My Introduction post was made prior to me obtaining my childhood medical records and diving a bit deeper spiritually and working on healing actively. I don't know exactly where I am going with this blog, other than to share my thoughts, feelings, and experiences for my own therapeutic purposes and hopefully, some of you will find comfort knowing you are not alone.
The story in my intro was just the start to my childhood and what I would endure. I think that it being Christmas time and the lack of family gets me thinking about all of those things and it can be tough. When you are abused, a lot of times when you grow up, you are shunned by your entire family. Not because of anything you did, but, because the abuser is on a campaign to destroy you and to make sure their secret is safe. They value their image over everything.
After Derrick and I were removed from the home and placed in foster care, my mother became pregnant with my little sister, Amanda. I do not know the circumstances of why she was allowed to stay in the home. I do know my foster parents would get her for visits and she would have signs of neglect that were reported, but, it fell on deaf ears. I have to tell you that I was told by my foster family that I was actually the worst abuse case in Anoka County, Mn when I was removed. Yet, they did not remove Amanda and in time, they gave Derrick and me back to my parents. I tried to get my records from CPS, but, apparently, if you are not adopted out in Mn, but, were just placed in care, your records are destroyed at age 27. I did not look for my records until I was 38, so, I was unable to get them. I aged out of foster care, rather than being adopted because my mother always refused to allow us to be adopted. One more sucker punch, considering she resents my existence and always has.
The first foster home, I have some vague memories of. The memories must be from right before I went to Darwin and Janet's. I guess I was around 18 months when they got me. What I recall are a couple memories... one is of Craig and Joan making us play catch. I can't remember if it was with a frisbee or ball..I think both were used at different times. They would tell us to catch it and threw it hard at our faces. One time my brother was hit in the nose hard and my brothers nose began to bleed so he started to cry and they made him stand against the wall with his nose bleeding all over and they gave me a cookie . I was sad because he was sad, but, they made me eat it in front of him. They made him rub his bloody nose on the wall...to this day, that makes no sense to me. I was chewing through tears, but, I didn't want to be in trouble either. The next memory is what I think may have lead to us going to live with Darwin and Janet. I have never told anyone this. I remember Derrick and I somehow got into the back of a mail truck. We were going to run away. I don't recall much, but, we were hot back there. The next memories I have are at Darwin and Janet's and life was beautiful for a couple years. They loved us. They truly loved us. And, I thank God for placing me in their care during this time. I truly believe it has saved my life- and mind.
Eventually, though, the county gave us back. I don't know why. I d know, that I went from a home filled with love and nurture to one where we were unloved, neglected, abused , and subjected to absolute insanity. The time I spent living with my mom and dad when we were returned was filled with horror. There were abuses against us by both parents. My mom likes people to think she was just a victim to my father. While he did abuse her terribly, no doubt, she allowed us to be abused by him and also abused us herself. One of my first memories of living with her is when she lined us up in a row and pushed us each down as hard as she could. Shortly after I returned, she brought me to my room and gave me a box of her old head bands from when she was a young girl. I was so excited and I wanted to try them on. Mind you, my small motor skills were damaged severely due to the head injury. My medical records show it was much worse than my parents had even told me. I had a cerebral contusion and my right eye was paralyzed up and to the right and all of my limbs went rigid.They didn't know if I would ever walk. So, considering, You would think a parent could understand that I would need a little more patience. Something my mom does not have. Over time the injuries healed and I looked normal, but, was left with permanent issues . When I tried to put on the head bands, I was pulling out each end and they were so old and brittle they were breaking. I would go to grab the next one and the same thing would happen. Mom came in the room and thought I was purposely breaking them...that I hated her. I am pretty sure I cried and said I wanted my mommy and daddy..(my foster parents). I remember I was beaten . I don't remember the beating, but, I remember crying in my closet after and feeling helpless and so alone. Empty. Not long after we got there, my mom left us with dad. I do remember her being pistol whipped and the blood splattering the white walls. Mom and dad painted over it, but, she left. She walked out the door and we cried and dad said to her, "What about the kids?" and I will never forget her reply. "Fuck the kids". That was what she said. And she meant it. She meant it. She left us and we did not hear from her until 6 months later after dad filed papers for child support.
We were going to my parents friend Cindy's for the weekend. I recall being upset because dad packed Amanda and Derrick a piece of watermellon, but, I could not have one because I already ate mine, but, I was so so hungry. He put us in the car and gave Cindy a bag of our dirty clothes to wash. As we drove away, my mom popped up from the back- I think it was a station wagon- she was under a crochet afghan blanket. I felt fear and rage. We were told she came to get us and we would live with her now. As awful as the stuff we went through at my dad's hands was, we loved him and looked up to him because he was the one who was 'caring' for us. I knew in my heart she didn't love me. I will cover more details during these times and the time we spent alone with dad at some point.
I am not defending my dad or any of his actions. I just want to share my story from my perspective. A lot of people think they know my story, but, they know a version of my story that has been edited to favor the person who tells it. I feel the need to get MY story out. They can have their versions, and they can believe whatever they want, whatever makes them feel better so they can sleep at night, but, their story is not my truth and I just need my truth out there in the universe. I can't explain why it is so important to me, but, it is.
