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Influenced by Robe....A Past I'd Rather Forget *New Chunk #2 FINALLY Added!!!*

Posted by on Apr. 26, 2012 at 4:01 PM
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3 moms liked this

So taking a cue from Robe, I decided I’d like to share my own personal story with all of you. This isn’t a ploy to get attention or exploit myself. Much like Steph, this is way for me to hopefully let go of some old demons by talking about events in my past that I’ve only shared with two other people throughout my entire life, my best friend of 14 years and my SO Chris

I’ve never been one for talking about my past. It took me a long time to even be able to share the most painful moments of the last 30 years with my SO and I trust him more than anyone else in my life.

I don’t want this to turn into an epically long saga so I decided to just touch on specific events rather than a complete detailing of certain years of my life. My current schedule just doesn’t allow me that kind of time and I don’t want to keep any of you who are actually interested in my story waiting for days for an update so by the time so everything I want to share has already been written. I'll post a big chunk every day for the next few days (except the weekend since I don't have a comp at home) and hopefully some of you will read it. Here goes....


I wish I could say that I remember huge chunks of my childhood in vivid detail but sadly I’ve been cursed with a terrible memory so all I have are bits and pieces of the first 12 years of my life starting at the age of 5. Everything before that is completely gone.

My childhood started out with promise. I was born into an upper middle class family living in the suburbs. Everything I needed and wanted was at my disposal. I never wanted for anything. Life stayed that way through most of my childhood although the fairy tale life I thought I lived with my parents and older sister was just a façade that I didn’t discover until I was 5. That was when the fighting started.

Everything about life had been perfect. We lived in a big house with a pool in the backyard and almost an acre of land to run around on. I had all the latest and greatest toys and a huge collection of stuffed animals. My parents lavished attention on me. I was their baby girl. Then one day, everything changed.

My Mom’s parents had come to live with us. I remember walking into the house after playing outside with my grandfather most of that morning. When she heard me open the door, my grandma, with a look of worry and panic on her face, shuffled me into the living room and put cartoons on for me. I could hear yelling coming from my parent’s room. It got louder and louder until my Dad suddenly threw open the bedroom door and stormed out. Rolls of socks whizzed past his head as he walked right past me without saying a word and walked out the front door. I have no idea why my mom chose to throw socks at him but that’s something that I don’t think I’ll ever forget. I remember asking my grandma what was going on and she just put her arm around me and said not to worry about it. My Dad didn’t come home that night.

This became the usual routine for months. Everything would be fine for a few days and then there would be another screaming match, my dad would take off and 9 times out of 10 wouldn’t come home until the next day. It wasn’t until years that I found out what the fights were about. My mom had suspected my dad of cheating and when she would confront him about it, he would get hostile and the screaming would start.

When I was 6, my mom had finally had enough (she kept trying to get him to admit to the infidelity she was sure he was committing and he wouldn’t) so she took me and my older sister and moved us up to Canada to live with her sister and brother-in-law. She enrolled me in kindergarten there and my sister in elementary school (she’s 9 years older than me) because she hadn’t intended on going back to my dad. Then after about a month, they started talking. After another two months of talking almost every day, he convinced her to come home.

When we got there, we were startled to learn that in a rage, after thinking we were never coming back, my dad had taken everything my mom and I had left behind and burned it. I don’t know why he didn’t touch any of my sister’s things but all my toys and stuffed animals were gone and I was heartbroken. To this day I don’t understand how my dad could have done something like that. He did replace all my toys and stuffed animals with new ones but I was always haunted by what had happened to my original treasures that had meant so much to me. There were some things I’d had since I was born that could not be replaced. I don’t even know what possessed my mom to not leave again but she didn’t. She forgave him and they tried to move on.

Things improved for a time but as the years passed by, my mom just couldn’t put her suspicions of infidelity behind her. The fighting started up again when I was 12. The nights my mom drank were the worst. She would get drunk and belligerent and antagonize my dad to the point that he would start screaming at her to leave him alone. Sometimes she would just say fuck you and go cool off in another room but there were also times when the fighting would escalate to the point she would try to attack him. My dad would just grab his keys and go driving around until I called him to let him know mom had passed out and it was safe to come back. Other times when my mom wasn’t drinking and there was a fight, she would leave and go stay at a hotel or with my sister for the night. Sometimes I would go with her but most of the time I chose to stay at home .

My life was very turbulent. I had feuding parents, a sister who all but ignored me and a school full of kids who did nothing but bully me and make me hate myself. I completely withdrew. I tried to be invisible at school. I wouldn’t even talk to the few kids who were nice to me because I thought it was just out of pity. I was convinced no one really liked me. I was constantly made fun of for being short , shy and overweight. Kids especially teenagers, can be so cruel.

