My Life
So, I’ve kind of been wanting to write a story of my life not so much for pity but more for seeing the lessons that I have learned from the different occasions in my life. Whether those instances are a good time or bad.
Friends, I would like feedback for this post, even if it is a simple message indicating that you have read my story, that’s all I really want, someone to listen (or read in this instance) and maybe even grasp something of your own, whether it be an understanding or like myself some type of life-lesson. So please friends, read and comment. I would really appreciate it.
So, it begins.
I’ve realized throughout the years that life has its bumps and its smooth paths, its fork in a road and the straight shot. This is something I’ve learned at a very young age, yet somehow I still struggle with it. Life isn’t easy, I am sure we have all experienced this first hand in our own little ways, this is a story of how I learned, how I have overcome, and how I still struggle. You can see it as a pity story, some of you may and that is fine with me. Others may see this as a true reflection and a way to look back and not regret a thing because somehow I’ve learned from it and maybe it will speak to you that is truly why I am writing this.
Sometimes, things happen to those it should not happen to. Let me explain.
At the age of 6, I was “raped”. Now, as I continue to tell this turn around in my life it may seem a bit confusing and also disturbing. This was a different kind of rape…not only was I young but, the person doing the raping was a family member which makes it all the more disturbing. I must admit that writing this story is a bit hard for me; I have forgiven this person and have moved on, somewhat. But it still stirs a feeling inside that my innocence was taken at such a young age and I was never the same. Of course, I learned this later on in life and I have always considered myself a virgin. But, something was taken from me, taken in a way that…I don’t know how to explain.
When it was happening, I really didn’t know what was happening. In all honesty I was confused and I just remember hurting from it. It happened a few times before he was caught. The situation worsened because my father caught him. Some may say that he was curious, because he wasn’t much older than I. In my opinion, there is a huge difference from curiosity and what he did. Anyhow, he was my cousin and he would sleep over every weekend. We were close then, so it was ok. A problem that began to arise was that this cousin of mine was very mature for his age. His parents let him watch rated R movies listen to the demeaning music and such. So we know where he got his ideas. While sleeping over my house one day, he decided to try it out. This is where I come in. I wont really go into much more detail about the actual happenings because I do not find it necessary.
The day he got caught, we were about to go to bed and he decided to start a little early. He began un-buttoning my pajamas and my father just happened to walk in and realized something was terribly wrong. My dad pulls me out of bed, drags me into this room and beats me with a belt. After a short while, he put me in a corner in the dark, closed the door and left me in the dark to cry. I know shortly after, my cousins parents were called and some things were said. Nothing that I understood at the time and cannot recall.
For a long time, I was hurt by what my dad did. He didn’t explain anything to me, he didn’t talk to me about it…I really didn’t know what was going on and I held it against him for a very long time. After a while, I started to suppress the situation, like it never happened. I started to develop problems because of what happened, problems that I do not feel like sharing, so we will leave it at that.
I would say around the age of, 10 or so, I finally got the courage to ask my mother about it. I asked her if it was true, if it really happened. I really wanted her to say no, to say that it was a dream and say, “how could you imagine such a thing?” But, the nightmare was in fact, reality. I still cry about it every so often, I also wrote a poem about it. I will share it:
Recollection
Something
To keep
For
A special someone
Is being
Forced
I close
My eyes
And instead
Of the usual
Darkness
A new color
Comes to mind
Red, normally
A color of love
Betrays me
In an instant
A feeling of
Pain
A thought of
Disgust
He jumps
On top of
Me
Saying words of
Filth
Violating me
In an unthinkable
Manner
It hurts, it hurts
And I cant do
Anything about it
Besides
Scream for help
That will never
Come
The nightmare
That came
True
Will stay
With me
Forever
Trying to
Re-live the
Experience
Is hell
A river of tears
Fill my face
As I sit in
The courtroom
Staring at the
Man
Who changed
My life
Forever.
Of course, the court situation never happened…I could imagine that it would be difficult to do such a thing, because even thinking about it on my own, hurts. I can’t help but think about it, it is in my past, part of my present, and will be part of my future. It is something that affected me as a child, changed my thinking of life. Sometimes I think, how I would be if that wouldn’t have happened to me, sometimes I tell myself that it isn’t a big deal. That a lot more girls have had it worse, but then I go back to thinking how I hurt and how much I hurt.
I still can’t seem to think of what I learned from this situation. I cant say that I was lucky that it happened to me, or that it has lead me to some conclusion that I wouldn’t have come to without it happening. Honestly, I don’t think that should have happened to me, but it has. Looking back, I remember all the tears it put my through and how I have had a hard time to over come it…I still think that I haven’t fully recovered from it, you never really do.
This is one of the reasons why I don’t doubt girls who say they have been raped. I think that is the hardest thing to deal with; someone who doesn’t believe you when what you say is true. To get someone to listen to situations such as these is really tough, to get someone to believe it is even more difficult. I’ve really tried my best to be there for my girls who have gone through tough times because I know how it feels to be put in a situation and not like it or hurt from it or worse never recover from it. Rape is something that I don’t joke around with and I don’t really like when others do it. Especially those who don’t know what it is like.
This is kind of away from the topic of chronology but, it is necessary here. This cousin of mine, the one who “raped” me, at this point has 4 kids at the age of 20. When his first child was on its way, I was highly pissed…I almost kicked his ass. A few years before his first child, I believe at a Christmas get together, my aunt told me that she gave my cousin condems, which he happened to be 13 at the time. I was highly upset with my aunt and I was sure to express my opinion. I told her that she was practically giving him permission to have sex. Her response was, that she wanted him to be prepared in case he was put in a position that he could not detach himself from.
I probably gave her the stupid look face, simply because if you think of the anatomy and how guys work, he would be putting himself in that situation and he was 13, he shouldn’t even be in those types of positions. Well sure enough, a few years later he is having his first child at the age of 17 and his mother is upset. If I we not respectful I would have put it right back in her face and did the “I told you so” line. I also heard that he did not even utitilize the condomn in which he was given.
This cousin of mine would also humiliate me, since he was so “mature” for his age once puberty hit its onset for me, it was made known to the whole world.
To continue the chronology, soon after this situation I started school. In pre-school, somehow I managed to get into a fight. A girl was bullying me, and I didn’t like it not one bit. We ended up getting into a little girl fight, which right now is somewhat funny but…sad at the same time. That was the only time I’ve defended myself.
