Thinking of Sara
It's been a while since I've heard from my Puddy Tat. Three full moons have passed since I last saw her in person. It pains me even more thant I've been denied contact with her for nearly a fortnight.
I know there's not much else I can say. I've no doubt that her bastard of a father is watching any site that might have knighted-feline attached. You know, I asked someone about that situation recently and they said that what he's doing is technically on the abusive side, but I can't blame him for worring about someone being in contact with his daughter that's a Democrat. The reason I am is because I have lived life, a lot more than he has. To understand more, you'll have to read on, but what I'm about to type, and put in, I've never put in writing before. It is not pretty, it is not pleasent and deals with some very...adult situations. Because it is my history, because it is my past, do not think this fiction. Do not censor because this is a true life account. For those who can not handle, leave now.
I lived with my birth mother from the age of about three to five. Between that point and when I finally moved in with my Aunt Mae (the person I consider to be my mother), I was verbally, physically, and sexually abused and neglected, as so many in this situation are. But let's beging at the begining. Shortly after moving to Kentucky, with me, my birth mother was raped. I was there. It was a group of Marines. (Information that has been verified by my birth father.) I remember the white uniforms. One of them molested me and even forced his penis into my mouth. I remember sitting on the couch as he touched my penis and pelvis. I remember him taking me over to my birth mother who was held down on a bed, naked and being used, and crying. Then they took me and had me lick her virgina. I still remember the white goo that was all over it. They even took me over to put my own penis into her mouth. I don't really remember much beyond that. After that point I do remember we we're walking home and my birth mother crying. I remember the nieghborhood being in one of the well to do areas of Lexington. It was a beautiful old house.
But my birth mother wasn't exactly what you'd consider a good mother anyway. I know that my Grandmother tried to help, but she wasn't exactly able to stand up against my birth mother. But she did try to do her best. But my birth mother was out of control. I remember one time clearly where she threw a couple of pups at the foot-board of the old 4 poster bed she used to have. She had already given away the other pups and there was a fight between us. She threw them because she said if I couldn't accept them, then I couldn't have any. That landed me in a foster home and her in jail. I don't know how much time I spent there, but I clearly remember the rainbow bedspread and I still have the Winnie the Pooh record album from that time. But that foster home was the third one I had been in.
The first foster home was to a couple of young women. They tried to give me a fire engine and a box of creyons and a coloring book. I can't remember if I took them with me with I left them. The second foster home was a lot of fun. There were several kids there and there was a swing/chair on the porch of the back building. That is where I broke my nose. I fell on concrete and I remember rushing in and by the time I crossed the little yard to the kitchen, I had a stream of blood from my nose to my pelvis. I remember little afterward, but I remember waking up in the hospital. I remember them looking at my nose and I remember they kept asking about my family. I even remember a policeman and them trying to get ahold of my grandmother. But it was after that, that I ended up in my first peaceful and quiet home. I remember that the woman wasn't there when I had to leave, but I was the day care center. I remember a little jack in the box that was about the only thing that made me feel good at the time. I remember the police officers being so nice and good. I remember Mary being not so nice and good to them.
The next incident I can think of with my birth mother was the time I went to a park and told my grandmother. Turned out my grandmother didn't hear what I said, but I ended up being dragged back, by my birth mother, and beaten till I couldn't cry. Then I when I didn't fall asleep fast enough, she beat me again until I fell asleep. I remember being around her and her boyfriend of the time. I remember a "cousin" that was drunk and around a lot. I remember my first taste of beer from him and my birth mother at three years old. I remember my first taste of moonshine. I remember being able to drink a beer with salt.
But then comes the abandonment. My birth mother left me with some people, who I'd love to find again, by the name of the Hoppers. I remember Bob Hopper, Alice Hopper and their daughter Rebecca Hopper. They gave me my first taste of a happy home. The father was good and the mother was great, and having Rebecca around was a lot of fun. But I was with them for almost a year. Yes, my birth mother tried to leave me with them. However, they had to deal with a damaged person. It was then, when repeated the things I had seen so often with my birth mother, her boyfriend and their friends, that I repeated what I had learned with the rape, with Rebecca.
