I keep sitting here looking at the blank pages on this screen, and I know I am blocked. Not from talking about my life, because those are stories I know, but from writing a story, a true romantic story. That is probably because I have spent my whole life living in the movies. I don’t mean I’m a great woman fighter who wears skimpy outfits, and fights mummies or anything. No, I mean I have spent my entire life living in other worlds. Ones without the limits and fears of the real world; and they started in the moves.
As a young child I watched disney movies, and always pretended I was on some adventure, and my prince would come to find me. Mostly because I had no friends. None whatsoever, and every time I got one. It was short lived. Either my family would scare them off, or I wasn’t popular enough. I didn’t know why no one wanted to play with me. So, I hid in my movies and fantisays.
This was my coping technique for all the things that were going on around me. My mother, too scared to let me out, I never learned to stand up for myself, but most days I was watching the man of my dreams sleigh the dragon and rescue me. We would ride off into the sun set and live happily ever after.
When I faced a group of bullies, I pretended I was off in another land dealing with the natives, who were hostial and the best way to defeat them was to avoid them or kill them.
Since I wasn’t cunning enough to kill them all, And since a princess was supposed to be delicate and sweet, I let them live. I avoided them because their basic knowledge of how to do anything but walk and talk was completely void. Unless they were talking about clothes and boys. I hated them more than anything in the world, but secretly I wanted to be just like them. However, none of them would have been able to live in my world.
My mother was a single woman. She cleaned her house. Kept her kids fed, and loved us all. She tried, and after such a long life alone, and being abused herself, wanted a husband. But the world isn’t kind to a single woman with children. Men are harsh and cruel to most women. Until they find one that makes them want to keep them around. It was no different for my mother. Man after man let her down until she decided never to trust one again, and to settle for being alone. She turned away from looking for love, and decided to live in her own little cocoon of coping, but not before her last husband destroyed her. Before him, she was on fire. She was even the first woman from our town who became a truck driver and was in the newspaper for it.
My step-father, at first was like any other man. Kind and caring. Loved us kids and adored my mother. Why not she was a fox. He would lose his temper some and calm down and all was fine. The thing my step-sisters don’t understand is i never intended to hurt anyone around me or to ruin their whole lives.
Unbeknownst to everyone involved slowly grew a monster inside his head. Ultimately it would kill him. As the tumor grew he began to change. He started to single me out. He would let the boys have extra outside time, let them go further, and hang with the guys more. Me I was trapped in my room or in my yard. I’ve never been allowed very far, I’ve always had to fight for the distance I was allowed. He refused to let me wear anything I wanted, or even what the other girls were wearing, because “he was looking out for me, and his daughter wasn’t going to be considered a slut.” As I got older he got stricter, and I got more and more trapped in a world where I wanted to escape.
There were times when I walked into the room, and immediately sent away to my room for just walking in the room and saying hi, but because I spent so much time alone, I remember very little. I remember the beatings, I remember the screaming, I don’t remember much else. Everything was robbed from me. Friends, We lived in a neighborhood of only boys, and I wasn’t rich enough to get the cool clothes. So, again no friends. I was alone no matter where I go.
Elementy faded into middle school and still I was an outcast, but now I can’t sit still. I’m in a room full of people and can’t contain my excitement and I know once I go home, my brothers got to go play, and i hat to sit at home with my movies and my toys.
Weekends were the worst. My brothers got to go spend the night with so many people, but because my mom was afraid of someone hurting me and my step father wanting to keep me close, and no one knowing how to deal with this lonely girl everyone is happy to forget. Again, I sit at home with no one to talk to, no one to play with, and no way to break free of this prison.
