I've been spending time organizing my emails, etc. that I have saved/received/sent during the time from when my file was opened with the RCMP until the day that I slammed it closed on May 25, 2009 - the result of a phone call that blew my world into a million little pieces. I made the mistake of rereading the letter of complaint that I sent to the Superintendent of the Detachment at that time. A big mistake. A huge mistake. I thought that I had neatly packaged all of that up but what I discovered in the past few weeks is that the cruel words of that phone call are still very near the surface.
This has not been a good thing. I have stirred up emotions and feelings that should have been left alone. The black is coming back and I am fighting to breathe and rise above it once again. I am trying hard to push through this on my own, to not burden my friends with my neediness, to focus on the good as much as I can. I am fighting with that need to not be alone but to be by myself - if that makes any sense. This is where Esme is my lifesaver. Her needs will always come before mine. Without her, I don't think life would be worth the fight.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Take Me As I Am..........
I've been sorting and organizing all of my emails, notes, official papers, etc. that pertain to my adventure with the "justice" system. First thing anyone must learn and embrace when dealing with the courts is this: It is a LEGAl system not a JUSTICE system. Until you can embrace that and prepare yourself to be disappointed more than you ever have before do not go to the police. It is not the police officers' fault - it is our stupid, antiquainted, out moded, "accused has all the rights" system that we in Canada are stuck with.
When you go to the police and have your statement taken there are many steps to be followed which I will share with you in future posts. Here is the lesson that I learned the hard and painful way and I had to wait until I was knee deep in pain, humiliation, embarassement and frustration to be educated. The first step is that the police recommend whatever charges they can to Crown Counsel - who let's all understand this one fact - are there to defend the victim of the crime. Step one at Crown is that the file goes to a "gatekeeping" committee who reiviews the file and makes the decision as to whether to press charges and forward the file to the appopriate prosecutor or to bounce the file back to the police. Here is the criteria that the file must meet to be accepted:
1. Is this a winnable case? Reason: It is the public's money that is being spent at Crown so they only take on cases that they are sure they can win. LOVELY.
2. Will the victim be a credible witness in a court room? And they can tell this from a bunch of paper? They must be pyschic.
There are 3 more criteria that are just as meaningless to a victim. My RCMP officer actually took my file to the Court House and met with the prosecutor who handles all of the sex crime files and from what I was told he felt the file was worthy of taking to court but even he can't over ride the committee at the front door. That hurt me right to the core. I know for a fact that my abuser would have folded like a cheap tent the first time he even parked in the parking lot at the Court House. I know that he would have either had to plead guilty or hire some lawyer to defend him and then the prosecutor would have had the chance to rip him to shreds on the stand. I know that I was cheated out of the opportunity to be able to write and read a Victim's Impact Statement. It felt like being abused all over again. I grieved deeply for a year as I tried to accept the fact that I would never be able to have justice. I still grieve for that loss and I probably will for the rest of HIS life.
So.........before I sit down and piece together 3 years of RCMP interviews,etc. let me leave you with this:
I might not be someone's first choice, However, I am a great choice.
I don't pretend to be someone I'm not, because I'm good at being me.
I might not be proud of some of the things I've done in the past, however, I'm proud of who I am today.
I may not be perfect, however, I don't need to be.
Take me as I am, or watch me as I walk away.
When you go to the police and have your statement taken there are many steps to be followed which I will share with you in future posts. Here is the lesson that I learned the hard and painful way and I had to wait until I was knee deep in pain, humiliation, embarassement and frustration to be educated. The first step is that the police recommend whatever charges they can to Crown Counsel - who let's all understand this one fact - are there to defend the victim of the crime. Step one at Crown is that the file goes to a "gatekeeping" committee who reiviews the file and makes the decision as to whether to press charges and forward the file to the appopriate prosecutor or to bounce the file back to the police. Here is the criteria that the file must meet to be accepted:
1. Is this a winnable case? Reason: It is the public's money that is being spent at Crown so they only take on cases that they are sure they can win. LOVELY.
2. Will the victim be a credible witness in a court room? And they can tell this from a bunch of paper? They must be pyschic.
There are 3 more criteria that are just as meaningless to a victim. My RCMP officer actually took my file to the Court House and met with the prosecutor who handles all of the sex crime files and from what I was told he felt the file was worthy of taking to court but even he can't over ride the committee at the front door. That hurt me right to the core. I know for a fact that my abuser would have folded like a cheap tent the first time he even parked in the parking lot at the Court House. I know that he would have either had to plead guilty or hire some lawyer to defend him and then the prosecutor would have had the chance to rip him to shreds on the stand. I know that I was cheated out of the opportunity to be able to write and read a Victim's Impact Statement. It felt like being abused all over again. I grieved deeply for a year as I tried to accept the fact that I would never be able to have justice. I still grieve for that loss and I probably will for the rest of HIS life.
So.........before I sit down and piece together 3 years of RCMP interviews,etc. let me leave you with this:
I might not be someone's first choice, However, I am a great choice.
I don't pretend to be someone I'm not, because I'm good at being me.
I might not be proud of some of the things I've done in the past, however, I'm proud of who I am today.
I may not be perfect, however, I don't need to be.
Take me as I am, or watch me as I walk away.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
The Letter
Please - before you read any further I need you to know that there are some hard truths in the following post that may be uncomfortable for you to read.
June 2, 2007 - One of those life altering moments......afte a year of therapy I had finally reached the place where I was ready to confront my abuser in the presence of my therapist. What did I hope to gain? I wanted to see him in a very vulnerable position - something he had done to me for 20 years. I wanted him to be face to face with me and have to look me and either admit that he had done this to me or watch him try to lie his way out of the reality. I wanted him to hurt to the core although I now know that he is a sociopath and they tend to have no remorse or guilt for any action. I wanted him to see that I was no longer under his influence of fear and that he now needed to be fearful of me and what further action I might take. I wanted him to know that he was now a marked man.
My therapist arranged for this meeting. I was to wait in the parking lot until Fred came out to get me. All the way up in the elevator I was trying to breathe and be strong but the minute the door opened I turned against the wall and tried to go back onto the elevator. Fred put his arm around my shoulder and literally took me into his office - I had to walk past my uncle who was sitting in the waiting area. I had some time alone with Fred to pull myself together and then he was invited in and sat on the other side of the office with Fred on a chair beside me. I started to read my letter and the tears began to drop onto the paper blurring the ink. I never made eye contact with him once. I finished reading my letter and I am not sure what really happened next but I do remember him saying that he knew exactly how I felt because he had been abused by 2 of his sisters. The lamest most pathetic statement : he knew how I felt? A bit more babbling on his part and then he finally said the words that I wanted to hear " Well if it's an apology that you want, you've got it." He said it very flippantly in an almost mocking tone of voice. But - he admitted to his actions. Surely this would be the statement that could be used against him...... I still had not raised my head to look at him and finally Fred sent him on his way and then worked with me for awhile so that I could go home. I still have that letter - blurred ink where my tears fell - and I have placed it in my memory box. The events of that afternoon led to a very pivotal point in my journey. I soon became file #07-20901 with the Langley RCMP Serious Crimes.
The letter:
I want to thank you for coming here today. When I heard that you had been very agreeable to this meeting I wondered if you had any idea why you have been asked here. Today is the day that my existing life is over and I begin working on building a brand new life. A life that is going to be filled with joy, love, peace, confidence, happiness and a sense of being safe. For 30 years I have not experienced these feelings and I grieve for a life not lived.
In 1976 your actions towards me sent me down a path of life that has done nothing but cause me pain and sorrow. I missed out on having the life that I dreamt about. I have never had a normal relationship with a man, I never married and had the children that I so badly wanted to have and I have never had the partner in life that I deserve and desire. My heart hurts inside for the life that I lost and I wonder if I will have the time, opportunity and courage to ever have that life. All because you chose to prey on and seduce me. I know that I wasn’t your first choice. I know that you made a move on my sister but she was strong enough to rebuff you and despises you to this day. But it didn’t take you long to realize that I would be easier prey. I was the chubby child who had tried unsuccessfully to be good enough for her father and who was repeatedly told how much she reminded her mother of her father, a man she hated.
I had never really known you when I was a child and first met you when I was about 17 years old in the summer of 1976. Growing up in a very dysfunctional family I had had no father/daughter relationship and you were the first male to really pay attention to me. My mother was extremely distracted at the time – she had just fled a dangerous situation with my dad, she was in a new relationship with a man that was as equally dysfunctional as my father and she was dealing with a lot of hostility from Allison. My mother also really adored you and she looked up to you. You were her saviour when she arrived in Coquitlam. And when I flew in to have a visit with my mother before leaving for school I, a young, shy teenager, met you – and I was mesmerized. You paid so much attention to me, you treated me like an adult, you flirted with me – in front of your girlfriend Barb - and my mother missed every inappropriate action. I saw you again at Christmas time. Do you remember the trip to Princeton to see the new store? Do you remember asking me to sit beside you in the car?
The summer of 1977 you did something so inappropriate, that today, 30 years later, I still cry whenever I think of that night. You attempted to seduce me in front of your fireplace and later crawled into bed with me and ran your hand up my leg. I was so inexperienced and naïve. I knew that something was wrong but I didn’t know how to stop you. Saying “no” to my father had always resulted in either being yelled at or hit, so I had learned at an early age that “no” didn’t work for me. You bragged to me so many times how many women you had slept with – that you couldn’t even remember the number. I was clearly way out of my league here and you took complete advantage of me. There was no one to talk to, no one to save me from your intentions. I got on a plane and went back to school with a horrible secret that scared me and embarrassed me.
Christmas 1977 - my mother invited you and Tony to spend Christmas with our family in Princeton . It was arranged that you would pick me up at the airport in Vancouver and take me with you to Princeton . I had so hoped that you had either forgotten about what had happened or had realized how inappropriate it was. The house was full of family and I thought that I would be safe there. I was sleeping on the couch and woke up to find you on your knees beside me with your hand under the quilt on my thigh. You begged me not to say anything to my mother. I cannot to this day believe that you were that bold as to pull a stunt like that with 5 other people sleeping within yards of that couch. How I wish now that you had been caught or that I had told my mother. But, that would have ruined Christmas for everyone, so I said nothing. That summer my mother, once again completely distracted by yet another dysfunctional relationship called upon you for help and you were only too happy to head down to Princeton to save her again. You were my Mother’s favorite brother and I think you took advantage of that. That night you took me to the Princeton Hotel bar – even though I was underage – and you treated me like a “date” not a niece. My mother was fighting with everyone in the house and it was “suggested” that I come down to Langley
Over the next 20 years you gave me diseases, you used me as your own private whore, you dragged me into your stupid little game of espionage to try to catch Marilyn in her affair and you even suggested once that you wanted to have another woman in bed with me at the same time. Do you remember asking me if it would be ok if you found another guy so that you could hide in the closet and watch? When I think of some of the things you said and did I am physically ill. I cry every day for the life that was stolen from me, for the things that you did to me, for the shame that I feel, for the guilt I carry that I did not find the courage to stand up for myself against you. You will never ever know how you ruined my life. You are a sexual predator and a sexual deviant - you are exactly like your own father. The 3 adults in my life that I should have been able to rely on either abandoned me or used me when I needed them the most. My father emotionally and physically abused me, my mother was so distracted by all of the dysfunctional men in her life and trying to raise Louise on her own that she wasn’t emotionally available and you – You saw the weakness in me and you preyed on that. You could have been my “hero”, a mentor, someone that I could rely upon and trust, especially after my parents died when I was only 25 and 28 years old.
