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Archive for May, 2008

The cars kept coming
like a faucet running
little flags guide the way
letting others know that day
she was on her way
the journey is just beginning
the price she pays
the cards she dealt
all boils to a melt
of sorrow for her losses
and joy for her wins.

In the end its the pieces you leave behind
like I said before
those pieces
of you
tell your story
when you can’t defend yourself
anymore
because the debt all men pay
comes at a price.

What is the legacy of your life?

Read Full Post »

The cars kept coming
like a faucet running
little flags guide the way
letting others know that day
she was on her way
the journey is just beginning
the price she pays
the cards she dealt
all boils to a melt
of sorrow for her losses
and joy for her wins.

In the end its the pieces you leave behind
like I said before
those pieces
of you
tell your story
when you can’t defend yourself
anymore
because the debt all men pay
comes at a price.

What is the legacy of your life?

Read Full Post »

Some people have told me that when your an adult you begin to see life differently, and because of that… your view of your parents are supposed to change too.

I am beginning to understand how true that is. Especially when you have been taught otherwise.

As a child, my Mother groomed me. Not to molest me but for us to take care of her. It was also emotional blackmail, because if we protested we were made to feel guilty for it.

I can’t remember the age I was taught how to pluck her eyebrows or *do her head*.
Doing her head was putting a oil solution on her scalp and scraping off her psoriasis using a comb.
I remember not wanting to do these things….ever.

Even as an adult ….
she still expected me to pluck her eyebrows when I came to visit her, and I did.

When I was 15 I ran away I couldn’t take it any longer, as I was still being physically abused by my father as well as verbally and emotionally.

What did she do?
She abandoned me, abused me emotionally, manipulated me and then blamed me.

At age 15 I was put into jail for almost 2 months. I was so stupid I was caught stealing a pair of shoes to run away with because it was winter and mine had holes in them. It was wrong and I learned my lesson and this probably saved my life, not only because my Dad was that violent, but also because I had only returned from running away 2 weeks before and that was when I was kidnapped and gang-raped! Most of the time I spent in jail I was alone in a huge yellow cell. No TV just a radio.

I remember when different girls my age would come in we would act silly and laugh and talk and carve our names with the spoons on the bunk beds.
There was a younger female officer there who was nice to me and brought me candy bars at night time and talked to me.

15 jail probation.
After this it was summertime then I turned 16 in the fall. I got on the bus to go to school every day but never went to school.

Mostly what I would do is hang out with my gay friend who was also a survivor and
he and I would sit talking in our *English accents* and if either one of us had any money we would eat lunch.

Of course Mom got bent out of shape.. and I would too in retrospect but I would handle it much differently. But she decided to…

16 drop me off at my uncles who lived in the woods in October….giving me a carton of cigs and telling me she would be back in a week but she never returned.
He dropped me back off in May.

16 July I went to a music concert with my sister and left a note to mom and she called the police. I didn’t get back home. I took some drugs and ended up in some house with lots of people and three days later I got a ride and went to see my sister that’s when she told me the police was after me.

16 in jail 2 weeks. I think this was the time they put me into the *hole* cell because they didn’t have room for me. And they shut all the doors it was black and there was a hole in the floor to go to the bathroom.
I think I was in there a day or so time is blank. Then I was in a big cell with more girls my age.

16 put into a coed group home. A girl stabbed me in the neck with a pair of scissors after offering to cut my hair. I guess her boyfriend liked me, of which I had no idea until she stabbed me… seriously I had just got there!

16 Another group home. This place was all girls and after a while it felt kinda like home.
I got a job as a waitress and a boyfriend. I ended up staying away from the home too long to be with him.

17 jail—you can guess…. they didn’t like it.

17 juvenile detention. I cannot remember how long I was in jail for but I do remember when they took me to the detention home a couple old volunteers drove another girl and myself.
We were all chained up with chains and handcuffs.
I was in this place for a month and a half when they realized I didn’t belong there.
I had developed blisters all over my hands and stopped eating.

17 Foster Home. This was on a farm with lots of people. Not much memory other than I didn’t like it. I was completely alone.

17 group home for girls. The minute my caseworker and I walked into the house the ambulance was there. Someone had OD’d. They took her out on the stretcher, the caseworker leaves then the lady takes me to my room and says nothing about all the commotion.
I was shocked and in awe and she nonchalantly she takes me to my room -leaves- and another girl runs in saying “HERE!!”
I was like “what??” She held out her hand and I get a handful of pills dumped into my palm.
This was the place I was to live on drugs until I turned 18.
I learned a whole lot in this time, and experienced many things, like how many drugs it takes to forget.

My Mom visited me once in the Detention home, once in a group home and once in the last group home. She told me it was my fault I was kidnapped and gang raped, my fault for making my dad abuse me.

She gave me life, and through out my life she was the only parent I had.

The heart often plays tricks on us. Being content with anger and bitterness only destroys it yet inside the heart is that little tiny speck of faith
that carries us through to the next day.

That hope that one day she would be pleased, one day I will be OK to her.
The one yearning inside the soul that screams for acceptance.
Rightful acceptance that some humans get from their families but so many never get.

