This morning I woke Ron up shouting, because I was having a nightmare about one of my abusers and my abuse. I was dreaming of the man who adopted me. HE was in my room putting everything in trash bags. I did not have much but what I had was important to me. I had very little, and what I had was old, broken, or hand me down stuff. If I ever had anything nice it was taken from me. In my dream I was not a child anymore but an adult. The man who adopted me told me I was not going to have anything, he was not going to allow me to have anything, he was going to take it all. I was ordered to take the bags of my stuff out to the trash. I took the first bag out, then I went back in. I then did something I never could have done as a kid. I told him no, I won’t take my stuff to the trash. Remember in my dream I was not a scared child afraid of what might happen. I was an adult version of me. I stood up to him. I told him no I would not do it. Then in my dream he gave me orders of what I was to do in the morning. I told him no, I wouldn’t do it. He threatened me as he has always done. Only this time I did not cower. This is where I shouted out loud and woke both myself and Ron up. I shouted “Understand this, I won’t do it, I won’t do it”. I realized I was awake and it had been a dream, and of course I had woken ron. Ron was talking to me telling me it was OK, I was safe, he was with me. I told him about the dream and I got up, he went back to sleep. So maybe this is a good sign. I am sticking up for myself in my dreams. I am not letting it happen, not as afraid as I had been as a child. Only time will tell. Of course the downside is I am upset this morning. The good thing is I can get to everyone’s blogs early as I did not get much done yesterday. Be well and happy. Hugs
March 23, 2017
March 2, 2017
***This post is about sexual abuse, sexual situations, and a bit about how sexual abuse messed up my own understanding of sex. If those topics bother you please stop reading now and go to a blog more pleasing to you with my thanks for stopping by. Oh it also got very long. Hugs ***
I was going to write this post yesterday but I kept putting it off because I guess I just did not want to deal with it, with my own feelings. I have been on edge lately caught between needing to voice some of the things from my past, and feeling a huge need to just hide that it happened, that it happened to me. A grand lady sent me a link to a great video. I loved the video. But because I am raw right now on this subject what I normally hide burst out of me. I sent her an email where I basically divulged some things I had not voice before. At least not sober. 🙂 She being a grand lady and a great friend wrote me back saying we should talk. I panicked. I wrote her I could barely write about it and no way I could verbally talk about it, I begged her to let it drop. I hid again. She understood but I knew she felt if I did not address it I would blow a gasket. I agree with that, I need a safety valve to slowly release the parts I can. Here is some thoughts I have, my letting it out safely if such a thing is possible.
The article below talks about things I know because I have experienced it. I do not in anyway give Milo a pass, I do not agree with the direction he went, I oppose his hateful nasty ways of trying to find worth and fame. However I did go through the stages the author mentioned. Let me start again as my mind went off to protect itself and I had to wrestle it back here.
I was sexually abused. I had a working knowledge of sex, the ways of it and the male body. I did not have any clue about the emotional aspect of sex. What emotions I associated with it were all wrong. When kids in school talked in hushed tones about getting a blow job, laughed at dick jokes, and talked about boning a girl, I was confused and felt left out. It was not because I was gay, that had its own problems. See I knew about penises, I knew what sucking a cock was because I was doing it, I was the girl getting the cock and trust me it was not like the boys talked. I was not able to join in on these boyhood dreams and fantasies. I was mentally not able to process the disconnect between their words and my reality. Sex for me was not pleasant and dream like, it was not something that made one happy and fulfilled. It was power, authority, it was control over another, over me. As I got older my body responded and in truth I felt this was normal sex. I grew older and angry. In my teens I desperately wanted what everyone around me talked about, what movies and books hinted at, but I was clueless and did not believe it existed.