You stole from me my innocence, so many first experiences that should have been shared with someone who loved me and that I would be able to remember with tenderness and fondness, not embarrassment and disgust. You single-handedly destroyed my life for your own simple pleasure. To this day I feel like damaged goods, it takes me forever to trust someone, I feel starved for love and affection and would love nothing more than to be hugged but I am frightened beyond belief to have anyone touch me in an intimate way. I struggle to feel safe even in my own home and I have worked hard at overcoming my anxiety about leaving my home. I have many days when I do not want to live but yet I also do not want to die. I am so envious of the solid family lives that I see around me, knowing I will never have that and that hurts me to the core. No one will ever call me “Mom or Grandma”. I worry that I will die all alone.
It is my hope that you can find it in your heart to show me some remorse, to apologize for the destruction you caused. I don’t know if I will be able to forgive you but that is one of my next tasks I will work on. For 30 years I have carried a lot of pain in my heart and I know that you don’t have 30 years left to live, but I hope that every day that you do have left you think about what you did to me and feel just some of the pain that I have lived with and continue to live with to this day.
Again, thank you for coming here and allowing me to read this letter to you as part of my journey of healing. I would ask that you never contact me again.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
The Crash
Okey Dokey.........been a wild ride for that past few weeks.........anyone who has ever suffered from PTSD/Anxiety/Depression knows that every once in awhile, out of nowhere, when you least expect it...........kaboom..........you are hit with a "crash". Sometimes these events are a day long, maybe a week........or sometimes they last for a long time and take you to the very depths of your soul. Sometimes they are triggered by past events and sometimes they are triggered by numerous current events all piled one on top of the other. Sometimes they are medication issues that need to be adjusted. Whatever the cause of the "crash" the result is a dark, scary, heart broken place that you wonder if you even want to try to recover from. When you open your eyes in the morning and your first thought is " oh crap....I can't do this another day" and you are in tears before you have even got out of bed, when you know that most people just don't "get it" and that this will be another day that you have to paste on some sort of phoney smile or better yet......just stay home, close the blinds to keep the world out and try very hard not to put your burden onto anyone else.........at a time when you most need these people it is very hard to make it all work. It's hard to find a reason to even want to make it all work.
That's where I've been for the past 6 weeks. Some days were very very dark and other days were manageable. There was the day I went to the doctor's in my pajamas and cried and said " I cannot do this another day". There was the day that I fell apart in a total heap of rubble on the running trail because I was scared out of my wits when a man stepped out in front of me ( quite innocent on his part) but triggered the most frightening piece of my memories and before I could get a grip on my world I slowly fell apart to the point that my friend Laurel had to come and get me from the trail and I fell to my knees and sobbed. There was the day I rec'd a few texts from a very dear friend that were rec'd by me in a very painful way - I thought my heart was truly breaking into pieces - if I put my hand on my heart I felt it cracking and breaking. I've been to the doctor, the lab, the pharmacy, my therapist and then repeated that cycle. I've had some medication changes, the most annoying apt with the Pyschiatrist that I have to see once a year to sign off on my meds - the woman is a complete ass in my opinion.
So........now that I feel that I coming back into the land of the living and working hard at making my days meaningful I am ready to carry on with my story - just not today!
There are imprints in your brain that no matter how hard you try to work past them they are there forever stained and marked. They don't go away. They are part of your soul. You don't just "get over it" as some people would like to believe. You "get around it" the best way that you know how. You have to find your voice and your words and quietly and gracefully take care of yourself first.
But........thankfully I can pull it out of my butt when I need to because in the midst of all of this darkness I had my full on, face to face 2 hour interview with a retired RCMP officer who is working on my enhanced security clearance! I tell you, I was at my best that morning! I might lose a few battles along the way but I am going to win the war!!!
Good to be back............:-))
That's where I've been for the past 6 weeks. Some days were very very dark and other days were manageable. There was the day I went to the doctor's in my pajamas and cried and said " I cannot do this another day". There was the day that I fell apart in a total heap of rubble on the running trail because I was scared out of my wits when a man stepped out in front of me ( quite innocent on his part) but triggered the most frightening piece of my memories and before I could get a grip on my world I slowly fell apart to the point that my friend Laurel had to come and get me from the trail and I fell to my knees and sobbed. There was the day I rec'd a few texts from a very dear friend that were rec'd by me in a very painful way - I thought my heart was truly breaking into pieces - if I put my hand on my heart I felt it cracking and breaking. I've been to the doctor, the lab, the pharmacy, my therapist and then repeated that cycle. I've had some medication changes, the most annoying apt with the Pyschiatrist that I have to see once a year to sign off on my meds - the woman is a complete ass in my opinion.
So........now that I feel that I coming back into the land of the living and working hard at making my days meaningful I am ready to carry on with my story - just not today!
There are imprints in your brain that no matter how hard you try to work past them they are there forever stained and marked. They don't go away. They are part of your soul. You don't just "get over it" as some people would like to believe. You "get around it" the best way that you know how. You have to find your voice and your words and quietly and gracefully take care of yourself first.
But........thankfully I can pull it out of my butt when I need to because in the midst of all of this darkness I had my full on, face to face 2 hour interview with a retired RCMP officer who is working on my enhanced security clearance! I tell you, I was at my best that morning! I might lose a few battles along the way but I am going to win the war!!!
Good to be back............:-))
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Lyin' Eyes ( by the Eagles)
It's the summer of 1977! I've finished my first year of University and took the train back to Vancouver with all of my "stuff" to spend the summer with my mom in her new store in Princeton. It was the May long weekend and I took to the bus from Princeton to Vancouver to spend the weekend with my aunt and uncle in North Vancouver. My uncle offered to pick me up at the bus station and deliver me up to North Vancouver. He took me out for dinner first - The Spaghetti Factory down in Gastown - and I am quite sure that anyone around us would have thought that we were out on a dinner date judging by how he acted. He was laughing and making balloon animals and just generally trying to "impress" me. There was that "weird" feeling inside again but I had no words to explain it. On one hand it was very nice to be taken out to dinner and doted on but on the other hand it did not feel right in my gut. Lesson learned - always trust your gut feelings - your gut is your second brain.
After dinner we proceeded to drive over to North Vancouver. I know that he knew where he was supposed to be going - he'd lived in Vancouver for probably 20 years at that point. How hard is it to find a street that is one block off of Mountain Highway for heaven's sake? I know that now, but at the time I had no clue where we were or where we were supposed to be going. It was quite dark out by that time and he was making a big fuss over not being able to find the street - driving around and around the dark subdivisions of the North Shore area making turn after turn. By that point I was really getting scared - I've never been the person who finds getting lost just part of the whole adventure! I suggested that we stop and ask for directions at a gas station and it was clear to him that I was not at all comfortable. Amazingly, within about 5 minutes - presto - there we were at Pierard Drive! There is no doubt in my mind that he was driving in circles for the sole purpose of trying to find an opportunity or the guts to make a move on me. Sunday afternoon my aunt and uncle dropped me off at an open house you were having for you to take me to dinner at then over to catch my bus home.
And all the time that we were driving around.........he had a cassette tape of the Eagles playing.......a black car with burgundy interior.........some things you just never forget.
After dinner we proceeded to drive over to North Vancouver. I know that he knew where he was supposed to be going - he'd lived in Vancouver for probably 20 years at that point. How hard is it to find a street that is one block off of Mountain Highway for heaven's sake? I know that now, but at the time I had no clue where we were or where we were supposed to be going. It was quite dark out by that time and he was making a big fuss over not being able to find the street - driving around and around the dark subdivisions of the North Shore area making turn after turn. By that point I was really getting scared - I've never been the person who finds getting lost just part of the whole adventure! I suggested that we stop and ask for directions at a gas station and it was clear to him that I was not at all comfortable. Amazingly, within about 5 minutes - presto - there we were at Pierard Drive! There is no doubt in my mind that he was driving in circles for the sole purpose of trying to find an opportunity or the guts to make a move on me. Sunday afternoon my aunt and uncle dropped me off at an open house you were having for you to take me to dinner at then over to catch my bus home.
And all the time that we were driving around.........he had a cassette tape of the Eagles playing.......a black car with burgundy interior.........some things you just never forget.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Horse Drawn Sleigh Rides.........
Seventeen years old........in 1976 when I was 17 I was more like today`s 14 year old. I was not a social butterfly in high school, I was not at all the important parties on the weekend, I never came to school on Monday with a low cut shirt and a neckful of hickies to show everyone - my big claim to fame was that I frequented the indoor smoking area - wow! I babysat for most of the local RCMP families, I taught piano and theory lessons during the week and practiced my own piano studies for my exams, I worked weekends at a local drugstore. In hindsight - my mom had it pretty easy with me! When I graduated from high school I knew 1 thing - I was going to the University of Sask. enrolled in the College of Education. Not because I had always dreamed of being a teacher and going away to school......because my dad said I was going to university and there would be no discussion. Why the College of Education - because I had no idea what choices I might have had, my Grandmother had taught school forever ( even in the little one room school house) and because somehow I won the local Teacher`s Scholarship for a first year Education student. My life was planned out except for one thing.........I didn`t plan it. I was homesick, I didn`t want to be there, I was so socially and emotionally delayed - I was the proverbial fish out of water.
Needless to say I was one happy person to board a plane out of Saskatoon in December of 1976 to go to Coquitlam and be with my family for a month. I had rec`d letters from my mom every week sharing with me her plan to buy a store in Princeton - a gift and grocery store - the big city of Coquitlam was not for her and my uncle, being a real estate agent, had found the perfect place for her in Princeton. We made a trip up there during my stay that Christmas and oddly enough the one very vivid memory of that trip that I have - my uncle got into the back seat and specifically asked me to sit beside him. Weird but very complimentary in a back handed way. We all had Christmas dinner together and as a family spent more time together thru out that month. After I flew back to Saskatoon and settled in for the second half of my first year a strange letter came in the mail one day. My uncle wrote to me that he was envious of all of the boys at University who would be the ones to sit beside me during the long cold winter evenings and go on horse drawn sleigh rides with me. Hello, I was in Saskatoon going to school - not filming an episode of Little House on the Prairie. And....how weird is it that your uncle is envious of boys being around his niece.........at the time I had no clue just how weird this was........I was being groomed and I had this person who was only 12 years older than me writing to me at university. Oh God how I wish I could turn the clock back 35 years.