In the first grade, during an art project while the teacher was out of the class, a little boy came up to me and wrapped his hands around my neck and squeezed as hard as he could. Being a little girl and being put in that position wasn’t the best, in fact it was pretty scary. I don’t really remember why he did it, I just remember doing an art project and seeing him walk up to me with a really strange look in his eyes and I just remember feeling defenseless against this kid. He got suspended for it and I think after that I was really scared of boys. Between my father, my cousin and this little boy, I thought boys were the devil.
As I continued through grammar school, more and more problems started to develop. I was a total reject because I wasn’t pretty enough and I wasn’t cool enough. I went from being beat up by my classmates to being beat up by my teachers. I was made fun of because of how I looked and my 6th grade teacher thought it was fun to hit me and make me clean her classroom.
When I was in third grade, I went through some law dispute with a teacher. She wouldn’t let me read my bible at school. I was pretty serious about my faith back then, not because I was beat into it but because I seemed to understand what I was getting myself into and because I loved God and I knew he loved me back. Of course, after this dispute with my teacher, things were never really the same. I started faking being sick and worse…taking penicillin when I knew I was allergic. I would do it before I went to school and by the first hour of my class time, I was breaking out in hives, getting really red and sometimes swollen. I didn’t take too much, not even a spoon full and those were my results. I was sent home twice from school because of my allergic reaction, I was even sent to the doctor where I confessed what I had done. I hated school. When I reached fourth grade, I continued to have problems. Mostly, I was picked on during class time. I would go to the washroom and come back to my books on the floor and my teacher would ask me to read in front of the class knowing that I didn’t know what page number because of my absence and the recent tragedy of books shoved onto the floor.
This is another one of those times where I lashed out. It was class break and I was standing in line ready to go to the washroom…I had a marker and decided to play with the girl in front of me, pretending to write on her face with it. The cap was on and I ended up scratching the girl. She complained that it hurt and I called her a baby for it. Then went to another girl and asked her if it hurt, did the same thing to her…she also agreed it hurt and I was still not satisfied, so I did it to yet another girl. Same results. I got in trouble, oh well. That was one of my stupidity moments but whatever.
I was never really good at school, I was always bringing home “C” grades, I never really put much effort into it, I was never really pushed either. (A little side note, now being in college is when I am being pushed. I find it a bit ironic.)
One of my friends was killed when I was in fourth grade. She was walking across the street with her little brother, on their way to school. Well, they both got ran over by a dump truck. Her little brother was stuck under the wheel while she flew to the other side of the street and got hit by oncoming cars. At school was where her mother found out, over the intercom. While in class, we heard her mother screaming and crying. This was a very tragic day of my life; it was really hard for me to get past this.
On the side, I must make this statement. These are things that I dealt with on my own, I never saw a psychologist, or talked to anyone of higher authority about these things, I kind of regret it, maybe I wouldn’t hurt so much…
Shortly after losing my friend, I was put in corners a bunch of times, being punched on the arms and stomach by my peers. Mostly up to the point of puking, which was stop time for them. Thank God.
That is when I transferred. I went to a Christian school that my mom worked at, I decided to try it out, and I thought it would be better.
Boy was I wrong.
At open house, of my new school…I was already getting looks from girls I didn’t know. I was the outcast, already. There were a couple of people I knew because of church, but other than that I was on my own. Since I was an automatic outcast, I pretty much would hang out with the outcast people. Except for one person, he was the cutest boy in class. All the girls liked him. In all honesty, I didn’t simply because I grew up with this kid and I did not see him as someone I would like. We would talk a lot because we kind of considered each other brother and sister, at the time that is. The girls would get jealous and that is pretty much what started my life of hell.
I wasn’t allowed to sit at the table with all the “cool” and “pretty” people; I would eat alone, everyday. I would get letters expressing that I was a “bitch” and “good for nothing” and that I was “too ugly” to be with them, etc. What was sad was the teachers knew what was going on, and I swear I went up to them a million times telling them what was going on and they did absolutely nothing. This is when my depression became a really big problem; I started doing really bad in school. That first semester I came home with all F’s in my classes, I would stay in my room all the time, cry myself to sleep, think about killing myself…I felt really hopeless at the time.
Nothing was ever done, not until the end of the year when the principal finally had enough of my complaining. At the graduation of the 8th graders (when I was in 7th grade), the principal made the leader of it all apologize. I must say it was the worse apology I had ever received, it was totally forced and crap. She didn’t mean a word she said. The principal told this girl that she had to get counseling (and...do something else I don’t remember) before the next school year. Well, she came back the first day with nothing done and ended up not able to return. On her way out, she gave me a harsh look and I was relieved. After that year, I was bringing home A’s and B’s and I was getting along with everyone.
My best friend, during 7th grade put me through a rough time. There was this guy named Scott, in the 8th grade class that she liked. Well, we decided to go to his graduation together and she ended up leaving with him to his house without notifying my mother or me. We had no idea where she was, and her mother was calling us asking where she was. Well, her mother accused me of planning the whole thing and she got into a lot of trouble, her mom practically shaved her hair off..it wasn’t really a pleasant situation. But I will say for the record, I had no play in what she did.
So this brings me to high school, this…was also very tough.
I think about a month after I started high school, my best friend’s family moved to Florida. This was the very first time I had cried in front of my best friend and I cried throughout the night, I remember never going to bed, I worked on a scrap book of memories, letters I had to all my friends, poems, songs, etc. At the time, I was in love with my best friend; I really did love him very much (I still love him, but I’ve learned that it is best to not love him that way, we will always be such great friends). He rejected my love, a couple of times actually. At the time, I didn’t understand. That is not the case anymore. Anyway, I didn’t give him the scrapbook until…2 years later. When I visited him in Florida and decided to give it to him. It wasn’t really for him in the first place simply because this scrap book was kind of one of those things that….well if I died, and people would go through my room and such, they would find it and read through it and see how much I loved them, etc. I decided to give it to my best friend because I felt he deserved to have it, I didn’t want to hold it anymore. He took and still has it in his possession today, in fact his little sister told me a year ago that he still looks at it from time to time.