The story in my intro was just the start to my childhood and what I would endure. I think that it being Christmas time and the lack of family gets me thinking about all of those things and it can be tough. When you are abused, a lot of times when you grow up, you are shunned by your entire family. Not because of anything you did, but, because the abuser is on a campaign to destroy you and to make sure their secret is safe. They value their image over everything.
After Derrick and I were removed from the home and placed in foster care, my mother became pregnant with my little sister, Amanda. I do not know the circumstances of why she was allowed to stay in the home. I do know my foster parents would get her for visits and she would have signs of neglect that were reported, but, it fell on deaf ears. I have to tell you that I was told by my foster family that I was actually the worst abuse case in Anoka County, Mn when I was removed. Yet, they did not remove Amanda and in time, they gave Derrick and me back to my parents. I tried to get my records from CPS, but, apparently, if you are not adopted out in Mn, but, were just placed in care, your records are destroyed at age 27. I did not look for my records until I was 38, so, I was unable to get them. I aged out of foster care, rather than being adopted because my mother always refused to allow us to be adopted. One more sucker punch, considering she resents my existence and always has.
The first foster home, I have some vague memories of. The memories must be from right before I went to Darwin and Janet's. I guess I was around 18 months when they got me. What I recall are a couple memories... one is of Craig and Joan making us play catch. I can't remember if it was with a frisbee or ball..I think both were used at different times. They would tell us to catch it and threw it hard at our faces. One time my brother was hit in the nose hard and my brothers nose began to bleed so he started to cry and they made him stand against the wall with his nose bleeding all over and they gave me a cookie . I was sad because he was sad, but, they made me eat it in front of him. They made him rub his bloody nose on the wall...to this day, that makes no sense to me. I was chewing through tears, but, I didn't want to be in trouble either. The next memory is what I think may have lead to us going to live with Darwin and Janet. I have never told anyone this. I remember Derrick and I somehow got into the back of a mail truck. We were going to run away. I don't recall much, but, we were hot back there. The next memories I have are at Darwin and Janet's and life was beautiful for a couple years. They loved us. They truly loved us. And, I thank God for placing me in their care during this time. I truly believe it has saved my life- and mind.
Eventually, though, the county gave us back. I don't know why. I d know, that I went from a home filled with love and nurture to one where we were unloved, neglected, abused , and subjected to absolute insanity. The time I spent living with my mom and dad when we were returned was filled with horror. There were abuses against us by both parents. My mom likes people to think she was just a victim to my father. While he did abuse her terribly, no doubt, she allowed us to be abused by him and also abused us herself. One of my first memories of living with her is when she lined us up in a row and pushed us each down as hard as she could. Shortly after I returned, she brought me to my room and gave me a box of her old head bands from when she was a young girl. I was so excited and I wanted to try them on. Mind you, my small motor skills were damaged severely due to the head injury. My medical records show it was much worse than my parents had even told me. I had a cerebral contusion and my right eye was paralyzed up and to the right and all of my limbs went rigid.They didn't know if I would ever walk. So, considering, You would think a parent could understand that I would need a little more patience. Something my mom does not have. Over time the injuries healed and I looked normal, but, was left with permanent issues . When I tried to put on the head bands, I was pulling out each end and they were so old and brittle they were breaking. I would go to grab the next one and the same thing would happen. Mom came in the room and thought I was purposely breaking them...that I hated her. I am pretty sure I cried and said I wanted my mommy and daddy..(my foster parents). I remember I was beaten . I don't remember the beating, but, I remember crying in my closet after and feeling helpless and so alone. Empty. Not long after we got there, my mom left us with dad. I do remember her being pistol whipped and the blood splattering the white walls. Mom and dad painted over it, but, she left. She walked out the door and we cried and dad said to her, "What about the kids?" and I will never forget her reply. "Fuck the kids". That was what she said. And she meant it. She meant it. She left us and we did not hear from her until 6 months later after dad filed papers for child support.
We were going to my parents friend Cindy's for the weekend. I recall being upset because dad packed Amanda and Derrick a piece of watermellon, but, I could not have one because I already ate mine, but, I was so so hungry. He put us in the car and gave Cindy a bag of our dirty clothes to wash. As we drove away, my mom popped up from the back- I think it was a station wagon- she was under a crochet afghan blanket. I felt fear and rage. We were told she came to get us and we would live with her now. As awful as the stuff we went through at my dad's hands was, we loved him and looked up to him because he was the one who was 'caring' for us. I knew in my heart she didn't love me. I will cover more details during these times and the time we spent alone with dad at some point.
I am not defending my dad or any of his actions. I just want to share my story from my perspective. A lot of people think they know my story, but, they know a version of my story that has been edited to favor the person who tells it. I feel the need to get MY story out. They can have their versions, and they can believe whatever they want, whatever makes them feel better so they can sleep at night, but, their story is not my truth and I just need my truth out there in the universe. I can't explain why it is so important to me, but, it is.
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