Stalking his prey, tiptoeing around in the forest, carefully covering his tracks and camoflauging his true existance, tossing out bits of tempting treats to lure his prey out into the open and away from the safety of the herd.....always adjusting his view in the sights of his rifle....the hunter waits patiently in silence for that one perfect shot..............
Needless to say I was one happy person to board a plane out of Saskatoon in December of 1976 to go to Coquitlam and be with my family for a month. I had rec`d letters from my mom every week sharing with me her plan to buy a store in Princeton - a gift and grocery store - the big city of Coquitlam was not for her and my uncle, being a real estate agent, had found the perfect place for her in Princeton. We made a trip up there during my stay that Christmas and oddly enough the one very vivid memory of that trip that I have - my uncle got into the back seat and specifically asked me to sit beside him. Weird but very complimentary in a back handed way. We all had Christmas dinner together and as a family spent more time together thru out that month. After I flew back to Saskatoon and settled in for the second half of my first year a strange letter came in the mail one day. My uncle wrote to me that he was envious of all of the boys at University who would be the ones to sit beside me during the long cold winter evenings and go on horse drawn sleigh rides with me. Hello, I was in Saskatoon going to school - not filming an episode of Little House on the Prairie. And....how weird is it that your uncle is envious of boys being around his niece.........at the time I had no clue just how weird this was........I was being groomed and I had this person who was only 12 years older than me writing to me at university. Oh God how I wish I could turn the clock back 35 years.
Stalking his prey, tiptoeing around in the forest, carefully covering his tracks and camoflauging his true existance, tossing out bits of tempting treats to lure his prey out into the open and away from the safety of the herd.....always adjusting his view in the sights of his rifle....the hunter waits patiently in silence for that one perfect shot..............
Monday, March 28, 2011
A hunter is born.......
Here I sit, Esme is asleep across my feet - her way of not letting me out of her sight unnanounced - and needing to do 2 things. 1. Hit the "open" button on the 2010 Tax Return software and 2. Catch my flight on the next space shuttle. Since I'm not at all packed for my trip to the moon that would leave option #1.....for a few more minutes anyway!
I need to back up in my story a bit to give you more of an idea of how my uncle worked his way into our world. I had forgotten to mention that 2 years prior to my mother leaving Swift Current her mother had died quite suddenly. Her trip to Vernon to bury her mother was the first time that she had reconnected with some of her siblings - one of them being her brother, my eventual torturer. She was quite taken with him I think. He was very urban and quite successful at his career. Perhaps the most defining moment for her during that occasion was the night right after my Grandmother's burial. Each of her 9 children had taken a red rose from the casket spray and somehow during the night my uncle realized that he had lost his rose. In the middle of a February night he walked quite a distance to the cemetary, found her grave and took another rose from the spray of flowers laying on top of her grave. My mother, being ever maternal, thought that this was the most heroic and stoic event and she spoke almost reverantly about him after she returned home. He called our home a few times - family squabbles regarding the will, etc. had begun in earnest and he was the one sibling that my mother seemed to believe in and even told him on the phone that he was her favourite brother. There was a large age difference between the 2 of them and I really think that my mother conveyed a message of "motherly" love to my uncle. I think that he knew that but I also think that he knew that he had his "foor in the door" to my world. At that point all he would have had known about me was the what the family photos that my mother took with her to Vernon would have shown. A hunter stalks his prey, slowly, quietly, never wanting to step on a branch or a twig that could shatter the silence and catch the calm, gentle doe feeding on the grass. No, the hunter has patience, the hunter waits to have that doe in the crosshairs of his scope, waits for that moment when she is singled out from her herd and unsuspecting of any tragedy about to befall her - he waits until he has the perfect clean shot - and then...........
I need to back up in my story a bit to give you more of an idea of how my uncle worked his way into our world. I had forgotten to mention that 2 years prior to my mother leaving Swift Current her mother had died quite suddenly. Her trip to Vernon to bury her mother was the first time that she had reconnected with some of her siblings - one of them being her brother, my eventual torturer. She was quite taken with him I think. He was very urban and quite successful at his career. Perhaps the most defining moment for her during that occasion was the night right after my Grandmother's burial. Each of her 9 children had taken a red rose from the casket spray and somehow during the night my uncle realized that he had lost his rose. In the middle of a February night he walked quite a distance to the cemetary, found her grave and took another rose from the spray of flowers laying on top of her grave. My mother, being ever maternal, thought that this was the most heroic and stoic event and she spoke almost reverantly about him after she returned home. He called our home a few times - family squabbles regarding the will, etc. had begun in earnest and he was the one sibling that my mother seemed to believe in and even told him on the phone that he was her favourite brother. There was a large age difference between the 2 of them and I really think that my mother conveyed a message of "motherly" love to my uncle. I think that he knew that but I also think that he knew that he had his "foor in the door" to my world. At that point all he would have had known about me was the what the family photos that my mother took with her to Vernon would have shown. A hunter stalks his prey, slowly, quietly, never wanting to step on a branch or a twig that could shatter the silence and catch the calm, gentle doe feeding on the grass. No, the hunter has patience, the hunter waits to have that doe in the crosshairs of his scope, waits for that moment when she is singled out from her herd and unsuspecting of any tragedy about to befall her - he waits until he has the perfect clean shot - and then...........
Saturday, March 26, 2011
And so it begins........
Oh my.....still recovering from a rather major "crash". Life handed me the perfect storm of about 5 things all at one time and my boat was swamped and no life jacket to grab onto. Without sounding like a big drama queen - this was a physical and emotional slap upside the head. Physically - it never even occured to me that my thryoid issue could be having a flare up - normally I can feel it in my throat within days of the levels risisng but I guess I missed the signs of this one 'cause it was a beauty. I had gone to the doctor looking like a homeless person - 2nd day of the same pajamas, head by bed, and eyes that looked like the rings of Saturn. I held myself together long enough for him to shut the door and then all bets were off. I have the best doctor and he never just pats me on the head and suggests it might be "stress". He's been on this long journey with me and he knows that when I crash - I crash. He asked me the question that all doctors have to ask their patients who look like I did - "Do you feel you are in danger of hurting yourself?". No, I'm not finished with a few people yet so I'm staying around to see how that all plays out. ( to say “yes” gets you a one way ticket to the pysch ward in Langley which is about the worst place in the world to ever end up. Never say “yes”) Then he looked at his computer screen and reminded me that my 6 month check of my TSH levels was about 13 months overdue so how about I pop over to the lab on the way home and have that done. Off I went to the lab - still looking like a hobo, in fact a little too off the wall because the tech that was taking my blood actually looked at my Medic Alert bracelet and asked if I was diabetic - and then I dragged my butt back home still full of despair and anxiety and the insidious fear that PTSD leaves you with. Well, bit of shock the next day when the dr's office calls and asks me to get my butt back down there ASAP. This time I actually was dressed! I sat down in the same chair, feeling the same "I can't fight this anymore" feeling, when in came the dr with a smile on his face and the words "good news - your TSH levels are 3 times higher than they should be!" I swear my jaw hit the floor - I was totally shocked. Not only was I dealing with wacked out TSH levels but that issue also played havoc with my regular meds and basically nothing was acting like it was supposed to. New prescription for my thyroid pills which sadly, take a few weeks to build up enough in my system to actually start working and orders for a new blood draw in 2 months. This could take awhile to find the amount of meds I have to take to compensate for what my body isn't making to bring the level back down to "normal". Somehow tho' having a logical answer for my illogical feelings was very soothing.
And while my body was running its own personal little horror show 2 events occured within days of each other that kinda blew my heart apart. I can cope with the physical and the emotional just not all at one time. Mix the two and I'm done like dinner.
Time to pick up the thread of the story where I last left off - my family moving to BC. It was arranged that I would fly out to see them just before I left for University in the fall. My mother was settled into a rental home in Coquitlam that some friends of hers had helped her find. Life seemed to be sorting itself out for the 4 of them - at least on the exterior. My mother had also made contact with her brother and sister that lived in Vancouver and North Vancouver. I had met my uncle once when I was quite young and did not really remember him. He was quite a bit younger than my mother and they had never really connected as siblings. She was however quite enjoying seeing her family again and invited my uncle and his then girlfriend over to dinner while I was visiting. I answered the door to find a very handsome, Westside/Kitsilano guy with a very attractive girlfriend named Barbara. As the evening wore on the conversation took a bit of a turn and I found myself being complimented and spoken to by my uncle somewhat as if we were 2 strangers and he was trying to "pick me up". He complimented me far more than I think would be considered "normal" and paid more attention to me than to his girlfriend. When they left at the end of the evening his hug goodbye was more than the perfunctory family hug. Odd. This all took place in my mother's living room in front of everyone there.
Over the years I have learned the term "grooming". Grooming is the process where abusers slowly worm their way into their victim's world, it's such a subtle process that no one even notices, especially the victim. Most pedofiles and family abusers don't make a move on their target right away - they need to earn the "trust" of the victim and slowly and insidiously suck them into their eerie world of wickedness. That evening, in front of my family and his girlfriend, my uncle had begun the "grooming" process.
And while my body was running its own personal little horror show 2 events occured within days of each other that kinda blew my heart apart. I can cope with the physical and the emotional just not all at one time. Mix the two and I'm done like dinner.
Time to pick up the thread of the story where I last left off - my family moving to BC. It was arranged that I would fly out to see them just before I left for University in the fall. My mother was settled into a rental home in Coquitlam that some friends of hers had helped her find. Life seemed to be sorting itself out for the 4 of them - at least on the exterior. My mother had also made contact with her brother and sister that lived in Vancouver and North Vancouver. I had met my uncle once when I was quite young and did not really remember him. He was quite a bit younger than my mother and they had never really connected as siblings. She was however quite enjoying seeing her family again and invited my uncle and his then girlfriend over to dinner while I was visiting. I answered the door to find a very handsome, Westside/Kitsilano guy with a very attractive girlfriend named Barbara. As the evening wore on the conversation took a bit of a turn and I found myself being complimented and spoken to by my uncle somewhat as if we were 2 strangers and he was trying to "pick me up". He complimented me far more than I think would be considered "normal" and paid more attention to me than to his girlfriend. When they left at the end of the evening his hug goodbye was more than the perfunctory family hug. Odd. This all took place in my mother's living room in front of everyone there.
Over the years I have learned the term "grooming". Grooming is the process where abusers slowly worm their way into their victim's world, it's such a subtle process that no one even notices, especially the victim. Most pedofiles and family abusers don't make a move on their target right away - they need to earn the "trust" of the victim and slowly and insidiously suck them into their eerie world of wickedness. That evening, in front of my family and his girlfriend, my uncle had begun the "grooming" process.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
In her eyes, I see pure love
Well since my Costco moment and my last post I have to say that I managed to pull the rug right out from under my feet and it has taken this long to get back up and ready to go for another round in the boxing ring of life!I know that my blog is kinda all over the map - it's not in chronological order at the moment but one day it will be in a book and with the help of a wise editor ( thank you Darcy) it will be much more linear. What I am finding at the moment is that writing about some of these earlier experiences in life does seem to be "retraumatizing" ( a therapeutic description for when life bites you on the butt again) and for me, I need to take some time between those posts to keep myself on track.