Fantasy was all i knew, but in my own mind. Movies where a window into other minds and I loved them. Eventually, My mom put me on some pills to calm me down, but that was the same as putting me on pot. As i look back on it Riddlin actually feels how you feel when you get high. STONED! So, the nurses convinced my mother that what I needed was pills instead of saying, “let the girl go play and make some friends, and no the neighbor boy, who only wants to play with her brothers, isn’t the right friend for her. He hates playing with the girl, why should he have to play with the girl.” If anything at that time I thought I would end up married to him, eish i am glad I didn’t. He hated playing with me, his little brother didn’t mind, he loved me so. Which explains a lot about my life today. My mother wasn't cruel, she was protective.
So, now I’m not the kid ready to talk to everyone, i’m now the stoned chick trying to pass the #2 pencil to the person behind me. That took all day. By the time I was coming off those pills, I was home. And sent to my room to do homework. By the time I was twelve I was pretty much beaten into submission. But something wasn’t right. I wasn’t growing. Now i’m behind my class on developing and they finally figured out why, the damn drugs, but wait we put her on these. Take her off those and lets see how she is on these. So as I was saying, by twelve I became a test subject for the doctors and a prisoner in my own house. Still not allowed to go very far, and no, you may not walk down to the only other house that has a girl in the neighborhood. She lives too far. wait there was another girl! Yep, didn’t find that out until about eleven when playing with the guys. but she didn’t have time for me because who wants to play with the girl with no friends.
It wasn’t until my thirteenth year that I finally joined everyone in the bloom of life ride, and started to shape up nice. However, with boobs and a bit more body hair comes even tighter strings. Now, I’m to be quite clean, sit, never talk unless spoken to, serve, and leave when told. Be seen not hurt, and do the work. My mom was always cleaning so, I should be also.
I looked out my restraints and only took refuge in my escape to the creek from time to time. There I was free.I could do anything I wanted. And all i wanted to do was sing. With on one around forever, guess what, I could. Honestly they were right there near by, I could still see parts of houses and wasn’t really that far, but it was freedom nonetheless. And Upon my return to the house, I paid the price again. Scolded and spanked, sent to my room, and no supper.
There were times I could count the belt marks on my skin. I have thin, fair skin so they showed a lovely purple and blue. Sweats were a great cover for them, even though i pored sweat, i insisted I was not too hot in them. I was trapped in an endless loop of abuse at home and abuse at school, but i never blamed my mother. She did her best. No it was that thing in his head, that monster that on one could see, but that still left me damaged and abused, imprisoned in a life I couldn’t take.
Here it was my thirteenth year and i was developing and boys were starting to take notice of me and I might even have my own boyfriend oneday, well I didn’t realize I would have my whole life ruined one day. It was a day like any other. My brother’s watching what they wanted on tv, me wanting to do something else. step father sleeping and mom working.
It was time to get dad up for work, well, no one wanted to move. So it was up to me. I’m the girl that is what I do. I got up and went to wake my dad, and on this day the icolation, the beatings, the utter hell i lived in wasn’t bad enough for him. This was the first time he touched me. Yes I still remember every detail of it even though i try so hard to wipe it out my mind. This was the first time My mind split, ok it happened once. He didn’t penetrate me, we are good. Life resumes its course. Then a few months go by and school is back in. We are getting close to my fourteenth birthday, and one morning he comes to wake me up. The boys are already ready, I’m the last upstairs. And He wanted to give me an early birthday gift. I can still feel his tongue and lips tasting me and its been 20 years.
I went to school that day, and sat down beside my friend, and told her everything. She took me to the nurse. We went in a room alone and I burst out in tears and told them everything he had did to me. Appalled by my words and horrified by my strait aimed and dead on the nose tell it all to her, caught her so off guard i knew i had to be the only one in the school that was going through this. Now, I’m the girl with no friends, to a few friends when at school, to the molested girl. Not even fully raped, wich is a blessing to some, but to me, well my mind wanted to know why he never went further, why did i get spared that when so many others out there get worse. I never did ask him that question. I returned home that night, but he didn’t.