In November of freshman year was when my life once again took a drastic turn. This is when my father’s injury occurred and life was simply hell after that.
I know I wrote a journal entry on this before and it will be here again.
I came home from school one day and saw my father lying on the sofa, something looked wrong, very wrong. So, I asked and the response I got was:”I got hurt at work”. Once I heard this, my heart pretty much dropped to the floor because I knew it would be serious, I knew this would change everything. I continued to ask questions, I didn’t want what I was thinking to be true. I asked, “Well, how serious were you hurt?”, “what did the doctors say?” etc. He didn’t really answer my questions; he did say that he heard a “pop” in his back.
He never went back to work.
We’ve been fighting the insurance companies since 2001, along with corrupt doctors, stalkers and even our own selves. There was a lot of depression, my dad feeling insufficient because he couldn’t provide for his family anymore and he was always in pain. Somehow pain drives people mad, especially when it is a constant pain that will never go away. He had to back surgeries, one on my birthday and another right before my birthday the following year. Back surgeries are dangerous, really dangerous.
Since he wasn’t working, they were paying him. No disability check, no unemployment check, not even a Christmas bonus. We went from an 80 thousand income (my mother and father combined) to a 23 thousand income (mom’s income alone). We had a double lot property with a single family home, a pool, carport, garage and some luxuries. Within a year, it was all gone. In that year, we never went hungry, never.
What we did deal with was no heat or hot water during the middle of the winter, I don’t remember how long that lasted but I do remember being cold…really cold. We would have to turn the oven on to try to warm up the house; we also had to boil water to take a bath. Honestly, it didn’t really work. After putting one pot in and having to go boil another, with no heat in the house the water in the bathtub got cold quickly. And, one pot doesn’t fill a bathtub very high, so you can imagine how difficult this was. I remember trying to take a bath one day and just start crying because of the situation we were in. I just cried out to God and asked him for it all to be over with. I started feeling bitter towards God; I felt for a long time that he wasn’t listening.
After the injury, home life started to become the worse ever. I was always getting in trouble, my dad was always angry, always depressed…always ready to blame something on me and take it out on me. One time, I got beat with rolled up blue prints, another time I had a broom stick rammed into my shin for a good amount of time (which I must say really hurts), I was also kicked in the back once and was told to get the fuck out of the house. Which, I took him up on his offer, I was so sick of everything. On my way out, I was asked where I was going and told not to leave.
Suicide was a big thing for my dad then, I got a couple urges too. During Christmas time, there were no gifts no tree, not even a cheerful spirit in sight. My dad was going to the psychiatrist more and more, he kept talking suicide. My mom pulled me aside one day after they had a fight to tell me what was going on, she told me to pray. To pray for my dad, to change his mindset, to help him. And I did, I prayed so hard because once upon a time, I was a daddy’s little girl and I didn’t want to lose him, not like this.
Last summer was definitely a tough one. One night, my parents got into a fight and that was the night I slept with my bat, I listened to every bit of that fight. I had a feeling he was going to hit her because that is how upset he was. If he did hit hurt, I was going to beat him with my bat, that is how upset I was. It never happened which I am glad for, but the next day my mom ended up being kicked out of the house.
My mom didn’t want to stay in the house while he was angry, so she came to our room and told us to quietly get ready and walk down to the car. We were in the car when she came down and my dad came after her, started yelling for us to get back in the house…I didn’t do it, I never wanted to be near him and neither did my brother. My mom ended up taking us to the movies and Barnes and Noble to get some books. We had actually turned our phones off when we left the house because he kept trying to call. When we turned them back on, we noticed numerous messages and these messages were filled with profanity and hate. When we did come back home, he kicked my mother out and gave us the option to leave with her. I didn’t hesitate, I was not going to stay in the house with that man and I was not going to leave my mother on the streets either. My brother also came with us. Instead of my father leaving, he dropped us off in some suburb with no money, no phones, no credit cards, debit cards, no food, anywhere to stay. When I brought this to his attention and called him a jerk for doing this, he decided to put us in a motel. He took the cars, so we had no way of getting around, my mom had no way of getting to work the next day, which was the only way bills were being paid. My mom ended up having like 10 dollars or so in her pocket so we walked to the nearest store and bought some food. I believe our food consisted of cereal, milk and a couple of spaghetti cans.
The next day my dad wanted to take us out for lunch, but I knew not to trust him. He ended up taking us to McDonalds to make a scene. He yelled at my brother and I, saying how cruel we were, that we were horrible kids, that we didn’t appreciate anything he did for us, etc. I told him to take us back to the motel, that we didn’t want to be with him. My brother and I were crying in a restaurant and it was time to go back.
We stayed at that motel for 3 days before he came to his senses.
That was really the last situation that happened, things have been better since. I mean there are disagreements here and there but nothing as major as that.
For a long time, I thought I hated my dad….I still struggle with it. I really hate how he treats me; I still cannot seem to explain how I feel about my father. I do know that I don’t hate him, it is not right for me to say I hate my father. Here are some more poems, these I wrote when I was depressed because of my fathers situation:
Break Down
Crying furiously, uncontrollably
My world crumbling below my feet
My life, ending at an instant
My love forsaking me
Betraying me, uncaringly
A river of tears
Streaming down the page
My enemies just a few feet away
Laughing, belittling
Anger and hate
My creators, my sowers
Venomous, poisonous
Drowning me in negativity
Pressure and disappointment
Eyelids feeling heavy
Exaustion, depression
Giving up without hesitation
It’s over.
This one is untitled:
A broken heart
Trying to find a shelter
Wanting a new life
Someone who cares
Doesn’t feel loved
Tears filling the eyes
Every moment, everyday
Anxiety, pain, depression
Becoming sick to the stomach
A cry of desperation
Simply a whisper
No ones listening
The beauty of happiness
Looking in the mirror
To be just that
A form of escape
Any type
Doesn’t seem to be available
Life is a burden
Death is hell
I cry Out
I cry out
To a world of nothing
The wind blowing
Light as a feather
The tears falling
Slow as a turtle
Bitter as salt
The pang of the cold
Freezing everything
The eye can see
Some frowns
Some smiles
Memories of the past
Hopes for the future
No one notices pain
Blistering rain
Soaking wet
Everything is wrong
Standing, looking
In the middle of
A long endless street
Where chaos stops
Falling down on my knees
I cry out
The only other thing that happened in high school was a fight with a boy. Yes, I got into a fight with a boy, he was being disrespectful to me and I told him to quit it a number of times, unfortunately boys in my high school obviously did not know how to listen. One day he just decided to get in my face and try to start something, I wasn’t having it. I pushed him out of my face and we kind of started swinging at each other but before it could go far, the fight was pulled apart.
