My Life Till Now . . . .

FEBRUARY 1992: SPIRITUAL QUEST

2011-12-01T15:23:00.005-05:00

Journal 1

Monday, February 17, 1992
9:40 PM

So I tried the counseling sessions with S, but I feel that I could turn the tables and counsel her. I have decided not to go to anymore sessions. But I have decided (on)a 3-Step plan . . . .

The root of all evil begins in the mind of some jackass. All works are the invention of man's mind--don't be fooled--if man didn't do, there wouldn't be wrongdoings in today's society.

I have given up all thoughts of my death, via suicide, though it isn't the end of my desire to die someday.

My most difficult journey that began some time back in 1987-89 will now take shape beginning this year. The next nine years are decreed unto me by my Creator. Serviceship and study is my main goal in man's world. As I have been told: When this mission is complete, I shall return from whence I came.

(Woe) to the outside world, if my vengeance shall be let loose. My part in Earth's (Terra's) future can be either good or bad but both shall be necessary as our Creator sees fit.

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NOVEMBER 1991: TENANTS' MEETING

2011-12-01T15:12:00.001-05:00

Journal 1

Monday, November 25, 1991
9:32 PM

Well, here I go again. Came back from a tenants' meeting where the stupid management told us that if the tenants don't stop destroying the outside property, they're going to kick us out our apts. We have 3 months to improve. Drug using, vandalism, crime is a factor. The sad thing is that the good tenants have to suffer so much. I wish they would have waited until after Thanksgiving to tell us. Now my holiday, as well as Christmas and New Years, is destroyed.

Every time I feel better about myself and the outside world, something bad occurs to sadden me. It's so easy to depress me, especially when there's little positive to counteract what's going on. I want to die and return to my spirit state. I don't like it here; I never did. Will I ever?

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OCTOBER 1991: MY DECISIONS

2011-12-01T14:51:00.002-05:00

Journal 1

Friday, October 18, 1991
2:10 PM

Well, a conscious effort must be made about many things. . . . I do realize that any action cannot be completed, or for that matter, initiated, unless I put mental actions into play. Nothing can be changed for the better unless I, within myself, agree to go forward and conquer. . . . Today I am deciding to conquer a simple but lengthy task of losing weight. . . .

Third, I will study the bible and various forms of mythology. . . .

Fourth, Racism must be researched and personally eradicated from my temple--this is a long-range goal.

Fifth, Compassion will be sought so as to have understanding (through understanding compassion is born) and patience towards humankind.

Seventh, Patience and tolerance will be learned.

Eighth, I will decide the pattern of my life. The future will be searched out and the past to be learned from, not forgotten. . . .

Tenth, I will continue my search for an understanding of our Creator--this is a long-range goal.

Eleventh, I will study the unseen universe, explore unused talents, but only with the hope and desire of God's Almighty Protection. . . .

People may, in the course of my life, have thought of me as not knowing what I am talking about, but verily, I say, I have always known many sides to any "story".

The Creator is too magnificent to be underestimated. I itch for knowledge beyond the comprehension of the sleeping mortal. I crave for truth. Facts are my spiritual staple. And HE knows it. It seems as if my eyes have opened to a type of "reality", and it frightens me. Good people hate to live in a corrupt world. I am too chicken to commit suicide; there would be no spiritual gain. So I must remain and show my FATHER that I am strong in His face (spirit).

I want my Creator to be proud of me. I want Him to love me and trust me. I want Him to protect me. I want to be the child I have never really known or enjoyed. I want spiritual hugs and kisses. Perhaps my unusual dreams are messages from my beloved Creator. It may, indeed, turn out to be true that He has communicated with me all along....But if only I could consciously interpret what is being said. Indeed my sub--or super--conscious has all the answers. It is the direct and certain link to our Creator's spiritual realm.

I hope I find favor with God someday.

Signing out, 3:16 PM

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OCTOBER 1991: MOVING ON

2011-12-01T14:19:00.001-05:00

Journal 1

Tuesday, October 1, 1991
9:40 PM

. . . I have to start visiting Ma (my grandmother) at the hospital. She is having trouble talking and is partially paralyzed and in pain. I don't feel very sorry for her. Though, perhaps, God would prefer I did. I hope in a silent way that she feels as much pain as I suffered emotionally and physically while I was being lousily raised by her.

But in a way, I hope God will spare her the lasting months or years of pain and take her spirit. She may have done her best in raising my brother and me.

It's cloudy outside tonight. No stars for me to see, but I'll (try to) catch sight of a plane or two.

Signing off, 10:15 PM

Thursday, October 10, 1991
8:44 PM

I called N (my mother) yesterday, and she told me that Ma had gotten worse, and that if I was going to see her it should be soon. I said that I would visit (Ma) today but I lied. I don't have enough money and have no motivation to go--if ever. I also told N that I had not intended to go to Ma's funeral, but I am definitely considering going to the wake. . . .

Signing off, 9:00 PM

Thursday, October 24, 1991

Yesterday evening I went to Ma's wake. I viewed her body. She didn't look the same, and it was kind of strange seeing a body lying there (in the casket) with no possibility of life. I kissed her on the forehead and said "Bless you". It was an icy connection, like kissing an iceberg. I do hope she (her soul) is happy now. Life is no small feat.

She passed away on Sunday, October 20, 1991 at 8:35 or 8:45 in the evening. N said the hospital called them (her & Mr. W) but they arrived too late. N kissed her goodbye, I'm sure.

Her funeral is today, but I am not attending it. I said my goodbye years ago.

Perhaps this death will be a chance for me to leave an unfortunate part of my life behind. Let me close the book on this episodic failure

Slam!

and now let the new door open carefully.

Signing off, 9:45 PM

Miss Eva Mae (Ma)

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SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PT. 10