I remember being about 14 or 15 and wanting sex with my history teacher so bad. I knew what guys wanted from me, to show they owned me, they could do what they wanted to me, that they could satisfy themselves and throw me away. But remember I had no warm human contact. I craved it, attention from a man who seemed so kind to me. Surely if I came to him willingly he wouldn’t hurt me much right? So I put myself out there for him. I don’t know what he thought of the things I hinted. I won’t describe the things I did , they are bad enough to remember and worse to share. After a couple weeks he asked me to stay after school. He would take me home. I thought this was it, I was going feel what the boys all talked about. But the teacher was a grand man, an honest man. He figured out I was abused ( I think many knew ) and wanted to help me. He tried to talk to me in the classroom but I couldn’t understand what he wanted, why was he not ordering me to pull my pants down, why was he not saying the angry words I normally heard if I was talked to at all during it. He then figured I would talk if he took me home in his car. In the car I waited for the order to “make him happy” but he did only talked and talked and talk. My mind drifted off. Soon we were at my home. The only thing I learned was it was true that no one wanted me, I was not worth anything, I was below humans and not even a teacher had a use for me.
Fast forward to me in the Navy stationed in San Diego. I was 18. I was fit and trim, I was cute even though I did not know it. I did not make friends, I stayed to myself, I couldn’t connect to others. The ways they acted and the things they wanted I could not understand. Understand I was so very horny, I carved sex. I wanted so much to have something, I just did not know what it was or how to get it. I hated the sex I knew , but my body wanted the feeling of sex, to mate, so badly it was driving me mad. So I explored the city, something I had never seen having grown up in a town with more cattle than people. I had no fear, I was clueless. I ran and jogged and looked at it all. One early evening I had just ran the length of Broadway because running felt good to me, and was at a bench outside a bank stretching when a young guy came up to me. He had been watching me but I did not know that then. To me he was an adult and so I responded to him as an authority. He really was just barely 25 and unsure, but I was trained by both my childhood and the military to submit to those older than me. What was about to happen was my first consensual adult sexual experience and it will show how screwed up I was. He asked me to his apartment. I followed him. I still had no clue what he was really doing. He was a young cute gay guy with a new job as an architect. He thought I was a coy young gay kid who knew what I was doing and what was happening. In truth I was clueless. He had asked me to go with him and I was. When we got to his place he started to do all the things people trying to hook up do. It went over my head. When he kissed me I froze. When he touched me I understood what I was to do. I peeled out of my clothes and my body went to auto pilot and my mind took a vacation. The guy must have thought he went to gay heaven. He had found a young cute compliant guy to do what he wanted without asking for anything. After a couple weeks we had a pattern. I would come over , get naked, he would have sex with me, I would perform for him as he wished. He would then shower, go out to the clubs and party, come back to his apartment and have me. He told me after we broke up he couldn’t believe how lucky he was, I never complained, I just waited for him. He could do as he wished. He thought he had it all. I thought I loved him. He was basically my first. When he touched me it was not to hurt, he never hit me, he never was angry , he never yelled at me. He was kind, gentle, he made sure it did not hurt, but felt good. There was only one thing he wanted and I couldn’t give it because I did not understand. He wanted to reciprocate for me what I did for him. When he would try I would draw away. I was not trained for that. I had been taught this was for something I did for others. I was not to have the pleasure they did. It had been beaten in me so I resisted him on that. After about a month of this, one weekend at his place he had enough and confronted me about it. I had no way to answer. He tried to make it happen and when I pulled away and tried to roll over he pushed me down and did what I thought I was to do to him. Sorry trying to not be graphic. It did not go the way he thought it would. I simply had never had those things done to me, I had no idea what to do or how to react. I was scared, had flash backs because he had used force for the first time, I expected pain next and so did not respond the way he wanted or thought I should. He had only wanted to give me pleasure and instead he realized it went badly wrong, but he did not know why. Instead of the happy willing kid I had been I turned into a silent zombi who did not move or respond. He finished the act and for the first time there was no joy in it for either of us. My fear caused us to break up. He had seemed so great in my mind, I was desperate for him, but now my body was scared. If he had know, if he had taken more time. He was young, it was not his fault.
