Hidden Pieces ~ Sexual Abuse ~ Video

***TRIGGER WARNING*** ***TRIGGER WARNING*** (Graphic Sexual Abuse Content)

This is a summary of my sexual abuse that I've written about so far in the form of a video.  The music is by Plumb entitled, "Damaged."  (There is no intention of violating copyright laws)

Hidden Pieces ~ threats and control

***TRIGGER WARNING***  ***TRIGGER WARNING***

I decided to begin retelling what I wrote to my therapist and I in the Winter/Spring of 2007 after four years of intense flashbacks and repressed memories emerging. [Current commentary is in brackets.]  I wrote my seventy page "biography" because I needed to write out what I remembered and what I experienced to make it more "real" rather than a "story."  I am ready to take the next step and putting more of it in my blog.  This was the original reason for starting my blog and using my journal as a starting point.  I am still struggling with believing that the following is the truth of my life:

My step-father was quite demanding that I do exactly what he asked or he would tell my mother that I had misbehaved and then I would get yelled at by her and at least slapped/hit/kicked and sometimes beaten with whatever she found handy. She never did ask for my point of view…it did not matter because he was angry. He always called me a spoiled brat who didn’t do what I was supposed to because my mother spoiled me.

My step-father would also threaten me that he was going to kick me out of his house or send me to live with my “father even though he doesn’t love or want you anyway.” When I was a teenager, he told me to get out of his house, so I walked barefoot out of the house after dark and had no idea where I was going. My aunt picked me up and I slept at her house that night. [She also asked my mother if I could live with her and my step-father said, "no!"] I never cried, just kept quiet. No one ever talked about it either…just pretended it didn’t happen. I just realized that my mother was right there and did not intervene…my aunt did.

At the beginning with my step-father also forced me to eat the tofu out of the miso soup that I didn’t want to eat and it had soapy dishwater in it and had been retrieved out of the trash by him who shoved it into my mouth while he held my mouth and the back of my head until I swallowed. I also hated hot cereals, eggs, apple juice and apple cider, but was “forced” to eat them and, often times, it was the only thing to eat even though my mother knew I didn’t like them. [Probably adds to my issue of control which partly developed in my eating disorder]

After the tofu incident, I learned to eat quickly and drink lots of water. I also had to make sure I ate at a pace quick enough for my step-father not to become angry. He also threatened my life when I was six, by placing the blade of the chef’s knife to my neck stating; “you know I could kill you anytime I wanted.” If had said something, he would really become angry with me. Another time one of his odd jobs was selling home fire safety supplies, so he practiced his pitch with me listening and I got bored and wanted to play. He became angry with and demanded that I listen; otherwise, he said he would take the “fire extinguisher and bash it into my head.” (Assignment: write what I fantasize my mother would have done or said and/or I would have done or said. – too overwhelmed to do so.) [If I had said something, either no one would believe me or there would be much chaos and I didn't want to upset things more.]

Im having difficulty believing that it was this bad.  I feel kind of buzzy and numb.  I don't want to believe this.

Hidden Pieces ~ Noise

***TRIGGER WARNING***  ***TRIGGER WARNING***

I decided to begin retelling what I wrote to my therapist and I in the Winter/Spring of 2007 after four years of intense flashbacks and repressed memories emerging. [Current commentary is in brackets.]  I wrote my seventy page "biography" because I needed to write out what I remembered and what I experienced to make it more "real" rather than a "story."  I am ready to take the next step and putting more of it in my blog.  This was the original reason for starting my blog and using my journal as a starting point.  I am still struggling with believing that the following is the truth of my life:

In general, noise really agitates me or I have panic attacks. Which is mostly due to the noise that was violent and usually meant I was going to get hurt from before I was born until I moved out of the house as an adult. Additionally, any power tools are extremely difficult for me to handle due to the frequency of them which is the same or very similar to the Kirby vacuum. Also, idling of cars brings back flashbacks especially the anxiety I felt. Just thinking about these sounds makes me feel like I’m leaving my body. [Some of my physical and sexual abuse occured in my step-father's van.  I write about this later.]