2011-08-31T04:57:00.004-04:00

Surviving Physical, Sexual & Psychological Abuse 1

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN
Part Ten

The end of my two week encounter was a dark and rainy night. It was the stuff that B movies are made of. By then I learned Wolf had a third sister. Now there was the caretaker, the man beater, and the no so innocent little sister (older than me). I liked all his sisters, and the last one I met taught me a valuable lesson about fear and lying.
That last night Wolf, me and his youngest sister Dina were out visiting some of their friends. We didn't have money to party with, so one of the women decided to go turn a trick real quick and left. Dina said that she, herself, had turned a few tricks, but her brother didn't know, that he'd be angry. [Notice the irony. It's okay to let men fuck me a minor but not his precious sister.] "Don't tell "Wolf" what I said," she whispered. Wolf saw us talking and demanded to know what we were talking about. He asked Dina first. I didn't hear what she told him, but he was soon in my face, and needless to say, I was petrified at this tall, red Negro glaring down at me. "What was you and Dina talking about? And don't fucking lie to me, either, or I'll punch you in your g*dd*m face." I was never much of a liar, So I told him that we were talking about prostitution. Apparently, that wasn't what his sister told him. He called me a liar and punched the shit out of me. I reeled back, and he moved towards me to punch me again, but I took off down the street. Okay, cameras pan in.
A light rain was falling on the already wet streets, lights glowing off the road. I ran about two blocks, calling out for people to call the police. Wolf was about a half block away. I was running for my life as far as I was concerned. Straight ahead was am almond colored apartment building with super bright yellow lights on in what turned out to be the hallways. I ran into the building and up to the third floor, and banged on an apartment door, asking them to help me. Behind me was a garbage can filled with narrow lengths of wood, the apartment to my right, and the banister to my left. And before long a raging bull towering in front of me.
"I saw you come in here from a block away," he said. "Come on, bitch!" he demanded.
I replied, "No!"
Punching me a few times, "Come on, bitch! I said let's go."
"I'm staying here."
He punched me in the face repeatedly some ten times in rapid succession. I was crying and my face was numb. I banged on the apartment door again. "Somebody help!"
A man's voice comes from inside the apartment. "Hey, what's going on out there?"
Wolf said, "You come out here, I'll blow your brains out. Mind your damn business."
"I'm calling the cops!" the voice said.
"Go ahead, I don't care."
Looking back at me, "Come on, bitch."
"No, I'm afraid to."
"I said come on," he said then punched me at least 20 times in a flurry of blows that came so fast and hard that everything went black, then I came to again and he was still punching me and saying, "Come on, bitch."
I reached back for one of the lengths of wood which had long nails sticking out of it. I threatened to hit him with it, but I didn't have the strength in my arms, yet I was desperate enough to try. And die for the effort.
"You do and I'll kill you."
I'd had quite enough of being punched. No one was coming to my rescue, so I relented and followed him outside. I felt numb, my lips like balloons. I was prepared to accept my fate.
When we got downstairs a police car was outside. Another thing I learned was that Wolf was well known by the cops for pimping females. The white officers asked me if I was okay. I said I was, but I was so dazed from the punches, the officers' presence didn't register as an escape. [Officers in Paterson were extremely prejudice.] Despite that I was CLEARLY underage, clearly had been beaten (my jaw was immobile for weeks afterward), the cops went on their way and left me with Wolf.

He asked what I wanted to do, and I said I wanted to leave Paterson. He agreed that it was a good idea, that I'd be better off without him, then suggested I turn a trick to make some money. I didn't want to but decided to go through the motion. His idea was to pick up a John in a car. My idea was to get in that to get away from Wolf. I didn't think things through any further than that. I did, however, learn one last thing. Surveillance. A trick cops use to curtail prostitution. Some people call it entrapment. I called it relief. it turned out to a blessing in disguise.
Wolf spotted an olive green Cadillac. I bent down to the car window and the white guy in it identified himself as a police officer. An identical car pulled up alongside the other. Long story short, Wolf was questioned and released, and I was put into the back of a police car. It was finally over.
On the ride to the police station, one of the two officers sang a song that had racist overtones. They laughed. Thought my predicament was a big joke. They didn't know nor care that I was a good kid that took a wrong turn. Later, I was taken to the local juvenile shelter. A few days later, I was brought into court and put into a cell with female that tried to kiss me. I feared she was going to have her way with me. Unbeknownst to me, my grandmother's custodial rights were being revoked. Wolf showed up at the courthouse and shouted up at me that my Grandmother knew I was there (I assume he meant Ma), and that I was going to be okay.
In the end, my birth mother was awarded custody, and by mid Summer I was a promiscuous, angry teenager. I remained at the shelter for close to a year and was put into the custody of my mother. I met some really nice men to balance out the predators--though they, too, were predators of a sort. But I was not to be raped, or coerced into sex again until I turned eighteen. I learned about men who wouldn't take sex from you unless you were comfortable in doing so. I met men who threatened to whip my ass if I even looked at a man like I wanted to have sex with him.

WRAP UP:
Now, to complete the story about Raymond #1. When I moved in with my mother, she told me that Raymond came storming up to Ma's apartment, looking for me. He banged on the door and demanded to know where I was and what she had done to me. Man, I sure wish I had been there to see it. I never believed he cared. Go figure.
As to Wolf, my father was livid. He wouldn't even talk to me. In fact, he threatened to shoot me. And I never saw Wolf again after that day in court when I looked some ten stories down on him. I was afraid I'd run into him or one of his sisters, that he'd try to beat me up again, or try to have sex with me.
About a week after I left the shelter, my mother handed me an obituary. Wolf sustained a head injury, went to sleep, and died.

Please Note:
Names of family, friends and perpetrators
have been changed.
HOME
SEEING THE POSITIVE IN ABUSE EVENTS, PT 1
WE DON'T HAVE TO BE VICTIMS FOREVER

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PT. 9

2011-08-31T03:34:00.004-04:00

Surviving Physical, Sexual & Psychological Abuse 1

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN
Part Nine

We were out having a great time at a local bar, dancing to the latest 1977 hits like Dance With Me. The Freak was a popular dance which required bodily contact. This man came dancing up on me a bit too intimately. I pushed him away rather harshly and he fell back on his butt. He jumped up quick ready to sock me, but I dared him to hit me. Wolf was nearby and got in the man's face and settled the situation with a few choice words. The bartender was waiting in the wings with his Nigger-Be-Cool stick (baseball bat).
All night his friend Leo tried to woo me saying, "I'll treat you way better than he will." My instincts--the same ones that put me into Wolf's path--told me he meant it, and I'd never seen him lose his temper and call me a bitch like an angry Wolf did. But then again he was playing it loose with a minor.
By the time the bar closed at 2 AM, Wolf was good and drunk. And argumentative. He aimed that anger at me, and I wasn't in the mood for confrontation. I decided to take his earlier advice and walked ahead as fast as my feet could take me. That put Wolf on the warpath. He called me back, but I wouldn't stop. In fact, I ran and tried to hide in the nearby car dealership parking lot. He came after me while Leo followed and shouted at him to let me go, but Wolf wasn't having it.
He found me crouched behind a car. I had no choice but stand and confront him best I could. I told him that I wanted him to leave me alone, that I didn't want anything from him. I even took off the slip his mother had given me and slung it on the hood of a car. He grabbed me by my throat and started choking me. I don't remember if I even begged him to stop. I don't think I could have. What is clearest in my memory is that while he was choking me, my gaze fixed on a bright white light in the dark sky. A thought came into my head, and I knew I was to repeat it verbatim to Wolf. And I did, saying, "How would you feel if it was your daughter my father was choking." He instantly let me go and said, "Shit, bitch. That's the only thing you could have said that would have saved your life."
He got up, reached down, and helped me up, then raised his hand to his forehead where there was a pink (raw) bruise the size of a nickle. He claimed I hit him, but I have no recollection of touching him. Just that he was choking me so hard, I only saw that light.
The night didn't end there. Wolf, Leo and me continued on down the walk to the bridge that spanned the infamous Passaic River. Leo was still trying to convince me to be his woman, and Wolf was still pissed over the bruise on his head. "I should throw your ass in the river, that's what I should do," he said. And to prove he could do it, he picked me up and lifted me up over the bridge rail, holding me out some six inches from the rail. I was wiggling in fear because I felt for sure that he would drop me. I didn't have any glasses on but could clearly see the water foaming and rolling. He mentioned the undertow and laughed. Leo was telling him to put me down before he dropped me. A frightening prospect. "If you don't stop moving, I'm going to drop you in even if I don't mean to," Wolf said. "Nbody will find you in those currents." Eventually, he put me down. As you can imagine, I don't like to get too close to bridge rails. I'm not all that crazy about bridges, either.