Did I get in trouble? Ha, no. It never even went on my record, that is the good thing about knowing all the security guards and becoming friends with them. Also, they knew this guy was messing with me so…it was just bound to happen.
I was the first to graduate high school, which was definitely a plus. As difficult as it was to become part of the “in” crowd and still keep up with academics, I was able to do it. I was able to make my family proud, more or less please them. Because that is what my life seems to be about, pleasing my parents. Pleasing everyone actually. Yet another problem that I seem to have. Everyone’s opinion matters to me, I’m hurt if you are mad at me, or mean to me or not my friend, or don’t talk to me, etc. I’m just one of those people who needs others in order to survive. This isn’t something that is easy to admit, in fact I kind of regret it at this moment, but its too late, its out.
I try to be the best person I could be, I try my best to be friendly, to be there for people. I do have somewhat of a short temper, I don’t really show it often but…deep down inside, it blows and it blows a lot. Mostly because I am hurt, that is when I get upset…when I am hurt.
I saw college as a way to get away from it all; in a way I was running away. I found myself still being depressed and still an outcast, I did a lot of stupid things to try and fit in. It was very stupid what I have done…
I regret it, every bit of it. I put my faith last, something that is supposed to be first was put on the bottom of my priority list and, I paid for it. I did things that I would have never done 3 years ago…and I still hurt from it.
I am still trying to recover from the wounds I gave myself, I am trying to make myself right again but I still long for friendships, I still long for people to like me and look at me as some great friend. Honestly, I don’t feel very successful.
All of these events still are suppressed and I honestly don’t know how I am writing this. Generally this stuff comes back to me when I am depressed and ready to breakdown. Most of the time, I need someone here with me, to cry with me. The problem is, no one ever really wants to hear this stuff and that is how I am left in the dark, to deal with it on my own. This is why I am so dependant on others, because I really cannot do it on my own. I need my friends, especially those who allow me to lean on them when I am not doing so well.
I hold on to hurt and I realize this is a problem of mine, what I hear a lot is “just drop it” but, it is something that I have a really hard time doing, in fact so far it is impossible for me to do it, I hold on to hurt. As much as I want it to go away, it never does.
I’ve tried to look back on all of this, and find how I have grown. The only thing I see is hurt, tears, anger, and a little girl who is still trying to figure out how her life got so screwed up. This little girl still doesn’t know how to fix it, she doesn’t know what she did wrong to deserve this, she doesn’t know when it will go away…she doesn’t know who she is. I’ve gotten a lot of remarks from people, describing how strong I am. Strong in the sense of, being able to be the person that I am today with a past such as the one I have described…they ask how I was able to stay sane or be such a kind person.
Honestly, sometimes I really don’t see this, even now, I cannot see it. There is a reason why I cant see it and its because..I don’t feel it. I don’t feel strong, I don’t feel kind and I definitely don’t feel sane. There is something wrong with me, I shouldn’t hold all this hurt because it tends to over-run my thoughts many times and this is something that needs to be fixed…before something terribly wrong happens.
I suppose that can be something that I have learned from this all, that I hold hurt when I shouldn’t. But there is more, I’ve learned that I cannot depend on other people to make ME feel successful or like a great friend or even a great person. I should know that I am all those things, and deep down somewhere in this brain of mine, I do know but I don’t believe, not just yet. I’m not sure I will ever believe, for some reason I am really humble, I don’t know if there is such a thing as “bad humble” but I have no self-confidence and no self-worth. I do not feel that I am worth very much, that I do not deserve to be treated like a person…I let people walk all over me, knowingly I do it. The problem is, if I didn’t do this, I wouldn’t have any friends right now, with an exception of a few people. And that is a sad truth.
I know that I have let God down in many ways and this is what I am most sad about. I claim to be a Christian and lately I have not really been living like one, I have set a bad example to my peers and I feel horrible for it. I know God has forgiven me and I know he still loves me and I am trying to make things right again, but I was supposed to start living right before I made my mistakes. I pray to God for my friends, I pray and hope that I did not affect them in a negative way and that there is still a chance. A chance for them to see the love of God through me, I just hope it isn’t too late. As I continue to grow in the Lord and I continue to demonstrate my love for him, I hope that he sees how true I am to him and how I love him so much and want to serve him.
His son died on the cross for me, saved me from the evil of this world and I just continue to loathe in it. I feel ashamed and unworthy of love, but I know I cannot be perfect. I can try so hard to be perfect and accept that I cannot reach perfection that is expected by society, but I will still be a child of God and he will love me and save me.
Alex, has been wonderful to me and the more I talk to him and spend time with him…the more I fall in love with him and see him as a God given gift. Sometimes I feel I don’t deserve Alex because I have been mean to him or mistreated him, God has given me this wonderful young man, to help me grow, to help me love and most of all, to be appreciative of what I have gone through and what I will continue to go through. I am so grateful that God put this angel in my life, to live and love with.
Life won’t start to become easier for me, it will continue to be a tough road and it is something that I have to accept and learn to cope with. Which is something I am working on and will continue to work on, I know that I can be successful in school, in life and in my spiritual life. I will continue to press on, continue to love to my family and friends. I will continue to be there for them and give them my all but God is my first priority.
Something that I realize that has been happening to me, is that I continue to fight for friendships that…I am starting to doubt even exist. Sometimes, I feel oblivious to what is really going on, sometimes I feel I need to get people the benefit of the doubt and other times, I feel like they don’t want to be my friend, that they don’t enjoy my company, etc. I feel like this now…
Sometimes people need to re-think who they are, to reflect on what is going on in their life, to decide if they are truly happy. There are some things I am very happy about, but there are also things that I am not too happy about, the friend issue happens to be one of those things I am unhappy about. Sure, I will get over it soon. But my question is, does it include you?
I don’t really know how to end this thing, except for saying, thank you for reading my story as I requested. I really hope that somehow, someway something had touched you, whether to be different, or appreciative or just a “wow”, I hope someone was moved.