If people want to know why children shouldn't have sex, it's because they're not ready for it. I didn't even know what sex was, but I practiced it from about three on with anyone that was my age or close. It was years, into adulthood, before I knew why it was wrong and what it did. It was years before I understood the horror and nightmare that was what had happened to me as a child. It was years before I came to grips with what had been done to me, and what I continued. For those I've hurt. I can only say I'm sorry. I didn't know better. I've always been a slow developer, but I never knew at the time what I was doing was wrong. I thought sex was something that adults did that was a lot of fun, that they didn't want kids to do like drinking. I thought my birth mother was great for treating me like an adult. For years the only thing I ever hated her for was beating me. It was a long time before I knew there was more I should hate her for. Then I learned to forgive her. Once I did that,A Lot changed for me. I've never repeated those mistakes since I learned the heavy toll they took. I never will. I'd sooner die than repeat those mistakes again. Just like I have not touched a drop of alcahol, I will never repeat the sad lessons I was taught as a child.
But I did end up back with my birth mother. I did have to deal with her again, but then my aunt Alice came into the picture. She was the first of my birth mother's sisters that took me in. The next was my Aunt Mae. Aunt Mae did become my mother. She raised me. Taught me the best she could. Pushed me and encouraged me. She loved me, there's no doubt about it. Right now I try to live my life the best I can, trying to learn to learn how to live a life that she wanted for me. I'm trying to become everything that she thought I could become. So what if I was an urchin she took off of the streets. So what if I was a mess of a kid. If it had not been for her love, I'd never had the capability nore the willingness to learn and to change. I can not thank my Aunt Mae enough for that. I can not thank her enough for knowing that beating me wasn't much good after everything that I had gone threw.
I can tell you know it's because I've spent years finding out what the experts in sociology, psychiatry, and so forth have work to prevent such things. It is because I have listened to the intellegent, learned and experienced people that I pay attention what our society is doing wrong and why it's wrong. It's because I sit down, listen, look for both sides of the events to see why people do the things they do. For all these reasons, I am a Democrat. For all these reasons, I believe the Democrats have got a lot going for them because they are more concerned with our society and how to manage it and not how to save everyone's soul. Government and Religion are two very different things. Just like the past and the preasent. I have learned to read between the lines, look for what people say and what they don't. I have learned to listen to what groups are really trying to say, and not just what they say. I hope those that read this keep that in mind.
I say this because I want to come clean. I want the truth about me out and not just the one sided aspect that my ex tries to lay on me. She knew all of this stuff going in and then went around telling it, as she always does, in a manner that will sympathy for her. She even said things in such a manner as to make it sound like I beat her, raped her and tried to control her life. I never did any of the above. After the childhood I went through, why would anyone think I would want to do those things to other people? After the crap I've seen, what makes people think I would want to see them in myself?
It was years ago that I denounced Christianity. It was because so very, very, few actually practiced what they preached. It was because of the stigma that comes from being an abused person that I refuted them. (The fact that I didn't believe that which makes Christians, Christians, didn't help things either.) I had to learn to forgive those who abused me. I have to learn to forgive myself eventually. I do believe in the lesson's that the person known as Jesus the Christ taught, but I do not believe that he was the son of the Creator. Not in the sense that they do. I believe we are all children of the Creator and that we had better start learning to "Treat others as we would wish to be treated."
That's another reason I'm a Democrat. Because at least Democrats know that everyone, including themselves can make mistakes, and that if we refuse to accept this, and prepare for when we make a mistake, give mercy to those now that need it,then why should we expect mercy from them when we need it? If we don't, all we're going to do is make things worse for everyone. And wasn't it the Christ that said to be merciful to all? How many of those screwed up Right Wing Fundamintalists believe in that for anyone that isn't "Their type of Christian." That's another reason why religion shouldn't have anything to do with government, because even in one type of faith, there are several hundred different ways to look at it. I say, just stick with the simple ways of living. Remember the basic laws or love and kindness and live with it in your heart. That applies to all things including ourselves.
I can not hate Sarah. My heart is not hardened against her. It never will be. Just like it is not against my ex, my birth father and anyone else. Yes my heart is hardened against my birth mother, because I don't want to be hurt again, like I have so many times in the past. I pity her. She has my sympathies, because she's not had an easy life either. In truth, we share a lot of similarities, but that doesn't mean that I want to be in situations like that again. It doesn't mean I want to pass those bad memories and experiences on to the people around me.
It's been hard these past couple of weeks without Sara. She is a light that keeps me focused on the end of the journey I make that is part of my life and reminds me of the kind of world I want to leave behind. I want people to think, be patient, turn off the TV more and pay attention the action and reations the world makes. If I were to hate Sarah for what she felt she had to do, then I'd be no better than the people I dislike.
I shall have to find some way of contacting her and telling her this. It may be this month, next month or as late as October before I can tell her, "Yes. I do care." I miss all that time we spent together. It seemed all we did is hold each other and watch movies, but I couldn't ask for anything more. I want such closesness and comforts in my life always.