We are the ones who live our lives trying to achieve the impossible: love and acceptance from those who gave birth to us or were supposed to be good care givers to us.

Once you clean up and realize drugs won’t cure that and the world is cruel you can begin to deal with the present.

Sometimes the present seems impossible yet in the soberness of mind and spirit that little speck of hope whispers
*don’t forget about me*.

Read Full Post »

Some people have told me that when your an adult you begin to see life differently, and because of that… your view of your parents are supposed to change too.

I am beginning to understand how true that is. Especially when you have been taught otherwise.

As a child, my Mother groomed me. Not to molest me but for us to take care of her. It was also emotional blackmail, because if we protested we were made to feel guilty for it.

I can’t remember the age I was taught how to pluck her eyebrows or *do her head*.
Doing her head was putting a oil solution on her scalp and scraping off her psoriasis using a comb.
I remember not wanting to do these things….ever.

Even as an adult ….
she still expected me to pluck her eyebrows when I came to visit her, and I did.

When I was 15 I ran away I couldn’t take it any longer, as I was still being physically abused by my father as well as verbally and emotionally.

What did she do?
She abandoned me, abused me emotionally, manipulated me and then blamed me.

At age 15 I was put into jail for almost 2 months. I was so stupid I was caught stealing a pair of shoes to run away with because it was winter and mine had holes in them. It was wrong and I learned my lesson and this probably saved my life, not only because my Dad was that violent, but also because I had only returned from running away 2 weeks before and that was when I was kidnapped and gang-raped! Most of the time I spent in jail I was alone in a huge yellow cell. No TV just a radio.

I remember when different girls my age would come in we would act silly and laugh and talk and carve our names with the spoons on the bunk beds.
There was a younger female officer there who was nice to me and brought me candy bars at night time and talked to me.

15 jail probation.
After this it was summertime then I turned 16 in the fall. I got on the bus to go to school every day but never went to school.

Mostly what I would do is hang out with my gay friend who was also a survivor and
he and I would sit talking in our *English accents* and if either one of us had any money we would eat lunch.

Of course Mom got bent out of shape.. and I would too in retrospect but I would handle it much differently. But she decided to…

16 drop me off at my uncles who lived in the woods in October….giving me a carton of cigs and telling me she would be back in a week but she never returned.
He dropped me back off in May.

16 July I went to a music concert with my sister and left a note to mom and she called the police. I didn’t get back home. I took some drugs and ended up in some house with lots of people and three days later I got a ride and went to see my sister that’s when she told me the police was after me.

16 in jail 2 weeks. I think this was the time they put me into the *hole* cell because they didn’t have room for me. And they shut all the doors it was black and there was a hole in the floor to go to the bathroom.
I think I was in there a day or so time is blank. Then I was in a big cell with more girls my age.

16 put into a coed group home. A girl stabbed me in the neck with a pair of scissors after offering to cut my hair. I guess her boyfriend liked me, of which I had no idea until she stabbed me… seriously I had just got there!

16 Another group home. This place was all girls and after a while it felt kinda like home.
I got a job as a waitress and a boyfriend. I ended up staying away from the home too long to be with him.

17 jail—you can guess…. they didn’t like it.

17 juvenile detention. I cannot remember how long I was in jail for but I do remember when they took me to the detention home a couple old volunteers drove another girl and myself.
We were all chained up with chains and handcuffs.
I was in this place for a month and a half when they realized I didn’t belong there.
I had developed blisters all over my hands and stopped eating.

17 Foster Home. This was on a farm with lots of people. Not much memory other than I didn’t like it. I was completely alone.

17 group home for girls. The minute my caseworker and I walked into the house the ambulance was there. Someone had OD’d. They took her out on the stretcher, the caseworker leaves then the lady takes me to my room and says nothing about all the commotion.
I was shocked and in awe and she nonchalantly she takes me to my room -leaves- and another girl runs in saying “HERE!!”
I was like “what??” She held out her hand and I get a handful of pills dumped into my palm.
This was the place I was to live on drugs until I turned 18.
I learned a whole lot in this time, and experienced many things, like how many drugs it takes to forget.

My Mom visited me once in the Detention home, once in a group home and once in the last group home. She told me it was my fault I was kidnapped and gang raped, my fault for making my dad abuse me.

She gave me life, and through out my life she was the only parent I had.

The heart often plays tricks on us. Being content with anger and bitterness only destroys it yet inside the heart is that little tiny speck of faith
that carries us through to the next day.

That hope that one day she would be pleased, one day I will be OK to her.
The one yearning inside the soul that screams for acceptance.
Rightful acceptance that some humans get from their families but so many never get.

We are the ones who live our lives trying to achieve the impossible: love and acceptance from those who gave birth to us or were supposed to be good care givers to us.

Once you clean up and realize drugs won’t cure that and the world is cruel you can begin to deal with the present.

Sometimes the present seems impossible yet in the soberness of mind and spirit that little speck of hope whispers
*don’t forget about me*.

Read Full Post »