Thank you,
Kristina
Friends, I would like feedback for this post, even if it is a simple message indicating that you have read my story, that’s all I really want, someone to listen (or read in this instance) and maybe even grasp something of your own, whether it be an understanding or like myself some type of life-lesson. So please friends, read and comment. I would really appreciate it.
So, it begins.
I’ve realized throughout the years that life has its bumps and its smooth paths, its fork in a road and the straight shot. This is something I’ve learned at a very young age, yet somehow I still struggle with it. Life isn’t easy, I am sure we have all experienced this first hand in our own little ways, this is a story of how I learned, how I have overcome, and how I still struggle. You can see it as a pity story, some of you may and that is fine with me. Others may see this as a true reflection and a way to look back and not regret a thing because somehow I’ve learned from it and maybe it will speak to you that is truly why I am writing this.
Sometimes, things happen to those it should not happen to. Let me explain.
At the age of 6, I was “raped”. Now, as I continue to tell this turn around in my life it may seem a bit confusing and also disturbing. This was a different kind of rape…not only was I young but, the person doing the raping was a family member which makes it all the more disturbing. I must admit that writing this story is a bit hard for me; I have forgiven this person and have moved on, somewhat. But it still stirs a feeling inside that my innocence was taken at such a young age and I was never the same. Of course, I learned this later on in life and I have always considered myself a virgin. But, something was taken from me, taken in a way that…I don’t know how to explain.
When it was happening, I really didn’t know what was happening. In all honesty I was confused and I just remember hurting from it. It happened a few times before he was caught. The situation worsened because my father caught him. Some may say that he was curious, because he wasn’t much older than I. In my opinion, there is a huge difference from curiosity and what he did. Anyhow, he was my cousin and he would sleep over every weekend. We were close then, so it was ok. A problem that began to arise was that this cousin of mine was very mature for his age. His parents let him watch rated R movies listen to the demeaning music and such. So we know where he got his ideas. While sleeping over my house one day, he decided to try it out. This is where I come in. I wont really go into much more detail about the actual happenings because I do not find it necessary.
The day he got caught, we were about to go to bed and he decided to start a little early. He began un-buttoning my pajamas and my father just happened to walk in and realized something was terribly wrong. My dad pulls me out of bed, drags me into this room and beats me with a belt. After a short while, he put me in a corner in the dark, closed the door and left me in the dark to cry. I know shortly after, my cousins parents were called and some things were said. Nothing that I understood at the time and cannot recall.
For a long time, I was hurt by what my dad did. He didn’t explain anything to me, he didn’t talk to me about it…I really didn’t know what was going on and I held it against him for a very long time. After a while, I started to suppress the situation, like it never happened. I started to develop problems because of what happened, problems that I do not feel like sharing, so we will leave it at that.
I would say around the age of, 10 or so, I finally got the courage to ask my mother about it. I asked her if it was true, if it really happened. I really wanted her to say no, to say that it was a dream and say, “how could you imagine such a thing?” But, the nightmare was in fact, reality. I still cry about it every so often, I also wrote a poem about it. I will share it:
Recollection
Something
To keep
For
A special someone
Is being
Forced
I close
My eyes
And instead
Of the usual
Darkness
A new color
Comes to mind
Red, normally
A color of love
Betrays me
In an instant
A feeling of
Pain
A thought of
Disgust
He jumps
On top of
Me
Saying words of
Filth
Violating me
In an unthinkable
Manner
It hurts, it hurts
And I cant do
Anything about it
Besides
Scream for help
That will never
Come
The nightmare
That came
True
Will stay
With me
Forever
Trying to
Re-live the
Experience
Is hell
A river of tears
Fill my face
As I sit in
The courtroom
Staring at the
Man
Who changed
My life
Forever.
Of course, the court situation never happened…I could imagine that it would be difficult to do such a thing, because even thinking about it on my own, hurts. I can’t help but think about it, it is in my past, part of my present, and will be part of my future. It is something that affected me as a child, changed my thinking of life. Sometimes I think, how I would be if that wouldn’t have happened to me, sometimes I tell myself that it isn’t a big deal. That a lot more girls have had it worse, but then I go back to thinking how I hurt and how much I hurt.
I still can’t seem to think of what I learned from this situation. I cant say that I was lucky that it happened to me, or that it has lead me to some conclusion that I wouldn’t have come to without it happening. Honestly, I don’t think that should have happened to me, but it has. Looking back, I remember all the tears it put my through and how I have had a hard time to over come it…I still think that I haven’t fully recovered from it, you never really do.
This is one of the reasons why I don’t doubt girls who say they have been raped. I think that is the hardest thing to deal with; someone who doesn’t believe you when what you say is true. To get someone to listen to situations such as these is really tough, to get someone to believe it is even more difficult. I’ve really tried my best to be there for my girls who have gone through tough times because I know how it feels to be put in a situation and not like it or hurt from it or worse never recover from it. Rape is something that I don’t joke around with and I don’t really like when others do it. Especially those who don’t know what it is like.
This is kind of away from the topic of chronology but, it is necessary here. This cousin of mine, the one who “raped” me, at this point has 4 kids at the age of 20. When his first child was on its way, I was highly pissed…I almost kicked his ass. A few years before his first child, I believe at a Christmas get together, my aunt told me that she gave my cousin condems, which he happened to be 13 at the time. I was highly upset with my aunt and I was sure to express my opinion. I told her that she was practically giving him permission to have sex. Her response was, that she wanted him to be prepared in case he was put in a position that he could not detach himself from.
I probably gave her the stupid look face, simply because if you think of the anatomy and how guys work, he would be putting himself in that situation and he was 13, he shouldn’t even be in those types of positions. Well sure enough, a few years later he is having his first child at the age of 17 and his mother is upset. If I we not respectful I would have put it right back in her face and did the “I told you so” line. I also heard that he did not even utitilize the condomn in which he was given.
This cousin of mine would also humiliate me, since he was so “mature” for his age once puberty hit its onset for me, it was made known to the whole world.
To continue the chronology, soon after this situation I started school. In pre-school, somehow I managed to get into a fight. A girl was bullying me, and I didn’t like it not one bit. We ended up getting into a little girl fight, which right now is somewhat funny but…sad at the same time. That was the only time I’ve defended myself.
