My past...
There was a thread about suicide on one of the communities that I go to (not on livejournal). It got me to thinking about my past and how far I've come, even though I've had setbacks. And it also made me want to put everything that happened into words, even if not so eloquently. This is more for me than anyone else. And if you do read, I don't want your pity or *hugs* because it's a part of me, shit happens, and I survived...
When I was eleven years old I switched schools, from a private Catholic school to a public school. I made friends easily and even had a best friend, who I did everything with. There was one problem though. I liked girls (though I didn't realize it at the time - what eleven year old would?) and obviously did some things that led my best friend to realize that I *did* like girls. This started one of the worst periods of my life. Everyone in my class began to turn their backs on me and start calling me a word that I didn't even know existed - "lesbian". I came home in tears one day asking my mama what a lesbian was. When she explained it to me, I had no clue as to why they were calling me one. It only got worse as the years went on. Soon, nearly everyone in the school hated me and called me a lesbian. My parents always offered to go to the school to talk to the principal, but I always begged them not to. Now that I look back on it, I wished that I had. I couldn't stand up for myself and no one would. In eighth grade, it reached the breaking point. I finally stood up for myself...I called one of my worst bullies a bitch as she walked by in the hall. She slammed my head into my locker and nothing was done. That was the breaking point for my parents. My mama arranged a meeting with the principal and someone from the schoolboard. I had a written account of every little incident that had happened for the past couple of months (my parents had made me do it) and took it with me to the meeting. The only people who were there to support me were my mama and my one friend Doug, who had also suffered through bullying. The principal denied that half of the abuse had happened, even though I had it all written down, or he said that it wasn't as bad as I made it sound. They called in a few of the bullies, who said that they hadn't done anything wrong or that they hadn't meant things the way they'd said or that it was all meant in good-natured fun. After that, everything calmed down for awhile...
In ninth grade, I started hanging out with a group of kids who were the outcasts. I was comfortable with them and they accepted me. They were all into Wicca and Satanism. I became interested in Wicca and I didn't care who knew. Then the name-calling started again. This time it was "witch" and "devil-worshipper". My best friend at the time, Aimee Creech, was taken out of school before she was expelled because she *supposedly* threatened to kill people at the school. My other friend, Anthony, was kicked out because he *supposedly* threatened to bring a gun to school and use it. My other friend Hobie, well his mom just took him out of school because things got so bad for all of us. I began getting on the internet more and more, for all hours of the night - it was my only escape from my living Hell at Downsville. In May of my freshman year, we got the internet bill and it was over $800...due to that and all the stress at school, I ran away. I was picked up by two guys (who I still thank to this day) and stayed with them a night. The next day they brought me back home.
Fast forward to August, right before my sophomore year. Once again, a huge internet bill came in (solely because of me), I was deathly afraid of going back to school, and my parents were having problems. I ran away again. This time I made it all the way from my house to the interstate, where I got picked up by a truck driver. He offered to take me wherever I wanted to go. One morning, however, I was asleep in the back of his cab and he came and laid down with me...he molested me. By some god's grace, I gained the strength to repel him. He dropped me off at a huge truckstop in Dallas, where another truck driver picked me up. The man who picked me up was a saint and I wish to this day that I could find him. He treated me as if I was his own daughter. When he found out how old I really was, he called the police and I was sent back home. When I came back home, I was put on six months probation and had the choice of going into juvenile detention or getting counselling. I chose counselling.
It was at this time that I started self injuring. I was sitting in the waiting room at my counselor's office while my daddy was talking to them (I had two counselors - I was going through the local university) and I started having a panic attack, though I didn't know it then. I started clawing at my arm and I discovered that the pain made the anxiety and fear go away. After that, I started SI'ing when things got bad or too much for me to handle.
In the spring of my sophomore year, I became severely depressed and lonely. I started talking to a man online, he was 40 years old and made me feel like I was the best thing in the world. We made plans for him to come down and see me, but then I got scared. He then turned ugly and said things to me that no one should ever have to hear. I acquiesced and he came down in June. He came to my house every day for a week. What went on, I'll leave you to use your imagination. Except for the one time, he raped me, pure and outright, didn't ask me or anything. After that, we continued talking until I realized that he didn't love me. He told me that he wanted to marry me and he had found two eleven year old twins that he wanted to *adopt* for us and use for playthings...I quit talking to him after then, but that was far from my last experience with him.