I thought this was my release, I would no longer be in prison. It turned out I exchanged one prison for another. The whole time, I’m telling myself it's a movie, its a script, it's an adventure, it has to be a dream and one day I will wake up. The thing is as a young child, I was visited by angels and family passed on, children who were passed on, and many things that scared me at night. Passed off by most as a over active imagination. but the thing is, it was their presences that made me stronger. When I was being hurt, they were there to ease the pain. When I was sad they cheered me up, when I was bored, they played with me. I knew everyone of their names and now they are faded memories i can’t get back.
In all of it I never could blame mom for her mind going crazy like it did. Her love, her husband, her life was destroyed that day. she did the only thing she knew how to do, she kept breathing At first you keep going day by day doing what you need to to make money, then that becomes too hard and one day you sit down and you can’t move, because the horror is too much you can’t help but dwell on it a bit.
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Taking a walk back to middle school, and after the trauma of my Step-Father, I find very few memories of happiness. In Middle school I finally made a friend, and they had other friends who became my friend. We were the misfits the only thing we had in common was the fact that there was nothing we had in common. She was the one who convinced me to tell what was going on at home to the school secretary. But she liked horses and for once I was able to pet a horse, and a bonus I actually like this girl, even if she is totally into my brother. There isn’t much more I can remember that was happy. My whole life fell apart around me. First my Step-father was gone. Mom sent him packing the night things came out. Suddenly I was making new “friends” in the form of everyone trying to fix me from the damage that was done to me. I felt like a broken doll and my cage became the walls of doctors offices, and therapist offices, and school. The only time I felt normal was when mom had to take me to work after school and let me play secretary in the front office, while she finished teaching the last class of the day.
I remember going to my first Horse Show. There were so many horses everywhere I couldn’t believe my eyes. I took my time with each horse and got to meet, but there was one lady who seemed to understand my mind was a bit off and she let me hang out with her and her horse. I stood there petting her horse and whispering to it while we watched the performance. I had a hat on and though the horse might like a break from the sun and tried to put it on its head. It didn’t quite like action and the lady told me they don’t quite like hats. From that moment on i just couldn’t stop thinking about how I messed up. I don’t remember much after that.
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Where was my father though my whole life, you may ask? Well, my father had better things to do than to worry about the offspring he put out in the world. He was there for a few at the beginning of our lives, but not till we were adults would he return. Except for the random visits my middle brother got to go spend the night with him.
I spent most my life in my room wondering why he didn’t want me. I figured it was simply because I was a girl. He loved my brother enough to let him stay the night every once in a while, but he never took me. He like the rest of my family didn’t quite understand I was a little different , and didn’t take the time to understand me, but of course this would become my fault later in life.
I don’t think I was a problem child, i simply wanted a friend to play with. And the few times the boys let me play with them was awesome at the time, but looking back wasn’t actually very nice. They would take me to the playhouse in the front yard, or a base in the woods, where they would convince me that we were playing war and I was protecting the base. They would then slip off and leave me there while they went to play basketball. As a girl who spends most her time alone in her room, this was a cake walk for me. I found out later in life, they didn’t want me around either. They couldn’t take the time to consider that their sister was sitting there day in and out wondering why no one liked her. Living in a fairy land just to have friends, and enjoying the company of the spirits around her. Perhaps if they would have taken the time to see their sister was in prison in her own room, they would have found themselves more interested in helping her escape, than leaving her, not wanting her, but no one explained to them what was wrong because no one knew. Too slow to be liked by anyone, and too smart to be in the mentally handicap program. Not that the teachers would know, all they knew was I was too much to handle with out drugging me. Is it a wonder I like smoking weed at my age. It gives me the feeling I know from being drugged all my life and it's got less side effects. Now I’m not saying that as a way to say anything bad about my mother. She was a single woman raising 3 kids alone, and trying her best to take care of us, and got a lot of bad advice from people who were supposed to help us. I know there are millions of people with big helpful hearts, but there are also people out there who just want to make money no matter who gets hurt, and these people will simply turn a blind eye to everything going on at the right price. Now, this is our medical field all the way around. Rather than getting free medical for everyone and having things equil they have everything set up that if you are poor than no one cares what happens to you. YOu have to have rainbows shooting out your ass in order to get good medical attention. Then when you do get some attention they just wanna drug you and make more problems. That way they can sell you more drugs.
