I'm currently trying to put my tale of abuse and lies into a story that others would want to read. Currently my method of coping is crying. I'd like to find another method of dealing. Perhaps sharing, writing, finding peace would be more productive?
I think so.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
And so, I wait with breath that is bated...
I went to bed lastnight, with my only requirement for today, my day off, to write something. I awoke at 6 am to do just that, write. I have had alot in my head but haven't put it to paper (screen) in over a month.
I do apologize for my absence from your life, I'm sure you have been devastated. I have certainly felt devastated in my own rite, having nothing to write about except how I quit smoking, got sick, got sicker, and wanted to die and then how after I was healed up from the sickness, I started getting depressed. I started a new job a month ago and aside from the ass wipe I spent 3 weeks working next to, it's a great job. Last week I finally just told him exactly how it was going to be, he was going to stop treating me like an idiot, I was going to start threatening him when he did so, and his mouth was going to be glued shut. He gives me the "whats the big problem" eyes. The problem is, DUDE, that you messed with the wrong girl with brains that are oozing out of my eye sockets. The problem is after 34 years of letting everyone else just get away with being crappy human beings while I'm over here minding my own business and living my life, you'd be hard pressed to get away with it now. And PS, he got fired anyways for not doing his job. My guess is if he'd stop sucking his own pee pee and do work, he might not keep getting fired from every job he holds.
When I was 5, someone messed with me but I didn't stand up for myself or even tell anyone. Luckily, 5 year old girls need assistance going to the bathroom, and some angel found out on her own and saved me.
Only a handful of people know the intimate details of that time period, and they only know so much because the memories have been coming back to me for about 14 years now, little tiny pieces at a time. Five years can go by before something else comes back to me. I don't remember alot because I thought it was normal and little kids tend to not hold on to things that are normal. They only remember that time you threw a soda at the wall during PMS. Or the time you pooped your pants or had a baby poop in your face. Those things they know are out of the ordinary and they hold on to those things.
Of the handful of people that do know, only 2 really believe me and only 1 can actually imagine the horror and forgives me when I sit straight up in bed screaming.
I used to ask for answers, and get a very closed up book. I finally stopped asking because having to soothe the person that caused these events became very annoying to me. Imagine, apologizing to someone for something that they caused to happen to you? Yes. It pissed me off. I realized that some people are meant to have evil inside and these people will carry their secrets and answers to the grave with them.
Fine.
I realized I could ask other people for these answers. Imagine my delight in this revelation! Or, better yet, duh. A year ago, I sent off a signed affadavit to the great state of Texas requesting my child protective services file. Turns out, I'm the only person legally entitled to have these documents, no questions asked, no fees required. I get to just have them.
For the first few months, I checked my mailbox with excitement, hoping and praying. I sent out emails to every safe house for children in the area I knew we had lived. I received replies from them all, apologizing that they could not find me in their system. I cried many tears at the graciousness of strangers who had to trek to the basement to find files from 1982. I still hope that I can find the home I stayed in though it is unlikely to find the actual people who cared for me. I just need to know where I stayed. I remember the sun setting one evening. I need to know where it was. I need to know the place where angels live and take care of little kids who are scared and don't get mad at them for needing to wear a diaper and drink from a bottle. I need to see this place again before I die.
I gave up the waiting game after about 6 months, figuring that I had the wrong county and would need to resubmit to another county. I had to learn to live with the fact that no one was going to tell me. No one was going to paint the rest of the picture for me and that sometimes, life's just unfair like that. I've had to find a peace in that, the not knowing. I had to learn to sleep at night, questioning. It's not an easy game I tell you. But I think I did pretty well with learning how and just coping.
Then 2 weeks ago, a full year later, I get a letter from the state of Texas informing me that they have found my case and are processing the request and need to verify the address it is to go to and did I even still want the records. I dropped the reply back in the mail the same day and I wait. I wait and I try not to relive those moments. I push the thoughts out of my head. I wiggle with anticipation at just what I might find. So many lies were told to me, what if what I've thought is true is a lie as well? Lies told to others. I've spent 29 years having to pretend nothing happened so others could look in the mirror, so others could sleep at night. I've spent 29 years crying at MY reality, and now, someone is about to bust my world wide open and make it real for me. So I'll keep waiting, I've waited my entire life, what's a few more weeks?
