My New Shrink

So I went to see my new shrink yesterday. He is the same shrink who worked with my brother when he was a teenager, and is currently working with my brother. I have had more shrinks than I can remember, and I can honestly say I think this is the best shrink that I have ever seen. Most of them just sit there and everytime you say something they ask, "and how does that make you feel?" and that makes me feel pissed off. I hate when they do that. This guy doesn't do that. He listens, and waits for me to tell me things, and if while I'm talking a reach a point where I just have nothing else to say, he'll ask me a question, but not the standard question, and actual question about what I've been saying. It shows he's actually listening.

I also like the fact that he already knows my family. He knows my dad is abusive and insane, and that both of my brothers are mean and self centered, and that my mom is passive and dismissive. It makes a big difference, because I don't have to waste my time explaining the level of crazy that I deal with on a regular basis.

I also really think that this time, this is going to work. Not just because he's a good shrink, but because I want this more than I have ever wanted it before. Not only that, he gives feedback, and I think that between my trying and his skill, we might be able to break the cycle of abuse that I put up with and have come to accept as an every day part of life.

Domestic Abuse

Gunpowder and Lead

Miranda Lambert

County road 233, under my feet
Nothin' on this white rock but little ol' me
I've got two miles 'til, he makes bail
And if I'm right we're headed straight for hell

I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun
Wait by the door and light a cigarette
If he wants a fight, well now he's got one
And he ain't seen me crazy yet

He slapped my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man?
I'm gonna show him what little girls are made of
Gunpowder and lead

Well it's half past ten, another six pack in

And I can feel the rumble like a cold black wind
He pulls in the drive, gravel flies
He don't know what's waitin' here this time

Hey I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun
Wait by the door and light a cigarette
If he wants a fight well now he's got one

And he ain't seen me crazy yet

He slapped my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man?
I'm gonna show him what little girls are made of
Gunpowder and lead

His fist is big but my gun's bigger
He'll find out when I pull the trigger

I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun
Wait by the door and light a cigarette
If he wants a fight well now he's got one
And he ain't seen me crazy yet

He slapped my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man?
I'm gonna show him what little girls are made of
Gunpowder and,
Gunpowder and lead

*In case you didn't notice, you can listen to that song, there is a box towards the bottom of the page*

So I'm really pissed off about this whole Rihanna/Chris Brown thing. I think my biggest problem, is THAT WOMEN ARE STUPID. I mean, most of the stuff that we hear are rumors, but there has to be some merit to them, because they had to come from somewhere. I have heard that Chris Brown had been becoming increasingly abusive, yet she stayed with him. Then he beat the shit out of her in the car, and she married him? Really? That's the kinda girl I want to be a role model for my children. She's a winner. That is why women are stupid, who doesn't wanna stay with a guy who beats on her regularly, I'm sure it's just to keep some excitement in their relationship. She never knows when it's gonna come, but gosh darn it, we know it will.

The police report said that she was looking at his phone reading out loud texts from some other woman, and then Chris Brown tried to force her out of the car, then when he couldn't because she was wearing her seat belt. Then he pushed her head against the window, and then started punching her. He told her that he was going to beat the shit out of her when they got home. He bit her shoulders and fingers, and punched her some more. He also, threatened to kill her.

To top it off, Chris Brown's step dad used to beat the shit out of his mom, and he always thought he would end up in jail because he wanted to kill him. Yet, here he is beating the shit out of his girlfriend. I'm sure his mama is soo proud of him.

If a man ever lays a hand on me, I can almost guarantee, if I don't kill him, my dad will. Rihanna's parents, are apparently happy with however Rihanna decided to handle the situation. I think that Rihanna is a MORON, I hope she never has kids, because Chris Brown will probably beat them too.

Either way, my favorite part of that song is when she says, "you ain't seen me crazy yet," because no matter how crazy I am now, how many meds they try to put me out to regulate my mood. God help the poor son of bitch who lays a hand on me, because then you'll know what crazy is.