In my junior year, my I got called out of class saying that my daddy was there to pick me up. When we left the school, my daddy said that there were some people who wanted to talk to me. When we got home, there was my old probation officer, a female detective, and two federal agents, one of them being the Federal Postal Inspector. They took me inside and started asking me if I knew a man named Timothy Koenck. I did...They asked me what happened between us and I told them. I was delivered a federal subpoena to testify to a grand jury about what happened. They also made me call him and taped the conversation. It was terrible to have to tell my parents. I went to Iowa in November to testify before the grand jury. It was one of the worst experiences of my life. I hope that I never have to do that again nor be part of a grand jury because I don't think I'd be able to handle it. In June of the year after, I went to Iowa once again, for Tim's sentencing. I sat in the back of the courtroom with my mama and the victims rights advocate as the DA made his case. I also had to undergo Tim's family staring at me through the whole thing, knowing that I was the reason that their son was going to go to prison. I think to this day, his mother steal blames me because no, of course not, her son wasn't a paedophile who preyed on innocent girls who were desperate for some sort of affection. I also had to listen as Tim made his statement, which is probably one of the most sickening things I've ever heard in my life. None of it was his fault, no apologies were offered to me or the other victims, it was all because he had 'problems'. I also gave my statement, in the judge's chambers. I made the DA and the victims rights advocate stand on either side of me for support. I broke down in tears as I gave my statement, staring at Tim the whole time. Afterwards, when all was said and done, Tim only received four years in a federal prison. Four years was all he got. The judge made the statement and I remember it well,"It's sad that I can give seventeen years to someone with a drug felony, but only four to a man like you." After that, I haven't heard or seen Tim. I almost wish that I could see the bastard now to show him that he didn't ruin my life, but I don't know if I could handle it.
After that, things were fairly decent for the years following, except that my depression became worse, I developed PTSD, developed autophobia (fear of being alone), and my self injury got worse. I went through counselling and was on anti-depressants up until I was nineteen, when I got with Blake, who I view as a saviour of sorts because he gave me a reason to fight.
Fast forward to now and dammit, I'm still here. No matter how shitty things get for me now, I've survived through worse and I can make it through this...
When I was eleven years old I switched schools, from a private Catholic school to a public school. I made friends easily and even had a best friend, who I did everything with. There was one problem though. I liked girls (though I didn't realize it at the time - what eleven year old would?) and obviously did some things that led my best friend to realize that I *did* like girls. This started one of the worst periods of my life. Everyone in my class began to turn their backs on me and start calling me a word that I didn't even know existed - "lesbian". I came home in tears one day asking my mama what a lesbian was. When she explained it to me, I had no clue as to why they were calling me one. It only got worse as the years went on. Soon, nearly everyone in the school hated me and called me a lesbian. My parents always offered to go to the school to talk to the principal, but I always begged them not to. Now that I look back on it, I wished that I had. I couldn't stand up for myself and no one would. In eighth grade, it reached the breaking point. I finally stood up for myself...I called one of my worst bullies a bitch as she walked by in the hall. She slammed my head into my locker and nothing was done. That was the breaking point for my parents. My mama arranged a meeting with the principal and someone from the schoolboard. I had a written account of every little incident that had happened for the past couple of months (my parents had made me do it) and took it with me to the meeting. The only people who were there to support me were my mama and my one friend Doug, who had also suffered through bullying. The principal denied that half of the abuse had happened, even though I had it all written down, or he said that it wasn't as bad as I made it sound. They called in a few of the bullies, who said that they hadn't done anything wrong or that they hadn't meant things the way they'd said or that it was all meant in good-natured fun. After that, everything calmed down for awhile...
In ninth grade, I started hanging out with a group of kids who were the outcasts. I was comfortable with them and they accepted me. They were all into Wicca and Satanism. I became interested in Wicca and I didn't care who knew. Then the name-calling started again. This time it was "witch" and "devil-worshipper". My best friend at the time, Aimee Creech, was taken out of school before she was expelled because she *supposedly* threatened to kill people at the school. My other friend, Anthony, was kicked out because he *supposedly* threatened to bring a gun to school and use it. My other friend Hobie, well his mom just took him out of school because things got so bad for all of us. I began getting on the internet more and more, for all hours of the night - it was my only escape from my living Hell at Downsville. In May of my freshman year, we got the internet bill and it was over $800...due to that and all the stress at school, I ran away. I was picked up by two guys (who I still thank to this day) and stayed with them a night. The next day they brought me back home.
