighbor. So we went there to find out what was going on. (I never told what he had done. I KNOW my father would have killed him.)
He had been told that if he had ever found out my whereabouts that he had to call the detectives that left their business cards.
Protective services came and took me away.
It turned out that my mom had a breakdown, started using, overdosed. Her aunt took my sister to another state to live with my grandma. My brother was in the receiving home.
They placed me there too.
I didn't recognize my sister when is saw her again for the first time 4 years later.
I was continually passed around the system for the next 10years or so.
I've counted from memory once and came up with 36 foster homes, 3 grouphomes, 1 halfway style. That's just what I remembered, I don't know how to locate my records. I would consider only maybe 3 of these good homes, and one of those I wound up overdosed on all the kids meds.
In that time my experiences consisted of beatings (numerous), strangulation (once), rapes (several) , molestation (lots), left at a gas station in the boonies for 7 hours, abuse.....sexually, verbally, mentally....you name it.....I think I was marked from birth. Or I may be paying for my actions from a previous life when I was hitter or something.
How can "they" tell just by looking at me?
These things kept happening to me even into young adulthood.
I'm married now, been together for 15 years. But suddenly I'm being more affected now by my past than I was even then when it was occurring or fresh.
I'm angry
Sad
Hurt
Scared
Jealous
Hopeful
Utterly hopeless..............
I feel dead, like a burden, trapped. But I can't bring everyone down with me. If they all knew, how I feel or that there's not a ten minutes that passes that I don't replay or relive it all, they would judge me, stop feeling the same for me. I see that it already affects them though.
But then again when I try to speak up, it's like nobody is interested enough to hear. I don't have the chance to get it out. And then yet again I'm afraid too.
So I put it all here. because it gives me the sense that I may still keep it all safe and hushed. What are the chances that somebody will suddenly take an interest now and commit to reading this novel?
I'M SORRY. --Angel--
I am the product of an abused native-american mother and a father who became a career criminal (heroin abuser/dealer, card shark and zombie)
My father found his mother and her suicide note when he was 12 and immediately followed the path of evil as he was nearly alone living in E.losangeles in the early 60's. My grandfather owned bars and casinos, so he wasn't around much to raise or properly guide my father. It was unique times.
By the time I was 2 1/2 he was convicted of murder sentenced to life.
I remember everything.
EVERYTHING!
Molested numerous times by age 3. Penetration by another grandfather and my mother's room mate by age4.
At age 6 I witnessed an attempt of murder on my mother by his former cell mate. About 9 days before this occurred, we were at the downstairs neighbors apartment, we were having wonderful fun, eating playing crafting for the holidays. It was all hot and humid from all of the motion. But suddenly like a wave, I was hit with the cold air in my chest and face. My skin turned cold and I began to sweat and couldn't move or speak for a bit. The neighbor lady asked me what was the matter. I told her that I didn't know, but begged her to promise me that if they ever hear lots of banging coming from near the front door but no screaming, to NOT come up the stairs just call 911 right away. This was shocking for everyone and I had officially ruined everyone's good time. We had to go home.
(Christmas eve) Richard Garcia, he sliced my forehead with the bloody knife just after stabbing my mother 34 times in the chest stomach face breasts and lung. He held my 6mo old baby brother 3 feet over his crib by his hair and put the knife to his neck and told me and my little sister that if we scream he will chop his head off. I said we wouldn't scream. He proceeded to go in the bathroom and continue stabbing my mom in the bathtub.
I took my 4 year old sister and put her in the closet by the front door, told her not to scream but to stomp as hard as she could on the floor and never stop until someone let her out. Then I went back and watched my mother fighting through the bloody showercurtian. That's when he heard sirens and went to leave but tried to stabb me in the head first. He went out the front door and I followed to the balcony and watched him hide in the apartments dumpster. As soon as he hopped over the banister, the downstairs neighbors rushed up to help my mother. I held on tight so I wouldn't lose sight of him. Everybody was to busy trying to help my mom and couldn't hear that I was saying he is in the trash.
Eventually, as they were forcing me into the back of a police car with my siblings to take us to a facility, I raged up and I was finally asked what was wrong with me. They assured me they were taking care of my mom so she could come back and take care of us. I told them that no one would listen to me and that I could see him in the dumpster this whole time and I was afraid that he would get away. That sent officers to check, and I heard lots of commotion and gun shots. They rushed us off in a panic and that was that.