If there was a way that Sarah could read this, I'd be happy, but I know she can't.
I know there's not much else I can say. I've no doubt that her bastard of a father is watching any site that might have knighted-feline attached. You know, I asked someone about that situation recently and they said that what he's doing is technically on the abusive side, but I can't blame him for worring about someone being in contact with his daughter that's a Democrat. The reason I am is because I have lived life, a lot more than he has. To understand more, you'll have to read on, but what I'm about to type, and put in, I've never put in writing before. It is not pretty, it is not pleasent and deals with some very...adult situations. Because it is my history, because it is my past, do not think this fiction. Do not censor because this is a true life account. For those who can not handle, leave now.
I lived with my birth mother from the age of about three to five. Between that point and when I finally moved in with my Aunt Mae (the person I consider to be my mother), I was verbally, physically, and sexually abused and neglected, as so many in this situation are. But let's beging at the begining. Shortly after moving to Kentucky, with me, my birth mother was raped. I was there. It was a group of Marines. (Information that has been verified by my birth father.) I remember the white uniforms. One of them molested me and even forced his penis into my mouth. I remember sitting on the couch as he touched my penis and pelvis. I remember him taking me over to my birth mother who was held down on a bed, naked and being used, and crying. Then they took me and had me lick her virgina. I still remember the white goo that was all over it. They even took me over to put my own penis into her mouth. I don't really remember much beyond that. After that point I do remember we we're walking home and my birth mother crying. I remember the nieghborhood being in one of the well to do areas of Lexington. It was a beautiful old house.
But my birth mother wasn't exactly what you'd consider a good mother anyway. I know that my Grandmother tried to help, but she wasn't exactly able to stand up against my birth mother. But she did try to do her best. But my birth mother was out of control. I remember one time clearly where she threw a couple of pups at the foot-board of the old 4 poster bed she used to have. She had already given away the other pups and there was a fight between us. She threw them because she said if I couldn't accept them, then I couldn't have any. That landed me in a foster home and her in jail. I don't know how much time I spent there, but I clearly remember the rainbow bedspread and I still have the Winnie the Pooh record album from that time. But that foster home was the third one I had been in.
The first foster home was to a couple of young women. They tried to give me a fire engine and a box of creyons and a coloring book. I can't remember if I took them with me with I left them. The second foster home was a lot of fun. There were several kids there and there was a swing/chair on the porch of the back building. That is where I broke my nose. I fell on concrete and I remember rushing in and by the time I crossed the little yard to the kitchen, I had a stream of blood from my nose to my pelvis. I remember little afterward, but I remember waking up in the hospital. I remember them looking at my nose and I remember they kept asking about my family. I even remember a policeman and them trying to get ahold of my grandmother. But it was after that, that I ended up in my first peaceful and quiet home. I remember that the woman wasn't there when I had to leave, but I was the day care center. I remember a little jack in the box that was about the only thing that made me feel good at the time. I remember the police officers being so nice and good. I remember Mary being not so nice and good to them.
The next incident I can think of with my birth mother was the time I went to a park and told my grandmother. Turned out my grandmother didn't hear what I said, but I ended up being dragged back, by my birth mother, and beaten till I couldn't cry. Then I when I didn't fall asleep fast enough, she beat me again until I fell asleep. I remember being around her and her boyfriend of the time. I remember a "cousin" that was drunk and around a lot. I remember my first taste of beer from him and my birth mother at three years old. I remember my first taste of moonshine. I remember being able to drink a beer with salt.
But then comes the abandonment. My birth mother left me with some people, who I'd love to find again, by the name of the Hoppers. I remember Bob Hopper, Alice Hopper and their daughter Rebecca Hopper. They gave me my first taste of a happy home. The father was good and the mother was great, and having Rebecca around was a lot of fun. But I was with them for almost a year. Yes, my birth mother tried to leave me with them. However, they had to deal with a damaged person. It was then, when repeated the things I had seen so often with my birth mother, her boyfriend and their friends, that I repeated what I had learned with the rape, with Rebecca.
If people want to know why children shouldn't have sex, it's because they're not ready for it. I didn't even know what sex was, but I practiced it from about three on with anyone that was my age or close. It was years, into adulthood, before I knew why it was wrong and what it did. It was years before I understood the horror and nightmare that was what had happened to me as a child. It was years before I came to grips with what had been done to me, and what I continued. For those I've hurt. I can only say I'm sorry. I didn't know better. I've always been a slow developer, but I never knew at the time what I was doing was wrong. I thought sex was something that adults did that was a lot of fun, that they didn't want kids to do like drinking. I thought my birth mother was great for treating me like an adult. For years the only thing I ever hated her for was beating me. It was a long time before I knew there was more I should hate her for. Then I learned to forgive her. Once I did that,A Lot changed for me. I've never repeated those mistakes since I learned the heavy toll they took. I never will. I'd sooner die than repeat those mistakes again. Just like I have not touched a drop of alcahol, I will never repeat the sad lessons I was taught as a child.