I left the Navy and entered the Army. I watched others have the relationships and joy I wanted, some of them good and some of them bad as life normally is. I became the boyfriend of my sargent, again willing to please and he was willing to take. He was the boss, was subservient. In the military it was not strange because of the rank difference between us. I won’t go into details of those years. I came home with no more understanding of love and relationships than I had before.
I became a civilian, and I got a good boring job. I bought a home, and a new truck. I stayed alone. I never went out. I was angry , oh so angry. It was not worth living. I was in dark places in my mind. The only company I had was the memories I hated so. The only people I talked to not at work were the 70 year old lady across the street I took for groceries and the people who had homes around mine. I greeted them in passing. A family moved in next door and they tried hard to start a friendly relationship with me. I had stopped caring about myself, my needs. I came home from work, drank until I passed out, storming to myself all the time, trying to sleep without the nightmares, and going back to work. In truth I was starting to think it was not worth living, life was just pain.
Then before I could work out how to die, my neighbors decided I was going out to a gay club that had opened in the last year or so. I had worked a shut down, so I was flush with money and vacation time. My work forced me to take a month vacation as I had so much built up. I went out just to shut up the neighbors. I figured I would go out, sneak back in an hour or so and it would be over. I went to the gay bar. An old gay guy hit on me, I said no. A sleazy man who seemed like a used car salesman tried to hit on me, I got up and went down stairs of the bar. That was more a sitting area with big arm chairs, a couple pool tables, and a u shaped bar. I sat as far away from everyone as I could. I was watching an awesome blonde guy behind the bar. He was all I could focus on, he filled me with such feelings. The sleazy guy came over and I asked him to leave me alone. He saw where I was focused and went to the bar to tell the bartender. The bartender had been watching me also. He came over and asked me to stay till closing and to not leave. I agreed. After the bar closed down the bartender and I spent hours talking at the bottom bar. Then he took me to his place. I was stunned. This person seemed to know what I felt, what I needed. My world was changing and I did not even know it. The person behind the bar, the bartender was Ron.
Well I am wrung out. This is long and it drained me to write it, to remember it, to experience it again. But it also felt good. It feels like a boil that just got lanced. It hurt bad before, it still hurts , but the pressure of it is less. I know people will want to respond and even ask questions. That is OK, I am ready for it I think. I think in some ways it would be helpful. I can answer at my own pace and do what I need to protect myself, which I can’t do verbally. If you have read this far, you are a kind generous person. Thank you. Hugs
The professional bigot’s actions and speech cannot be condoned, but it’s possible to understand where it comes from
February 27, 2017
*edited this to correct the months that I was out of school. It was some time in the earliest part of spring because the old snow was trying to melt away, and I was taken out of school not to return until we moved twice.* Hugs
No one wants to hear what I have to say about this. No one wants to hear me rant and rave. I don’t want to use words that I need to express my anger at this. Remember when in the late 1960’s when the people I lived with were accused of abuse of myself, they simply moved. I have told the story before how they moved twice in the spring to mid summer. I was taken out of school and did not return until we were in a completely different town and school system. SO here is an excerpt from the article. Hugs.
To avoid the social services, the education system and doctors, the parents moved to another province. After a few more years of pain, isolation, starvation and a lack of sufficient medical treatment, Alex died. Now, both of the parents have been convicted to life in prison for first degree murder. Justice has been served, but it was too late for Alex and his life could have been saved by the system years before if it was not because of the decision of a judge to give him back to his parents. Later investigations would reveal that the parents had gotten another child taken from them earlier and another infant that had died under mysterious circumstances.
They denied that he had diabetes, kept him isolated and starved him for years.
February 25, 2017
A story we all should hear. We had a similar situation with our wonderful Purr only he was only about 14. He also took time to come around and when he did he was so loving, always wanting to be on your lap or lay with you. He purred like a diesel truck. Hugs
February 9, 2017
Before I start my day of reading blogs and answering emails, I wish to address an issue that has me somewhat confused. On several blogs I follow there has been a running discussion about the progressive left and the regressive left. I did not realize this was a major topic of discussion as I assumed the left was simply the party that wanted the best things for people. Yes I knew there was some disagreement on how to pay for the many programs the people on the left felt were needed, however I did not realize how big a divide the issues have become.