Please Note:
Names of family, friends and perpetrators
have been changed.
PART 10 (Conclusion)
SEEING THE POSITIVE IN ABUSE EVENTS, PT 1
WE DON'T HAVE TO BE VICTIMS FOREVER

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PT. 8

2011-08-31T03:16:00.004-04:00

Surviving Physical, Sexual & Psychological Abuse 1

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN
Part Eight

Wolf needed money (probably for drugs) and he took me to a house where two two guys lived. It was pre-arranged, I guess, for them to have sex with me. He didn't give me a choice of yay or nay, and I had no idea I was basically being prostituted. I realized it a decade later during moments of tearful reflection. One of the men, while having sex with me, had the audacity to say he was a better a man for me and that Wolf wasn't any good for me. Half right, he was. I heard this comment a few more times in those two weeks from Wolf's so-called friends. I felt dirty after that encounter with the men. Thank God I didn't end up pregnant.
I was so naive and overwhelmed. I just couldn't figure out how to get myself out of the situation with Wolf. All I had to do was head to the nearest police station (I had no idea where it was). As prejudiced as they were, they might have cared about me a little.
The next escapade was with another buddy of his. Maybe I should just say, "Another customer". This time I had sex with a man in his 20's. He orgasmed and promptly fell asleep on top of me. I was pinned on the bed by a stocky man dead to the world sleep. I couldn't move, the house was dark, he was snoring, and he wouldn't wake or budge. To make matters worse, I heard the distant jangling of keys. Then a woman's voice. Man, was I scared! I don't know how, but I wriggled free, snatched up my things, and made it out a door--I don't know if it was the one I came in or not, but I ran down the stairs like the devil was at my heels. Wolf was in the car waiting for me. I got in and he asked me, "Did he give you the money?" I told him what happened and he laughed, saying "It was probably his woman". We stayed the night in the car parked in front of the man's house until Wolf could collect the money. It was pretty cold for summer.
Believe it or not, there were a lot of good moments with Wolf where I felt reasonably comfortable, but he had a Jekyll and Hyde personality. Even when he hadn't been drinking and using cocaine, his temper would flare for the oddest reasons. Like when I would call him "Sir". He'd get so mad. Just hated being called "Mister" because in the South black people were forced to call white people "sir" and "mister". Thus, I slowly learned not to address him like that. I also think it had to do with the age difference between us. Initially, he told me he was in his late 20's but in the end, he admitted to being 33 years old. Over twice my age!
It was also the second week that he told me, "The next time I get angry, I want you to walk away. Leave." Not the best advice, let me tell you.
Not but two days later I would put that suggestion to use.

Please Note:
Names of family, friends and perpetrators
have been changed.
PART 9
SEEING THE POSITIVE IN ABUSE EVENTS, PT 1
WE DON'T HAVE TO BE VICTIMS FOREVER

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PT. 7

2011-08-30T23:55:00.005-04:00

Surviving Physical, Sexual & Psychological Abuse 1

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN
Part Seven

Fast forward to another sunny summer day. Again, I was visiting Granny and I met up with Wolf. He was always immaculately dressed in those big, sherbet colored plaids that were popular then. It takes a confident man to wear pink and melon. Did I mention he had hats to match? Sorry, I digress. I was with Wolf right there in front of Granny's, and I was in big trouble. Not because I was with Wolf, but because Ma wanted me home by eight o'clock. Problem was, it was after nine when I realized the time. "She's going to beat me," I said to him. He invited me to stay with him or something and thoughts of having my behind seared by an electric cord, leather belt, or a broomstick readily convinced me to go with him.
That very day night, we were hanging out with his running buddies, I guess. He'd been drinking at the very least, and we were standing next to an abandoned building. He said something I didn't respond to the way he wanted, and before I knew it he he punched me in my face three times in rapid succession like I was a man. I was stunned, my face stung, and I could feel my lip swelling. I cried and said, "That's why I ran away from home." He apologized and the night went on without further incident.
Let me take this moment to warn young ladies that abusers will hit and beat you then apologize with the greatest of sincerity. They may mean it at the time but 99% of the time down the road they'll hit you again. And again. It's a cycle that doesn't end for most women. Men too, because we have some guys out there that get pounded on by bullying females. And the hits get harder and more frequent, and the methods of abuse become more life-threatening. I'd love to suggest that if you are hit to just walk away, but if you read on, you'll see that walking away can be tricky.
I spent two weeks with that man at his mother's house--a so-called Christian. She was really nice, though. Even gave me a black slip to wear under my red peasant dress Wolf encouraged me to buy. Turned out that the sun shone right through it. During that time he had sex with me twice in her house where he taught me how to do fellatio on him.
It was a period I remember but can't fathom parts of. Like why I threatened to cut my wrists. Twice. He dissuaded me and confessed that he was a drug addict, that he knew how I felt because he had thought of it (or tried it) himself. I learned a lot about abusers and the people in their lives in that time and rubbed elbows with more than a few complex characters. I realized I can like people who do bad things, even though they may be a threat to your well being. So it may surprise you later when I tell you now that I don't even hate the man. Feared him intensely, yes. Hated him, never. I've wondered why but the best I can come up with is that I genuinely liked the man. He had some good qualities when he was sober. Other than that he was a tyrant.
About a week had gone by and I continued to walk on eggshells around him, fearing that his temper would be unleashed against me. One night he brought me to this house where cigarette smoke loomed in the air like fog, and they were smoking marijuana, drinking vodka or whatever and doing cocaine. Coke. Another introduction to something I'd never seen before. And vodka. Yech. An older man handed me a shot glass of what looked like water, but it smelled funny. I took the merest of sips and scrunched up my face. The man asked, "You never drank vodka before?" He laughed as I nodded "No" and Wolf, who was seated beside me said, "You don't want it?" He took the drink and swallowed it like the mess was water. Later, he took me aside in private and we had a poignant discussion about drugs, particularly cocaine. The gist is that I was never to take drugs--apparently marijuana was okay--and if he caught me taking any, I'd be burnt toast.
That same night I had another strange encounter. Of the sister kind. His sister and she had a finger missing. She beat up men. Was pretty. Liked me to the point I feared Wolf might hand me over to her. Actually, she was nice. Scary, but really gave me pep talk. And she wasn't trying to make her brother out to be a saint. I came away liking her which was difficult because Wolf kept threatening to have her (and another sister) beat me to a pulp if I pissed him off.
I met his older sister and she was soooo nice. The saint of the family. She loved her brother, but was concerned that I was with him. However, do note that she did not call the cops because an underaged child was with him.