I always had to assist my mother with vacuuming from the time I could had her things until I was out of high school. Vacuuming or house cleaning, in general, always meant that I was going to get yelled at and/or probably hit or slapped in the face for not being quick enough or doing something that was not to her liking. Kirby’s have lots of different attachments and my mother would ask me for different ones. I tried really hard to remember, but I couldn’t remember what they were all called. If I gave her the wrong one, she would start to scream at me, “that I was stupid” and it would escalate into her throwing the attachments at me, to hitting me with the vacuum tubes on the head, shoulders and back.

If she did a through job of cleaning the house it would be four to five hours of this. But, it was hard to determine when she was going to clean house and she would not tell me ahead of time, but somehow I was expected to know. If I heard the vacuum start, I would hurry to get ready or I’d get screamed at and possible slapped in the face or slugged in the back. Or the worse one was being awakened by her suddenly throwing my bedroom door open and screaming at me to help her.

It did not matter if I had a guest, one time, a friend spent the night and we were woken up to this and I immediately got dressed and my mother began screaming at me, so my friend packed her things and walked home. I never did ask if anyone could spend the night after that and never asked anyone over to my house. I was so embarrassed and humiliated, but too scared at the time to feel this. My friend and I have never talked about this to this day. I guess in some ways I am afraid of the vacuum and have not been able to vacuum much, hardly at all, since the memories began. My husband does it when I am not home.

Cleaning house in general brings up so much anxiety. My step-father and my mother used to argue about him purchasing the pay per view boxing matches for which he would invite all of his friends and expect my mother and I to clean for the day, clean up after and purchase the snacks and drinks. There was arguing which my mother directed at me. There was agitation and arguing leading up to the purchase, once the purchase was made, about how many he was going to invite, how many he invited, the food purchases, the cleaning the house before the match, cleaning up after the match and for having the party in the first place.

This occurred quite frequently and I had to stay to help clean up before, during and after which also meant listening to my mother complain and take her anger out on me. This made me extremely anxious due to the arguing, waiting for my mother’s anger to become directed at me, and the “sport’s” type yelling and loudness during the match and people becoming drunk. After the match, while my mother and I cleaned, Gene and his buddies would go out to a bar or play basketball and then to the bar. I hated boxing matches and still do.

The sound of cars idling flashes me back to many different things including my father’s car, my mother’s car and my step-father's van. Vehicle's idling always meant someone was angry, arguing, wanting me to hurry up or being trapped in the van with my step-father.

[To this day, I still have difficulty with any type of noise.  I am getting better as I work through issues in therapy.  The more stressed I feel or if my senses are overstimulated, I have more difficulty and become fragmented.]

Hidden Pieces: Always Second

***TRIGGER WARNING***  ***TRIGGER WARNING***

I decided to begin retelling what I wrote in the Winter/Spring of 2007 after four years of intense flashbacks and repressed memories emerging. [Current commentary is in brackets.]  I wrote my seventy page "biography" because I needed to write out what I remembered and what I experienced to make it more "real" rather than a "story."  I am ready to take the next step and putting more of it in my blog.  This was the original reason for starting my blog and using my journal as a starting point.  I am still struggling with believing that the following is the truth of my life:

When I was a teenager and my aunt, who was more like a sister or mother as we are only ten years apart, was over frequently, sometimes, she would physically intervene. I remember her getting in front of my mother or grabbing her arm saying, “S, calm down! Stop it!” Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. I appreciate my aunt for trying.

[I also know now that I hated to be teased.  When I was younger and living with my grandparents and my aunt that it would get to the point where I would cry and start to kick.  My aunt said that she had to pull me away and then ask me what I was upset about and comfort met.  However, the teasing even continued even when she moved me away from the situation..."I was to sensitive."]

Whenever my mother was angry with me, my step-father would also be calling me names and telling her that I was a spoiled brat and needed to be taught a lesson. My mother would joke about slapping me the next morning showing me how her hand had been bruised “by me.” She would also without warning assault me by slugging me usually in the back knocking the wind out of me.