I started noticing this about the time the white supremacist Spencer was punched in the face. The debate was on if the people on the political left should punch people they did not like in the face. I figured this was so simple a question that no one would need a second guess. However there was an outcry with the different sides throwing out terms like SJW and SNOWFLAKE with the occasional NAZI. Now I did not realize how much division the sjw and snowflake labels caused. I have to admit I am some what hazy on just what is a social justice warrior and I have no desire to needlessly harm others if they are in a sensitive or hurt possition. I care about people. Now I will address snowflake more in a minute.
I once was accused of being a sjw and I felt honored. I did not know the term and it took some people I really trust to inform me that the term was not used as a complement but an insult. I wondered why? I thought fighting for others who were maybe disadvantaged and unable to stand up for themselves was an honorable thing. The term brought to my mind some hero trying to make things better, defending the weak and protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves. I guess others felt my idea was simplistic and wrong.
I guess the way people use the term SJW is someone tilting at windmills and creating a problem where one doesn’t exist. I am still not sure as to what a sjw really is. I get the feeling others think sjws inject themselves into areas that they are not needed or wanted, finding a problem where none exist. It seems to comes with the idea that sjws are trying to force a version of restrictive social rules on to everyone even if the others around them don’t wish the restrictions. That seems to me the opposite of what a social justice warrior should be. If this is what is meant then they need to pick a better term to use. They are social rules dictator or socially repressive enforcers. I still have issues with the meanings of these things. I still feel I am what I term a fighter for others and someone who works for and wants a better social structure.
Now the term snowflake is harder for me. I feel in some ways snowflakes have two different categories. The term some people use is a person who is spoiled and want the world to accommodate them unfairly. A person who is unreasonable about insisting only their view of the world is allowed. The other version is a person who is harmed, fragile, needing help, suffering from a past event. I think of snowflakes as the second group. I think of snowflakes as bunnies in a world of bigger predators who will hurt them and they have no defence. I would defend those in the second group. Let me explain why. As some people know I am a survivor of long time abuse. Sexual, physical, emotional. I prefer not to talk about it, I hid it for most of my life until I couldn’t hide it anymore. I am only now learning how to confront it and still dislike talking about it. But if you go back in time on my blog you will find that years ago a psychologist treated me for issues surrounding the abuse , how it was affect my daily life and how I was dealing with it. The psychologist concluded I was a bunny in temperament. In his view I was not able to defend myself and needed others to do that for me. It was weird because I was quite able to defend others and I had no problem using force to protect those who needed protecting. However I never once asked the world to change for me. I never asked for things that triggered me to be taken off the web, banned from the social environment or taken off any media. I have talked before about things that trigger me, a video or show about child abuse will send me into a really bad place where I have to deal with the memories that never seem to quite go away. I have started to read books and been triggered into deep depressions and emotional vortex that try to destroy me. Here is an example. When I first started to read the Harry Potter books I had a horrible time with the beginnings of most of the books. It was triggering to have a small boy unable to defend himself treated that way. Even now it is very upsetting to me. I can’t watch those parts of the movies. I forced myself on first reading the books to quickly get through those pages while making sure to be in a safe space and to have outs around me. I can not reread those pages now that I know what is there and I can’t watch those parts of movies. However I do not expect the books or movies to be changed to take those parts out. I do not want the rest of the world who feel this adds to the richness of the story to have to lose that just for me. In this case the good of the one is not more important than the good of the many. I have a problem, I can find ways to deal with it and I have. I hope I have explained well enough what I mean by snowflake and how I do think we should help people with real problems while asking people who simply want the world to accommodate only them to please let the world live their lives also. If not please tell me and I will try to reword it. Thanks.