Let me tell you the story of how an angel with 4 paws, deep brown eyes and blonde hair came into my life. I've never had a dog, wasn't getting a dog, wasn't up for discussion - talk to the hand. My doctor and my therapist both worked me over pretty good - in a kind and methodical way! - that I needed a dog to help me cope with my anxiety, panic disorder and PTSD. I do wear a Medic Alert bracelet - which I did have to use once - but the idea was to try to find a way to grasp onto to something that was calming and reassuring and could be my words for me when I could not use them myself. Being a runner myself it was also a chance for me to have a companion on the trails with me running like the wind together!
Life comes at you fast man.......on Tuesday May 11, 2009 I was not getting a dog. Oh I had explored the idea mostly to placate everyone but frankly, the thought of looking after any creature other than myself was daunting to say the least. A friend of a friend who's daughter was friends with another lady's daughter told my friend that there was about to be a litter of golden retrievers born any day and I needed to get my act together and get one of those puppies. Huh? You're kidding me right? I need a puppy? NOT. But what had led to this point was the fact that I had been dog sitting for my friend's mom off and on and they have the most awesome 10 year old Golden named Scout. It did not go unseen by those that were campaining for me to have a dog that when I was with Scout I was a much calmer and collected human being.
And so on the morning of May 13th, 2009 into the world came 8 puppies. Being that I was the last one to the party I had to wait for 2 other people to pick their choice of the 3 little girls left but I knew which one I wanted the moment I saw them at 48 hours old. She was the littlest girl and the blondest and I just felt in my heart that she was sent from "above" to fall into my life and I needed her as much as she needed me. I was so blessed to have had the chance to have a family raised puppy and because they lived 4 blocks away I was invited and welcomed to come over anytime and visit all of the puppies and the momma and the grandma. I spent so many hours in Laurel's backyard that summer - the puppies would be out on a blanket in the sunshine and I could just be there with them and hold them and feel "love". Some days I just sat there and cried. When the last puppy was chosen I was so lucky to have Esme saved for me. Esme is from the Old French and means "beloved". Laurel guided me thru the new mom stage - first Esme came home for 2 hours at a time, then she came for overnight visits and then finally, one Monday at lunchtime - I took my puppy home. Now, I have never had children so this was my "deer in the headlights" experience of taking home a "baby" that I knew nothing about raising. Laurel very wisely and calmly told me "Michelle, she will tell you what she needs". And so off we went to puppyhood and all the joys and trials that that brings.
Today Esme is almost 2 years old. She goes everywhere with me that we can go and sometimes she has to wait in the car but often times she gets to come into the "dog" friendly stores that we have made a conscience choice to shop at. They know her and love her visits and she is treated like a queen! As a matter of fact when we go to Windsor Plywood it's all about the dog and I am just kinda on the end of the leash - one would think that she had the Visa card and list of things to buy!! She and I have been in obedience classes since she was 12 weeks old and she is now a St. John's Ambulance accredited therapy dog. Sharing her love and comfort is a great gift for both her and I.
Esme follows me everywhere - she lays on the bathmat while I have a shower! and she knows immediately when I am having a bad day or about to crash and burn. She never leaves my side in those moments and has been known to stand between me and someone else when she knows I am struggling.
This precious angel was truly sent especially for me at a time when I was ready for her ( but didn't know it!) and she has been my saviour so many many times. In her eyes, I see pure love. I see the trust that she has in me, the need for her to be my protector and the bond that we have is unbelieveably strong. She came to me as a therapy dog and now I am so blessed to be able to share her amazing gifts with other people who need a moment of pure unconditional deep true love.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Lost and all alone..........
Our new life - my mom, my 2 sisters and I.......my brother had stayed with my dad........ left the only world we knew and moved into the city, to an area that was not the most pleasant, to a life we had never imagined would be ours.
My father had laid down the gauntlet with the ultimatum that if my brother went with his mom and his sisters he would never ever inherit the family farm. My brother was the only son of a man who was the only child so the bloodline ended there. At 8 years old my poor brother was forced to make a decision that most adults could not even dream of making. Sadly, my father was far from a great role model and my brother more or less raised himself. Today my brother is an amazing man.......he married a wonderful girl that he met at high school and they raised a beautiful, intelligent daughter who is now in University.
One important note: My mother had given my father an amazing opportunity - clean up your act, stop drinking, stay sober for a year and we will be back. What a gift - which was thrown out with yesterday's trash. My father not only continued to drink but with wild abandon and created oh so much heartache and headache for those in his life.
My mother's divorce decree nici came thru and although she was granted sole custody of all of her children her lawyer gave her some very very wise advice - leave my brother with my father and allow my brother to come to her on his terms willingly. To force him to move would be disastrous. Weekend visitations arrived.......each of us saw those weekends thru different eyes. I was angry with my father, angry that he was articulate in his disgust for me because in his eyes " I had sided with my mother". I was angry because the first Friday that he picked us up he took us to dinner at the K Motel restaurant and what did he do? He cried. Mortifying to a 15 year old. Ridiculous to a 15 year old who knew that he had brought all of this on himself. Disgust because it was "all about him". Another Saturday morning he took us into town and to visit one of his drinking buddies. So our visit with our dad took place watching him visit with his crony. I was so done with that sideshow.
By then my mother had taken her portion of the divorce settlement and bought a sweet older house up near the hospital. She was into "Flip That House" before HGTV even existed!! She turned it into a delightful house and promptly put it up for sale and moved kitty corner across the street to a bigger house and "Flip That House" started all over again! I loved both of those houses and the joy it brought to my mom to be busy and happy. I spent most weekends on my own as my mom worked part time at a flower show - but I loved being on my own. I baked, I sewed, I puttered.......my siblings were at my dad's and the house was quiet.
But as per usual.......no gentle serene life for us.......no siree........for some reason I think my dad wanted my mom to fail and to fall on her face and come running back to him. This was the beginning of the second perfect storm.
Three things that I remember vividly as if they happened yesterday.........in the days of simpler life all kids walked to school - from kindergarten to Grade 12. My littlest sister walked to and from kindergarten freely but one day.....she did not come home. And oh my God.......the world blew apart. She was with my dad but how she came to be with my dad has so many variations of the "truth". There are many stories but I think the realisitic person would say that a 5 year old did not walk 5 miles from school to my dad's farm. But that was one of the version of events. It was said that she walked out that way and my father saw her and picked her up. Ok....highly unlikely but everyone is entitled their version of events no matter how screwed up they are. The police organized her safe return.
My father also disowned me. He had his will changed. In his mind I had abandoned him. I did not receive birthday cards, Christmas cards .......and the piece d'restance was the year he outfitted all 3 of my siblings with new ski equipment from top to bottom and took then to Lake Louise/Banff to ski. I, on the other hand.....had become invisible. Whether he knew it or not it was my mother that he hurt the most with these actions. I came to expect nothing and then I wasn't surprised. I grew to hate a man who would cast aside his daughter because she didn't give him the "pass" that the rest of the world continually did.
The final blow was a direct hit. Unbeknownst to my dad the fellow who had moved in across the street from us was an RCMP officer. The police contacted my mother and told her that my father had been spotted on numerous occasions parked kitty corner from our house ( we lived on a corner lot) with his car facing our house and had open liquor in the car. A stalker ahead of his time! His last hurrah was to be caught in this position with a loaded shotgun in the car. Now, nothing good can ever come from an inebriated man with a weapon. The police advised my mom that my father's actions were escalating and now would be a very good time to leave the city. Huh, so my dad doesn't get his sorry ass hauled off to jail but we get to put our house up for sale and my mother and my sisters moved 2 provinces away. This was the summer of my graduation ( and what a fiasco that was until my father just announced he would not be attending because he did not have a daughter in Grade 12) and things moved fast. The For Sale sign went up on the house, the moving van came and loaded up and headed west with my mom, her new beau ( my father in carnate) and my 2 sisters - both very upset about moving. The house sold weeks after they left. I stayed with friends because I was working for the summer and then off to University in the fall. The day the moving van left and I said good bye to my family I walked into that empty, sad house where so many hopes and dreams lay shattered amongst the dust and I sank down on the living room carpet and sobbed. I cried for a life that should never have come to this. I cried for a "normal" world that I wanted so badly. I missed my family so much and I knew that my world was forever changed. Well, I thought my world was forever changed - what I did't know is that in about 3 months time it was going to be CHANGED forever. Sad sad times. 17 years old, a father who really hated me and whom I hated just as much, a mother so far away and buried in a brand new mess and I was lost. So very very lost.
My father had laid down the gauntlet with the ultimatum that if my brother went with his mom and his sisters he would never ever inherit the family farm. My brother was the only son of a man who was the only child so the bloodline ended there. At 8 years old my poor brother was forced to make a decision that most adults could not even dream of making. Sadly, my father was far from a great role model and my brother more or less raised himself. Today my brother is an amazing man.......he married a wonderful girl that he met at high school and they raised a beautiful, intelligent daughter who is now in University.
One important note: My mother had given my father an amazing opportunity - clean up your act, stop drinking, stay sober for a year and we will be back. What a gift - which was thrown out with yesterday's trash. My father not only continued to drink but with wild abandon and created oh so much heartache and headache for those in his life.
My mother's divorce decree nici came thru and although she was granted sole custody of all of her children her lawyer gave her some very very wise advice - leave my brother with my father and allow my brother to come to her on his terms willingly. To force him to move would be disastrous. Weekend visitations arrived.......each of us saw those weekends thru different eyes. I was angry with my father, angry that he was articulate in his disgust for me because in his eyes " I had sided with my mother". I was angry because the first Friday that he picked us up he took us to dinner at the K Motel restaurant and what did he do? He cried. Mortifying to a 15 year old. Ridiculous to a 15 year old who knew that he had brought all of this on himself. Disgust because it was "all about him". Another Saturday morning he took us into town and to visit one of his drinking buddies. So our visit with our dad took place watching him visit with his crony. I was so done with that sideshow.
By then my mother had taken her portion of the divorce settlement and bought a sweet older house up near the hospital. She was into "Flip That House" before HGTV even existed!! She turned it into a delightful house and promptly put it up for sale and moved kitty corner across the street to a bigger house and "Flip That House" started all over again! I loved both of those houses and the joy it brought to my mom to be busy and happy. I spent most weekends on my own as my mom worked part time at a flower show - but I loved being on my own. I baked, I sewed, I puttered.......my siblings were at my dad's and the house was quiet.
But as per usual.......no gentle serene life for us.......no siree........for some reason I think my dad wanted my mom to fail and to fall on her face and come running back to him. This was the beginning of the second perfect storm.
