This isn't a blog for anyone to know or care about. I'm just sorting out some things and wanted to post my own personal memories of my wonderful childhood. These are in no particular order. They may not even contain proper grammar! Let's get to it. I'm putting the worst of the worst up front and center. I think this might help having it and seeing it in writing, maybe to sort through my anger.
-I remember that dank little trailor we had in the Bayou, right next to my elementary school. We had gotten a new one after Hurricane Fredrick ripped our previous one to shreds on the runway of Roy E Ray Airport. I can still picture the awful orange carpet and that cream colored velvet couch that had an ugly flower print on it. As you enter the doorway, the kitchen was to the right, then a small bar separated the living room. On the bar sat Mother's basket of sewing needles and thread that she still has to this day. Next was Travis' recliner, it was a woven material of yellow and brown. The material I remember was very rough to the touch. To the left was Mother's recliner. It was cream and brown, made from that same woven material. In between the two sat an end table with a lamp and some magazines.
I remember Travis calling me over to him one day while Mother was at the grocery. I came up to his left side of his recliner where he sat. I must have been between 4-7 years old. (They were divorced when I was around 7). He didn't say much, it was his actions that spoke the loudest. He reached down my shorts and underwear and began touching me. I noticed he was rubbing himself with his free hand. I'm not certain how long this continued before he grabbed me and put me in his lap, with his pants still on. He then started rocking me back and forth so as to grind my private area against his. After sometime of this, he momentarily stopped and unbuckled his belt (the leather one with the pastel colors imprinted on it that he used to beat me with). Next he unzipped his pants and pulled his penis out of his boxer shorts. He then began rubbing my privates again and then began rocking me back and forth on his penis until, well, you know what usually happens at the end. When it was done, he told me never mention this to my Mother or she would be mad at both of us and leave us both. I didn't quite know what happened but I knew I didn't want her to leave. I'm not sure how often this continued to happen, but know it did, it became a normal occurrence for us. I trusted him and thought it was just part of being a child. I can remember the burning I would feel around my vagina when soap would contact that area during baths or showers. I only later in life realized that it must have been from that delicate skin being ripped or torn from the rough interactions.
Travis and Mother divorced around the time I was 7. I never quite put it all together about what had happened until I figured out exactly what sex was around the age of 13. I became so upset and distraught about it. I can remember finally getting the courage to bring it up to Mother one day riding in that 1986 two-toned blue Chevrolet Chevette. It was just us two in the car. We must have been going shopping. I finally stuttered around to telling her what had happened. I'll never forget her exact words were: but Alice, you were too young for something like that to happen. That couldn't have happened. Why are you lying to me? And so began my mega-rebellion against the world. I so often wonder why me? Why didn't she just believe me? She still doesn't to this day. Why would a 40 year old still have a reason to lie about it? There's nothing to gain.
I have written so many unsent letters to him over the years. Sometimes it just feels good to write it out on paper. His address was always on a public forum as a pilot. I knew he would deny it, I'm sure of it. I never could find a way to forgive him for it, as I've seen suggested on many talk shows discussing the subject over the years. My letters would be full of hate and anger. I basically blamed him for everything that has gone wrong in my life over the years. Why would an adult do this to such an innocent and naïve child? I didn't deserve it. Hell, no one does. I have actually dialed his number to call him but would lose the nerve and desire to face an argument or hang up once I confronted him with his pedophilia. How could he ever admit that to anyone? I basically would lose the battle before it ever started. I realize now that action would not have been beneficial for me, and I'm the only important person in that equation. So, here I am, can't forgive or forget it. It's made me who I am today. I can't think of anything "good" that has come from being molested as a child. I have always prayed that he never did it to anyone else. He's been married probably 15 or 20 times by now. Luckily, he lives in the next state over, several hours away.
And so began my wonderful jumpstart into this great world! I became rebellious and hateful to my Mother and her new husband. She denies that I ever brought it up to her then. I also brought it up to her again when I was 19 or 20. Now, at 37, she says I've only in the past few years mentioned it to her. Whatever makes you feel good, Mother. She always said I was her "Angel" and I saved her from doing so many terrible things in her life. Who and where the hell was or is my Angel? I guess I can suffer so that others can live beautifully. I'll take your burdens and blames. I so deserved to have the wholly shit beat out of me in my teenage years, so much so that I fought back like a rabid animal. I finally ran away from home during one of my many ass beatings. Then began my journey into the Youth Center. Funny, to be such an awful heathern of a child, I never had any charges, faced a judge, or actually was sentenced to any "time" there. I was always shucked over to the family crisis center. The youth center became my Mother's new babysitter. Before it, I had been left at home alone so often from the age of seven. At some point, the neighbors in an apartment complex called DHR on my mother. Scary at the time, but funny now, considering she thinks of herself as mother of the fucking year. She still denies ever having any part of anything negative in my childhood. It was all me. So, I ended up getting beat to a pulp and then kicked out of her house at 16. Not long after that I found myself in St.Mary's Children's Home for a short time. I was married at 17. I finished high school, enrolled myself into college and continued on to earn a Bachelor's degree by the time I was 22. I always say I did all of that in spite of my Mother's influence, not because of it. Only recently did my father tell me that several times throughout my school years, the schools tried to move me up several grades. He says Mother didn't and wouldn't allow it. He also said that I tested on a genius level. Crazy. I had no idea. I knew I always finished all of my assignments and tests before everyone else. I also knew I didn't have to study as much as they did to make all A's. I find myself wondering what might or could have been if I'd had a supportive mother and a regular childhood. What might I have become? I have a good job now that I love, but can barely support myself and my husband that recently was diagnosed with a chronic illness. I wish I could make so much more money to make things easier for us.
Here I am in my most stressful moments of life without a supportive Mother. She's so evil. I hate the head games she plays. I've always been pulled into just either giving in to her games or just going into a verbal battle with her. I just need a tender, loving and encouraging Mother for support right now. So, that's enough of my fabulous and wonderful life for one post.
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