Archive for the ‘family’ Tag

Childhood memories   2 comments

Chapter 1

Childhood?

My childhood was far from ideal. Most times I think of little girls having baby dolls and pigtails, pretty pink rooms and strawberries on their bed sheets. I had the strawberries and pigtails. My room was a pretty soft pink after we moved into the house when I was eight. From the outside, I looked like a happy child and I was. For a little while.

I went to school like every other child. My mother packed my lunch because of allergies. I played softball and went to gymnastics, tried out for the tennis team and cheer squad. I remember having to take that stupid fitness test and running around the football field for a grueling half hour and almost passing out. Late spring in Texas is NOT the time to be running like that!

We would go to the beach frequently. Watching the ships floating serenely down the ship channel was my favorite part. They were going somewhere exciting. Somewhere away from where I was in my misery. I desperately wanted to go with them. I went to the docks often and would talk to the sailors about places they would go or sit and watch the ships.

Before we moved near the ship channel, we lived in Baytown, Texas. We lived in a mobile home near the back of the park, by the woods. I remember spending hours on end in those woods. We chased the “fog truck” that would come by spraying pesticides to kill the relentless mosquitoes. I wonder how many of my health issues now can be traced back to then.

I remember the first time I was molested. The washing machine was olive green and it matched the rest of the bathroom. I’d gotten sick all over my favorite dress and he’d taken me in to wash me up. He got my dress off and put it in the washing machine. After starting it, he lifted me up and sat me on the machine. I thought it was a little weird but it was ok because he was my daddy and he did weird things all the time. They were fun and, at 6, everyone loves fun. I remember the feel of the cool washrag, it was hot outside so it felt nice. I remember giggling when he touched me through my underpants because I didn’t get barf in my panties and when I said so, he told me he wanted to make sure I was all clean. The smell of detergent was strong and I felt suddenly sick. Not like bad sick, scared sick. He didn’t go further than touching that first time but I remember him showing me his peepee and how big it looked. I said something about him being bigger than my brothers (we took showers and baths together all the time) and he laughed, telling me that was why he wouldn’t do anything to me with it yet.

Not long after that, my father became “born again” and we started going to church. We went ALL the time and I had to wear long sleeved dresses, past my knees and neckline higher than my collarbone. I was a good girl, I sang in the choir, went to girl scout meetings at the church, helped the ladies clean the sanctuary and oil the pews. I even went to church camp and sang solo parts in a play the church hosted. Life was perfect… for a time.

One day my dad came home from church where he’d been to see the pastor. He felt he’d had a calling to be a missionary. The pastor didn’t think he was ready or something and told him he wouldn’t back him. We never went back to that church again, hat I can remember, and we moved shortly afterward to the first real house we’d ever lived in. Up till then, all I’d known was mobile homes or military housing. I was soon going to a school nearby and had friends. My grandmother lived a block from us and we spent many Christmases at her house with her.

From the time we moved into the house till after I left home, my father molested me. I was 9 when he started making weekly trips into my room to “tuck me in” He told me many times that if I told anyone, he’d kill my mother and my little brother. To prove to me that he could, he dismembered my kitten in front of me. I was 11 when he did that and I still remember the mewling of my kitten 30 years afterward.

When I was 12 my father came to me one night and asked me if I really wanted to get some extra money for something I wanted to buy. I was excited at the prospect so I said yes. He kissed me and smiled then walked to the light switch and turned it off. I heard the familiar sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor and my body went numb. I knew what was going to happen next so I “left”. I went to the corner of my room, looking at the people on the bed, and waited till he was done. For a year, at least, I’d been disappearing into myself when he’s visit me. When he tucked the covers over my shoulders, he turned to leave and drew his wallet from his pocket. Pulling a 20 from his billfold, he chuckled and placed it on the dresser by the door before leaving.

This went on till I was 15. My older brothers best friend and I ran away together. He was 20 and had a car so, one day I wrote my mother a note and left it on my nightstand when I left for school. I had packed my clothes in my backpack and went to the bus. I had made plans the night before, with my boyfriend, to run away. He knew that my father was hitting me, he had seen it with his own eyes that night when my father beat me because I hadn’t done the dishes.

We left town around noon. I had skipped out after third period gym and met him at the pool. We went back to his place and packed the trunk with his stuff then headed out. I remember crying because I was afraid for my mother and, about halfway to Amarillo, I remembered it was my fathers graduation night. We got a motel in Raton and slept that first night. I was exhausted and sore from the beating the night before. Johnny was so gentle and sweet. He tucked me into bed and held me protectively, kissing my eyebrow and telling me I was safe. I fell asleep to his voice telling me I’d be safe forever.