I remember one incident in 8th grade when I was 13 when a bunch of the popular girls in my class thought it would be funny to gang up with one of the cutest boys in our class to trick me into thinking he liked me. The second I worked up the courage to try and talk to him, he just laughed at me and walked away. I was heartbroken and from that point on, I always had a hard time talking to guys. The fear of being rejected and laughed at still hasn’t left me to this day.

It was extremely hard going from all the problems I had at school to all the problems I had at home. My parents were so wrapped up in their own bullshit that they didn’t even notice how not okay I was. The fighting became more and more intense. I became more and more withdrawn, depressed and suicidal.

It would be another few years before my first actual attempt but I thought about it all the time. I honestly felt like death might be a better option than to continue living the life I had but I was a total coward at that point so all I did was think about it.

Then one night, all hell broke loose. I was 14 and it was a balmy night just a few weeks before summer break started. We’d had a cook out that night and both of my parents had been drinking but not heavily. We settled in for the night around 9:00. My parents were watching TV in their room and I was on my computer in my bedroom. As it happened, our rooms were right next to each other. I thought I was in for a peaceful night but just as I started getting comfortable, I heard my mom start to raise her voice to my dad. I kept hoping it was just a spat and that it would be over quickly but instead, the yelling got louder and louder. Then I heard my dad grunt and my mom scream. Without thinking twice, I ran out of my room and into theirs. My mom lying on the floor halfway inside her closet and my dad’s nose was bleeding. I was so angry at seeing my mom like that I screamed at the top of my lungs at my dad demanding to know why the fuck he did that to her. He said she attacked him and he defended himself.  Even if she did attack him first, there was really no need for my dad to shove her down the way he did. My mom is 5’2 and weighed about 120lbs back then where as my dad is almost 6 feet tall and has always been right around 300lbs!

My dad trying to defend his actions just pissed my mom off even more. She got up and tried to get in his face again but he just walked out of the room. She followed him into the kitchen and became even more enraged when he refused to talk to her. She tried to jump on his back and he just flung her off. She landed on her knees in the hallway between the foyer and the kitchen, taking the key shaped key ring holder off the wall with her.

I don’t know what possessed my mom to do what she did next but she just completely snapped, grabbed the key ring holder and started violently hitting herself in the head with it. I remember thinking she had gone off the deep end psychologically and I didn’t want her to hurt herself so I managed to wrestle the thing away from her.

When my Dad tried to cross her path to go back down the hallway, she went at him again and actually brought him down to the ground. They were rolling around on the floor trying to take swings at each other. My dad’s nose started to bleed again. I’d had enough. I grabbed the cordless phone from the kitchen, ran into the other room where they couldn’t hear me, and dialed 9-1-1. The dispatcher made me stay on the phone with her until the first squad car pulled up. My parents didn’t even know I’d made the call until I opened to door to let the police in.

They pulled my mom off my dad, sat her in the kitchen and sat my dad in the dining room where they couldn’t even see each other and while they were each being questioned, I was taken into my dad’s office down the hall where one of the officers questioned me. I remember him asking me if that kind of fighting happened a lot. I said no usually it was just a lot of yellng. He asked me if I could drive and I said no I’m only 14. He asked me if I had somewhere I could go because my parents would most likely be taken into custody and have to take a trip to the police station.

I started crying and explained that I didn’t know any of the neighbors well enough, I didn’t have any friends I could stay with and my older sister didn’t have a car to come pick me up. I had absolutely no one that could help me.

The officer felt bad for me and after talking to one of the other officers, he told me to gather up any belongings that I would need for an overnight stay and that he would take me to my sister’s house. I gave them her phone number so they could alert her to the situation and tell her I was coming. I remember being scared riding in the back of the squad car but relieved at the same time to be getting away from the home that had become hell. I had no idea what was happening to my parents but at that moment, I didn’t care. I just wanted to be somewhere else.

The officer was so kind to me. He said he understood that I was sad and probably really mad at my parents for getting so out of control in front of me. He said not to worry and that they would be okay. I told him they would probably be getting a divorce after that and he just told me to stay strong no matter what happened.

My sister was waiting outside when we pulled up to her house. She thanked the officer for all his help and brought me inside. It was nearing midnight. She told me she would call my school in the morning and tell them I was sick so I could try to get a good night’s sleep. She gave me some food and a glass of kool-aid before making up the couch for me. I fell asleep easier than I thought I would but at around 3:00am, I heard my sister shuffle through the living room and open the front door. I hear the all too familiar sound of my mom’s voice. I didn’t really want to see her so I just closed my eyes and fell back asleep.......

Cont'd In Replies...........


by on Apr. 26, 2012 at 4:01 PM
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by on Apr. 26, 2012 at 4:02 PM

I found out the next day that both my mom and dad had been arrested for domestic violence. My mom had to be taken to the hospital before she was booked because she'd torn a gash into her head with the key ring holder that needed 6 staples to close. We spent the whole next day at my sister's house but returned home that night. It was awkward to say the least. 