Three things that I remember vividly as if they happened yesterday.........in the days of simpler life all kids walked to school - from kindergarten to Grade 12. My littlest sister walked to and from kindergarten freely but one day.....she did not come home. And oh my God.......the world blew apart. She was with my dad but how she came to be with my dad has so many variations of the "truth". There are many stories but I think the realisitic person would say that a 5 year old did not walk 5 miles from school to my dad's farm. But that was one of the version of events. It was said that she walked out that way and my father saw her and picked her up. Ok....highly unlikely but everyone is entitled their version of events no matter how screwed up they are. The police organized her safe return.
My father also disowned me. He had his will changed. In his mind I had abandoned him. I did not receive birthday cards, Christmas cards .......and the piece d'restance was the year he outfitted all 3 of my siblings with new ski equipment from top to bottom and took then to Lake Louise/Banff to ski. I, on the other hand.....had become invisible. Whether he knew it or not it was my mother that he hurt the most with these actions. I came to expect nothing and then I wasn't surprised. I grew to hate a man who would cast aside his daughter because she didn't give him the "pass" that the rest of the world continually did.
The final blow was a direct hit. Unbeknownst to my dad the fellow who had moved in across the street from us was an RCMP officer. The police contacted my mother and told her that my father had been spotted on numerous occasions parked kitty corner from our house ( we lived on a corner lot) with his car facing our house and had open liquor in the car. A stalker ahead of his time! His last hurrah was to be caught in this position with a loaded shotgun in the car. Now, nothing good can ever come from an inebriated man with a weapon. The police advised my mom that my father's actions were escalating and now would be a very good time to leave the city. Huh, so my dad doesn't get his sorry ass hauled off to jail but we get to put our house up for sale and my mother and my sisters moved 2 provinces away. This was the summer of my graduation ( and what a fiasco that was until my father just announced he would not be attending because he did not have a daughter in Grade 12) and things moved fast. The For Sale sign went up on the house, the moving van came and loaded up and headed west with my mom, her new beau ( my father in carnate) and my 2 sisters - both very upset about moving. The house sold weeks after they left. I stayed with friends because I was working for the summer and then off to University in the fall. The day the moving van left and I said good bye to my family I walked into that empty, sad house where so many hopes and dreams lay shattered amongst the dust and I sank down on the living room carpet and sobbed. I cried for a life that should never have come to this. I cried for a "normal" world that I wanted so badly. I missed my family so much and I knew that my world was forever changed. Well, I thought my world was forever changed - what I did't know is that in about 3 months time it was going to be CHANGED forever. Sad sad times. 17 years old, a father who really hated me and whom I hated just as much, a mother so far away and buried in a brand new mess and I was lost. So very very lost.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
The Emporer's New Clothes
Abandoned child syndrome is a behavioral or psychological condition that results from the loss of one or both parents. Abandonment may be physical (the parent is not present in the child's life) or emotional (the parent withholds affection, nurturing, or stimulation).
Here I am in Costco about to heave a 50 pound bag of dog food into my cart when I am struck by a direct hit to the heart by the Abandoment Fairy. Suddenly, I cannot breathe, my heart hurts and feels like it is about to fracture into pieces, the tears are pouring down my cheeks and I feel liked a complete idiot in front of all of these people who are trying so hard not to look at me. I am trapped at the back of the store in the back corner and I cannot bring myself to do anything more than lean against my cart and hope that I can become as invisible as the Emporer's New Clothes.
My friend who is an RCMP officer is on duty so I send her a text - please help me - I am having an all out melt down in Costo. She is my one hope for this moment as my therapist is booked with clients and just cannot jump to my rescue even tho if he could he would. I don't even care if she arrives in her uniform in a marked car - I just want someone to come and get me. She texts me back that she is so tied up that she cannot come to get me but she would phone my therapist. I know she feels badly that she can't come and that adds another layer of "guilt" because I try so hard not to be a "needy" friend. Won't work I text her back. Now I am really lost and on my own. Esme is in the car and if I can just find my way out of the store, past all of the people in the food court, past all of the people in line at customer service, past all of the people waiting to be checked out with their purchases then I can get to Esme and she will help me breathe. Damn you Costco for not allowing my therapy dog to come with me into the store. I get to the car, I sit with Esme, she rests her soft and gentle head on me and I look deep into her beautiful brown eyes into that soul of pure love and slowly I can start to breathe enough to gather myself to drive home and there Esme and I stay for the next 2 days......we go out only for her bathroom breaks. We go to the river once by ourselves for her to swim and for me to sit on the shore and cry. This happened 3 weeks ago today at about 11am. It seems that I will forever be haunted.
What triggered this episode? Well the "perfect storm" that blew in layer by layer for about 4 days. Each layer on its own is manageable but when the layers come one on top of each other I simply cannot hang on and gradually I feel that smothering " I can't breathe" feeling and then when I least expect it - wham, a direct blow to the heart. I want to crawl into the fetal position and just lay down and die but I can't. Life does not afford me that luxury. I have to "fake it 'til I make it" or in this case - get the heck out of the store.
My parents never ever meant for this legacy of lost love to be my consant source of challenge. They parented the best that they could, given the parenting practices of that generation and based on their own childhood experiences with their parents. What happened to their marriage and to the subsequent experiences we 4 children had were not in their master game plan. I do not blame them directly for what I live with on a daily basis. It is what it is.
Children suffer many forms of "abandonment" and often no one actually physically abandons them but rather it is the emotional and pyschological abandonment that can often create the life long battle. In my life, I was "abandoned" on every level........not to sound dramatic but to just be "textbook" about this issue. At 17 years of age the "abandonment" set me up for 20 years of sexual abuse at the hands of a relative. I was very much a young 17 year old.......far from the 17 year olds of today. I was starving for attention and "love" and I became the prey that walked right into the crosshairs of a champion bounty hunter. Once I started the process with the RCMP and they began their direct and forcefull interrogation of this molester information started to be unearthed that has led my police officer, my therapist, my trauma worker and I to all believe that there is a very good chance that my mother knew what was going on but for some reason felt unable to intervene. Abandoment at its most sublest and it hits like a sledge hammer 25 years after the abuse began.
I am unable to share those thoughts because even tho the police recommended a laundry list of charges against this person the Crown Counsel could not follow thru due to a change in the Criminal Code years ago and thus, hands tied, they could not formally charge this person and so, there are "facts", etc. that I have to be very careful about speaking about. But know this - this abuser did actually admit to this abuse in front of my therapist - so we all know that he knows he did it, the police know that he did it (they interrogated him so well that they got him to the point of almost saying THE WORD but they just could not get that word on tape.) Crown knows that he did it but......a change in the Criminal Code saved his sorry ass from being hung out to dry. Sexual abuse cases have no statute of limitations but they are subject to being handled under the Code as it was written at the time of the offense. We have a "legal" system not a "justice" system.
And so yesterday I saw my therapist for the first time since my experience in Costco and I explain the layers that led up to the final trigger that led to the implosion. I cry, he listens, I cry some more and he nods his head. He knows that I can verbalize the feelings and the triggers and that I learned what this heart shattering feeling is. He knows that he has taught me the pyschological underpinnings of this issue. But he also knows that knowing the facts is not the same as feeling the feeling. We talk some more and I leave - completely exhausted and drained from reliving the moments and sharing that hurt and trying to box it up and put it up on the shelf with the other boxes labelled "Abandonment Issues". I walk out into the sunshine and I vow to try to make it a better day. And it was......and it always will be. Time does not heal all wounds but time affords me the luxury of learning how to live with the fallout.
There will be many more "Costco" moments to come - this I know. It is what it is.
From Wikipedia
Here I am in Costco about to heave a 50 pound bag of dog food into my cart when I am struck by a direct hit to the heart by the Abandoment Fairy. Suddenly, I cannot breathe, my heart hurts and feels like it is about to fracture into pieces, the tears are pouring down my cheeks and I feel liked a complete idiot in front of all of these people who are trying so hard not to look at me. I am trapped at the back of the store in the back corner and I cannot bring myself to do anything more than lean against my cart and hope that I can become as invisible as the Emporer's New Clothes.
My friend who is an RCMP officer is on duty so I send her a text - please help me - I am having an all out melt down in Costo. She is my one hope for this moment as my therapist is booked with clients and just cannot jump to my rescue even tho if he could he would. I don't even care if she arrives in her uniform in a marked car - I just want someone to come and get me. She texts me back that she is so tied up that she cannot come to get me but she would phone my therapist. I know she feels badly that she can't come and that adds another layer of "guilt" because I try so hard not to be a "needy" friend. Won't work I text her back. Now I am really lost and on my own. Esme is in the car and if I can just find my way out of the store, past all of the people in the food court, past all of the people in line at customer service, past all of the people waiting to be checked out with their purchases then I can get to Esme and she will help me breathe. Damn you Costco for not allowing my therapy dog to come with me into the store. I get to the car, I sit with Esme, she rests her soft and gentle head on me and I look deep into her beautiful brown eyes into that soul of pure love and slowly I can start to breathe enough to gather myself to drive home and there Esme and I stay for the next 2 days......we go out only for her bathroom breaks. We go to the river once by ourselves for her to swim and for me to sit on the shore and cry. This happened 3 weeks ago today at about 11am. It seems that I will forever be haunted.
What triggered this episode? Well the "perfect storm" that blew in layer by layer for about 4 days. Each layer on its own is manageable but when the layers come one on top of each other I simply cannot hang on and gradually I feel that smothering " I can't breathe" feeling and then when I least expect it - wham, a direct blow to the heart. I want to crawl into the fetal position and just lay down and die but I can't. Life does not afford me that luxury. I have to "fake it 'til I make it" or in this case - get the heck out of the store.
My parents never ever meant for this legacy of lost love to be my consant source of challenge. They parented the best that they could, given the parenting practices of that generation and based on their own childhood experiences with their parents. What happened to their marriage and to the subsequent experiences we 4 children had were not in their master game plan. I do not blame them directly for what I live with on a daily basis. It is what it is.
Children suffer many forms of "abandonment" and often no one actually physically abandons them but rather it is the emotional and pyschological abandonment that can often create the life long battle. In my life, I was "abandoned" on every level........not to sound dramatic but to just be "textbook" about this issue. At 17 years of age the "abandonment" set me up for 20 years of sexual abuse at the hands of a relative. I was very much a young 17 year old.......far from the 17 year olds of today. I was starving for attention and "love" and I became the prey that walked right into the crosshairs of a champion bounty hunter. Once I started the process with the RCMP and they began their direct and forcefull interrogation of this molester information started to be unearthed that has led my police officer, my therapist, my trauma worker and I to all believe that there is a very good chance that my mother knew what was going on but for some reason felt unable to intervene. Abandoment at its most sublest and it hits like a sledge hammer 25 years after the abuse began.