In the first grade, during an art project while the teacher was out of the class, a little boy came up to me and wrapped his hands around my neck and squeezed as hard as he could. Being a little girl and being put in that position wasn’t the best, in fact it was pretty scary. I don’t really remember why he did it, I just remember doing an art project and seeing him walk up to me with a really strange look in his eyes and I just remember feeling defenseless against this kid. He got suspended for it and I think after that I was really scared of boys. Between my father, my cousin and this little boy, I thought boys were the devil.
As I continued through grammar school, more and more problems started to develop. I was a total reject because I wasn’t pretty enough and I wasn’t cool enough. I went from being beat up by my classmates to being beat up by my teachers. I was made fun of because of how I looked and my 6th grade teacher thought it was fun to hit me and make me clean her classroom.
When I was in third grade, I went through some law dispute with a teacher. She wouldn’t let me read my bible at school. I was pretty serious about my faith back then, not because I was beat into it but because I seemed to understand what I was getting myself into and because I loved God and I knew he loved me back. Of course, after this dispute with my teacher, things were never really the same. I started faking being sick and worse…taking penicillin when I knew I was allergic. I would do it before I went to school and by the first hour of my class time, I was breaking out in hives, getting really red and sometimes swollen. I didn’t take too much, not even a spoon full and those were my results. I was sent home twice from school because of my allergic reaction, I was even sent to the doctor where I confessed what I had done. I hated school. When I reached fourth grade, I continued to have problems. Mostly, I was picked on during class time. I would go to the washroom and come back to my books on the floor and my teacher would ask me to read in front of the class knowing that I didn’t know what page number because of my absence and the recent tragedy of books shoved onto the floor.
This is another one of those times where I lashed out. It was class break and I was standing in line ready to go to the washroom…I had a marker and decided to play with the girl in front of me, pretending to write on her face with it. The cap was on and I ended up scratching the girl. She complained that it hurt and I called her a baby for it. Then went to another girl and asked her if it hurt, did the same thing to her…she also agreed it hurt and I was still not satisfied, so I did it to yet another girl. Same results. I got in trouble, oh well. That was one of my stupidity moments but whatever.
I was never really good at school, I was always bringing home “C” grades, I never really put much effort into it, I was never really pushed either. (A little side note, now being in college is when I am being pushed. I find it a bit ironic.)
One of my friends was killed when I was in fourth grade. She was walking across the street with her little brother, on their way to school. Well, they both got ran over by a dump truck. Her little brother was stuck under the wheel while she flew to the other side of the street and got hit by oncoming cars. At school was where her mother found out, over the intercom. While in class, we heard her mother screaming and crying. This was a very tragic day of my life; it was really hard for me to get past this.
On the side, I must make this statement. These are things that I dealt with on my own, I never saw a psychologist, or talked to anyone of higher authority about these things, I kind of regret it, maybe I wouldn’t hurt so much…
Shortly after losing my friend, I was put in corners a bunch of times, being punched on the arms and stomach by my peers. Mostly up to the point of puking, which was stop time for them. Thank God.
That is when I transferred. I went to a Christian school that my mom worked at, I decided to try it out, and I thought it would be better.
Boy was I wrong.
At open house, of my new school…I was already getting looks from girls I didn’t know. I was the outcast, already. There were a couple of people I knew because of church, but other than that I was on my own. Since I was an automatic outcast, I pretty much would hang out with the outcast people. Except for one person, he was the cutest boy in class. All the girls liked him. In all honesty, I didn’t simply because I grew up with this kid and I did not see him as someone I would like. We would talk a lot because we kind of considered each other brother and sister, at the time that is. The girls would get jealous and that is pretty much what started my life of hell.
I wasn’t allowed to sit at the table with all the “cool” and “pretty” people; I would eat alone, everyday. I would get letters expressing that I was a “bitch” and “good for nothing” and that I was “too ugly” to be with them, etc. What was sad was the teachers knew what was going on, and I swear I went up to them a million times telling them what was going on and they did absolutely nothing. This is when my depression became a really big problem; I started doing really bad in school. That first semester I came home with all F’s in my classes, I would stay in my room all the time, cry myself to sleep, think about killing myself…I felt really hopeless at the time.
Nothing was ever done, not until the end of the year when the principal finally had enough of my complaining. At the graduation of the 8th graders (when I was in 7th grade), the principal made the leader of it all apologize. I must say it was the worse apology I had ever received, it was totally forced and crap. She didn’t mean a word she said. The principal told this girl that she had to get counseling (and...do something else I don’t remember) before the next school year. Well, she came back the first day with nothing done and ended up not able to return. On her way out, she gave me a harsh look and I was relieved. After that year, I was bringing home A’s and B’s and I was getting along with everyone.
My best friend, during 7th grade put me through a rough time. There was this guy named Scott, in the 8th grade class that she liked. Well, we decided to go to his graduation together and she ended up leaving with him to his house without notifying my mother or me. We had no idea where she was, and her mother was calling us asking where she was. Well, her mother accused me of planning the whole thing and she got into a lot of trouble, her mom practically shaved her hair off..it wasn’t really a pleasant situation. But I will say for the record, I had no play in what she did.
So this brings me to high school, this…was also very tough.
I think about a month after I started high school, my best friend’s family moved to Florida. This was the very first time I had cried in front of my best friend and I cried throughout the night, I remember never going to bed, I worked on a scrap book of memories, letters I had to all my friends, poems, songs, etc. At the time, I was in love with my best friend; I really did love him very much (I still love him, but I’ve learned that it is best to not love him that way, we will always be such great friends). He rejected my love, a couple of times actually. At the time, I didn’t understand. That is not the case anymore. Anyway, I didn’t give him the scrapbook until…2 years later. When I visited him in Florida and decided to give it to him. It wasn’t really for him in the first place simply because this scrap book was kind of one of those things that….well if I died, and people would go through my room and such, they would find it and read through it and see how much I loved them, etc. I decided to give it to my best friend because I felt he deserved to have it, I didn’t want to hold it anymore. He took and still has it in his possession today, in fact his little sister told me a year ago that he still looks at it from time to time.
In November of freshman year was when my life once again took a drastic turn. This is when my father’s injury occurred and life was simply hell after that.
