Introduction

Hello, my name is Jacquelyn. I am a survivor of child abuse and traumatic brain injury. I wanted to start this blog for therapeutic reasons and to reach out to others to be a voice of hope and to remind you that you are not alone. My story starts in 1979 when I was only 5 months old. I was born to my 19 year old mother and 21 year old father. I had an older brother, Derrick. I was rushed into Unity Hospital in Fridley, Mn by my parents. My mom has said that when she went to the desk at the ER, she was told to take a seat. The blanket fell off of my face and the nurse turned white and they rushed me back. My parents tell a similar story. My mom was down stairs feeding Derrick. My mom had just spent the last of the money on food and my dad was out of weed. Yes, marijuana. And, he was angry that the money he wanted to spend on weed was gone. He went upstairs in a fit and I began crying. My dad lashed out in rage and punched me hard in the head with his class ring. He went downstairs and said,"You better go check on your kid". Dad says my head was flat like a pancake. My mom said,"You were shitting and pissing and puking". AKA, convulsions. From what mom says, She begged dad to bring her to the ER, but, he made her promise that she would say she tripped in the stairs. When we were examined, my brother and I, my brother's bottom was blistered so bad it was bleeding, and I had broken ribs in different states of healing, as well as the head injury. They could see we were terribly abused babies. My brother was 2 and I was 5 months old. We were placed in child protective custody on the spot. My dad tells me that the ribs were because I was crying at around 3 months old, and he wanted me to stop, so he picked me up and held me, wrapped his arms around me and squeezed until he heard popping. I am lucky enough that my parents have given me an honest description about what I went through. Obviously, they are not empathetic to what I have endured, but, at least they told me the same story when it comes to this incident. Some people never get that much.  But, this is the first real story I have ever head about being a baby.There has never been the kind of joy surrounding discussions of my being born or a young child , that I hear most people talk about with their kids. None of the joy and love I have when I think or speak of my children. My childhood seems to be more of something whispered about in the family behind closed doors. A secret so dark my family would rather silence me than advocate me. This is where my story begins.