Fishin’ in the Dark

It was the summer before I graduated high school.  I was sixteen.  We lived in the middle of no where, around the corner from my best friend.  We lived in this old a-frame farm house without central air or heat.  We sweated like pigs in the summer and froze during the winter.  We survived by squeaking by using window unit air conditioners and space heaters.

Jack A, for whatever reason, got it stuck in his craw that we had to go fishing every day that the sun was shining that summer.  There were some days that it wasn’t and he went anyway.  It was an obsession for him.  He wasn’t working or contributing to the home financially.  It was all about fishing.

Fishing, fishing, fishing, and fishing.

Needless to say, I got sick of it.  Totally and completely sick of it.  I was able to convince my mother and Jack A to leave my sister and I at the house.  It was in the afternoon.  My mother had gotten off work and they took off to go fishing.

I started to not feel well.  It got to the point that the feeling was more than uncomfortable.  I had no idea what was wrong.  I felt like someone was stabbing me in the ribs whenever I took a breath in.  The more time that passed, the more intense the pain got.  I started crying due to the pain that I was in.  Suzie started to cry because she was scared for me and my parents were no where to be found to make it better.  Not that they ever made anything better.

I laid down on the couch with Suzie patting my head.  She was being very sweet to me.  She was genuinely worried about and for me.  She kept telling me to call them but I couldn’t.  This was before the cell phone craze and even if it wasn’t, they wouldn’t have been able to afford one.  I felt even worse than just the stabbing pain because it was scaring her.  I knew, beyond all knowledge that once my mother and stepfather got home, my conditions would only worsen.

It was almost dark when they did get home.  I was still on the couch, curled up in a ball and still crying.  Suzie sitting on the floor next to me.  The second that they walked in the door Kim had this look on her face like she was being assaulted.  Jack A just walked in as if everything were normal.  Neither of them asked what was going on or what was wrong.

Suzie walked up to my stepfather (her biological father) and told him that he was going to take me to the doctor.  He asked her why and she retorted that it was the right thing to do.  He said fine.  He loaded me up into the white cadillac and drove me to the hospital.  They did a chest x-ray and discovered that I had a bad case of pleurisy.  For those that don’t know what that is, it’s technically an inflammation of the lining surrounding the lungs.  It stems from a  viral infection most of the time.  Typically you can’t die from it.  It’s just extremely painful and can pose the problem of possibly collapsing the lung.  The concern with me was that very thing because of the build up of fluid.

Because of the severity of my case, they wanted to drain the excess fluid and place me on a twenty four hour observation.  All of this, I uncovered at a later date.  The doctor’s didn’t address me but my stepfather.  Jack A refused the course of treatment from the doctor’s recommendation and requested that I be placed on medication and that he would monitor my condition from home.  He promised that he would bring me back if my conditions worsened in any way.

They removed the IV from my arm, gave me a bandaid, and sent me home with Jack A.  I knew beyond all doubt he would kill me at some point.  I knew that every penny of that trip to the hospital would be taken from my hide.

Upon arriving home, my mother sent me to my room.  Jack A conversed with my mother about what they were going to do with Suzie the next day.  She had made arrangements for Suzie to go to a friends house.  With the medication that I was taking, I would be unable to take care of my sister Suzie, who was six years old at the time.

There was a horrible side effect to the medication .  It gave me really horrible migraines.  Jack A thought that fact was hilarious.  The next day, my mother took my sister to her friends house.  I stayed home with Jack A.  We had a stereo system that he was rather fond of.  He decided to put on a Grateful Dead CD and turned it on full blast while my head pounded.  Sleeping was impossible.  However, that was the thing that I needed the most.

I did the best that I could to close out the base and the noise by putting a pillow over my head.  Because of the pillow, I didn’t hear Jack A on the stairs.  The next thing that happened made me believe, affirmed the truth, that Jack A’s intention sooner or later was to kill me.

Before I could remove the pillow, I felt a pressure on either side of the fluff.  Panic ensued and in that panic I scrambled with my hands, searching for the source of the pressure.  Searching for the reason behind why I couldn’t remove the pillow which would allow me to breathe.  I felt his hands griping the pillow.  I scratched and clawed at his hands.  I searched the air for his face.  I searched for something that would give me back the air my lungs needed.  In that moment, I recognized what he was doing.  He intended to smother me.  He intended to kill me.

My thought process slowed down.  The panic left.  The fight went out of me.  It left me like an exhale.  The thought, and the only thought, that ran through my mind was:



Finally, I could see an end to my hell.  Finally it was going to be over.  Maybe it was the lack of oxygen, but it was like a wave crashing over my body as I lost consciousness.  Obviously I am not dead and that wasn’t the end to my story in a very literal way.  I wish I could just end this entry with a ‘I came too later’ but I can’t.

I did come to later…

My stepfather used me as a sex toy while I was unconscious.  When I regained consciousness, the sweatpants and underwear I had been wearing were on the floor.  My stepfather was gone.  Gone fishing to be exact.