I know I wrote a journal entry on this before and it will be here again.
I came home from school one day and saw my father lying on the sofa, something looked wrong, very wrong. So, I asked and the response I got was:”I got hurt at work”. Once I heard this, my heart pretty much dropped to the floor because I knew it would be serious, I knew this would change everything. I continued to ask questions, I didn’t want what I was thinking to be true. I asked, “Well, how serious were you hurt?”, “what did the doctors say?” etc. He didn’t really answer my questions; he did say that he heard a “pop” in his back.
He never went back to work.
We’ve been fighting the insurance companies since 2001, along with corrupt doctors, stalkers and even our own selves. There was a lot of depression, my dad feeling insufficient because he couldn’t provide for his family anymore and he was always in pain. Somehow pain drives people mad, especially when it is a constant pain that will never go away. He had to back surgeries, one on my birthday and another right before my birthday the following year. Back surgeries are dangerous, really dangerous.
Since he wasn’t working, they were paying him. No disability check, no unemployment check, not even a Christmas bonus. We went from an 80 thousand income (my mother and father combined) to a 23 thousand income (mom’s income alone). We had a double lot property with a single family home, a pool, carport, garage and some luxuries. Within a year, it was all gone. In that year, we never went hungry, never.
What we did deal with was no heat or hot water during the middle of the winter, I don’t remember how long that lasted but I do remember being cold…really cold. We would have to turn the oven on to try to warm up the house; we also had to boil water to take a bath. Honestly, it didn’t really work. After putting one pot in and having to go boil another, with no heat in the house the water in the bathtub got cold quickly. And, one pot doesn’t fill a bathtub very high, so you can imagine how difficult this was. I remember trying to take a bath one day and just start crying because of the situation we were in. I just cried out to God and asked him for it all to be over with. I started feeling bitter towards God; I felt for a long time that he wasn’t listening.
After the injury, home life started to become the worse ever. I was always getting in trouble, my dad was always angry, always depressed…always ready to blame something on me and take it out on me. One time, I got beat with rolled up blue prints, another time I had a broom stick rammed into my shin for a good amount of time (which I must say really hurts), I was also kicked in the back once and was told to get the fuck out of the house. Which, I took him up on his offer, I was so sick of everything. On my way out, I was asked where I was going and told not to leave.
Suicide was a big thing for my dad then, I got a couple urges too. During Christmas time, there were no gifts no tree, not even a cheerful spirit in sight. My dad was going to the psychiatrist more and more, he kept talking suicide. My mom pulled me aside one day after they had a fight to tell me what was going on, she told me to pray. To pray for my dad, to change his mindset, to help him. And I did, I prayed so hard because once upon a time, I was a daddy’s little girl and I didn’t want to lose him, not like this.
Last summer was definitely a tough one. One night, my parents got into a fight and that was the night I slept with my bat, I listened to every bit of that fight. I had a feeling he was going to hit her because that is how upset he was. If he did hit hurt, I was going to beat him with my bat, that is how upset I was. It never happened which I am glad for, but the next day my mom ended up being kicked out of the house.
My mom didn’t want to stay in the house while he was angry, so she came to our room and told us to quietly get ready and walk down to the car. We were in the car when she came down and my dad came after her, started yelling for us to get back in the house…I didn’t do it, I never wanted to be near him and neither did my brother. My mom ended up taking us to the movies and Barnes and Noble to get some books. We had actually turned our phones off when we left the house because he kept trying to call. When we turned them back on, we noticed numerous messages and these messages were filled with profanity and hate. When we did come back home, he kicked my mother out and gave us the option to leave with her. I didn’t hesitate, I was not going to stay in the house with that man and I was not going to leave my mother on the streets either. My brother also came with us. Instead of my father leaving, he dropped us off in some suburb with no money, no phones, no credit cards, debit cards, no food, anywhere to stay. When I brought this to his attention and called him a jerk for doing this, he decided to put us in a motel. He took the cars, so we had no way of getting around, my mom had no way of getting to work the next day, which was the only way bills were being paid. My mom ended up having like 10 dollars or so in her pocket so we walked to the nearest store and bought some food. I believe our food consisted of cereal, milk and a couple of spaghetti cans.
The next day my dad wanted to take us out for lunch, but I knew not to trust him. He ended up taking us to McDonalds to make a scene. He yelled at my brother and I, saying how cruel we were, that we were horrible kids, that we didn’t appreciate anything he did for us, etc. I told him to take us back to the motel, that we didn’t want to be with him. My brother and I were crying in a restaurant and it was time to go back.
We stayed at that motel for 3 days before he came to his senses.
That was really the last situation that happened, things have been better since. I mean there are disagreements here and there but nothing as major as that.
For a long time, I thought I hated my dad….I still struggle with it. I really hate how he treats me; I still cannot seem to explain how I feel about my father. I do know that I don’t hate him, it is not right for me to say I hate my father. Here are some more poems, these I wrote when I was depressed because of my fathers situation:
Break Down
Crying furiously, uncontrollably
My world crumbling below my feet
My life, ending at an instant
My love forsaking me
Betraying me, uncaringly
A river of tears
Streaming down the page
My enemies just a few feet away
Laughing, belittling
Anger and hate
My creators, my sowers
Venomous, poisonous
Drowning me in negativity
Pressure and disappointment
Eyelids feeling heavy
Exaustion, depression
Giving up without hesitation
It’s over.
This one is untitled:
A broken heart
Trying to find a shelter
Wanting a new life
Someone who cares
Doesn’t feel loved
Tears filling the eyes
Every moment, everyday
Anxiety, pain, depression
Becoming sick to the stomach
A cry of desperation
Simply a whisper
No ones listening
The beauty of happiness
Looking in the mirror
To be just that
A form of escape
Any type
Doesn’t seem to be available
Life is a burden
Death is hell
I cry Out
I cry out
To a world of nothing
The wind blowing
Light as a feather
The tears falling
Slow as a turtle
Bitter as salt
The pang of the cold
Freezing everything
The eye can see
Some frowns
Some smiles
Memories of the past
Hopes for the future
No one notices pain
Blistering rain
Soaking wet
Everything is wrong
Standing, looking
In the middle of
A long endless street
Where chaos stops
Falling down on my knees
I cry out
The only other thing that happened in high school was a fight with a boy. Yes, I got into a fight with a boy, he was being disrespectful to me and I told him to quit it a number of times, unfortunately boys in my high school obviously did not know how to listen. One day he just decided to get in my face and try to start something, I wasn’t having it. I pushed him out of my face and we kind of started swinging at each other but before it could go far, the fight was pulled apart.