The last time she slugged me was when I was in college. Again, just continued doing whatever it was I was doing, didn’t make a sound or even begin to cry and never spoke about it. Also, she would beat me with my bottom bared most of the time, or on my back, legs, shoulders or head with an electrical cord, a piece of wood, ping pong paddle, vacuum parts, yardstick, wooden spoon, etc…scared me so much I thought that she could kill me as she seemed so full of rage and out of control…it was like I didn’t exist anymore. This stopped somewhere near the end of high school. The height of the verbal and physical abuse was between three to eight/nine years old.

When I was older, my mother continued to slap me in the face, slug me and scream at me or throw things at me. And, she last spanked me with a yardstick with my pants down when I was fifteen. I’m still embarrassed talking about it or even putting it down on paper. We were all playing Monopoly and I did not want to negotiate with Gene, so he became angrier and angrier as each turn I wouldn’t negotiate, he began screaming and me and told my mother that I was a spoiled brat and that she need to teach me a lesson.

They both sent me to my room and my mother later came up with the yardstick and demanded that I take my pants and underwear off and turn around. I think, I was more humiliated than hurt. But, it did hurt. At this, point I gave up any hope that she would ever choose me over Gene. Not that I had much hope at this point, but I realized that even though at least a few times per year she would talk to me about needing to move and change our life style as she was going to divorce Gene was never going to happen.

My friends no longer believed me anyway because I had talked about it so much; however, each time my mother would talk about it, I would become excited, anxious and sad. Felt like an emotional rollercoaster and everyone stopped listening to me and I stopped talking. Everything else felt like a roller coaster too. I felt very alone and had no one to talk to or help me sort out my feelings…I don’t think I really knew what feelings were.

(“My fantasy of her choosing me over Gene was annihilated. Wasn’t for attention…deep depression...Major Depressive Episode at fifteen without any support, resources, help and was not talking to anyone.”) I felt humiliated and betrayed which I had felt most of my life about her.

I was really, really angry, and sad, confused, overwhelmed and felt so alone. I ripped to shreds one of my favorite t-shirts that I was wearing at the time. That evening all I could think about was killing myself. I bruised my leg with a piece of wood and my fists, used razors to cut my legs and started to make lateral cuts on both my wrists which were just superficial.

I told myself that if I did not feel better by the next morning that I would take the Tylenol. Any hope that I had left that she would ever choose me over Gene was annihilated. I felt so absolutely alone and hopeless that she would ever intervene, protect me, comfort me, be able to talk to her, that she would ever really listen to me, that she would want to do so, ever understand my side, or want to, or really care about me. Right now, I’m feeling an overwhelming sense of grief, loss and sadness. I lost all trust in her and knew that she would never have the strength to divorce him…I felt so trapped. It also confirmed that she would do to me whatever my step-father told her to do…maybe even kill me. She was still threatening to do so, at times.

[I don't know if I write about this later or not, but I'll explain a bit about my taking the Tylenol. It was really a clumsy attempt, but I thought I could at least harm myself.  I took them in the morning and then my friend and her mother picked me up for church.  I told them in the car and was taken to emergency.  When my mother and step-father arrived, they began yelling at me about how stupid I was, etc.  My mother asked it the school would be notified because she didn't want anyone to know...more explanation in a later post.  I saw a therapist once and said all the right things and never had to see him again.  It never talked about it again....again my pain goes unnoticed or ignored.]

Hidden Pieces ~ Who am I to my Mother?

***TRIGGER WARNING***  ***TRIGGER WARNING***

I decided to begin retelling what I wrote in the Winter/Spring of 2007 after four years of intense flashbacks and repressed memories emerging. [Current commentary is in brackets.]  I wrote my seventy page "biography" because I needed to write out what I remembered and what I experienced to make it more "real" rather than a "story."  I am ready to take the next step and putting more of it in my blog.  This was the original reason for starting my blog and using my journal as a starting point.  I am still struggling with believing that the following is the truth of my life:

In my last entry, as I wrote, “I know that she loved me,” it did not seem to ring true to me. I just could not actually look at that “she might not love me.” I can’t seem to let that thought in my head…I go away. But, in discussing this, she only relates to me and everyone else through her projections. I’ve always been her idealized, “over achiever, never had to worry about you, demand to get my needs met by you,” or all bad, unavailable, withholding, cause of all problems,” projections. I have all sorts of mixed feelings about this…and I can’t seem to comprehend this…makes my head hurt or makes me tear up. You [my therapist] asked about my anger, regarding the above incident, and what I really wanted to do is scream as loud as I could, “Stop hitting me! I hate you.” I also really wanted to bite her and dig my nails into her as hard as I could breaking skin…making her bleed. I also wanted to kick her, hit back and scratch her. I think, my answers in the office were safe and I was guessing, but it allowed me to think about how I was really feeling. I was also embarrassed and felt like I was wrong to say that, “I feel more love from you than my mother.”  [I actually feel more loved by my therapist in that he gives me more or what I need and knows who I really am. I know now that somewhere I do love her, but I'm not there yet.]
Then, I am having difficulty with making her responsible for her behavior. She did what she did because of Grandma, so what she does is not her fault. But, she chooses not to get help, but what if her illness prevents her from doing so? (But, she is not so sick as not to obtain help for herself. Yes, she was encouraged to do so, but did not and still will not. She is not that sick for her not to have some self-awareness or insight.) [She has had numerous opportunities to obtain psychotherapy services and life changes and problems that indicated her need for it.]


I am beginning to feel like it is starting to sink in that my mother knew and did nothing to stop it…she actually did things to facilitate the abuse [from my step-father that I discuss later...if you want to know some now, on the left sidebar click on the pictures of "Letter to my mother," or the "About me" link below the header] continuing and also abused me. I want to die…I feel, at times, I am just so angry I don’t know what to do or I feel sad, depressed or confused. The suicidal ideation and wanting to cut and bruise is really loud. [Always increases during moments of strong feelings especially anger or when telling the truth.] Feels really crazy emotionally, in my head and even physically. How do I live with knowing that she never loved me and knew about the abuse, but did nothing to stop it and actually facilitated it continuing and also abused me. She could have stopped it, but denied everything and still does. How do I continue with this? What do I do with it? I think, the whole circumstances surrounding the Tylenol thing told me that she knew at least some. [My suicide attempt at 15 years old which I write about later.]


I feel like I’m going crazy. I keep flashing back and forth between the two incidents, my mother beating me and the whole Monopoly/Tylenol thing. In the background is that my mother did not love me. I’m remembering how I felt physically and emotionally and the thoughts running through my head at the time. I feel really stuck like I really need to cry, but can’t…feels really crazy right now. At times with the flashbacks, I feel a little bit of the depth of my anger, aloneness, pain (still not the right word), terror and depression. I’ve also been on the verge of tears since Friday, but I can’t seem to cry and I just ache all over sometimes. Really feels like I need to talk about what is going on inside, but I’m not sure of what to say…words are difficult to find. Feels very overwhelming and my head feels like it is spinning.

My mother doesn't love me in the sense that she doesn't know me and relates to me through her projections.  I know that she actually does love me, but is extremely ambivalent about it.  It is difficult knowing that she actually loves her projections of me and not for just me.  This was an extremely difficult time for me.  I think, I was seeing my therapist eight hours per week.  From January 2003 to the present, I have seen him regularly anywhere from eight to three hours per week.  Some of this was to prevent hospitalization or because I was really needing to talk about my flashbacks, in which, there was always something new to talk about for about four years.

Hidden Pieces: Mother's Abuse

***TRIGGER WARNING***  ***TRIGGER WARNING***

Well, I made a decision after much thought and prayer, I decided to begin retelling what I wrote in the Winter/Spring of 2007 after four years of intense flashbacks and repressed memories emerging. [Current commentary is in brackets.]  I wrote my seventy page "biography" because I needed to write out what I remembered and what I experienced to make it more "real" rather than a "story."  I am ready to take the next step and putting more of it in my blog.  This was the original reason for starting my blog and using my journal as a starting point.  I am still struggling with believing that the following is the truth of my life:

Grandpa always told me it was my job to take care of my mother and that is exactly what she demanded from me. However, I felt like I was going crazy with her and I was really terrified of her. Sometimes, I was fearful that she would kill me. She would seem to suddenly become full of rage, out of control and begin taking it out on me by yelling at me, screaming at me, blaming me and hitting me. I was attacked and assaulted by her slapping me in the face, so hard, to bruise her hand or knock me off of a chair while I was dusting, hitting me on the back/shoulders/head with her closed hand and kicking me. With the dusting, I just waited until she was done and got back on the chair and started dusting again. Never cried, said anything to her, never talked about it and like most things pretended that it never happened. [I do the same thing now, but am getting better about expressing myself and a bit better about not ignoring myself and feelings...tough lesson when that was what I used for so long to cope.]

The first time that I really remember my mother beating me was while we were with living with Grandma and Grandpa and she came home and was angry. I was about three years old. When she got to the bedroom door, where I was inside coloring, she immediately slapped me in the face and then starting hitting me with her fists on my shoulders and back areas. I was so surprised because she had never done that before.

 Then, she took a wooden stick off the window sill and without any clothing on my bottom half began to hit me over and over again on my bottom and the back of my legs. I still didn’t say anything or cry even though it hurt. It felt like she was trying to really hurt or injure me, which is exactly what I say I feel like doing when I fragment. [I have internalized her projection that I am bad and need to be punished.  My self injury is a result of this and those are some of the thoughts that run through my head.]  The pain was really awful and seemed to radiate all over my body.

During the time, she kept screaming at me that I was “the reason that she couldn’t find a job, needed to find one and that everything was my fault.” I didn’t quite understand, but knew that I was bad and to blame for the problems. This event was also the last time that I was excited as the time approached for her to come home. Previously, I was always happy when she was going to come home. From this point on, I became increasingly anxious when the time came as I did not know what type of mood she was going to be in or what was going to happen to me. [I learned to listen to how she drove into the drive way, the way she closed the care door, her footsteps, her opening the door to the house, walking in, and her face.  A bit hypervigilant.]

“Lost fantasy that she was happy to see me and wanted to be with me.” I completely lost trust and a sense of safety from my mother. From that point forward, she was really unstable and unpredictable and would rage at me verbally and physically. I felt absolutely trapped and really confused and terrified of her. I remember trying to hide when I heard her come home in an angry mood. In my head, I just kept saying, “I need to disappear…go away, just go away…disappear.” [I still tell myself this which at times can mean suicidal thoughts that have always seemed to have been with me even before I could verbalize it.]

Of course, she found me and in my head I was saying, “Mommy, don’t, please don’t…I’ll be good, I promise…no not again…what did I do this time.” At first, it was maybe one time per week and no one, but maybe my aunt or uncle was home…I don’t know if they heard or not. I certainly didn’t make a sound or talk about it. Then, it was at least two to three times per week.

Sometimes, on the weekends because she wanted to go out with her friends and she made sure that I knew I was interfering in her life and that she did not want to have to stay home with me. Other times, she would just take off and leave me with whoever was at home…didn’t ask them, just took off. (I thought she was leaving because I was bad. I now know that this is not true, but that was how I felt then.) I know that she loved me, but I never really felt like she loved me or was a source of comfort. I felt like I was never good enough for her to love me. Grandpa, my uncle and definitely my aunt was where I went to for comfort. I know that my mother is really angry with me for shutting her out which she says, “I’ve done my whole life.” Thing is that she never was safe to let in…even now which just makes me sad. I had to disconnect from me in order to stay attached to her.

[From what I now know, her rages have to do with her projections that I am all bad or all good.  I either meet all her need or I meet none of them which is a classic borderline personality trait.  At this point or before, the thoughts of dying, being bad and being so hypervigilant became a way of life.  This tells me that my mother is really sick and was not equipped to take care of a child. My family has told me that when she would go out with her friends that I would cry for her to at least say goodbye or reassure and comfort me.  My grandparents would get into arguments with her about her going out too much and just wanting her to come hug me or something as I was crying for her.  My aunt ended up comforting me...I really thank God for her.]

My Life ~ My Abuse ~ My Hope

Trigger Warning!!  Trigger Warning!!  Trigger Warning!!