I am unable to share those thoughts because even tho the police recommended a laundry list of charges against this person the Crown Counsel could not follow thru due to a change in the Criminal Code years ago and thus, hands tied, they could not formally charge this person and so, there are "facts", etc. that I have to be very careful about speaking about. But know this - this abuser did actually admit to this abuse in front of my therapist - so we all know that he knows he did it, the police know that he did it (they interrogated him so well that they got him to the point of almost saying THE WORD but they just could not get that word on tape.) Crown knows that he did it but......a change in the Criminal Code saved his sorry ass from being hung out to dry. Sexual abuse cases have no statute of limitations but they are subject to being handled under the Code as it was written at the time of the offense. We have a "legal" system not a "justice" system.
And so yesterday I saw my therapist for the first time since my experience in Costco and I explain the layers that led up to the final trigger that led to the implosion. I cry, he listens, I cry some more and he nods his head. He knows that I can verbalize the feelings and the triggers and that I learned what this heart shattering feeling is. He knows that he has taught me the pyschological underpinnings of this issue. But he also knows that knowing the facts is not the same as feeling the feeling. We talk some more and I leave - completely exhausted and drained from reliving the moments and sharing that hurt and trying to box it up and put it up on the shelf with the other boxes labelled "Abandonment Issues". I walk out into the sunshine and I vow to try to make it a better day. And it was......and it always will be. Time does not heal all wounds but time affords me the luxury of learning how to live with the fallout.
There will be many more "Costco" moments to come - this I know. It is what it is.
Friday, February 4, 2011
One piece at a time
How would I describe the last 4 years of "work" - which therapy is by the way! How would I describe myself then - when I arrived at my first therapy appointment I felt quite confident, quite in control and really, I just needed a few excercises to help me deal with this anxiety thing that had cropped up over the past few months. Surely, some techniques on a hand out would be just the ticket. Apparently not. My therapist has had 30+ years of experience working with all types of clients and he can spot a problem a mile away. He is also wise enough to know that that problem must rise to the surface on its own - one cannot read a book or do some breathing excercises and all will be well. Anxiety is a symptom of something much deeper. So, we chit chatted and for a few weeks danced around the elephant in the room and then........it happened.......I needed to disclose what had happened. He nodded.....wise man that he is he knew that I would find my trust, my time and my safe spot to blurt it out. And with that we started our long road together.
What happened over the course of the first year is that I became this jigsaw puzzle of various pieces of my life. I was a box of loose pieces that needed to be put together in order to be a whole picture. So many many times I felt like my puzzle was coming together and then something would happen and I ended up feeling like my puzzle had been knocked onto the floor and had broken apart yet again. " A million little pieces" is a phrase I wore out I used it so often. Week by week and month by month more of the puzzle would be assembled before it was knocked off the table yet again. I learned how to put that puzzle back together faster each time but still when I was knocked off of the table I felt broken and scattered and a heap of pieces on the floor. There were police interviews, court dates set and cancelled the day before, emails and voice mails left for someone, anyone to tell me what the hell was going on with my file, files sent to Crown Counsel where they entered into the great white abyss known as the gatekeeping committee, files were sent back to the police, more interviewing, more messages left trying to find out why and what to do. An endless stream of your life being paraded in front of people who are trying so hard to help you but the "system" keeps getting in the way.
Many times I sat under the quilt on the couch, shaking, crying, feeling completely abandoned and scared to even breathe. Broken again into a million little pieces laying on the floor and no energy left to try to even pick them up. But piece by piece I have put my puzzle back together and yes, even today those pieces sometimes end up back on the floor but my puzzle stays on the table waiting for the holes to be refilled. Piece by piece I have worked to put together my new life. One piece at a time.
Don't stop picking up your pieces and putting them back together. Sometimes it is one piece a day and sometimes you find all of the blue sky pieces and suddenly you have sky in your puzzle. Don't be afraid if your puzzle falls off the table - just breathe.......and pick it up one piece at a time.
What happened over the course of the first year is that I became this jigsaw puzzle of various pieces of my life. I was a box of loose pieces that needed to be put together in order to be a whole picture. So many many times I felt like my puzzle was coming together and then something would happen and I ended up feeling like my puzzle had been knocked onto the floor and had broken apart yet again. " A million little pieces" is a phrase I wore out I used it so often. Week by week and month by month more of the puzzle would be assembled before it was knocked off the table yet again. I learned how to put that puzzle back together faster each time but still when I was knocked off of the table I felt broken and scattered and a heap of pieces on the floor. There were police interviews, court dates set and cancelled the day before, emails and voice mails left for someone, anyone to tell me what the hell was going on with my file, files sent to Crown Counsel where they entered into the great white abyss known as the gatekeeping committee, files were sent back to the police, more interviewing, more messages left trying to find out why and what to do. An endless stream of your life being paraded in front of people who are trying so hard to help you but the "system" keeps getting in the way.
Many times I sat under the quilt on the couch, shaking, crying, feeling completely abandoned and scared to even breathe. Broken again into a million little pieces laying on the floor and no energy left to try to even pick them up. But piece by piece I have put my puzzle back together and yes, even today those pieces sometimes end up back on the floor but my puzzle stays on the table waiting for the holes to be refilled. Piece by piece I have worked to put together my new life. One piece at a time.
Don't stop picking up your pieces and putting them back together. Sometimes it is one piece a day and sometimes you find all of the blue sky pieces and suddenly you have sky in your puzzle. Don't be afraid if your puzzle falls off the table - just breathe.......and pick it up one piece at a time.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
The Summer of '72
The summer that changed the direction of 6 peoples' lives. I was 14 years old with 2 months of summer fun ahead of me that only a kid can look forward to! It was 1972 - which seems a life time ago and yet seems like yesterday. My youngest sister was 4 years old and had beautiful long blonde hair. From the moment we started summer vacation there seemed to be a huge shift of "normalcy" in our world.
My mother disappeared for the summer. No, she did not go far away - just down the hall to her bedroom where she took to her bed for the summer. At the time it was just understood that she was not feeling well. As the oldest it fell upon me to look after the household, cook, clean, can the fruit that my mother always had in previous summers, make the jams and jellies to be stored along side the quarts and quarts of fruit and look after my 4 year old sister as best I could. My other siblings were 8 and 12 at the time and they just floated along somewhere in between the silent chaos and the turbulent flareups. Our grandparents lived in a house right next door to us on our farm and once a week my grandmother would take me to town so that I could do the grocery shopping. One day my mother called me into the bedroom and handed me some money. Her request - that I take my 4 year old sister and have her long beautiful hair cut. It seems that I had not been able to keep it braided and tidy as my mom had done for all of her girls when we were young. French braids that were so tight they pulled your eyes back to the side of your head! Done every Sunday night after bathtime and then the bottoms undone every morning and rebraided. Once a week the entire braids came out and our heads hurt like crazy! My mother was very upset about having my sister's hair cut - at 14 I didn't understand the deep underlying meaning of this request - now, to me it seems like she knew she was losing a battle with her "illness". The summer went on and soon it was time to go back to school. The fall of Grade 9 - my last year of junior high. One day, off we 3 went to school on the bus and when we came home my Grandmother met us at the door and told us that our mother was in the hospital. According to my Grandmother, my father had come in from outside and been unable to rouse my mother and called an ambulance. Very frightening times for 4 children who really had no idea just what demons were lurking in our home.
Today, I now recognize that my mother was severely depressed. It is my belief that once she saw her children off to school that she attempted suicide. I have no proof of that but having battled depression, anxiety, PTSD and panic disorder myself I see the undeniable symptoms of a woman in deep deep depression. A subject that the medical community did not really understand or talk about 40 years ago. My mother was deemed to have had a nervous breakdown and one day when I was visiting her in the hospital she told me that our doctor had told her that he would not release her from the hospital until she agreed to seperate from my father. She was a patient in the hospital for over 2 weeks. By this time my father was a full fledged member of the Drinking and Driving club and more than once was told by a judge to join AA.
I have another memory of Hallowe'en that year where my mother was not present. I can't recall where she was but I just know that she wasn't home and Hallowe'en costumes and trick or treating were not the happy memories of years prior. I wish I could remember more of this time but it's gone or tucked away somewhere deep inside my head.
The fundamental explosion in our family occured the weekend of Nov 11th. My birthday is Nov 8 and that year I turned 15. It was so obvious that our parents were headed for a seperation and the mood in our home had become very tense and a bit of a battlefield. My father was very drunk that night and had issued the threat that he was going to go downstairs and shoot himself. With that he staggered downstairs to his office where he had some of his hunting rifles. I followed in hot pursuit to try to "talk" to him and ended up wrestling a rifle out of his hands. Now, in hindsight he was probably too drunk to even load the damn thing never mind shoot straight but when you are 15 years old you don't have that kind of foresight. And that night......was the beginning of the formal end to my parents' marriage and our home broke apart. My mother took me with her to see a lawyer - an act that my father never forgot or forgave me for - and in short order had rented a house, spoke to all of our teachers to advise them of what was transpiring and ordered a moving van. The day the moving van arrived we were at school however my father had one last hurrah - he took the keys to the car away from my mother and she and my little sister rode to town with the movers who then took her to a car rental agency where she rented a cute dark blue Volkswagon bug! And thus began our new life - single parent kids in a dual parent society living in a rental home in one of the less than desireable areas and with no money. Happy 15th birthday to me.
My mother disappeared for the summer. No, she did not go far away - just down the hall to her bedroom where she took to her bed for the summer. At the time it was just understood that she was not feeling well. As the oldest it fell upon me to look after the household, cook, clean, can the fruit that my mother always had in previous summers, make the jams and jellies to be stored along side the quarts and quarts of fruit and look after my 4 year old sister as best I could. My other siblings were 8 and 12 at the time and they just floated along somewhere in between the silent chaos and the turbulent flareups. Our grandparents lived in a house right next door to us on our farm and once a week my grandmother would take me to town so that I could do the grocery shopping. One day my mother called me into the bedroom and handed me some money. Her request - that I take my 4 year old sister and have her long beautiful hair cut. It seems that I had not been able to keep it braided and tidy as my mom had done for all of her girls when we were young. French braids that were so tight they pulled your eyes back to the side of your head! Done every Sunday night after bathtime and then the bottoms undone every morning and rebraided. Once a week the entire braids came out and our heads hurt like crazy! My mother was very upset about having my sister's hair cut - at 14 I didn't understand the deep underlying meaning of this request - now, to me it seems like she knew she was losing a battle with her "illness". The summer went on and soon it was time to go back to school. The fall of Grade 9 - my last year of junior high. One day, off we 3 went to school on the bus and when we came home my Grandmother met us at the door and told us that our mother was in the hospital. According to my Grandmother, my father had come in from outside and been unable to rouse my mother and called an ambulance. Very frightening times for 4 children who really had no idea just what demons were lurking in our home.
Today, I now recognize that my mother was severely depressed. It is my belief that once she saw her children off to school that she attempted suicide. I have no proof of that but having battled depression, anxiety, PTSD and panic disorder myself I see the undeniable symptoms of a woman in deep deep depression. A subject that the medical community did not really understand or talk about 40 years ago. My mother was deemed to have had a nervous breakdown and one day when I was visiting her in the hospital she told me that our doctor had told her that he would not release her from the hospital until she agreed to seperate from my father. She was a patient in the hospital for over 2 weeks. By this time my father was a full fledged member of the Drinking and Driving club and more than once was told by a judge to join AA.