Did I get in trouble? Ha, no. It never even went on my record, that is the good thing about knowing all the security guards and becoming friends with them. Also, they knew this guy was messing with me so…it was just bound to happen.
I was the first to graduate high school, which was definitely a plus. As difficult as it was to become part of the “in” crowd and still keep up with academics, I was able to do it. I was able to make my family proud, more or less please them. Because that is what my life seems to be about, pleasing my parents. Pleasing everyone actually. Yet another problem that I seem to have. Everyone’s opinion matters to me, I’m hurt if you are mad at me, or mean to me or not my friend, or don’t talk to me, etc. I’m just one of those people who needs others in order to survive. This isn’t something that is easy to admit, in fact I kind of regret it at this moment, but its too late, its out.
I try to be the best person I could be, I try my best to be friendly, to be there for people. I do have somewhat of a short temper, I don’t really show it often but…deep down inside, it blows and it blows a lot. Mostly because I am hurt, that is when I get upset…when I am hurt.
I saw college as a way to get away from it all; in a way I was running away. I found myself still being depressed and still an outcast, I did a lot of stupid things to try and fit in. It was very stupid what I have done…
I regret it, every bit of it. I put my faith last, something that is supposed to be first was put on the bottom of my priority list and, I paid for it. I did things that I would have never done 3 years ago…and I still hurt from it.
I am still trying to recover from the wounds I gave myself, I am trying to make myself right again but I still long for friendships, I still long for people to like me and look at me as some great friend. Honestly, I don’t feel very successful.
All of these events still are suppressed and I honestly don’t know how I am writing this. Generally this stuff comes back to me when I am depressed and ready to breakdown. Most of the time, I need someone here with me, to cry with me. The problem is, no one ever really wants to hear this stuff and that is how I am left in the dark, to deal with it on my own. This is why I am so dependant on others, because I really cannot do it on my own. I need my friends, especially those who allow me to lean on them when I am not doing so well.
I hold on to hurt and I realize this is a problem of mine, what I hear a lot is “just drop it” but, it is something that I have a really hard time doing, in fact so far it is impossible for me to do it, I hold on to hurt. As much as I want it to go away, it never does.
I’ve tried to look back on all of this, and find how I have grown. The only thing I see is hurt, tears, anger, and a little girl who is still trying to figure out how her life got so screwed up. This little girl still doesn’t know how to fix it, she doesn’t know what she did wrong to deserve this, she doesn’t know when it will go away…she doesn’t know who she is. I’ve gotten a lot of remarks from people, describing how strong I am. Strong in the sense of, being able to be the person that I am today with a past such as the one I have described…they ask how I was able to stay sane or be such a kind person.
Honestly, sometimes I really don’t see this, even now, I cannot see it. There is a reason why I cant see it and its because..I don’t feel it. I don’t feel strong, I don’t feel kind and I definitely don’t feel sane. There is something wrong with me, I shouldn’t hold all this hurt because it tends to over-run my thoughts many times and this is something that needs to be fixed…before something terribly wrong happens.
I suppose that can be something that I have learned from this all, that I hold hurt when I shouldn’t. But there is more, I’ve learned that I cannot depend on other people to make ME feel successful or like a great friend or even a great person. I should know that I am all those things, and deep down somewhere in this brain of mine, I do know but I don’t believe, not just yet. I’m not sure I will ever believe, for some reason I am really humble, I don’t know if there is such a thing as “bad humble” but I have no self-confidence and no self-worth. I do not feel that I am worth very much, that I do not deserve to be treated like a person…I let people walk all over me, knowingly I do it. The problem is, if I didn’t do this, I wouldn’t have any friends right now, with an exception of a few people. And that is a sad truth.
I know that I have let God down in many ways and this is what I am most sad about. I claim to be a Christian and lately I have not really been living like one, I have set a bad example to my peers and I feel horrible for it. I know God has forgiven me and I know he still loves me and I am trying to make things right again, but I was supposed to start living right before I made my mistakes. I pray to God for my friends, I pray and hope that I did not affect them in a negative way and that there is still a chance. A chance for them to see the love of God through me, I just hope it isn’t too late. As I continue to grow in the Lord and I continue to demonstrate my love for him, I hope that he sees how true I am to him and how I love him so much and want to serve him.
His son died on the cross for me, saved me from the evil of this world and I just continue to loathe in it. I feel ashamed and unworthy of love, but I know I cannot be perfect. I can try so hard to be perfect and accept that I cannot reach perfection that is expected by society, but I will still be a child of God and he will love me and save me.
Alex, has been wonderful to me and the more I talk to him and spend time with him…the more I fall in love with him and see him as a God given gift. Sometimes I feel I don’t deserve Alex because I have been mean to him or mistreated him, God has given me this wonderful young man, to help me grow, to help me love and most of all, to be appreciative of what I have gone through and what I will continue to go through. I am so grateful that God put this angel in my life, to live and love with.
Life won’t start to become easier for me, it will continue to be a tough road and it is something that I have to accept and learn to cope with. Which is something I am working on and will continue to work on, I know that I can be successful in school, in life and in my spiritual life. I will continue to press on, continue to love to my family and friends. I will continue to be there for them and give them my all but God is my first priority.
Something that I realize that has been happening to me, is that I continue to fight for friendships that…I am starting to doubt even exist. Sometimes, I feel oblivious to what is really going on, sometimes I feel I need to get people the benefit of the doubt and other times, I feel like they don’t want to be my friend, that they don’t enjoy my company, etc. I feel like this now…
Sometimes people need to re-think who they are, to reflect on what is going on in their life, to decide if they are truly happy. There are some things I am very happy about, but there are also things that I am not too happy about, the friend issue happens to be one of those things I am unhappy about. Sure, I will get over it soon. But my question is, does it include you?
I don’t really know how to end this thing, except for saying, thank you for reading my story as I requested. I really hope that somehow, someway something had touched you, whether to be different, or appreciative or just a “wow”, I hope someone was moved.
Thank you,
Kristina