Update: Here is the link to Perez, with a copy of the detective report from Chris Brown's beating of Rihanna... http://perezhilton.com/2009-03-05-a-must-read-2

Daddy Dearest (Part 2)

My dad can be generous in many ways, he can also seem like a crazy person, or someone who is trying to live vicariously through his kids.

Since my dad retired when we were young, we would often go run arrends with him after school. The thing was always tricky was, when my dad said he was going out, sometimes he'd say where he was going and other times he wouldn't. When my dad didn't say where he was going, the only thing you knew, is that you wanted to go with him. You might end up going to the hardware store, or you might end up at Six Flags.

My dad collects things, you name something that was around in 1940-1960, my dad probably collects it, at least, if he thought it was cool when he was a kid (yeah, he was born '40). The coolest part about this that I can remember was my basement. My dad has a collection of beer signs, add to that a couple pin ball machines, a pool table, ping pong, a slot machine and a dart board, and you got a pretty good game room. A lot of the stuff was collectable stuff that my dad bought.

The Assault: The Drunken Pass

I have a small and select group of girlfriends. They are all the most amazing people, who I can trust with any information, and to take care of me if I needed it. I very seldom am accepting of new women into my life, I don't trust them. It's an instinctual thing, women are hard to trust because they are more emotional, they are more likely to stab you in the back. Due to this and a thousand other reasons, women are drama queens and to be trusted only at your own risk. I am more likely to befriend a man any day of the week than I am to let myself get to close to a new woman I don't know.

• Women with a childhood history of sexual abuse are 4.7 times more likely to be subsequently raped (Merrill, et al, 1997).
• Of female Americans who are raped, 54% experience their first rape before age 18. (Ibid)
• Of surveyed college women, about 90% of rape and sexual assault victims knew their attacker prior to the assault (Fisher, 2000)
• 69% of teen sexual assaults reported to law enforcement occurred in the residence of the victim, the offender, or another individual (Snyder, 2000).

Changed names...

• My roommates Best friend: Slut
• The guy I'm dating: Joe
• Slut's guy Friend: Creeper

I have always had the feelings that women were drama, and trouble, but while I was at college, I only had so many friends. Sometimes you just need a girlfriend, and while my lovely ladies were at their respective colleges, I had to fill the hole. I let myself get friendly with a rather anti-social girl, because that way, she needed me more than I needed her. After she got crazy and clingy and tried to sleep on the floor of my dorm every night (even though her room was just a few doors down); I had to make a new friend. My roommate was a pretty cool girl, and she was always asking me to come hang out. I eventually became sort of friends with her, and her best friend. I was more friends with her friend because we spent a lot of time hanging out with the same group of guys.

At one point, I was dating this really cute older guy. His eyes were amazing, he was sweet, and I really was attracted to him, in every way. I spent most nights in his dorm, and a lot of time texting him when we weren't together. One particular evening, he was having a guys night with his roommate, they were going to the bar and get wasted. My friends were all either home for the weekend or out at bars, since I was under 21, I had nothing official happening that night.

While I was on my trek from my car to the dorms, Slut pulled up next to me to see what I was up to. She had a case of beer in the car, we parked, and knocked back some beer. After we put a big enough dent in the case, we grabbed the last of them and headed back to the dorms. At the time I was a two beer queer. We weren't supposed to have beer in our dorm, but Slut had a friend who was over 21, so we went to Creeper's room, so if he got caught with the beer, he was old enough to have it.

I was already drunk by the time we got to the room, Slut kept asking me about Joe and how everything was, and what he was doing tonight, I didn't think anything of it, I was drunk. She kept passing me beers, and I didn't know my limit, and because it was happening so fast, probably not everything that I had drank had really gotten to me yet. I kept telling Slut that I wanted a cigarette, I wanted to go outside, and then I wanted her to take me to my room. I was so drunk at this point that I could barely keep my eyes open.