When this all occurred, it had been early morning.  When I had a mind to do so, I checked the clock.  It was around noon.  He returned home a few hours later.  I was sitting at the table, showered, and completely dressed.  Any time that he would use me, I scrubbed until patches of my skin would bleed.  I only showered when he wasn’t home.  It was the only way that I knew it was less likely that he would barge in.  Even with that, he would still get home sometimes before I could finish and barge in for the hell of it.

When he arrived home, I was sitting at the dinner table.  I wasn’t doing anything but trying to not think.  If I cracked, I knew it would turn into a chasm as big as the Grand Canyon.  I felt like I was being held together by Elmer’s Glue.  I was sitting there when he walked in .  He went straight to the refrigerator for a coke.

I cleared my throat.  He looked at me as I stood up from the table.  I placed both hands, palms down on the wood for the support.  I lifted my head as high as I could and did something that I could never bring myself to do.  I looked him straight in the eye and made a declaration.

I told Jack A that if he ever touched me like that again, I would kill him while he slept.  In that moment, he knew that I meant it because I did.  I meant every word.  I made a choice and I chose to speak up.  He would either be angered enough to finish what he started or he would stop using me but either way… it was my choice.

I never believed he would let me walk away after making that declaration.  That promise.  He did though.  My mother walked in with my sister and that is what I believe to be my saving grace that night.  I went upstairs and went to bed.  Exhausted.  If he killed me while I slept instead, it would be an end to hell.  If he didn’t retaliate, and we continued on the way things were going, then hell would continue.  BUT…

AND it was a small glimmer of a chance…

But if he took me seriously, then at least the sexual abuse and the rape would stop.  At that time, I didn’t know the significance of what I had done.

When I made that declaration, I was taking back a piece of my dignity.  The sexual abuse stopped.  The beatings and the emotional abuse got worse.

But the sexual abuse stopped!

Daily Ray of Sunshine

Dare to forge your own path.  Even rocks can roll.

Daily Ray of Sunshine

Just as light brightens darkness, discovering inner fulfillment can eliminate any disorder or discomfort.  This is truly the key to creating balance and harmony in everything you do.


Daily Ray of Sunshine

Accept yourself as you are.  Otherwise you will never see opportunity.  You will not feel free to move toward it, you will feel you are not deserving.

Daily Ray of Sunshine

An explanation of cause is not a justification by reason.

To Whom it May Concern:

This is an entry to a very specific audience; any ‘Family Members’ that I know are reading my blog.

I chose for its features and the community of writers.  To my fellow bloggers, thank you for your support.  I would not be where I am in my recovery if it wasn’t for you!  So, thank you from the bottom of my heart and soul.  I went through all of my comments to make my responses after being on hiatus for several months.

I came across several comments from my supposed ‘Family Members’ and instead of responding to those comments individually, I dedicated an entry to my blog in your honor.

I am NOT the victim I once was because I have found my voice.  IT DOESN’T MATTER if you believe the things that HAVE happened to me.  You’re delusional if you believe that they didn’t.  But, it’s a free country and you are entitled to your own opinion but that’s all it is.  An opinion.  Not fact.  I know the facts and am stuck with them for the rest of my life.  Your opinion DOES NOT MATTER to me.  What you think, how you feel, or what you believe DOES NOT MATTER to me.  You stood by while these things happened and are just as guilty as HE is.  If I believed in a hell, you would be burning there for all eternity, right next to him.

To the person that committed these crimes, KARMA (which I do believe in) is a bitch.  I may not be there to see it when it happens, but she’s going to come back and bite you in the ass.

I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU any longer.  I am not a little kid and helpless any longer.  I have the ability to change my reality and am no longer under your control.  The significance of the wonderful features that has to offer is that your comments will never be approved to post.  I have the control to delete them.  They will never make it on my blog.  The control you once had over me is long gone.  How does that feel by the way?

Have a nice day!

A Stick in the Mud

I am stuck.  Much like mud in a field that sucks your boots right off your feet when it gets too deep.  I am still not able to write about the sexual abuse.  I’m still not able to talk to my therapist about it and to top it off, when things get too stressful, the images haunt me. My head gets dark, and what I call, black.  I don’t like going to sleep.  With my nightmares, I at least knew that I could wake up from them.  Having these memories now, the nightmare isn’t just in my sleep anymore.

I’m trying to keep up appearances.  I’m trying to be positive.  I’m trying to forget and maybe that’s the wrong approach.  The physical abuse I know I’m over because I’ve been able to face that.  I would have taken that with a smile compared to the emotional and sexual abuse.  I’m facing the emotional abuse and dealing with it… but I don’t know how to face the rest.

Kim, my mother, sent my husband an email via Facebook asking how her ‘daughter’ and ‘grand babies’ were doing.  Kim has no right to call me her daughter.  My girls do not know that she exists, and until absolutely necessary, they won’t know.  For fourteen years, I cried myself to sleep most nights.  I went to school to get away and take a break from hell.

I KNOW when my girls cry, even when they try to do it as quietly as they can, I KNOW!  I know that Kim saw the things he did to me.  She stood by when he yelled.  Went to bed with some excuse when the beatings happened and she was home.  Claims to never hearing me cry when he was in my room at night.  She has no right to call me her daughter.

I am torn on if what Jack A did to me was worse or if watching my mother walk away when he started in on me was worse.

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