Please Note:
Names of family, friends and perpetrators
have been changed.
PART 8
SEEING THE POSITIVE IN ABUSE EVENTS, PT 1
WE DON'T HAVE TO BE VICTIMS FOREVER

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PT. 6

2011-08-30T22:18:00.008-04:00

Surviving Physical, Sexual & Psychological Abuse 1

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN
Part Six

I was 15, halfway to 16 and still not of consenting age. By that time I had ran away from Ma's house twice, and it was getting easier to do. That morning I was alone and happy as could be. Ma had bought me a new peasant blouse that, incidentally, allowed my little boobies to bounce with each step. I was proud of them thangs.
At the corner just before I'd turn onto the street Granny lived, I encountered Raymond #2. In my memory he is forever "Wolf". And I, of course, was Little Red Riding Hood. Wolf was a handsome light skin man dressed in typical pimp attire for the 70's. Pimp wanna-be more like it. Grinning, he watched me approach then said something like "Umph, umph umph. Girl your mother and father sure fucked themselves one fine ass redbone." Trust me, I wasn't that cute. Not used to compliments--never mind that it was vulgar--that bit of doo-doo shot straight to my head, and my unsuspecting ass was blushing away.
I missed all the signs of a predator because I didn't know what they were.
First, no man should ever talk to a female child like that. Not even a grown woman, actually. Second, he was dressed like a pimp, but I had no clue what a pimp was. Third, he and my father were adversaries (I found that out much later). Fourth, he blocked my path, a clear sign of aggression and dominance.
As fate would have it, I ran into him a week or two later while I was playing hookie from school. That day I encountered another warning sign, and had I related it to an adult, I might never have gotten involved with Wolf. It was when we were about to depart that he revealed the nature of his intentions. But again, I was naive and ignored the screams of intuition that tried to warn me off him.
He insisted that I let him kiss me. We were in broad daylight in the middle of the sidewalk, and I was clearly underage. He was very insistent, and, really, a part of me craved the attention. I'd thus far had a life of being bullied and repeated verbalings that I was retarded and stupid. So, yeah, I was easy pickings. And he had a strong personality which I picked up on, but did not process as a sign of agression. I say he was insistent, but what I really mean is that he was dominating me. He had a controlling personality and was doing his best to reel it in. And reel me in at the same time.
His request set me ill at ease. I didn't want to, but I didn't know how to save myself. Saying no didn't work. My self-confidence was on the wane in those days, and I had little self-awareness. Although there were only a few people walking around, there was plenty of street traffic. I wanted to be on my way, but gave in so I could head home in peace. The damn man wouldn't break the kiss; he kept at it for what seemed like two or three minutes. I hated doing that in front of other people. I still hate being kissed or having to show displays of intimacy in public. What he had done was officially staked his claim on me, and had thoroughly dominated me.
Had I told my father of the encounters with Wolf, my father undoubtedly would have ended the situation without delay. Ah, but I was a little afraid of him, too.

The Little Red Riding Hood and Mr. Wolf
story continues in PART 7.

Please Note:
Names of family, friends and perpetrators
have been changed.

SEEING THE POSITIVE IN ABUSE EVENTS, PT 1
WE DON'T HAVE TO BE VICTIMS FOREVER

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PT. 5

2011-08-30T21:20:00.003-04:00

Surviving Physical, Sexual & Psychological Abuse 1

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN
Part Five

By now, parents should be pretty frightened because I'm not making any of this stuff up. Kids can get into a lot of mischief when left on their own to roam the pastures. BEWARE! Predators are everywhere. They are the nice butcher shop guy. They are Uncle Lover-boy who visits Mommy. They are your local heroes: Cops, firemen, lawyers, teachers, priests, and all the other authority figures you least expect. Predators can be Mommy and Daddy, Auntie and Uncle, Sis and Bro, Cousin Somebody and even Grandpa and the nice next door neighbor who's always stopping by giving out candy and a friendly smile. Predators promise to buy or give you things and hand over loose change. They lure their victims in by being nice and attentive...more attentive than parents or legal guardians are. They set themselves up to be your friend and confidant, your advisor and shoulder to cry on. Perverts are charmers, social bees, or loners, given to aggression or appearing to the community as shy or meek.

Don't be fooled boys and girls; if anyone touches any part of your body ESPECIALLY when you are alone with that person or they ask you to touch icky parts of their body, or expose any part of their bodies, what they are doing is against the law. Not to mention morally wrong. If they threaten you and say they will hurt or kill someone you love...call or get to the nearest police or fire station. Tell Mommy or Daddy or someone in your family you trust. Spill your guts! Don't live in fear!
Ahem . . . Back to statutory rape.
Next, I met Raymond. He was a nice-looking guy in his late 20's, tall and slender and just as sweet as could be. He was why trips to West Side Park became so much fun. We'd talk at first then he'd leave on his lunch break with me in tow. What I didn't know at the time was that he was married (separated) and was the brother of my best friend. Well, I'd flirt and nuzzle up close to him and get him all aroused and we did have sex a few times. He was a patient person and I think his feelings ran a little deeper than I realized. I was fast becoming a skeptic even then. I remember our last conversation.
We were in his living room and he was sitting on the floor with his back against the couch. We'd had sex and were soon to leave his studio apartment. I told him about how abusive my grandmother was and that was when he admitted he was married. Oh, and he had kids. He seemed distressed about the abuse. He said that maybe he could work something out and I could stay with him. No, I didn't believe him. I figured he was just flapping his lips. He asked me if I wanted him to talk to my grandmother. No, I didn't—what! was he trying to get me killed? He said "If you ask me to, I will." There's more to this story...but first I have to talk about another Raymond.
The highlight of my life was going to my paternal grandmother's house—Granny, the nice one. Times of pure delight. My father and uncle were there, and I got to see my siblings and cousins. I felt safe, because everyone knew who my father was, and he wasn't of the temperament that you could piss him off and get away with it. If I got to spend the night there, I'd rise about 7 o'clock in the morning when no one else would be around and walk the long block to the highway underpass where a sandy play area was equipped with a couple sets of swings. Sweet. I later found out that on the road to the underpass--practically across the street--I passed the house of a pedophile.
It was on the way to her house one sunny Summer morning, that I met Raymond #2.

Please Note:
Names of family, friends and perpetrators
have been changed.
PART 6
SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PART 1
SEEING THE POSITIVE IN ABUSE EVENTS, PT 1
WE DON'T HAVE TO BE VICTIMS FOREVER