But I did end up back with my birth mother. I did have to deal with her again, but then my aunt Alice came into the picture. She was the first of my birth mother's sisters that took me in. The next was my Aunt Mae. Aunt Mae did become my mother. She raised me. Taught me the best she could. Pushed me and encouraged me. She loved me, there's no doubt about it. Right now I try to live my life the best I can, trying to learn to learn how to live a life that she wanted for me. I'm trying to become everything that she thought I could become. So what if I was an urchin she took off of the streets. So what if I was a mess of a kid. If it had not been for her love, I'd never had the capability nore the willingness to learn and to change. I can not thank my Aunt Mae enough for that. I can not thank her enough for knowing that beating me wasn't much good after everything that I had gone threw.
I can tell you know it's because I've spent years finding out what the experts in sociology, psychiatry, and so forth have work to prevent such things. It is because I have listened to the intellegent, learned and experienced people that I pay attention what our society is doing wrong and why it's wrong. It's because I sit down, listen, look for both sides of the events to see why people do the things they do. For all these reasons, I am a Democrat. For all these reasons, I believe the Democrats have got a lot going for them because they are more concerned with our society and how to manage it and not how to save everyone's soul. Government and Religion are two very different things. Just like the past and the preasent. I have learned to read between the lines, look for what people say and what they don't. I have learned to listen to what groups are really trying to say, and not just what they say. I hope those that read this keep that in mind.
I say this because I want to come clean. I want the truth about me out and not just the one sided aspect that my ex tries to lay on me. She knew all of this stuff going in and then went around telling it, as she always does, in a manner that will sympathy for her. She even said things in such a manner as to make it sound like I beat her, raped her and tried to control her life. I never did any of the above. After the childhood I went through, why would anyone think I would want to do those things to other people? After the crap I've seen, what makes people think I would want to see them in myself?
It was years ago that I denounced Christianity. It was because so very, very, few actually practiced what they preached. It was because of the stigma that comes from being an abused person that I refuted them. (The fact that I didn't believe that which makes Christians, Christians, didn't help things either.) I had to learn to forgive those who abused me. I have to learn to forgive myself eventually. I do believe in the lesson's that the person known as Jesus the Christ taught, but I do not believe that he was the son of the Creator. Not in the sense that they do. I believe we are all children of the Creator and that we had better start learning to "Treat others as we would wish to be treated."
That's another reason I'm a Democrat. Because at least Democrats know that everyone, including themselves can make mistakes, and that if we refuse to accept this, and prepare for when we make a mistake, give mercy to those now that need it,then why should we expect mercy from them when we need it? If we don't, all we're going to do is make things worse for everyone. And wasn't it the Christ that said to be merciful to all? How many of those screwed up Right Wing Fundamintalists believe in that for anyone that isn't "Their type of Christian." That's another reason why religion shouldn't have anything to do with government, because even in one type of faith, there are several hundred different ways to look at it. I say, just stick with the simple ways of living. Remember the basic laws or love and kindness and live with it in your heart. That applies to all things including ourselves.
I can not hate Sarah. My heart is not hardened against her. It never will be. Just like it is not against my ex, my birth father and anyone else. Yes my heart is hardened against my birth mother, because I don't want to be hurt again, like I have so many times in the past. I pity her. She has my sympathies, because she's not had an easy life either. In truth, we share a lot of similarities, but that doesn't mean that I want to be in situations like that again. It doesn't mean I want to pass those bad memories and experiences on to the people around me.
It's been hard these past couple of weeks without Sara. She is a light that keeps me focused on the end of the journey I make that is part of my life and reminds me of the kind of world I want to leave behind. I want people to think, be patient, turn off the TV more and pay attention the action and reations the world makes. If I were to hate Sarah for what she felt she had to do, then I'd be no better than the people I dislike.
I shall have to find some way of contacting her and telling her this. It may be this month, next month or as late as October before I can tell her, "Yes. I do care." I miss all that time we spent together. It seemed all we did is hold each other and watch movies, but I couldn't ask for anything more. I want such closesness and comforts in my life always.
If there was a way that Sarah could read this, I'd be happy, but I know she can't.