I do apologize for my absence from your life, I'm sure you have been devastated. I have certainly felt devastated in my own rite, having nothing to write about except how I quit smoking, got sick, got sicker, and wanted to die and then how after I was healed up from the sickness, I started getting depressed. I started a new job a month ago and aside from the ass wipe I spent 3 weeks working next to, it's a great job. Last week I finally just told him exactly how it was going to be, he was going to stop treating me like an idiot, I was going to start threatening him when he did so, and his mouth was going to be glued shut. He gives me the "whats the big problem" eyes. The problem is, DUDE, that you messed with the wrong girl with brains that are oozing out of my eye sockets. The problem is after 34 years of letting everyone else just get away with being crappy human beings while I'm over here minding my own business and living my life, you'd be hard pressed to get away with it now. And PS, he got fired anyways for not doing his job. My guess is if he'd stop sucking his own pee pee and do work, he might not keep getting fired from every job he holds.
When I was 5, someone messed with me but I didn't stand up for myself or even tell anyone. Luckily, 5 year old girls need assistance going to the bathroom, and some angel found out on her own and saved me.
Only a handful of people know the intimate details of that time period, and they only know so much because the memories have been coming back to me for about 14 years now, little tiny pieces at a time. Five years can go by before something else comes back to me. I don't remember alot because I thought it was normal and little kids tend to not hold on to things that are normal. They only remember that time you threw a soda at the wall during PMS. Or the time you pooped your pants or had a baby poop in your face. Those things they know are out of the ordinary and they hold on to those things.
Of the handful of people that do know, only 2 really believe me and only 1 can actually imagine the horror and forgives me when I sit straight up in bed screaming.
I used to ask for answers, and get a very closed up book. I finally stopped asking because having to soothe the person that caused these events became very annoying to me. Imagine, apologizing to someone for something that they caused to happen to you? Yes. It pissed me off. I realized that some people are meant to have evil inside and these people will carry their secrets and answers to the grave with them.
Fine.
I realized I could ask other people for these answers. Imagine my delight in this revelation! Or, better yet, duh. A year ago, I sent off a signed affadavit to the great state of Texas requesting my child protective services file. Turns out, I'm the only person legally entitled to have these documents, no questions asked, no fees required. I get to just have them.
For the first few months, I checked my mailbox with excitement, hoping and praying. I sent out emails to every safe house for children in the area I knew we had lived. I received replies from them all, apologizing that they could not find me in their system. I cried many tears at the graciousness of strangers who had to trek to the basement to find files from 1982. I still hope that I can find the home I stayed in though it is unlikely to find the actual people who cared for me. I just need to know where I stayed. I remember the sun setting one evening. I need to know where it was. I need to know the place where angels live and take care of little kids who are scared and don't get mad at them for needing to wear a diaper and drink from a bottle. I need to see this place again before I die.
I gave up the waiting game after about 6 months, figuring that I had the wrong county and would need to resubmit to another county. I had to learn to live with the fact that no one was going to tell me. No one was going to paint the rest of the picture for me and that sometimes, life's just unfair like that. I've had to find a peace in that, the not knowing. I had to learn to sleep at night, questioning. It's not an easy game I tell you. But I think I did pretty well with learning how and just coping.
Then 2 weeks ago, a full year later, I get a letter from the state of Texas informing me that they have found my case and are processing the request and need to verify the address it is to go to and did I even still want the records. I dropped the reply back in the mail the same day and I wait. I wait and I try not to relive those moments. I push the thoughts out of my head. I wiggle with anticipation at just what I might find. So many lies were told to me, what if what I've thought is true is a lie as well? Lies told to others. I've spent 29 years having to pretend nothing happened so others could look in the mirror, so others could sleep at night. I've spent 29 years crying at MY reality, and now, someone is about to bust my world wide open and make it real for me. So I'll keep waiting, I've waited my entire life, what's a few more weeks?
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