She asked to borrow my phone, gave creeper a hug and a big smile, took my phone, and left. Apparently, Slut had no plans of coming back for me. She was busy calling Joe and trying to get him to hang out with her because she wanted to fuck him, and she didn't care what that cost me. As I began to fade in and out of consciousness, Creeper started try and make moves on me. I pushed him off and told him I wanted to go to my room, he said he would take me soon.

As the time between conscious and unconscious grew, I woke up to Creeper on top of me, he was, rather vigorously, fucking my limp unconscious body. I tried to say something, but as I lifted my head I blacked out again. The next time I woke up, I was laying in his bed, half dressed, feeling very sick, and with a very sore vagina, he wasn't around. I managed to put pants on, and grab the rest of my clothes. I can picture walking up to my room as if I were watching myself, but I don't remember doing it. I just had a bundle of clothing and kept falling into the wall, trying to find stairs, trying to find my room, trying to be anywhere but there. I don't remember getting back to my room, but I remember waking up there, sore, and with the familiar feeling of being dirty all over. I stayed in bed most of the day, my roommate got my phone back from Slut, but I didn't want to do anything anyway.

Eventually Joe asked me to come see him, it was the only thing that seemed to make me feel better. He mentioned how Slut kept calling him from my phone, but he barely knew her and didn't understand why she wanted to hang out with him. I felt safe because Joe and I weren't having sex, never did, and he was a big guy so I trusted him to protect me. I remember falling asleep in his arms, and then him waking me in the middle of the night. He said he really had to pee and asked if I wanted to go for a walk. Why one of those things led to the other I'm not sure, but that's what happened. We walked around the dorm building, and he finally stopped somewhere to pee. As I was standing there in the middle of the night, in the dark, freezing, wearing nothing put my pajamas, and wrapping my arms around myself for warmth, I felt something come out of my already very sore lady parts.

That feeling is very hard to describe, but it scared this shit out of me. I had no idea what just happened, for all I knew, I just had a miscarriage and there was a very small baby laying in my underwear. I was terrified, but didn't want to tell Joe was had just happened. I started bouncing up in down, and telling Joe to hurry up, I was cold, and needed to go to the bathroom. We made it back to his room, and I ran into the bathroom to see what had happened. That's when I saw it, it was just there, smashed up, almost unrecognizable, a ripped condom. Which Creeper must have lost while he was violently thrusting into me.

That was followed by the standard fears that anyone would have if a condom ripped during consensual sex. What if I get pregnant? What is this fucking ass's sperm actually got to one of my eggs? What am I going to do? How long can you wait until you take the morning after pill? Will is still work? What are my chances? I spent the next day waiting at planned parenthood for the pill, I had seventy two hours, after the incident to get the pill, which would, by the grace of God, kill whatever devil seed that prick may have put inside of me.

I only trust a few girls, because bitches are back-stabbing, and usually just out for themselves. Slut got me drunk, and then passed me off to some creeper, with no regards what he would do to me, but she wanted me good and drunk, so she could take my phone and try and fuck my boyfriend.

The Assault: The Story

Being the victim of a sexual assault hurts in a lot of ways, emotionally, physically, it makes you sick, and it's often embarrassing. For that reason, and for other reasons, even though I knew the person who assaulted me, I'm going to refer to him as "the boy." It's a hard story to tell, and I think that most important part, even more so than the actual events that ensued, my feelings, as it was happening, and after it happened.

I'm about 15 years old, I meet a boy with the prettiest blue eyes I'd ever seen. He was cute, he thought he was a bad ass but really he was very nice. The first few times we hung out, if we would walk somewhere he wanted to be on the street side, that way he protect me if something happened. He said on top of that, in some places, if you are walking with a woman on the street side it meant she was for sale, like a hooker. He seemed like a really nice boy, and I thought he treated me well.