Fast forward to August, right before my sophomore year. Once again, a huge internet bill came in (solely because of me), I was deathly afraid of going back to school, and my parents were having problems. I ran away again. This time I made it all the way from my house to the interstate, where I got picked up by a truck driver. He offered to take me wherever I wanted to go. One morning, however, I was asleep in the back of his cab and he came and laid down with me...he molested me. By some god's grace, I gained the strength to repel him. He dropped me off at a huge truckstop in Dallas, where another truck driver picked me up. The man who picked me up was a saint and I wish to this day that I could find him. He treated me as if I was his own daughter. When he found out how old I really was, he called the police and I was sent back home. When I came back home, I was put on six months probation and had the choice of going into juvenile detention or getting counselling. I chose counselling.
It was at this time that I started self injuring. I was sitting in the waiting room at my counselor's office while my daddy was talking to them (I had two counselors - I was going through the local university) and I started having a panic attack, though I didn't know it then. I started clawing at my arm and I discovered that the pain made the anxiety and fear go away. After that, I started SI'ing when things got bad or too much for me to handle.
In the spring of my sophomore year, I became severely depressed and lonely. I started talking to a man online, he was 40 years old and made me feel like I was the best thing in the world. We made plans for him to come down and see me, but then I got scared. He then turned ugly and said things to me that no one should ever have to hear. I acquiesced and he came down in June. He came to my house every day for a week. What went on, I'll leave you to use your imagination. Except for the one time, he raped me, pure and outright, didn't ask me or anything. After that, we continued talking until I realized that he didn't love me. He told me that he wanted to marry me and he had found two eleven year old twins that he wanted to *adopt* for us and use for playthings...I quit talking to him after then, but that was far from my last experience with him.
In my junior year, my I got called out of class saying that my daddy was there to pick me up. When we left the school, my daddy said that there were some people who wanted to talk to me. When we got home, there was my old probation officer, a female detective, and two federal agents, one of them being the Federal Postal Inspector. They took me inside and started asking me if I knew a man named Timothy Koenck. I did...They asked me what happened between us and I told them. I was delivered a federal subpoena to testify to a grand jury about what happened. They also made me call him and taped the conversation. It was terrible to have to tell my parents. I went to Iowa in November to testify before the grand jury. It was one of the worst experiences of my life. I hope that I never have to do that again nor be part of a grand jury because I don't think I'd be able to handle it. In June of the year after, I went to Iowa once again, for Tim's sentencing. I sat in the back of the courtroom with my mama and the victims rights advocate as the DA made his case. I also had to undergo Tim's family staring at me through the whole thing, knowing that I was the reason that their son was going to go to prison. I think to this day, his mother steal blames me because no, of course not, her son wasn't a paedophile who preyed on innocent girls who were desperate for some sort of affection. I also had to listen as Tim made his statement, which is probably one of the most sickening things I've ever heard in my life. None of it was his fault, no apologies were offered to me or the other victims, it was all because he had 'problems'. I also gave my statement, in the judge's chambers. I made the DA and the victims rights advocate stand on either side of me for support. I broke down in tears as I gave my statement, staring at Tim the whole time. Afterwards, when all was said and done, Tim only received four years in a federal prison. Four years was all he got. The judge made the statement and I remember it well,"It's sad that I can give seventeen years to someone with a drug felony, but only four to a man like you." After that, I haven't heard or seen Tim. I almost wish that I could see the bastard now to show him that he didn't ruin my life, but I don't know if I could handle it.
After that, things were fairly decent for the years following, except that my depression became worse, I developed PTSD, developed autophobia (fear of being alone), and my self injury got worse. I went through counselling and was on anti-depressants up until I was nineteen, when I got with Blake, who I view as a saviour of sorts because he gave me a reason to fight.
Fast forward to now and dammit, I'm still here. No matter how shitty things get for me now, I've survived through worse and I can make it through this...