This month is child abuse prevention month.  As a part of it, I wanted to share some of my life.  I have music to go with it since it is so long.  The music also goes with it very well; however, Picasa is not making movies well right now.  Hope you aren't too bored, but this is quite personal and something that I need to do.

I sort of figure a way to play the music which will be out of sync because it is not a movie, but you will get the idea.  You will need to press play for the slideshow and the music.

PAST JOURNAL ENTRY ~ November 14 & 15, 2005 ~ Part III

PAST JOURNAL ENTRY ~ November 14 & 15, 2005 continued....

The flashbacks run through all ages and sometimes, I get really buzzy and anxious. I so much wanted someone to really know how much pain I was in and to talk to someone who would understand and listen and comfort me. Someone to tell what was going on or what happened. I'm starting to cry now. I think, I must have really wanted it since I didn' t give up on therapy or you or me.

So much, I kept to myself, so many thoughts and harming myself...so many private things and unshared and unspoken even to me. And unknown.

I think, I'm realizing how constant and unrelenting the suicidal thoughts, wanting to die, hopelessness, feeling really, really bad, feeling like I didn't matter, wasn't important, uncomforted, terrified, angry and hurt I was. There is more, but this is what I can identify now.

Feels like I'm really wrestling with accepting or even looking at that things were really scary, chaotic, violent and terrorizing and sad. When I do I feel more and sometimes I just hurt all over. I'm crying now. Things were really horrible for a long time.

Sometimes, I feel like I did growing up and just wanting to cry and scream, but unable to really do so. Could be tearful alone. Being alone was and is really painful. Feels good not to cry alone. Then, I make it bad. Bad to feel comfort and to even feel safe...can't trust.

Remember sitting in my closet or on my floor just holding my Snoopy and rocking...trying not to cry, but really wanting to cry and scream. Wanting to do so with my Mom, my father, step-father, his father and all the other men. But, so many times at home or with my father not saying anything or crying or screaming when sometimes all I wanted to do was cry or scream.

Really wanted to when my step-gather did the things he did, when my Mom would slap and scream at me, when my father would correct me, slap me or spank me. Also, when my mother and step-father would tease me.

To be continued....

Vengeance & Homicidal Rage Fantasies!!!

Warning!!! Trigger Warning!!! Warning!!!

This slideshow contains graphic images of homicidal fantasies that are gory, bloody and disturbing. Do not continue if you do not want to see these images!!

You could go to Courageous Steps and read a poem that really resonated with me that was written by Mary from Nippercat's Home or see some of my fingerpainting that has not been posted here on Clinically Clueless.

Child Abuse ~ "Dear Mr. Jesus" ~ PowerSource 1986

I first heard this song when I was 21 years old working at a runaway youth shelter. I was at the beginning, not even a year, with my current therapist. At the time, I had no realization how much like them my teenage years were, nor thought of myself as abused even though my mother was still slapping or slugging me in the back. However, when I heard this song for the first time, I had to pull over because I burst into sobs and didn't understand why. I thought, "maybe, I am just feeling for the kids (that I work with)." Boy, do I know different now and I thought in honor of my denial veil starting to shred that it would be a good time to post it.

The song is from the Christian group called PowerSource from their 1986 album Shelter from the Storm (Psalm 91:1). I doubt that they are in existence now. But, I wanted to share the verse with you which reads, "Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty."

There is also a verse (Psalm 27:10) that is listed below the song title and reads. "Even if my father and mother abandon me, the Lord will hold me close." Which reminds me of one of my favorite verses for its comfort. It is Isaiah 49: (14)15-16 which reads, "But Zion said, 'The Lord has forsaken me, the Lord has forgotten me.' Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me."

These two verses are comforting to me as I know what it feels like to be abandoned and rejected by my mother and my father, but I know that God created me, never has and never will abandon or reject me. These verses are very special to me as when I read them I felt as if they were speaking directly to my soul.

(I know, I got all religious on you, but that is a part of who I am also and the purpose of the blog is for me to be myself. And, I felt like I just had to write this.) May you be blessed today! CC