SEEING THE POSITIVE IN ABUSE EVENTS, PT 2

2011-08-30T16:59:00.008-04:00

PART 1

SELF-EMPOWERMENT!
Seeing The Positive In Abuse Events, Part 2

Think back to the people who had kind words to say during your worst moments. They are your lessons. Your Angels for the day.
Now you may say, there were never any such people that gave a kind word. Hmmmm....then see negative events like this:
You were raped, molested, taking sexual advantage of. What is the lesson? The lesson is for you not to rape, molest or take advantage of anyone, yourself.
Your father was physically abusive, beating you and your mom. What is the lesson? Don't abuse another person because how did it feel when you were on the receiving end? Do you think it is fair to subject another human being to the kind of pain you suffered? To the fear? NO. The further lesson can be for you to become a family counselor for victims of physical or sexual abuse. You can decide to attend college and earn a degree in Psychology, Sociology, for example. You may become a parent and be ever vigilant in providing your children with a stable home environment of love, patience and a host of nurturing attributes often missing in today's society. Your experiences may have been so life-changing or horrific, you may use the Media to expose the horrors of abuse to the public. You can do this as a journalist, exposing the horrors of State-approved Foster Care where children are regularly beat or molested or starved. You can write a nonfiction or fiction book where you use your experiences to get across the emotional realism of your plot about abuse and its ramifications for the victims. You can do as a friend of mine has done, become an abuse hotline volunteer. Or you may decide to open your own shelter for abused children and adults (men are victims of abuse, as well).
As you have seen, there are many directions you can go with dealing with your experiences. But you really must stop moping about. You must come to terms with your experiences. Write your thoughts down in a journal. Then burn those words if you don't want them read by someone else. Lock them up in a good safe for later viewing. I suggest you keep those writings...It is so wonderful to look back at those tearful outpourings and see how far you have come (or worst case scenario, how far you've sunk--but let's think positive about that). I've written some pretty depressing stuff during my twenty years of "woe is me" thinking. And I read over that stuff now and cry because I was in a really dark place. I was so angry, sad and hopeless. Now, I can see a future for myself. I can even imagine that I might want to live beyond 50 or 60 or maaaaaybe even 70. Because now, I see that I can use my negative experiences for the good of others. I can benefit someone else's life, either directly by volunteering or indirectly through posting my experiences.
Confession really is good for the soul. Do it wisely and judiciously. But best of all use your experiences--negative or positive--to help someone else!

Blessings to you and . . .

Reclaim your life,

Rene

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PART 1
WE DON'T HAVE TO BE VICTIMS FOREVER

SEEING THE POSITIVE IN ABUSE EVENTS, PT 1

2011-08-30T15:41:00.011-04:00

DON'T MISS: WE DON'T HAVE TO BE VICTIMS FOREVER

SELF-EMPOWERMENT!
Seeing The Positive In Abuse Events, Part 1
Negative events have value. Victims of abuse are often told to "Get over it". One does not simply shrug one's shoulders and "Get on with life". If picking up the pieces of our shattered past was so simple, there would be no need for therapists of any kind. I find comments like that are short-sighted and rude to the person still emotionally reeling from their abusive experiences.
What then are victims to do to reclaim their life? Acknowledge the abuse. Don't just forget about it. It can't be done, anyway. Find the positives that came out of the experience. What? No, I haven't lost my mind, and yes, I do know what I'm talking about!
If we all take the stance that life is a series of lessons, then we can train ourselves to look back at those moments that have brought us so much pain. We can learn to see the lessons, and realize, in time, how we can use those negative experiences to benefit others in our society.
Reflection doesn't have to be painful all the time. It has its purpose. Let me give you an example of what I mean about looking back at those moments of victimization:
I was called names and picked on throughout my childhood, even in my teen years. Yet, looking back on those years of my grandmother calling me stupid and retarded and my brother calling me goofy all the time, there were other voices there. There was the lady at Job Corp who pulled me aside and told me that I had so much potential, that I was intelligent, that I was somebody. There were the fellow students that never put me down and who shared with me their stories of being picked on and how they managed to cope with name-calling and bullying. I learned that for every mountain of ignorant ass-holes, there are the valleys of splendor with radiant flowers--the people in your life: family, friends, strangers, teachers, and the like who quietly give you solace and even a few words of advice. They are always there, but you have to take notice. You have to remember and recognize them for what they had to offer.

Blessings to you and . . .

Reclaim your life,

Rene

SEEING THE POSITIVE IN ABUSE EVENTS, PT 2
SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PART 1
WE DON'T HAVE TO BE VICTIMS FOREVER

WE DON'T HAVE TO BE VICTIMS FOREVER

2011-08-30T15:36:00.002-04:00

Don't Miss: SEEING THE POSITIVE IN ABUSE EVENTS

Make no doubt about this: I am quite comfortable with starting this blog. I may die today or 30 years from now, but I'm not going quietly.
I have things to say about the shit that's been done to me. About how the Powers That Be stood by and watched. And in all my 47 wasted years of life I cannot understand how in the hell God allows children to be raped or beaten. The All Powerful Being that will not immobilize the hands of the fiends of society BUT allows fear to squeeze the hearts of countless victims of rape and other abuses.
Something is wrong with that picture. But this blog isn't really about blaming God--though it's going to come up often (who hasn't thought about it themselves?). Trying To Find Rene is me sharing my experiences with you, with the myriad of other victims, friends and family of victims. It is about me saying that we can and must overcome this atrocity done to us. We must--AND WE WILL--lift our heads and reclaim our lives.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls if we continue to drag our asses in the mud over what's been done...we will remain victims. Yes, in a way, we are still being victimized.
Rape is not OUR shame. Rape is the shame of the perpetrator, of the abuser, the relative, the husband, the religious figure, the cop, the stranger, and the like. We must find a way to regain our control. And as pissed off as I have been at the Powers That Be, we must pray for strength and guidance. Every day if need be. Do it in silent prayer. Curse and Scream in private. Get that anger out of your system. Do it safely and without harm to yourself or any other person.
We will not be further victimized. We will survive this. Hell, we ARE Survivors!

For those who need further info regarding sexual and physical abuse:

For men (and women abused by men):
http://www.menweb.org/sexabupg.htm

For women:
http://www.womensweb.ca/violence/rape/index.php

Hope the links help.
Blessings to you. Be strong,

Rene

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PART 1

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN: COMMENTS

2011-02-26T11:12:00.004-05:00

Don't Miss: SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PART ONE

Surviving Physical, Sexual And Psychological Abuse 1

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PT. 1-4

COMMENTS
(From previous versions of Trying To Find Rene

PART ONE:

Right sock [ Submitted on 2009/07/06 at 1:57pm ]

i understand and i sympathize with you to not understand fully until later just what happened to you is awful i was the same age and i still am not completely over it…my dad turned his back on his own father and helped me put him in prision. i encourage you to keep good spirits and dont be afraid to talk about it if others had come forward it would never have happened to me he got every young girl in the family until i stood up and told. remember that when you tell your sory it helps to inform so many others and perhaps may protect some of them…keep spirit and stay strong i admire your courage. . .

trying2findrene [Submitted on 2009/07/06 at 4:46pm ]

Right Sock,

Thank you for your gracious response. My heart goes out to you and the millions of females and males that have had to endure sexual abuse. I don’t have to tell you or any other victim how cruel rape is (and molestation is definitely rape). It is crippling. I have lots to say about it to all who can bear to listen.

Blessings to you, Right . . . Rene

cryaegm [ Submitted on 2009/07/06 at 3:26pm ]

I’m sorry that happened to you. I…would have had a similar experience of that if he hadn’t stopped at the time that he did. I still have to see him every day, seeing as how he’s now my brother-in-law and my sister doesn’t know about it. He was drunk at the time and I was fourteen, but I still told him no and kept pushing him away. I’m afraid to tell my sister about that night because…well, I’m afraid she’ll disown me as a sister. She already threatened to disown me once. :/

trying2findrene [ Submitted on 2009/07/06 at 3:55pm ]

Hi Cryaegm…

Thank you! You’re in a really tough spot. I had a slightly similar situation. I was afraid that if I told my grandmother I was raped by this boy in the neighborhood, she’d blame me for it and beat me. But bottom line he was the one who would have been in trouble. But I was too naive to know that. Still, when people have you pegged for a trouble maker or whatever, the blame does seem to fall exclusively on the shoulders of the victim. As if we asked for it. Never mind that it was wrong for the perpetrator to do or attempt to do what he or she did. Then people wonder why victims don’t come forward. Urrgh!

mindmatter [ Submitted on 2009/07/11 at 9:16pm ]

I see what you referred to in your comment to my blog, Penny. Understanding how and why God would allow such things to occur is difficult; not being angry is even harder sometimes. But I will show you how I perceive these events, which also allows me to not be angry at God, but rather to redirect at the offender.