My mom took me to his house one day and dropped me off, she didn't really like the idea, but she knew I was going to want to start hanging out with boys. I told her that I would call her when I needed a ride home. When I got there he was outside playing on his skateboard. His house had a wooded area behind it. We walked through the wide field and he said he wanted to show me something in the woods, he told me I'd like it.

We walked through a small winding trail, it seemed as if were forgotten, barely visible. As we came to an opening there was a little bench, the branches and leaves wrapped around the bench like a halo. They left just the right amount of room for two love birds to sit together. When I saw the bench up close it had a faded poem carved into it. I don't remember it exactly but it said something about the spot to come and sit, and love.

I told the boy that I thought it was really sweet that he brought me there, and the poem on the bench made it even more special. He agreed and said that he liked it because even though you could see people hiking through the wooded area, they couldn't see you. The boy liked the privacy, I didn't really understand why at the time. He started to kiss me, it was nice, almost special. He started to move his hand up to my breast, and I pushed it away. Again he tried but this time, he slipped his hand under my shirt.

Again, I pushed him away. He didn't like the way things were going for him. He tried to be sweet, say nice things, tell me how he liked me. He again tried to make a move on me. I still wasn't interested, he asked me why I didn't want to make him happy. I didn't understand. He gave me a hug and the next thing I know he has my arms forced behind my back. I try to fight him off, but I didn't think that he was going to do anything so I didn't try hard enough.

He pushed me towards the ledge of the space where we were, he pulled my shirt up to my neck. He asked me if I could see the people below, I could. He asked if I wanted him to push me off, I didn't. He pulled my bra down to reveal my breast to the people below. They weren't looking, but if they had looked up, they would have seen a scared barely teenage girl, more exposed than ever before.

Then he let me go, I quickly covered myself back up. He laughed, he thought it was funny, he didn't think that it was a big deal. I didn't understand. Then he started acting really sweet again, he didn't think I would get upset, no one was looking anyway. It was just a joke, he was sorry. He hugged me, told me to come sit with him on the bench. I joined him on the bench, against my better judgement, because I thought maybe he was sorry.

After sitting there for a minute I stood up, I told him we should go. He held my hands and started sweet talking me again. I told him to get his skateboard, I told him we should go, to pick it up, we'd leave. I'm not really even sure how it happened but he did something with his legs, and knocked me to my knees. He kept pushing my head into his crotch. I'd push my head back. He put his skateboard in front of me and told me to kneel on that so I didn't get dirty. He didn't let me go, but he was trying to make it seem like he was being nice.

There was a back and forth battle of him trying to get me to blow him by pushing my head, and me pushing back. When I'd get my head up, I couldn't get my arms free, so I couldn't get away. He told me that he could push me right off the ledge on that skateboard. I didn't seem to have many options. Eventually he pulled his boy penis out and forced me to put it in my mouth. The pushing situation seemed to work to his advantage. Any time I would start to pull my head up farther than he wanted, he would push it down as far as he could. His penis would push against my throat and I would gag.

As tears streamed down my face onto his lap, he ejaculated in my mouth. He finally let my head up. I spit out the salty, warm, slimy mess. I wiped my mouth, wiped my tears, and he tried to console me. I pushed him away. We walked back to his house so I could call my mom. I would let him touch me again.

My mom took me home, asked if everything was okay, I told her I was fine. My neck was killing, my pants were dirty, and I felt dirty all over. I pretended nothing happened. I hate myself for that. I thought of, and can still think of all the things that I could have done differently. Things that I could have done to get him off of me. I can go on for days about what I could have, or should have done.

Now I can only wait for time to heal my wounds, as I write this, I'm working through it. It has effected me for a long time. It has had a control over me. I hope that one day, the idea of it won't make me feel dirty, embarrassed, disgusted... One thing that I can be sure of, without a doubt in my mind; I'm a much stronger person now than I was then. For that reason, if the boy ever crossed my path, I couldn't be held accountable for my actions, I might even kill if I had the chance. I think about it often, what I would do, but I know in my heart, no matter how much the idea of confronting him scares me; I'd make him feel my pain.