I have another memory of Hallowe'en that year where my mother was not present. I can't recall where she was but I just know that she wasn't home and Hallowe'en costumes and trick or treating were not the happy memories of years prior. I wish I could remember more of this time but it's gone or tucked away somewhere deep inside my head.
The fundamental explosion in our family occured the weekend of Nov 11th. My birthday is Nov 8 and that year I turned 15. It was so obvious that our parents were headed for a seperation and the mood in our home had become very tense and a bit of a battlefield. My father was very drunk that night and had issued the threat that he was going to go downstairs and shoot himself. With that he staggered downstairs to his office where he had some of his hunting rifles. I followed in hot pursuit to try to "talk" to him and ended up wrestling a rifle out of his hands. Now, in hindsight he was probably too drunk to even load the damn thing never mind shoot straight but when you are 15 years old you don't have that kind of foresight. And that night......was the beginning of the formal end to my parents' marriage and our home broke apart. My mother took me with her to see a lawyer - an act that my father never forgot or forgave me for - and in short order had rented a house, spoke to all of our teachers to advise them of what was transpiring and ordered a moving van. The day the moving van arrived we were at school however my father had one last hurrah - he took the keys to the car away from my mother and she and my little sister rode to town with the movers who then took her to a car rental agency where she rented a cute dark blue Volkswagon bug! And thus began our new life - single parent kids in a dual parent society living in a rental home in one of the less than desireable areas and with no money. Happy 15th birthday to me.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Esme Meets Mary
It's such a beautiful morning - the sky is clear blue and from my office I can look north to the Golden Ears mountains and they are simply gorgeous with their pure white peaks.
And so I thought today I would share a "pure white" moment that Esme and I had this week. Esme is my Golden Retriever who is my Therapy Dog and I will share with you how she came into my world in a later post but for now suffice it to say that this beautiful creature is an angel in a dog's body.
Monday the 24th of January Esme and I went for our little visit at Langley Gardens which is a congregate care home in Walnut Grove. We visit on the "Care Floor" which is mostly dementia patients.
And so I thought today I would share a "pure white" moment that Esme and I had this week. Esme is my Golden Retriever who is my Therapy Dog and I will share with you how she came into my world in a later post but for now suffice it to say that this beautiful creature is an angel in a dog's body.
Monday the 24th of January Esme and I went for our little visit at Langley Gardens which is a congregate care home in Walnut Grove. We visit on the "Care Floor" which is mostly dementia patients.
When we arrived for our little visit and after Esme had shmoozed her way around the crowd Jayme, the co-ordinator, asked me if we would come and visit a very special person. Her name is Mary and she is blind. She is very sad right now because her husband recently passed away on that floor and she hasn't wanted to come out of her room very much. In her younger days Mary raised Shelties and competed in agility with them. Jayme knocked on the door of her room and quietly asked if Mary would like a visitor. Well, not so much. But then Jayme mentioned that her visitor was a dog - and with that we were welcomed into her room. Her bed is situated so that she has a beautiful view out of a window - that she cannot see. When we came into her room and around the corner where her bed is, there lay, lost among the sheets, a sweet, fragile, tiny woman dressed in the prettiest mint green eyelet nightgown. Esme walked right up to her and put her head on the edge of the bed close enough so that Mary could reach over and pat her. At that moment I witnessed something truly special.......a spark seemed to shine in Mary's eyes and Esme just sat there and loved every moment of being loved on. We chatted a bit about her shelties and she gave me some tips on training Esme. When it was time for us to leave she asked me to be sure to come and visit her again. And we will most certainly do that. We have a very special lady who Esme and I are going to learn many life lessons from.
As we were leaving the floor and Jayme was entering the code to let us into the elevator a pastor/priest walked past us ( not sure which but he had a white collar!) and he asked Jayme rather sternly if that dog should be up here........and Jayme's reply......"absolutely".........
The love of a dog.........is unexplainable but I know this........Esme is a very special dog that was chosen especially for me.......to help me heal and to bring so much love to other people. I have found my "bliss". "To Whom Much Is Given Much Is Expected".
If you feel that you just cannot "do it" one more day or that your hurt is too much to cope with.......I can honestly say" I understand your feelings" and " Hold on tight because there will be a day that you will have a "pure white" moment..........you will have many many of them - this I promise you.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Words can be weapons
" You're just like your father."
My mother's most often used statement to me when she was exasperated with me. Not that I probably didn't exasperate her numerous times! But......these words were spoken in a harsh and critical manner by someone who hated my father. This was not a compliment.
Obstreperous was another word she used often - apparently both my father and I were obstreperous. If you Google this word this is what you find: resisting control or restraint in a difficult manner; unruly. 2. noisy, clamorous, or boisterous. Well, that's food for thought. I was far from noisy, clamorous or boisterous - quite the opposite. And I don't think I ever resisted control because I never had any control, an issue that has caused a whole lot of collateral damage in my life. I kinda think my mom didn't really know the meaning of that word and actually neither did I until 5 minutes ago. My mother knew it was not a complimentary word and it most certainly fit my father's pattern of behaviour but to this day I truly do not understand why she felt that I was like that. I was not an angel. I was strong willed but could be restrained with the LOOK in a heartbeat. And if the LOOK didn't work it was "wait until your father comes home" and that resulted in my father using the belt on my behind. Doubt that he even bothered to ask what I was in trouble for. I feared my father because he yelled constantly, ruled the roost by tone of voice and when he felt the occasion warranted it he used his belt. Needless to say the LOOK worked on me pretty good!
My father had some very wonderful qualities which I did inherit from him. He was strong willed and so am I. Thank God because that is what has saved my life. He was intelligent and very interested in politics and always kept up with the news of the world, an interest that we both share. He was a hard worker and provided well materially for his family. How I wish my mother would have used that phrase in a moment of praise for one of these fine qualities of his.
Words are weapons when used incorrectly, by the wrong people at the wrong time and spoken to the wrong person. To be told that I was exactly like the man that my mother hated was frightening, left me feeling insecure, and completely unloveable. As I write this post the feelings that I had when those words were used are still very vivid and it still hurts terribly. It breaks my heart when I picture a child being spoken to like that. It breaks my heart that it is my heart.
My mother's most often used statement to me when she was exasperated with me. Not that I probably didn't exasperate her numerous times! But......these words were spoken in a harsh and critical manner by someone who hated my father. This was not a compliment.
Obstreperous was another word she used often - apparently both my father and I were obstreperous. If you Google this word this is what you find: resisting control or restraint in a difficult manner; unruly. 2. noisy, clamorous, or boisterous. Well, that's food for thought. I was far from noisy, clamorous or boisterous - quite the opposite. And I don't think I ever resisted control because I never had any control, an issue that has caused a whole lot of collateral damage in my life. I kinda think my mom didn't really know the meaning of that word and actually neither did I until 5 minutes ago. My mother knew it was not a complimentary word and it most certainly fit my father's pattern of behaviour but to this day I truly do not understand why she felt that I was like that. I was not an angel. I was strong willed but could be restrained with the LOOK in a heartbeat. And if the LOOK didn't work it was "wait until your father comes home" and that resulted in my father using the belt on my behind. Doubt that he even bothered to ask what I was in trouble for. I feared my father because he yelled constantly, ruled the roost by tone of voice and when he felt the occasion warranted it he used his belt. Needless to say the LOOK worked on me pretty good!
My father had some very wonderful qualities which I did inherit from him. He was strong willed and so am I. Thank God because that is what has saved my life. He was intelligent and very interested in politics and always kept up with the news of the world, an interest that we both share. He was a hard worker and provided well materially for his family. How I wish my mother would have used that phrase in a moment of praise for one of these fine qualities of his.
Words are weapons when used incorrectly, by the wrong people at the wrong time and spoken to the wrong person. To be told that I was exactly like the man that my mother hated was frightening, left me feeling insecure, and completely unloveable. As I write this post the feelings that I had when those words were used are still very vivid and it still hurts terribly. It breaks my heart when I picture a child being spoken to like that. It breaks my heart that it is my heart.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
The Perfect Victim
Issues......we all have them......some of us are toting more baggage than others and some people just keep leaving their baggage on the side of the road for everyone to trip over.
Full Disclosure: I have never had children so my vision of childrearing would likely have been quite different had I been a mom myself. But......I was a child. So my comments on childrearing are from a child's perspective many years later.
My parents never set out to "ruin" me as a child. In fact, quite the opposite - they parented with the hopes and dreams of every parent. It's just that what they truly wanted for me and how they went about "achieving" that resulted in huge self-esteem issues for me. This lack of self-esteem would later prove to be the subtle and silent invitation to a predator. Abusers seek out and prey on the weakest link. Self esteem can be destroyed with words or the lack of words; actions or reactions.
My father was a very intelligent man and he expected nothing but the best from his children. His idea of praise was " You can do better than that". That was his idea of encouragement. Drive the will of the child to excel. Both my sister and I did very well in school but her marks were always higher than mine. I came to hate report cards and parent/teacher interviews. If I brought home an A in a subject my father would not praise me for that - he would look down at me and tell me that I could do better and I could get an A+. The result was actually two fold - I hated my sister and her honor roll marks and I felt like a failure because I did not achieve what my father expected.
My mother's challenge with me was my weight. I was a chubby child. Actually I was probably more than just chubby. This was a constant battle for my mother and I. It seemed that every discussion about my weight was in front of a group. We never had those lovely delicate mother/daughter moments of close conversations. Nope. In front of a group of visitors one summer afternoon my mother announced to everyone in the room that she had offered me $2 for every pound I lost before school started in the fall. I can still picture that event - in the kitchen, the ladies of our family friends sitting around the table while their children swam in our pool, and I, standing on the top stair of the landing feeling utterly mortified. There were many of these moments. My favourite drama over my weight occurred in Grade 8. I was singing in the chorus of the school operetta ( Gilbert O'Sullivan I think) and all of the girls were asked to wear maxi dresses - which were all the rage that year. I had asked my mother to make me one and the answer I rec'd was " if you lose 20 pounds I will make you a dress". Well, the day that I took home the paper with the instructions as to costuming was priceless. I was getting my maxi dress. Case closed. I win.
Food became an obsession for both my mother and myself. She was constantly telling me what I could not eat and I worked around that by sneaking food and hiding it under my bed. Of course when she missed the food in the freezer ( ice cream) or in the cupboard ( potato chips) she would look at me and I would look back at her and boldly lie right to her face. I did not eat it. To this day, at the age of 52 I have a very hard time eating in front of other people. The graduation dress/weight loss on-going battle was the bane of my Grade 12 year. My mother paid for me to go to Weight Watchers. Coming home with no loss to report was not fun. There were no arguments - just that LOOK. I failed again.