I was beaten regularly as a child, until the school authorities intervened. By my mom, no less. So I understand the lack of trusting the opposite sex, and the feelings of betrayal that remains after someone you were supposed to be able to trust hurts you. The question of God for allowing this to happen, when I’d done no wrong. I really do understand. We shall talk much more, for I feel I may be able to help. If so, all the better. Until then,

John

Penny (trying2findrene) [ Submitted on 2009/07/11 at 11:06pm ]

Hi, John!

I look forward to a discussion and welcome any insight you can offer. I encourage everyone to stop in at A New Beginning and voice their opinions. Until next time…..

Corrine Jackson [ Submitted on 2009/07/30 at 4:06pm ]

You have an amazing story, Penny! It’s incredible that you put yourself out there to help others!

Pam Stanfield [ Submitted on 2009/08/01 at 1:43pm ]

Thank you for an honest portrayal of your story. Because of all the sexual abuse I endured (3 neighbors), then the so called father lusting, grabbing and psychologically torturing me in my adult life, along with growing up in a house full of rage with no comforting or love, well… my life was stolen and I certainly didn’t become the person I was suppose to be.

At least we can write about this trauma to release some of the pain. I just don’t understand how these degenerates keep getting away with their crimes. People that should know better look the other way, and God help us if they find out, all of a sudden it becomes our fault. That’s a crime in my mind.

I’m going to go read part two now.

Smiles,
Pam

Penny [ Submitted on 2009/08/01 at 10:04pm ]

Thank you so much, Pam! Wow! Sounds like your burden was even heavier than mine. As I suspected, there are many horror stories to be told, not only in the States but in our International Community as well.

Blessings to you! . . . . Penny

Yi [ Submitted on 2009/08/17 at 7:17am ]

Thank you for sharing your story in such honesty. It is really helpful to hear another person going through such a tough experience, so thank you. I wish you the best.

Penny

Submitted on 2009/08/17 at 7:18pm

Hi, Yi!

I appreciate your comment! THANK YOU for reading and taking the time to offer feedback! Blessings to you.

Penny

PART TWO:

Pam Stanfield [ Submitted on 2009/08/01 at 2:32pm ]

Your neighborhood sounds as bad as the one I spent my first eleven or so years. It was so TOXIC.

I’m glad you had someone like Jean to make you feel better. I can almost guarantee you she was sexually abused, no doubt in my mind.

I’m confused about Mark in the story. Why would you be hanging around him if he was doing those things to you? Maybe I misread or misinterrupted something.

I’m curious how you deal with this stuff as an adult. For me, it has created chaos in my adult life. I’ve developed bi polar, post traumatic stress, attention deficit, obsessive compulsive, panic attacks, nightmares and alcohol abuse. Needless to say I have huge trust issues with men and women so I spend almost every waking momen alone. Not fun.

Hope you are a better survior than I was.

Pam

Pam Stanfield [ Submitted on 2009/08/02 at 12:44pm ]

In relation to Jean, there was a girl that lived across the street from me named Debbie Smith. By then, I was a very deeply depressed and confused teenager. I use to love to go to her house because she and her parents talked to each other like people are suppose to talk with one another. They were kind, gentle and loving. I still have dreams about that family to this day.

Your grandmother doesn’t sound very sweet. Where was you mom and dad in all this? I’m not sure what I learned about my toxic neighborhood, although I believe it made me more intuitive towards people.

At this point in my life, I’m tired of learning from my misfortunes or mistakes. I’d just like some peace and tranquility before I die.

I like your website. Did you build it yourself?

Pam

Penny [ Submitted on 2009/08/02 at 7:56pm ]

Hi, Pam!

Thank God for that family!

My grandmother was a B*tch. I’ll be writing about her when I finish with my “Snakes” series. She was verbally and physically abusive. People call discipline being “spanked”. Bull! Getting whipped with a leather belt until you are screaming from the pain is child abuse.

I empathize with your desire for “peace and tranquility” before you die. I’m soooo there with you. People have no idea how exhausting it is to constantly struggle against this emotion and the other, to put up with ignorant people who tell you to “just get over it and move on” and the like. Well, kiss my butt cheeks, because reclaiming your life isn’t a simple process. And doubly so when you haven’t family to lean on (they’re about as screwed up as you are, in most cases or are the cause of your troubles to begin with). A lot of victims become loners–at least I know I am. It’s hard to assimilate into so-called normal soiciety when you’re constantly repulsed by the falseness and inequalties of it.

Regarding my blog, it’s a prebuilt template owned by WordPress.com. They have several you can choose from, some of which allow you to use your own header and make other modifications. It’s easy to sign up and you get to choose a blog and comment icon (gravatars).

Pam Stanfield [ Submitted on 2009/08/02 at 10:50pm ]

Hello yet again,

I love the picture of the tree by the water on this site. My dream is to live by the water one day with lots of big, old trees for their wisdom.

I can’t stand when people tell me to get over it. Of course, they’ve never experienced what it feels like to be sexually abused on a regular basis as a very young child, lusted after by a father for over two decades, verbally abused by him for three decades, held hostage, stalked, nearly killed on more than one occasion by a husband or boyfriend, the list goes on.

No, I didn’t make good choices in men. Didn’t have good role models growing up. That’s why I’ve spent most of my adult life alone, in between the marriages and very few boyfriends. I haven’t dated in many, many years now. I have huge trust issues. I just want a dog for now, but will have to wait until I’m more financially stable.

I’m looking forward to reading more of your words. You are a good writer and I like the fact you make it easy to follow.

Til next time,
Pam

Penny [ Submitted on 2009/08/01 at 10:59pm ]

Toxic, indeed! I dreamed about Jean a few times. In the first dream I got a phone call from her shortly after she had supposedly died. The last one, I found her living in a beautiful mansion but she denied knowing who I was. I knew she wanted me to leave before I was seen by her husband. I left but came back and thanked her for helping me.

Anyway, as to Mark, like I said it was a weird neighborhood. I was young, naive and it was a very small close neighborhood. He was my brother’s best friend, he lived only two houses down, and his sister was my friend. Thus, running into him was inevitable. He was extremely cunning as predators are, and I found it difficult to outtalk and out maneuver him. At times he had hands like an octopus. Also, it didn’t help that my brother would be with us then would split and leave me with Mark. Urghh! I could have got up and walked away but then two things inevitably happened. He’d grab me and threaten to tell my grandmother some lie or the other. In my mind, my grandmother would have believed him and beat the crap out of me. Or he’d simply follow me. Of course, there were many periods of time when we got on really well. So when the harrassment began, it came out of the blue.