I would like to step back and address one thing at this time. There has been much talk of trigger warnings. I think they are both a good thing for some people while at the same time I think they should not be required or mandated. Here is my reasoning. It is nice for me to know if a story I am about to read or watch will show sexual or physical abuse. I can take actions from preparing myself to see it, deal with it, or to avoid the material all together. However just because you get a warning it doesn’t mean you have real understanding of what will be shown or described. Plus if you miss the warning it won’t do you any good anyway. For an example my son had starting to watch a show on the TV. I came into the living room and decided to watch it with him. He never thought it out and I did not know what was coming. The program showed in graphic detail the rape and sexual abuse of a child. They just splashed it out on screen. My son realized I was in the room and tried to get the thing off the TV. He was too late. I was freaking out. I had a heck of a time after. But a lot of people would freak with that type of material thrown at them while they are unprepared. It was what the show people wanted for a response. I just get more affected than others who were not abused would. A warning wouldn’t have done me any good nor did my son know that would be in the show to warn me. So I think these trigger warnings have a place in our society but I don’t think they should be mandatory nor depended on to solve all triggering problems.
Let me sum this long post up by returning to what we started with, the punching of some one based on their ideas. I wouldn’t think this needed debate. The answer is no, you shouldn’t ever punch or use violence against someone for their thoughts or positions. No matter how much you disagree or think what they are endorsing is disgusting as long as it is an idea and not an action you can not, you should not, use force on another person. Yes white supremacist and fascist ideas are repugnant, but as long as they are simply ideas and not actions then no you can’t punch them. Here is why. If I can punch someone or hurt someone who has ideas I dislike and think horrible, that gives others who think what I believe and do is horrible and they dislike it, to punch me. IF a white nationalist can be punched for being that, then they can punch gay or non-white people as they think the same things about them. It simply lets violence loose on everyone and ends all attempts to move the society to a more progressive place. Also it forces others to defend the ones who got punched and I hate to have to defend a racist bigot.
Thank you. Hugs
October 25, 2016
Hello everyone. A grand lady and wonderful friend gave me some great advice yesterday. I was getting upset and Here There be spiders said I should write an uplifting post. It was the perfect advice.
So when I lost the ability to work I was in a very depressed state and headed for a break down. My body was failing badly, and I was in a lot of pain. I couldn’t handle the memories of my childhood. I was battered by feelings of the past I simply couldn’t handle. I was to the point where I did not even want to get out of bed, I was not eating, I was not functioning. Again the doctors were telling Ron that if things did not improve physically I would have to go into the hospital.
Ron wanted to give me something I could do as I wanted. Something fun yet easy enough not to tax me in both body and mind. He was looking for something to pull me out of the sink hole I was in. He came up with the idea of me making candles. We like candles, we enjoy them, and both Ron and I think they help focus the mind. We feel they can set a mood, help you meditate or other tasks. Our Wicca friends were telling us that “Candle Magic” was very powerful and positive.
So Ron set up a candle making station in our bedroom. Everything I was doing at that time was in our bedroom. I simply did not want to leave it. My desk and computers were there. I was even eating in the bedroom when I would eat. Ron got the cabinet with the drawer and storage in it set up. He got me a hot plate. He ran electrical lines and bought me some molds and wax. He even cut the ten pound block of wax into smaller pieces for me. I started making candles.
I have a great friend in the Carolina’s who sent me molds and gave me ideas. That was so grand, as I needed molds and I had never made candles before. So I made candles. I made lots of candles. I made Jar candles, I made big 14 – 16 inch candles and I made little one inch ones. I rigged up my own molds out of ones designed to make soap. I just kept making candles. It was one of the things helping me, lifting me out of the state I was in. So Ron kept me making candles. We used some, gave a bunch away to everyone. Took 60 different kinds in to my pain doctors office and gave them to the staff. We filled boxes and every spare shelf space we had with them. I never realized how many candles I had made. I am on my third hot plate.