I was born with an extra nerve on my heart, which could be fixed in one visit, but it's more profitable for me to be on pills all my life. That way they can make money off me buying the same damn pill for the rest of my life. I feel 6 months of recovery was better than living on drugs. I mean think about it, I’m drugged all my childhood, and taught I can’t live without them, and then when I’m of age and I decide I like this one drug and all a sudden I’m the addict because I choose a plant over Prescriptions.
The problem with this plant is, people have been able to see the side effects of the drug. But they were only shown the side where everyone started. When taken at a small dose, you feel the calm without the high. And once you build a tolerance to the drug you begin to need more. But you are able to function on the drug at a better in depth attention that you really don’t need anything else to get things done. You just have to re up every so often. But that’s ok right because you can re up as much as you want as long as you have a good supply and a lighter.
The fact is the government would have made more if they had been marijuana growers than tobacco. But now that they have their hand in it they must ruin it. Once it’s all legal there will still be people growing it themselves, but the ones who sell out, they will have it messed with till it is no longer good for you. It will simply be filled with harmful chemicals to make it better tasting, but work less and get you hooked faster till it kills you. The same as they did with the tobacco industry. That way you get sick and turn back to the prescription drugs.
The fact of this being true spins my head and thoughts around and around until i can’t seem to form a single thought that makes any sense, except I don’t remember when any of this mattered to me. As a child I knew nothing or anyone around me were bad. My mother has always been a shining woman in my eyes.
In my eyes, my mother was a superhero always coming to my rescue. I had night mares that kept me up at night, and the darke figures lurking in every corner was terrifying. No matter what she was there trying to make sure they were gone, but suddenly she was gone and they started eating me alive, and that was the day she stopped running the nightmares away and the dark shadows. The fact was we needed money and she had to get a job. I know my mom did what she had to do in order to keep us safe. And I love her for every day she spent keeping me as safe as she could.
When she left to work and go to school the dark shadows started in bad, and she wasn’t there to keep them away. I ran everyone away, no one could stay close to me. Mom was the only one who kept the demons away. I found that I can’t fight them on my own. My aunt tried, but I ran her off, and i have no memory of it. All i remember is what i have been told, the fact that my family tells me it was bad, is all i have to go on. But from what i understand, I tried to either punch her stomach while she was pregnant, or push her down the stairs. The fact that I don’t remember anything because of the pills they had me on, was long left out. I was then on a mear nothing in anyone's eyes. No one liked me, no one wanted me around, and I was only welcome because of who my mom was. If they had the chance, they wouldn’t care about me at all. I know because it's still the same. She and I had a great relationship until those meds.
As I aged the grown ups never looked at me as an adult and all believed I was just facking my mentle handicap and i would just agree to make them stop trying to get me to admit it already. As I got to know my family i noticed and noticed more that I would never fit in. They are nice people, but to me they didn’t really care if I was there. I remember one aunt who made it known that she never wanted me around. When I was drugged and had to draw just to get away from the nausea I was feeling from the drugs they were feeding me, was glad and told everyone to quit asking what was wrong and just enjoy me being quiet for once.
Completely ignoring the fact that they never cared to find out what was going on with me when I was younger and the hell i lived in my day to day life and how they hurt me because they didn’t want me because i was different, but now it's ok.