I realize now I learned a lot in that neighborhood. I learned to seek and accept the less than kosher parts of people’s psyche. I learned to look beyond the facade of people. I learned that abusers are often victims or have been victims themselves. This is by no means an excuse, but it is fact. It is reality. As I see it, my life has been one lesson after another. North Third taught me to be open-minded, to suspend judgment in lieu of proof (I’ve slipped a few times, though), to give people the benefit of the doubt, to keep evil doers at an arm’s length (unless they’re family…LOL), and to FIGHT BACK! North Third in some ways made me strong and endowed me with good qualities, but it took ages for me to acknowledge they existed.

Bouncing back from the damage the old neighborhood caused hasn’t been easy. I cannot say, Pam, that I have survived it in one piece. No, most likely not. In retrospect, I can’t fully agree with you when you say that you are not the person you were supposed to be. I’ll explain:

If we are to believe that life is a set of misfortunes, ungoverned by any Higher Sources, then Yes, I agree that people like us have been cheated out of a normal existence, that we are not what we could have become.

On the other hand, if we have come to this wayward planet to learn certain lessons that were preplanned by the Higher Sources for purposes of spiritual growth or some reason that remains a mystery to me, then I disagree that we have been thwarted from our true selves. To be clear, Pam, I have no idea what to believe. I do believe I was cheated out of the confidence I had. It was raped out of me, beat of me, and name-called out of me. Yet I think that this all must have been planned, otherwise why would a Higher Power (call it God, Allah, Angels, Higher Source or whomever) allow the travesties people have suffered to occur. There is something we are not being told.

You are a survivor, Pam. I’m glad you are, because if you were not…I would not have been able to have read of your story. I appreciate the opportunity. It helps me and others to realize that we, too, can go on with our lives, despite the terrible things. And it’s never a matter, really, of who survives better than who. We are all survivors–anger and all–and each of us continue to struggle. Each and every one of us in America and abroad deserve applause for managing to wake up each day. And we deserve a great big HUG!

Penny [ Submitted on 2009/08/05 at 5:11am ]

Thank you for your kind words!

Pam invites everyone to read about her sexual abuse experiences and the emotional traumas and life choices that followed. It’s an enlightening autobiography.

orbitingastar.synthasite.com

. . .Penny

PART THREE:

Sarah Karre [ Submitted on 2009/09/07 at 2:29am ]

Your story is sad.

Penny [ Submitted on 2009/09/07 at 2:42am ]

Yes, Sarah, yes it is. But the good news is that it’s all in the past and I wasn’t permanently scarred. Err . . . too much.

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PT. 4

2011-02-26T10:50:00.010-05:00

Surviving Physical, Sexual & Psychological Abuse 1

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN
Part Four

By age 14 I was irreversibly aware of the male sex. Up until then I'd been the victim of forced sex, but I was unaware of another form of rape that often goes unnoticed: Statutory Rape. That is sex with a child below the age of lawful consent. My introduction to it was right around the corner.
Despite my maternal grandmother (Ma) being an evil bitch, I was quickly becoming a juvenile delinquent. During the winter of 1975, I acquired a new female buddy. We played hookie from school and that became the highlight of my day. Ditching class was a risky venture for there was always fear that Ma would find out. Yet it was fun, and I felt happy and free. She was about a year younger than me, I think, and had a poor relationship with her mother, a single parent. This girl told me about a man in the neighborhood who was looking for a female to cook, clean and have sex with him. All of this went over my head, really but I was desperate to escape my grandmother and the whippings she mitered out. I felt uncomfortable about the things the girl told me, that this man was well-endowed and had trouble finding sex partners. Somehow a meet between me and him was arranged.
He was in his early 20's, tall and muscular, brown skinned. Funny that I still remember him. He lived in a big pretty, white house on a sort of hill and shaded by trees. I don't recollect the entrance beyond the gates. I only remember being in his kitchen and in his bedroom. Especially the bedroom. He explained that he was looking for a live-in mate and that he had trouble "fitting" himself inside females—little wonder if he's choosing girls instead of women! He was soft-spoken and seemed mild-mannered. (One can never really tell if that's a person's true countenance. Even more true when the person is sexually aroused) He offered to buy me whatever I wanted, but he did not push. Eventually, I decided I'd have sex with him. Try to anyway, but when I saw the size of his penis and how thick it was, I seriously doubted it would fit me either, to which he did agree. I swear I've had the strangest encounters with men! I was willing to let him try and fit it in, but all the while the little voice in my head was screaming "Get out of there! What if he isn't as nice as he seems?" I climbed up on the white sheets of the bed, and he joined me. I don't remember if he tried to penetrate me or not, but I remember him saying that I was too small. He said that if I wasn't comfortable and wanted to go, I was free to do so, that he wasn't the type to hold someone against their will. I left and was thankful to have made my escape unharmed.

For information regarding Statutory Rape and other sex-related questions as it applies to minors, please check out this link:
http://www.sexlaws.org/what_is_statutory_rape

Please Note:
Names of family, friends and perpetrators
have been changed.

More about my introduction to the reality
of statutory rape in PART 5

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PART 1
SEEING THE POSITIVE IN ABUSE EVENTS, PT 1
WE DON'T HAVE TO BE VICTIMS FOREVER

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PT. 3

2011-02-26T10:36:00.006-05:00

PART 2

Surviving Physical, Sexual & Psychological Abuse 1

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN
Part Three

On the fateful day of my second rape event, I was ten years old. I remember this clearer than any event of those years. I was sitting in the backyard making mud pies, and here he came with two other boys. I felt safe to a point. My grandmother could see the yard from the bathroom window. But there was an obstacle. A huge garage.
Behind it was where I was gang-raped. Mark threatened to bash me in the head with a rock. I'd had my share of ass-whippings and threats either from my grandmother or the other kids. I was putty. What happened to that ten year old usually only happens between lovers and porno stars and I'm not talking anal. Talk about feeling like a dog, lying naked out in the open, made to do what only grown folk--some grown folk do.
I didn't tell my grandmother about that rape either. I don't know if she noticed my tear-stained face. I was indeed a good actress. But I lived in constant fear of a repeat event. Mark and me were still on again, off again "friends". Believe it or not! This was the neighborhood I grew up in. You either took your knocks and got back up or you got trampled. I am a survivor. several times he would threaten to go upstairs and tell my grandmother that I had sex with him. I was so naive about sex...about life, that I had no clue what my rights were or that he would have been the one in trouble.
My brother was useless, though in all fairness, he had his own problems to deal with. But back to me. People think they are keeping kids from having sex by not telling them about what sex is and what sexual organs are for. That secrecy is dangerous. My story proves that.
Children must be informed of their bodies, of what their rights are if someone tries to touch their intimate parts or tries to force them to touch another person's. We're making strides these days but not enough. Girls and boys are still being molested. And adult men and women still live with the fear and shame of having been raped--whether from childhood or as adults--because society insists on playing the "blame game".
Because my grandmother did not make me aware of the dangers of predators, I became victimized. I didn't know I could have gone to the police. Hell, even to a fire department. I could have gone to my father, at least, but at the time, I didn't have any friends or family I was close to. I just wanted the fear and humiliation to end, to just go away. But it didn't.

