lymphomamama
Silver Member
Blogging and diaries are not my thing. Therapist thinks I should. Write it all out, good ,bad, ugly. That's gonna take some time to work up the spine though. Thought I might visit and note just I grew up in a an abusive home. Mom drank and step dad was out of town frequently on railroad work she had drunken men. She either looked the other way or called my brother & I liars when we tried to tell they were messing with us.The next door neighbor noticed what was going on and he too started messing with me. Once when he was raping me on his kitchen floor I could hear my brothers outside playing. In my mind, went there too, and everytime it happened after that. Those were my first dissociative experiences. They became my hiding place. Later my brother told me grandfather and my step dad hit him over the head for it with a burboun bottle. I'll never forget him laying knocked out on the den floor. My step dad once stuffed an entire pack of Camel no filter down my throat until I vomited and passed out. As soon as my bro turned 18, literally the day, he joined the navy to get away. He apologized and cried for leaving me there. I knew, he had to save himself & there was nothing to he could do to save me. I never saw him again as he died in an accident a year later. I was alone with them from then on. I used the dissociative escape more and more.
It wasn't long before my step dad went back to Morincie,AZ for weeks to work. The men came back around. By now I had smoked pot and drank hard liquor. I did it a lot during those last days we lived in Lordsburg,NM I was now 9 and couldn't count how many times or how many men had f*cked Me. It just seemed like everyone was, and then my older step brother started it too. He invited friends too. I remember bleeding and him telling me to tell mom I fell on my spring horse. I did.He said he would hurt my Chihuahua, she was all I had, her name was Patsie. I dissociated it to me being a hero and saving Patsie.
I had a mentally disabled step sister. She messed with me too by just touching, nothing stuck inside me. I tried to tell on her once but she managed to turn it around to be nothing and then she burned my hand with a match. Sometime later she ran off with a guy and I never saw her again.
I made some friends with normal families and f*cking loved to spend the night there or even them At my house cause at least it would pretend to be normal that night. Two of these families are still close friends but only recently learned the secret of my past. One that I tried to tell was of that stupid mind set "well you could have told someone". No, when you are terrified of those in charge of you it's hard if not impossible to tell. So many innocents don't get that. The absolute fear to tell.
Later I was fortunate to go to a group home. That lasted until the pap smear at physical noted serious internal damage from long term abuse. MY mother took me back out of the group home and threw me on the street which was still better than her. I lived in an old car for a summer and lived on shoplifted food and tampons. Then I stayed with a nice woman for a while till my mom threatened to sue her. Mom refused me food stamps as I was a minor and the HSDcalled d her.
Later that summer I met my first husband at a street kid party. He seemed ok and I could sleep in his car outside his mom's. Wasn't long before his mom and sister wanted the gringa bitch outta there. We ended up moving into an abandoned trailer and lived the winter there. That was the first place he beat me. Bad.
It happened again and soon it was a regular thing. I had no where to go so I took the beatings. Again and again. I went so many places in my mind. Later I found out I was pregnant, he didn't beat me during the pregnancy but ripped my stitches the day I came home with an episiotomy. I did manage to go back to nursing school because of a friend & work full time and get beat part time. I got my LPN license. And wound up pregnant again. At least the beatings stopped again.for a while.
A couple of years layer I had earned a reputation for private hospice care and was pretty in demand. I agreed to take care of the father of an old high school friend. A few months into it her brother came home drunk. He punched me three times and my lights went out. He raped, stomped ,kicked and beat me for quite some time until another nurse came in. I couldn't remember so couldn't testify. He walked on an assault charge. I couldn't walk for a year.
I thought I was ok. I later mustered the courage to divorce my husband. I remarried a marvelous guy.NOW my PTSD swings into full gear. I can't work, I can't get Disability, I can't shop alone, I can't drive because the TBI makes me forget where I am. I don't leave the house . I have no friends except a few online from high school. I am depressed. I have tried suicide. I am alone in house with my family. I am alone in the world. My Pagan faith is sometimes all that sustains me. I have a cousin, hundreds of miles away, who is my life line. She loves.me to the bitter end but is struggling with heroin addiction herself. My husband just avoids it. He can't handle it, the panic attacks, the.nightmares, the rages,.My adult kids try to understand, they were there for most of and saw it. I feel so alone. To see it written out this written out this way makes it so real. I feel sick.
It wasn't long before my step dad went back to Morincie,AZ for weeks to work. The men came back around. By now I had smoked pot and drank hard liquor. I did it a lot during those last days we lived in Lordsburg,NM I was now 9 and couldn't count how many times or how many men had f*cked Me. It just seemed like everyone was, and then my older step brother started it too. He invited friends too. I remember bleeding and him telling me to tell mom I fell on my spring horse. I did.He said he would hurt my Chihuahua, she was all I had, her name was Patsie. I dissociated it to me being a hero and saving Patsie.
I had a mentally disabled step sister. She messed with me too by just touching, nothing stuck inside me. I tried to tell on her once but she managed to turn it around to be nothing and then she burned my hand with a match. Sometime later she ran off with a guy and I never saw her again.
I made some friends with normal families and f*cking loved to spend the night there or even them At my house cause at least it would pretend to be normal that night. Two of these families are still close friends but only recently learned the secret of my past. One that I tried to tell was of that stupid mind set "well you could have told someone". No, when you are terrified of those in charge of you it's hard if not impossible to tell. So many innocents don't get that. The absolute fear to tell.
Later I was fortunate to go to a group home. That lasted until the pap smear at physical noted serious internal damage from long term abuse. MY mother took me back out of the group home and threw me on the street which was still better than her. I lived in an old car for a summer and lived on shoplifted food and tampons. Then I stayed with a nice woman for a while till my mom threatened to sue her. Mom refused me food stamps as I was a minor and the HSDcalled d her.
Later that summer I met my first husband at a street kid party. He seemed ok and I could sleep in his car outside his mom's. Wasn't long before his mom and sister wanted the gringa bitch outta there. We ended up moving into an abandoned trailer and lived the winter there. That was the first place he beat me. Bad.
It happened again and soon it was a regular thing. I had no where to go so I took the beatings. Again and again. I went so many places in my mind. Later I found out I was pregnant, he didn't beat me during the pregnancy but ripped my stitches the day I came home with an episiotomy. I did manage to go back to nursing school because of a friend & work full time and get beat part time. I got my LPN license. And wound up pregnant again. At least the beatings stopped again.for a while.
A couple of years layer I had earned a reputation for private hospice care and was pretty in demand. I agreed to take care of the father of an old high school friend. A few months into it her brother came home drunk. He punched me three times and my lights went out. He raped, stomped ,kicked and beat me for quite some time until another nurse came in. I couldn't remember so couldn't testify. He walked on an assault charge. I couldn't walk for a year.
I thought I was ok. I later mustered the courage to divorce my husband. I remarried a marvelous guy.NOW my PTSD swings into full gear. I can't work, I can't get Disability, I can't shop alone, I can't drive because the TBI makes me forget where I am. I don't leave the house . I have no friends except a few online from high school. I am depressed. I have tried suicide. I am alone in house with my family. I am alone in the world. My Pagan faith is sometimes all that sustains me. I have a cousin, hundreds of miles away, who is my life line. She loves.me to the bitter end but is struggling with heroin addiction herself. My husband just avoids it. He can't handle it, the panic attacks, the.nightmares, the rages,.My adult kids try to understand, they were there for most of and saw it. I feel so alone. To see it written out this written out this way makes it so real. I feel sick.
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