The Assault: The Facts

Sexual Assault:

• When the act is intentional and is committed either by a) physical force, violence, threat or intimidation; b) ignoring the objections of another person....
• noun: Conduct of a sexual on indecent nature toward another person that is accompanied by actual or threatened physical force or that induces fear, shame or mental suffering.
• A sex act committed by one person on another pr son, or against that other person's will
• A sex act occurs when one person's genitals touch another persons mouth or genitals, or when a substitute for a person's genitals, such as fingers or an object, touches another person's genitals.

Pennsylvania Law: Considered a misdemeanor of the first or second degree. They can carry a 9 month to 2 year sentence, if convicted.

• Girls who were raped are about three times more likely to suffer from psychiatric disorders and over four times more likely to suffer from drug and alcohol abuse in adulthood (Kendler, et al., 2000).
• Female students who have been physically and/or sexually abused by a dating partner in the 9th through 12th grades are at increased risk for substance abuse, unhealthy weight control, risky sexual behavior, pregnancy and suicide (Silverman, et al., 2001).
• 23% of all sexual offenders are under the age of 18 (Snyder, 2000).
• Female adolescent abuse survivors are more likely to develop eating disorders - 18% binge and purge, while only 6% of non-abused adolescent girls do so - and are more likely to use illegal drugs - 30% compared to 13% of teenage girls who were never sexually abused (The Commonwealth Fund, 1997).
• The cost of crime to victims is an estimated $450 billion per year. Rape is the most costly to its victims, totaling $127 billion annually. (Miller, et al., 1996)
• On average, from 1992-2000, only 31% of all rapes and sexual victimizations were reported to the police(Hart, Timothy and Rennison, 2000)
• The overall probability that a rapist will be sent to prison for his crime: 16.3%. The average sentence: 128 days. (National Center for Policy Analysis, 1999)
• 1.8 million of the 22.3 million adolescents in the United States have been sexually assaulted (Kilpatrick and Saunders).
• Teens 16 to 19 years of age were three and a half times more likely than the general population to be victims of rape, attempted rape, or sexual assault (Rennison, 2000).

The absence of injuries often suggests to others that the victim failed to resist and, therefore, must have consented. Often, rapists only need the threat of violence to control their victims.

Everyone has the right to change their mind - even about sex. One form of sexual contact does not necessarily open the door to other sexual activity. Even if the two have had sex before, the perpetrator does not have the right to force sex on the victim.

There are many ways a person can be forced into sexual activity. Sometimes perpetrators use physical force or a weapon, but more often they use coercion, manipulation, or psychological pressure.

Allowing survivors to discuss sexual abuse/assault helps them heal. Speaking out about sexual assault might be an essential part of the recovery process. It empowers the survivor to erase the shame and stop the silence of sexual violence. However, no survivor should be forced to speak, publicly or privately, before they are ready. Every survivor is the expert on their own recovery. For many, recovery becomes an ongoing process of change that may continue for 1, 5, or 20 years.

I may have mentioned my incident in passing, but never to the full extent. I know that when I first ever discussed it, there was not assault mentioned. Chunks of the story were left out, and I made it sound like something normal. I've blamed myself for a long time. A really long time. I spent a lot of time not thinking that it was an assault, it was just my fault, and I deserved it. I know that it isn't my fault, but I still haven't come to terms with that. I still feel responsible. The first time I told the story, I explained it to my shrink, not in full detail, but overall. She said that it's good to tell my story because it takes away some of the strength and control it has over me. Therefore, I will work on my story, and eventually, the drafts I write I will be able to post, and let myself tell the whole thing, just how it happened.