Next time I'll tell you all about how I found out that consensual sex is still rape.

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PART 1
SEEING THE POSITIVE IN ABUSE EVENTS, PT 1
WE DON'T HAVE TO BE VICTIMS FOREVER

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PT. 2

2011-02-26T10:22:00.010-05:00

PART 1

Surviving Physical, Sexual & Psychological Abuse 1

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN
Part Two

Life continued at the same fearful pace in the old neighborhood. From time to time on my way home from school, I would see that old man who molested me. Sometimes when I'd be walking past a particular house, he'd be nearby and call out to me. Sometimes he was at the gate and would grab my arm like he was going to pull me up the stairs. I was so scared. I remember one incident when he grabbed at me and got hold of my sweater. He tugged me closer and said he wanted "some more" that he was "going to have some more". I'm not sure I understood what he meant at the time, but subconsciously it probably rang a bell, because I reacted like any victim of rape might. I starting yanking my arm away real hard, telling him to let go. Telling him I'd tell my grandmother. But I wouldn't have. I never did.
I believed--and I still do--she would have beat my ass. And she was really good at it. Somehow that man tugging on me was going to be my fault. "You should have walked further away from his house!" Yep. Him raping me was going to be my fault, as well. I can hear her clearly, "You had no business being there, anyway."
See, kids learn real early to be victims. We learn that if something bad happens, even if it's not our fault, even if it's outside our control, we'll get part of the blame. Maybe all of it. Yes, I learned early to fear. Not just the molester or bully, but the grandmother wielding the leather belt, the electric cord, the mop stick or the meaty backhand. Sometimes even her foot.
Sad thing is, that man was grabbing at me right in front of other houses, wide out in the open. No one seemed to notice. Trying to fend off that grown ass man was one of many moments in my life that I knew I was alone in the world, that I couldn't count on anyone protecting me. Or helping me. There were many such battles on North Third Street. So just imagine after the having won or lost the war, having to come home and have your butt whupped for having a bad report card, a warning notice or for just pissing off your teachers with bad behavior.
Come on, now. How do parents expect kids to be good students--to focus on their studies--when they are being bombarded by student, pervert and parent bullies? America is damn stupid. People and the authorities haven't a clue what's really going on in the lives of some kids. And it's rough in the hood. Even for the hood of the '70's.
Tirade over. Back to the story.
The old man's grandson, was yet another boulder to wend my way around. Mark was an atypical kid in that neighborhood. He was my friend one week and my tormentor the next. Very confusing environment. Every now and again, I stopped over at his house. Not to see him, but to visit an angel.
Jean was Mark's sister. I wonder sometimes if her grandfather had hurt her. She was soooo nice. So quiet. She rarely if ever came outside to play. I don't remember her ever saying an unkind word. She would invite me in and share cereal and milk with me. We would play with Barbie dolls and she'd show me how to make clothes for them. I really think those moments fed my talent for making clothes I could wear. My grandmother would make comments about her that seemed to hint that there was something different about her. She was about four or five years older than me. (Sighing) I really miss her. I really wish I could tell her how much I enjoyed spending time with her, that I felt safe with her. Guys, she was light in the darkness. Wherever you are girl, God Bless You!
Now, despite my grandmother's stringent rules of how far we could be in the neighborhood, my brother and I certainly had moments of freedom. Lester was brave, but I was ever fearful of the mighty Eva hand.
There were times when Mark tried to have sex with me. Not forcefully, but he would tug on my arm and try to grab my hand and lower it to touch his privates. A very repulsive thing then. I hated those moments. And, yes I was afraid that he wanted sex from me. By this time, I'd heard stories about him.
What I didn't hear was that he was willing to take it from me against my will.

Next time I'll tell you all about how I found out that consensual sex is still rape.

Please Note:
Names of family, friends and perpetrators
have been changed.
PART 3
SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PART 1
SEEING THE POSITIVE IN ABUSE EVENTS, PT 1
WE DON'T HAVE TO BE VICTIMS FOREVER

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN, PT. 1

2011-02-26T10:02:00.011-05:00

PART 2

Surviving Physical, Sexual & Psychological Abuse 1

SNAKES IN MY GARDEN
Part One

It is remarkable how predators get away with what they do. In this day and age, not telling kids about sex and sexual predators is tantamount to handing an entire generation over to a lifetime of psychological misery. With so many pedophiles walking the streets of America and abroad, it's difficult to raise children who haven't been sexually assaulted. And if anyone thinks it won't happen to the little ones they love, BULL. Sexual predators are everywhere; they're in our schools—from janitors to teachers to principals. Not even policemen can be trusted. Not even family members and especially not neighbors. It's a rough world out there for the young and naive. Many of us have learned this fact the hard way, and I'm no exception. I didn't have a fighting chance because my grandmother who raised me, didn't see sex as an important topic. I had to learn about sex the hard way. I was eight or nine years old.
My childhood, like many people's, was filled with despair and fear. One reason for my fear involved an old man who was related to my brother Lester's best friend. Whatever it was I was to accomplish in life, nearly died—or was conceived—in the dark on a basement floor.
It was a sunny summer day, and I was happy to be outside. I was following Lester—cause that's what my grandmother told me to do—and we went to his friend Mark's house just a building away. My brother was two and a half years older than me and Mark, maybe a year younger than Lester.
I remember walking up the wide gray steps to the porch then we were inside being greeted by a gray-haired man. He was tall and spindly, wore a white undershirt. I guess he invited me down into the basement as my brother stood at the top of the staircase, looking down at me. I don't recollect anything that was said except the man said I'd be alright. He gave Lester five or ten dollars and sent him to the store. Looking back, I felt uneasy, but had nothing to explain why I should be fearful of anything bad happening. I knew nothing about sex. Yet, there was a sense of foreboding.
When Lester left, the man closed the door and the basement was engulfed in pitch black. Now I was really ill at ease. The man assured me that my brother would be back soon. Dread seized me and I began to cry. I stood riveted to the spot wishing—praying—Lester would hurry up and return. I listened as the man rustled about in the dark. Eventually I heard a click and saw the man standing near a dim bulb that swung back and forth in the air, suspended from the ceiling by a wire or chain. A refrigerator or water heater off to the left blocked most of the light.
I don't remember—or want to remember—much more than him telling me to lie on my back. To this day I can feel him penetrating me. I don't even remember it hurting, just the initial entry. What stayed with me was how much I wished the ordeal to be over, that Lester would hurry back. I was crying the whole time, of course, and when he finished, I scrambled to my feet, relieved that it was over.
Lester returned a little while later, but it seemed like forever. I was delivered back into his hands. As we exited onto the porch and stomped down the steps, I was crying. I vaguely remember Lester telling me that everything would be okay and not to tell anyone. I can't even tell you what happened after we stepped off that last outside stair. I don't know. It wasn't until I was eighteen that I even remembered being molested by that man.
And if you think this is all I have to tell about being raped. It isn't.

Please Note:
Names of family, friends and perpetrators
have been changed.
PART 2
SEEING THE POSITIVE IN ABUSE EVENTS, PT 1
WE DON'T HAVE TO BE VICTIMS FOREVER