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high maintenence
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« Reply #16 on: May 29, 2008, 03:07:42 AM » |
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Nicki, as you can tell, the survey is clear that most of us have been abused. My story is such along one, that it just really took a long time for me to get a chance to tell it, and I've such a hard time concentrating, but it's 3:30am and I'm awake again, so I'll take this time to tell my story which is probably not much different than all of yours.
I don't remember much about my life until about 7 years old. It sounds like it was a pretty happy one before that. My mom said that her and my father fought alot, but I don't remember any of that. When I was 7, my father was shot. We had money problems due to that fact and I was pulled out of the only home and the only life that I had ever known, but still I was OK. I had an older brother, named Johnny. He took care of me most of the time b/c now my mother was a single mother and worked long hours as a construction worker. He was 9 years older than me. He did pretty much everything for me. He had a hard time trying to go to school, work trying to help my mother, and take care of me. He would ride me to school on the handlebars of his bicycle to school and after school I would ride on the handlebars to Burger King, then to the bicycle shop where he worked. I would stay with him until he was done working. He was the 5th in the nation in motorcross bicycle racing and I was his little racer too. He worked on bikes, putting them together and fixing ones that were broken. I wanted a BMX Motorcross, so after he jimmied up one that he was able to take old parts off of, he made me the most beautiful one I had ever seen. Mom would come home and cook supper and Johnny would get me to bed. I refused to sleep anywhere besides his bed, of course was not cool, so he would sit by the bed and play his guitar, always "Stairway to heaven" until I fell asleep and then he would get the couch.
He quit school in his 12th grade year because money was so tight and mom was having such a hard time supporting us, so he needed to work full-time. One Saturday in 1986, he was sitting on my chest, tickling me, and I couldn't breathe and I was so mad at him. When he finally stopped, I stood up and told him I hated him. I never saw him again. It was only 8 months after the death of my daddy, and now my brother was dead. The same night that I told him that I hated him, I woke up to alot of people in my house crying and I didn't even have to ask what had happened, somehow I just knew...Anyway, at 10pm, Johnny had rode his bike to his friend Jimmy's house. They were crossing the street in front of a convenience store and a car pulled out without his headlights and hit Johnny. His whole bicycle team was his pall bearers, wearing team uniforms and Johnny was buried in his. I also wore mine. The high school, which was very large in the South Carolina city that we lived in, was excused from school that day. I've never, even since seen that many people and that many flowers at a funeral. My mother said that I was just so "bratty" during the viewing and all the night before and I never even went in the room to see him, but the next day, during the funeral, as noone was looking, I got inside the casket and they could hardly pull me out. I remember that. I remember that I knew I never saw my daddy again after he died and it would be the same way with Johnny. I couldn't handle that. I couldn't imagine that.
About two years later, my mom began dating the boss of her job. With it being construction, we eventually (I was 10) had to move to Springhill, Florida. We moved in with him there. He had a 17 year old son, so really I was excited. I thought I could have a brother again. My stepdad was a drunk and my mother understandably turned into one too. Enough so, that they had no clue that I was being raped by my stepbrother. I didn't want to tell b/c I didn't want my mother going through sadness of losing this family too, but eventually, after about two years, my stepdad was raping me. There were even a few times that my stepbrother even involved friends of his that would come over. He would laugh while his friends raped me. Finally, I said something to someone that told someone else, who told a parent and took it to the counselor at school. Mom was told that if she didn't get me out of the situation, that I would be taken from her, so back to South Carolina we went. She went through several abusive boyfriends.
Later, after my stepbrother was gone and moved out of my stepfather's house, him and my mother hooked back up together, I had never leaked a word of the abuse that was from him, so noone objected to this.
He was now working overseas for long periods of time, so he made a permanant home for me and my mom here in Alabama, where is is origanally from and where his family is. He's 72 and still a drunk, and a pervert. Anyway, he would travel, and come home, and then we would travel and see him and so on. I've lived in all sorts of countries, but all mainly 3rd world which was a real bitch. Eventually they both started having affairs, but stayed married b/c he was sending lots of money home and they never saw each other anyway, so why did it matter?
I met my husband when I was 16, and immediately wanted to get away. I fought my mother so bad about the marriage, but she eventually gave in due to enormous amounts of hell that I was putting her through. We married and lived with his parents and he rarely worked. I got pregnant soon (on our wedding night is the calculation) and I had my oldest daughter. MY husband would just beat the hell out of me constantly. He kept kidnapping our daughter and the police would find her 2 and 3 weeks later and give her back, but b/c we weren't completely divorced and I only had temporary custody, he never served any jail time. He would just sign his own bond and leave the jail. I went back home to him several times just to get her back. The final straw...I kept him from her, moved home with my mom. When the divorce papers were finalized, he could not pay child support so I would not let him see her. He couldn't fight me on it b/c he didn't have the kind of money that my mother had.
During the time all of this going on, frog was my best friend. Honestly we were friends. It was my daughter's first birthday when I got her back for the last time after all of the kidnappings and the final divorce papers had been signed that Frog kissed me for the first time and told me that he was in love with me, and with Lacey, my daughter.....
Life since has been wonderful since. My mom left the drunk after I married Frog (she knew I was in good hands, so she could leave). Frog adopted Lacey when she was four years old.
Bipolar popped up and that has really thrown a loop in there, but it's nothing compared to the previous life, and I'm just now realizing it as I type this message. Maybe this was good for me to post. I was afraid it would bring back too much, but I feel so blessed. Frog and I have had some big problems, I've had affairs, and we've done our share of fighting and we're not dealing, as a whole family, with the way things are going around our home and the behaviors of our children, but, you know, now that I think about it, all in all, we are a pretty stable family, at least compared to the way mine was.
Thanks For reading this....I know it's long...xxx high
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