I was a failure at the weight loss and a failure in the eyes of my father with my grades. Might I mention that I always brought home A's and B's. I grew up trying hard to please my parents, I wanted to be the best, I wanted them to love me and I wanted them to be proud of me. Perhaps they were in some way, I don't know. They both died before I could reach the maturity to have these hard discussions.
What I know for sure is this: I was a child who was dying to be loved, to have attention paid to me, to be held and hugged and told "I love you just the way you are", to not be a failure. Living in a tornado of an alcoholic father and a retreative mother who had her hands full just living life herself - I was the perfect victim.
Full Disclosure: I have never had children so my vision of childrearing would likely have been quite different had I been a mom myself. But......I was a child. So my comments on childrearing are from a child's perspective many years later.
My parents never set out to "ruin" me as a child. In fact, quite the opposite - they parented with the hopes and dreams of every parent. It's just that what they truly wanted for me and how they went about "achieving" that resulted in huge self-esteem issues for me. This lack of self-esteem would later prove to be the subtle and silent invitation to a predator. Abusers seek out and prey on the weakest link. Self esteem can be destroyed with words or the lack of words; actions or reactions.
My father was a very intelligent man and he expected nothing but the best from his children. His idea of praise was " You can do better than that". That was his idea of encouragement. Drive the will of the child to excel. Both my sister and I did very well in school but her marks were always higher than mine. I came to hate report cards and parent/teacher interviews. If I brought home an A in a subject my father would not praise me for that - he would look down at me and tell me that I could do better and I could get an A+. The result was actually two fold - I hated my sister and her honor roll marks and I felt like a failure because I did not achieve what my father expected.
My mother's challenge with me was my weight. I was a chubby child. Actually I was probably more than just chubby. This was a constant battle for my mother and I. It seemed that every discussion about my weight was in front of a group. We never had those lovely delicate mother/daughter moments of close conversations. Nope. In front of a group of visitors one summer afternoon my mother announced to everyone in the room that she had offered me $2 for every pound I lost before school started in the fall. I can still picture that event - in the kitchen, the ladies of our family friends sitting around the table while their children swam in our pool, and I, standing on the top stair of the landing feeling utterly mortified. There were many of these moments. My favourite drama over my weight occurred in Grade 8. I was singing in the chorus of the school operetta ( Gilbert O'Sullivan I think) and all of the girls were asked to wear maxi dresses - which were all the rage that year. I had asked my mother to make me one and the answer I rec'd was " if you lose 20 pounds I will make you a dress". Well, the day that I took home the paper with the instructions as to costuming was priceless. I was getting my maxi dress. Case closed. I win.
Food became an obsession for both my mother and myself. She was constantly telling me what I could not eat and I worked around that by sneaking food and hiding it under my bed. Of course when she missed the food in the freezer ( ice cream) or in the cupboard ( potato chips) she would look at me and I would look back at her and boldly lie right to her face. I did not eat it. To this day, at the age of 52 I have a very hard time eating in front of other people. The graduation dress/weight loss on-going battle was the bane of my Grade 12 year. My mother paid for me to go to Weight Watchers. Coming home with no loss to report was not fun. There were no arguments - just that LOOK. I failed again.
I was a failure at the weight loss and a failure in the eyes of my father with my grades. Might I mention that I always brought home A's and B's. I grew up trying hard to please my parents, I wanted to be the best, I wanted them to love me and I wanted them to be proud of me. Perhaps they were in some way, I don't know. They both died before I could reach the maturity to have these hard discussions.
What I know for sure is this: I was a child who was dying to be loved, to have attention paid to me, to be held and hugged and told "I love you just the way you are", to not be a failure. Living in a tornado of an alcoholic father and a retreative mother who had her hands full just living life herself - I was the perfect victim.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Who needs a driver's licence anyway?
Somewhere around the time I was 11 or 12 years old the law was enacted to deal with drinking and driving. My father had 3 things: a sense of entitlement, no common sense and a lot of money. Money that would buy you "friends" to drink with. I remember the Railway Hotel being one of his haunts. He had several - he would go to town for the mail or to haul a load of grain and not come home for hours. Living in a smaller community of around 13,000 people there were people who knew everyone and there were people that everyone knew. My father grew up and went to school there, my grandmother taught school for many years there, my father was a reeve on the rural council and we owned a rather sizeable grain farm not far out of the city. And......the police knew my dad well too! When the drinking and driving law came into effect my father collected several of these infractions. His licence was taken from him at least 3 times that I know of. As he was a farmer he was allowed to drive farm equipment to and from the various fields that he needed to get to but it was my mother that became his personal chauffer. Now, you would think that during these times that he was unlicenced he would curb his drinking....not the case.....this is where his money would help him because his drinking buddies were more than happy to oblige him and drive him around because he paid for their booze as well. So did losing his licence repeatedly stop him from drinking? No, he simply found other ways to get where he needed to go. He would come home very drunk and just itching to get into a fight with someone. He was slightly embarrased that he had to have his friends drive him around and apparently that was everyone's fault but his. He would arrive home mad at my mother because she had refused to take him into town and he was ready to go for the full 10 rounds. My mother retreated to the bedroom. The rest of scattered like rats on a sinking ship. My father was a hunter, as most people on the prairies were. He carried rifles in the gun rack in his truck and he had a rack of guns on the wall in his office in the basement. More than once those rifles were waved around in the midst of his rants. He was going to shoot himself, no, he was going to shoot one of us, no, he was going to shoot himself. Today, I find that almost amusing because he wouldn't even have been sober enough to load the gun never mind aim it and hit something. But to a child of 11 these were very scary moments. No adult was there to protect us from him. More than once the police would phone my mom and tell them that once again they had stopped my dad and taken his licence on the spot. And my mom would go get him. The winters were the worst as being a grain farmer my father had many hours of freedom whereas in the spring and summer he was busy seeding and harvesting. But I do have some beautiful memories of being the early riser and going with my dad to the fields at 5 in the morning. He taught me how to grease the combine (a skill that has proven to be as useful as Grade 7 French) and he would let me drive the big machinery. Eventually it was my job to drive the big grain truck along side the combine as he unloaded on the move. I was thrilled! Between us - neither of us had a driver's licence most of the time!!! I have some happy memories that I cherish and I cling to.
Slowly my parents' marriage was disintegrating but this was in the middle 1970's and single parent homes were rare. The summer when I was 14 was the pivotal point and things were about to get very bad.
Slowly my parents' marriage was disintegrating but this was in the middle 1970's and single parent homes were rare. The summer when I was 14 was the pivotal point and things were about to get very bad.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Close your eyes and breathe
These moments of sheer panic and fear come in tsunami waves. I need to go to bed for the night. I have made the rounds of the house.......I have unplugged every lamp and appliance. I have held my hand on each burner of the stove and on the oven door to make sure that they are cold. I have held my hand on the toaster oven to make sure that it is cold even tho I can see that the outlet is bare of any cords. I go to bed and get under the covers. But......I must get up and make the rounds again in case I have forgotten something. Did I check the coffee pot? I try to turn on each lamp - darkness. I put my hand directly on the burners - cold. I put my hand on the oven door - cold. I put my hand on the toaster oven - cold. Yes, the coffee pot is unplugged and the carafe is cold. Breathe I tell myself. You have done your job. The house is safe and I can go to bed. I repeat this ritual time and time again. Finally, I am so tired that when I go to bed for the last time I will myself to stay in bed and breathe. This happens night after night after night. Some nights I sleep for an hour or two and then get up and make my rounds again. Some nights I sleep on the couch because I have this feeling that if I am in the middle of the house I will be in control of anything that should happen to me or my house in the night. Please, I tell myself, just breathe.......deep breathes......the morning will come. And.......I will start all over again.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
The Early Years - Part 1
This is MY story. My siblings may or may not have the same memories or experiences. There are 4 of us - and none of us have a close relationship with each other. We are 4 individuals bound together by DNA. We are the product of a dysfunctional family and each of us is living our lives the best way that we can. I do not even know where one of my sisters lives - and that is her choice not mine. But life is about choices - sometimes - and sometimes choices seem to have been made for you as you will see in later posts.
I am the eldest child - my father was an only child and my mother had 8 siblings. My early years as a child growing up on a large and prosperous farm were happy years. We lived right next door to our grandparents and we were in and out of their house all day every day.
I don't really remember the CHANGE in our lives, probably because change can be a gradual series of events as opposed to a singular stunning defining moment. What I do remember is my father becoming more and more an angry person and my mother choosing to cope with his anger by retreating. Often times the person who failed to retreat the fastest was left to deal with the fallout. My father's drinking went from social drinking to all day drinking and amazingly he was able to function and run our large farm. He often drove while he was impaired - these were days long before drinking and driving was an offense. Many times he drove home late at night from visiting with family friends with his precious family in the car and he was impaired. It's hard to know whether his anger increased his need for alcohol or his alcohol exposed the angry and bitter soul that he was. I remember being in our large gold colored 4 door car - an Impala I think - when my father sideswiped the power pole at the rear of our property behind the house. He hit the power pole on the passenger side - my side. I have no idea why he was driving the car at that time or why he was driving there or even why I was in the car. I do however remember my mother being extremely angry with him that I was in the car but as soon as my father raised his voice to her she retreated to the house. My mother has stated many times that she felt that if she left the scene my father would have no one to argue with and would cease. Wrong. My father simply railed against the person that was not lucky enough to leave in time.
I am the eldest child - my father was an only child and my mother had 8 siblings. My early years as a child growing up on a large and prosperous farm were happy years. We lived right next door to our grandparents and we were in and out of their house all day every day.
I don't really remember the CHANGE in our lives, probably because change can be a gradual series of events as opposed to a singular stunning defining moment. What I do remember is my father becoming more and more an angry person and my mother choosing to cope with his anger by retreating. Often times the person who failed to retreat the fastest was left to deal with the fallout. My father's drinking went from social drinking to all day drinking and amazingly he was able to function and run our large farm. He often drove while he was impaired - these were days long before drinking and driving was an offense. Many times he drove home late at night from visiting with family friends with his precious family in the car and he was impaired. It's hard to know whether his anger increased his need for alcohol or his alcohol exposed the angry and bitter soul that he was. I remember being in our large gold colored 4 door car - an Impala I think - when my father sideswiped the power pole at the rear of our property behind the house. He hit the power pole on the passenger side - my side. I have no idea why he was driving the car at that time or why he was driving there or even why I was in the car. I do however remember my mother being extremely angry with him that I was in the car but as soon as my father raised his voice to her she retreated to the house. My mother has stated many times that she felt that if she left the scene my father would have no one to argue with and would cease. Wrong. My father simply railed against the person that was not lucky enough to leave in time.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Breathe........just breathe........
"Just breathe, breathe, breathe" I tell myself repeatedly. You can do this. Be strong. You must "suck it up Buttercup" and leave your home to get to my client's apt. " I can do this", "No I can't", "Yes you can".......this is a constant dialogue in my head that I live with every day all day.
How did I get here? How did this happen to me? Will it ever end?
How did I get here? How did this happen to me? Will it ever end?
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