When Ron and James build my office Ron designed it to have room for all my candle making stuff. This weekend Ron put shelves up for my candles and stuff. I spent the last three days putting stuff up on the shelves. I emptied boxes of candles. I still have more candles in storage to put up on the shelves, including some of the nicest jar candles I made. So for my uplifting post I want to share with you all the pictures I took this morning of my stuff so far. Now the pots wont stay on the shelves but I just shoved a bunch of stuff in the cabinet when we moved everything, and have yet to clean it out. So with great pleasure I present to you the pictures. I thank everyone for sharing their lives with me, and I am grateful to be able to share some of my life with you. Many happy hugs.
Click on the pictures to make them full size. Hugs
September 2, 2016
September 1, 2016
I have often opposed these religious freedom laws that let parents neglect, starve, harm, refuse medical treatment, and in some even kill their children all in the name of their religion. I have mentioned that had these laws been around when I was growing up the ones who abused me could have used them. They wouldn’t have been forced to move three times in six months and keep me out of school for those months. They could have proudly stood their ground and said they were beating me senseless to save my soul. I feel so angry for those children suffering because of a caregiver’s delusion that they will get into heaven. I read one “parent” say that they did not mind their young son dying when they refused to get him medical care because they knew he was in heaven with their god. A state politician said that government had no right to interfere with a parent’s right to insure that their children go to heaven even if it brings harm to the child as that was god’s will. Sick. Hugs
Indiana woman cites the state’s religious freedom law as defense in felony child abuse case.
Two days later, a teacher patted the boy on the back and saw him flinch, according to court records. The teacher saw red welts on the boy and reported the observations to police and child welfare officials.
A doctor at Riley Hospital for Children at Indiana University Health found 36 bruises across the boy’s back, thigh and left arm. Three photographs submitted to the court show deep purple lines striping the boy’s back and several welts on his arm. The boy has one curved bruise on his cheek in the shape of a hook on a coat hanger.
In 2008, the Indiana Supreme Court ruled 3-1 to overturn the felony conviction of Sophia Willis, who used a belt or an electrical cord to discipline her 11-year-old son. (The mom said belt, the son said cord; the court ruled it did not matter.)
The justices in that decision gave parents wide latitude in determining what is reasonable discipline for their children. Hitting kids with a belt or an electrical cord is not much different from using a coat hanger, said Jennifer Drobac, professor at the Indiana University Robert H. McKinney School of Law, who has taught the Willis decision in classes on juvenile law.
August 23, 2016
I can’t stop crying even after I heard this song many times. It seems to never go away. Even on the good days it is there and at night it comes unexpected and you spend a night without sleeping, again. Ron just came in and before I could turn all the way away from him, grabbed me and turned me around demanding to know why I was crying. All I could stammer was “that song” while pointing at my screen. He was at a loss as to what to say. It is hard for them, those who love us. For my friends, I won’t name you, but you know who you are who suffer also. Many hugs.
August 14, 2016
In handwritten note, Staten Island teen says he was mercilessly bullied and his school didn’t do anything
Randy sent this to me and I am glad he did, we all should understand this! Such heartbreak! The breaking heart, torn and worn emotions, grief , anger, deep sadness, and yes due to the lack of help an insurmountable feeling of hopelessness this child must have felt. The heartbreak of his father and mother will feel every second of their lives from now on, the loss and the questions. Why did no one help? The heartbreak of what friends he did have, even those who cared but couldn’t risk showing it for their own fear of becoming the target. One last group who should feel heartbreak, but I wonder if they do. The teachers he went to begging for help and the boys who bullied him daily and made his life a misery not worth living anymore. When will some people understand? Bullying is not a rite of passage to manhood. It is not something that toughens boys into men. It doesn’t make the ones doing it stronger or more manly and it sure doesn’t make the victim of it weak. It is an insidious infection that rots the mind, body, and spirit of everyone, those who are the the victims, those who do it, those who allow it to go on unchecked, and those who read about the suffering and loss. I wonder if the teachers did not intervene because it was a religious school and they were trying to get the boy to act in a different way. If so they should ask themselves if the deity they worship supports the torture of children. If so, they should seriously think of leaving that religion, for it surely is not holy. Sad hugs