It wasn’t always bad, enter my grandmother. She loved me deeply. She listened, and somehow. She made the demons go away. When I had nightmares I could climb into her bed and hold her hand while I slept and as long as i had her hand, I knew i was safe. She helped. Grandma wasn’t a walk in the park because I think he mind split long before i was born, and I think that is why she was the only one who understood me. After her death I simply went numb, for about eight months. Slowly the demons that I lived with were joined by more, and more and hell was playing again and i was living it everyday in my little house.
Upon that time my husband came into play, he figured out how to make the demons go away, and figured out my mind was so screwed up that when I’m angry, I’m not even there. He has to wait out the anger fit for me to tell him what was wrong. Slowly he stopped the nightmares and “ate” the demons. He allowed me to feel every emotion I had suppressed though my life and was there to take my hand when I fell to far in it. He has watched as i struggled with my disability and cumming to term with the fact that I will never run my own life, and the fact I can’t have children, And even loved me though my miscarriages. Real or fake, the fact that it was real to me was all he needed to know. There wasn’t anything he saw that he wasn’t able to deal with, except when he lost it. It took a lot for him to loose it, and the backlash on me was quickly followed by a long depression and wanting to die. He nurses me back to health and slowly helps me find myself again.
He loves me though the hard times. The times when I have no idea what is going on. The times when I am lost, and he loved me when I was there. He taught me you don’t have to have sex to show you love a man. He could care less about sex. He simply wanted to keep me safe, and love me. He tried to give me anything I wanted, and we worked together to find a compromise on it.
When it came to my engagement ring. He couldn't afford one, someone gave him a ring and he gave it to me. That was when he told me he wanted to marry me. It was amazing. I love that ring, but it was too big and we couldn’t get it sized. He found another ring and gave it to me it fit perfect and felt right on my finger, but eventually it wore through the plating and started turning my finger green. We couldn’t afford to buy a new ring from the jewelry store, so we ordered one online as a stand in. I’m sure if this one doesn’t work out eventually he will be able to buy me a ring that fits and will last. But for now, I still love my ring. And even if we never afford one. I know he loves me because he is still trying.
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Now before I was telling you about my aunt and how I couldn’t help but wonder why she hated me so much now. And after having the thought burning in my mind I decided to have a bit of a talk with her. If you ever saw the cow in the story, then you have your image of my aunt. She is a picture of grace, and beauty, no she isn’t a fat cow, she is a beautiful majestic cow who has a big straw hat and a daisy stuck in it, just like in the old cartoons. Only instead of a dress, she wears a lovely sundress. She longs for the day when she can run her own farm and just tend her garden and never have to work again. But that day isn’t coming anytime soon, so she keeps scrubbing rich women’s floors.
Her childhood wasn’t easy, and it too had horrors that she doesn’t like to talk about, but it was her past and there it stays. She has raised her kids and loves her grandchildren. THey are doing well, and she is proud of herself, and its well deserved. Now I know this about her and she may not like the fact she plays a cow, but I only hope she can see the beauty she brings out of such a beautiful beast, it's not as apparent as all the rest, but when you take a look, I mean a really good look, you realize you missed a real gem.
Now I have been told by people that i was the reason she didn’t come live with me all them years ago, but I found it wasn’t me at all. It was my worden who she didn’t trust, and at that time didn’t know how to help me. She wanted to but if her sister wasn’t able to help me, what would she be risking if she stayed and tried to. The risk out wayed the reward, and untill she had some solid evidence, she couldn’t make a move. So, she had to leave me in my prison, unfairly sentenced, and alone, for the sake of her children, but she knew something wasn’t right.
So, to clear things up, it wasn’t me who ran her off, no it wasn’t me. And that knowledge gives me a small bridge back to myself. I only hope that one day I can peace my whole life back together and remember whatever it is I can’t seem to recall. Maybe, i should stop looking, but i can’t shake the feeling, something is off.
Now, this is why I say keep reading. For in the end, I may correct something that was said or believed, with an update. That is after I, myself, learn the truth.
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