My mom survived, and I had to testify in court about everything. Twice.
Eventually we were released from foster care and given back to our mother. But we were still scared. So we came to California.
There was no family willing to take us in or help us get started with a new life. My mother's cousin gave us a ride to a homeless shelter. It was quite nasty. My father was somehow let out of prison, despite the murder conviction, and we knew he was now in San Francisco. So we traveled there to be with him.
Being the man that he was, the events led to my mother....she began to abuse drugs..again.
We left again, 100 miles away. We were granted welfare benefits and were able to get an apartment in a bad neighborhood. Soon, a little old man, my neighbor 2doors down, started giving us rides, bringing gifts, groceries. He was nice and gained my mom's trust. He would watch us occasionally.
He was the man who would molest me nearly everyday. Even then at age 7 I had a hard time with sleep. Sometimes I would wake late. Later than everyone else, and be overcome with fears that while I was sleeping in, my little sister may have been dragged into his house and he was doing the same to her. I would run over there and knock on the door to find her. She wasn't. But now I was.
So I always felt stupid, like it was my own fault, I went on my own two feet.
One time I found a little shiny package on the ground, my sister, another girl and I were passing his door to get to mine so we can ask my mom what it was. His door flew open. He took us inside so he could show us what it was. It was a condom.
He said he would show us how it was used. His pants down, erection out, I got right in front of him so the younger girls wouldn't see it. As he was explaining that I had to put this twisted end of the plastic thing in my mouth first to get it on HIM, I was wondering how I was going to get us out of this. All I could do was look around a bit, and then I blurted out "OH HI MILTON!" (His adult son's name)
MILTON wasn't really coming down the hallway (wasn't even home), but it startled him enough that he was on his feet fumbling himself back into his pants and rushed us out of his house angrily.
We moved into a duplex across the street with roommates. They were on SUBSTANCES. I was kidnapped.
I wound up in San Fran with my father. I saw a lot of heroin, needles, grown people doing what I call the "matrix"
We were even kicked out of a homeless shelter. We ate at church kitchens, and I didn't go to school or get to communicate with my mom or siblings. Finally I made him see reason, and take me back. The house was abandoned. The only person I knew was "grandpa Sammy" The daily dosage of molestation neighbor. So we went there to find out what was going on. (I never told what he had done. I KNOW my father would have killed him.)
He had been told that if he had ever found out my whereabouts that he had to call the detectives that left their business cards.
Protective services came and took me away.
It turned out that my mom had a breakdown, started using, overdosed. Her aunt took my sister to another state to live with my grandma. My brother was in the receiving home.
They placed me there too.
I didn't recognize my sister when is saw her again for the first time 4 years later.
I was continually passed around the system for the next 10years or so.
I've counted from memory once and came up with 36 foster homes, 3 grouphomes, 1 halfway style. That's just what I remembered, I don't know how to locate my records. I would consider only maybe 3 of these good homes, and one of those I wound up overdosed on all the kids meds.
In that time my experiences consisted of beatings (numerous), strangulation (once), rapes (several) , molestation (lots), left at a gas station in the boonies for 7 hours, abuse.....sexually, verbally, mentally....you name it.....I think I was marked from birth. Or I may be paying for my actions from a previous life when I was hitter or something.
How can "they" tell just by looking at me?
These things kept happening to me even into young adulthood.
I'm married now, been together for 15 years. But suddenly I'm being more affected now by my past than I was even then when it was occurring or fresh.
I'm angry
Sad
Hurt
Scared
Jealous
Hopeful
Utterly hopeless..............
I feel dead, like a burden, trapped. But I can't bring everyone down with me. If they all knew, how I feel or that there's not a ten minutes that passes that I don't replay or relive it all, they would judge me, stop feeling the same for me. I see that it already affects them though.
But then again when I try to speak up, it's like nobody is interested enough to hear. I don't have the chance to get it out. And then yet again I'm afraid too.
So I put it all here. because it gives me the sense that I may still keep it all safe and hushed. What are the chances that somebody will suddenly take an interest now and commit to reading this novel?
I'M SORRY. --Angel--