Neither of them got upset with me for calling 9-1-1 but they didn't speak a word to each other for almost a week. I kept bracing myself for the day I would come home from school and they'd sit me down to give me the divorce talk but that day never came. Somehow they managed to stay together but it didn't stop the fighting.

Six months later, they got into another heated argument when in a drunken stupor; my mom started questioning my dad about his affair. She lost it when he actually told her who he had been with and for how long. She was a girl they had hired at one of the health clubs they owned back then. She was 18 at the time and my dad was in his early 40's. Every time he didn't come at night, he'd been with her. Hundreds of dollars my mom couldn't account for had been spent on her.

 My mom lost it. She tried attacking my dad again only this time his temper had flared even more and instead of just trying to shove her out his way, he picked her up nearly over his head and slammed her down into the linoleum tile floor of our family room. I'll never forget the way she shrieked out in pain the moment her body made contact with the ground. The impact and the way she landed tore the meniscus in her left knee. She would eventually need surgery but to this day she still has repeated flare ups that can at times be crippling.

After that the fighting stopped but life didn't get any easier for me. I was miserable. I'd been forced to go to an all girls catholic high school and I hated everything about it. Most of the girls were stuck up bitches that made fun of me for not being the well dressed, in shape socialites they were. They made my life a living hell. They made me feel like I was nothing. I tried not to let the constant taunting get to me but even once I made some friends, nothing changed. The other girls just started spreading rumors that we were all dykes and had orgies on the weekends.

By the middle of my junior year, I was failing half my classes and spent most of my time alone. Even when I did spend time with the few friends I had, I faked being happy. On the inside, I was dying. I wanted so badly to be accepted and have even just one boy notice me. I went to one dance at my school my sophomore year. I had hoped all night that someone would ask me to dance. Students from the all boys school on the other side of town were always invited to our dances. I never got asked to dance.

My parents were completely oblivious to how depressed and lonely I really was. I would try to reach out to them but they never took my pain seriously. From the time I was 11 until I was 18, my mother tried tirelessly to get me to lose weight. She put me on every fad diet, shoved every kind of pill she could down my throat, limited what I was allowed to eat and forced me to exercise constantly. All too often I would hear her say "You are so pretty the way you are but if you lost all the weight, you'd be a knockout." She never knew how much those words hurt me. I would never say something like that to my DD even if she did grow up to be overweight. She'll always be gorgeous to me and that's how I think every mother should see her daughter. I think that's one of main reasons I developed such a hate for own body.

After being on academic probation through almost half of my junior year, I got kicked out and my parents sent me to finish out the rest of my high school career at a co-ed public school not far from where we lived. I was terrified. I'd be finishing high school with boys. I prepared myself to be tortured mercilessly for how I looked. I was short, fat, shy and wore glasses. I had no hope.

Surprisingly, most of my classmates either didn't know I even existed or didn't care enough to bother me. It was a relief but at the same time, I was still deeply depressed and hid it from everyone. That was the year I discovered self mutilation. I can't say I was into it hardcore because I've seen a lot worse than I ever was but I still made myself bleed on a semi-regular basis.

Through the rest of that year, I only have one fond memory of school. I wound up with a terrible headache just before my last class of the day.  My teacher could see how much pain I was in so she asked one of her students from her previous class who was still in the room to walk me to the nurse's office.  I expected him to roll his eyes and act bothered by the request but he didn't.

He was a tall red headed boy with a sweet face. As we walked out of the room, he asked me if I was okay. I told him I had a splitting headache and I wished I could go home. He abruptly stopped walking and grabbed my shoulder. He offered to carry my backpack for me since we had 3 flights of stairs to walk up. I tried so hard not to cry. It sounds stupid but up until then it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me.

We saw each other in the halls from time to time and he would smile and nod when he saw me but I was still so painfully shy that I never worked up the courage to talk to him. After a mind numbingly boring summer, I dreaded the start of my senior year but I was excited to be nearing the end of high school. I didn't think my senior year would be much better than my junior year but surprisingly enough, it turned out to be the best year of school I ever had even though it was still no fairy tale.

I remember walking into my first class my first day of senior year prepared to be the same invisible girl I had been the year before until I saw a very familiar head of red hair.....





by on Apr. 26, 2012 at 4:23 PM
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by on Apr. 26, 2012 at 4:48 PM
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by on Apr. 26, 2012 at 5:09 PM


by Hannah on Apr. 26, 2012 at 5:18 PM
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by on Apr. 26, 2012 at 5:23 PM
Wow .... you're so brave!
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by on Apr. 26, 2012 at 5:24 PM


by on Apr. 26, 2012 at 5:26 PM
1 mom liked this
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by on Apr. 26, 2012 at 5:27 PM
Bump for later. <3
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by on Apr. 26, 2012 at 5:37 PM
1 mom liked this
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