Random memories (NSFW NSFC racism)   1 comment

Mardi Gras is something I wanted to experience at least once in my life. The colors, music, parades and food called me every year from across the bayou. Growing up, I lived close enough to know people who had gone but far enough away that I couldn’t go by myself. With my father, it was considered a heinous crime to even WANT to go because New Orléans was full of niggers and it was a nigger holiday.

 My father was part of  the local KKK group and we didn’t have many blacks in our town that I knew of. Honestly I don’t remember the blacks we had in our school except for one very tall girl who sang like nothing I’d ever heard before. My father caught me talking to her once and I couldn’t walk for two days after he got done beating me.

He beat us often, my brothers and I. Usually for trivial things we’d get beaten but the big things were overlooked. Once, I was caught by a security guard in the store near our house, stealing candy bars. They called my parents and I had to walk home, four blocks, knowing my father was waiting at home to beat me. When I got home, he sent me to my room to do my homework. It was never mentioned again. Shortly afterward, a month maybe, I was caught smoking in the park near our house. I ended up with a bloody nose, black eye and severe headaches for weeks after that beating. I was in third grade.

The little mobile home park we lived in for a while in Pasadena was situated near a XXX drive in theater. Behind our house was a large grassy area that was totally overgrown with weeds and trash. We’d made a fort among the trash and overgrowth and from the door we could see the screen of the theater. There were many nights when my brothers and I or my girlfriend who was 13, would lay out there and watch the movies. A few nights my girlfriend would masturbate while watching and taught me how to do it myself. She was the first female I’d tasted and the very first time I’d been gone down on. I loved the taste and feel of her body, her small breasts becoming larger, it seemed, overnight. I loved being held by her. She was so tender and sweet. I think I actually fell in love with her. When my father discovered us kissing in my bedroom, he forbade us seeing each other again. I was devastated and can only think this was a big part of the beginning of my lifelong depression.

When I met my best friend, I remember thinking she was totally awesome. We did everything together. We smoked pot, tried drinking, her for the first time, got in trouble, slept at each others houses, snuck off to the beach at night. I was a terrible influence on her

 I was in the same room with her when she lost her virginity. It was a shed we were in and we were separated by a piece of plywood. Steve and I were screwing like rabbits and I heard her crying, telling Walt to stop, he was hurting her. I told her to relax and the pain would stop, just breath and calm down. She quieted down and I kept fucking Steve. I knew if my father knew I was being fucked by a mexican, especially Steve, he’d be pissed. That just made it more important that I open my legs for him as often as possible. I often slipped out the window to have sex with him, walking a block from the house so my dad wouldn’t hear his motorcycle as we rode away.

Walt was the guy Barb lost her virginity to and I hear tell, 20 some years later, they are still together. If it’s true, I’m so very happy if she’s still happy with him. I miss her horribly as the years go by.

Wow, this is turning into something big…   3 comments

Geeze, who would have thought my life would be turned upside down by this story? I can’t even come up with a fitting preview let alone anything else lol. My hubby has begun to help me by finding and creating the cover and I think he did a damn good job for his first try. I have been on the phone with four different publishers this week and they each got a couple of chapters. They are going NUTS. Good grief, you would think I’ve discovered how to turn cow shit into gold or something. It’s nice and all but I can already tell I’m going to have to get an agent or something. I have a couple of local agents lined up to interview this next week. Gotta figure out what questions to ask. I know royalties and up front costs as well as the agents cuts ect.

 

One thing good coming out of this so far. It’s gotten my mind off other things like my fibromyalgia. I’ve lost 15 pounds in a month and my breathing seems to have gotten a bit better. My boys know something exciting is going on with me and want to be all up in the middle of it so I’m not getting done the writing I should get done. I am going to have to tell them this is something they cannot help me with and I need quiet time. Hubby said I should take the laptop and go for a walk, find someplace quiet and write. I think, instead, I’m going to have to write while the boys are doing school work or sleeping.

I told my mother and aunt (her sister) last night about the book and my mother asked me if I was going to change names or just lay this all out as it happened. The names of those still living will be changed to protect the innocent. The dead can just deal with it. I know it’s probably going to piss off a few people but the ones that matter won’t be pissed. The others, like my fathers side of the family, haven’t spoken to me in over 15 years so I really don’t care what they think. As the old saying goes “Those that mind, don’t matter. Those that matter don’t mind”

Posted March 9, 2012 by I'm taking a nap in Memoirs

Tagged with , , ,

Decisions   14 comments

Dreams came to me tonight. The two hours of sleep I got were aparently very productive and now the words are insisting on erupting  again. The past couple of days I’ve had suggestions to put my words  into book form. It is time, I believe. Too many signs pointing to the deal to NOT do it. Perhaps I can use some of the proceeds to help those in need to get out of this hell I went through. The addictions, the abuse, all my life I’ve been wondering why me. Now perhaps I’ve found out my path. With the encouragement of my newfound friends here, I will put my life to paper. The tags will give some insight.

 

Hold me…. I’m afraid…