Bill (Part 3)

Disclaimer...If as you read this, you ask yourself, "how much more stupid can she get?" Just keep reading. Same goes for when you begin to wonder "How much more of this is she going to take?" The pain ends eventually, but it goes through a few ups and downs. There are probably a few holes in my stories from things I can't remember, but I'll do my best to get across each fun filled little event.

I remember taking Bill to a lot of halfway houses. He always had to go back and get his stuff. Not only were they in really bad parts of Philadelphia, I would sit in the car by myself, which I guess was safer than going inside with all the junkies. I got in trouble on plenty of nights for letting him stay at my house. My mom didn't trust him, understandably, you can't trust junkies. Since I was blind to the fact that he could be a bad person, I never understood why it bothered my mom so much.

I remember going to pick him up at his house on many occasions too. I would sit in the living room with his mom. One time she had a container full of baby ducks she was raising, another time there was a baby squirrel up her sleeve, literally. She'd stand there and tell me that she didn't understand why I would keep coming back. She did the same thing, but Bill was her baby, she had a good reason, I should have walked away. I remember her telling me that he hit her once, smacked her around. I didn't believe it, but I'm not surprised, it could have gone either way because they were both liars.

One day a few of my friends and I went to Bill's house, his friend M was there. He was in a really good mood, we were all hanging out, and having a good time. It didn't take long for him to not be in as good of a mood. He got up at one point and disappeared for a while. Then when I was going to get up to check on him, M stopped me, he knew that Bill had a drug problem because they did drugs together. When they both came back, it was a different situation. He stripped down and it turned into almost an orgy without the sex I guess, I mean, it was just nakedness and kissing everywhere. It bothered me in a way, even though sex eventually didn't mean anything between the two of us, I didn't think it was something he'd up and do with anyone around.

Bill in I always stayed in touch. I went away to college and he was always getting clean and all that good stuff. Even when I was at school he would call me every now and then, it was always nice to hear that he was still alive. The last I heard, he had died once and was resuscitated, and he ODed about 8 times. At least he tries hard...

At one point when I was in college, in another state might I add, he called my from Philly because he was getting out of a mental hospital. He told me how his mom wouldn't let him come home, and he had no where to go. I drove in the middle of the night from college, to the hospital to pick him up the day he got discharged. I drove him all the way back to my dorm. He stayed with me for about a week or more. He started some fights, and freaked out one of the girls down the hall. I finally got a notice saying that the school had reason to believe that someone else was living in my dorm room, and they were going to come check.

Before I finally took Bill home from college, he of course hooked up with some girls there. He would talk about how much he loved college. He took money from me, among other things, like he's great at ruining friendships, and stealing my clothes and cd's. The day that I got the note, my roommate called me. She didn't mind that he was there. I think I was finally starting to come to the end of my ability to deal with Bill. He would call me every day and tell me that he needed food, or cigarettes, he couldn't seem to make himself anything to eat, he of course didn't have any money. I felt like I was blessed when I finally got that note from the school, I wanted him gone.

Another long night of driving, I was free of Bill. I can guarantee that there is more shit that he put me through, but I either don't want to go through it in my head, or I don't want to see it in writing. Knowing that it's all true, and it I put up with it, makes it hard. Since he left my college, I think I've talked to him a few times. His story last was that he was going to college. Then another time he was joining the air force. I've had phone calls from him mom, because he still lies to her by saying that he's going out with me, she still trusts me. I respect her enough to tell her the truth, I haven't seen him, and I didn't know he was using me as an excuse. I remember the last time that I saw Bill, I was driving down a street near is house.

He was sitting on the side of the road, with a trash bag, and no shoes. I felt myself hit the break on the car. I thought to myself, I'm driving in a brand new car, doing really well, and he's going to see that and think that I have money, and that he can take advantage of me again. I let go of the break and kept driving. I checked my rear view mirror as I threw my cigarette out the window. My rear window, where he should be, behind me. I hope I can keep him there. I still love him, and that part of me that he will always have is the part that wanted to hit the breaks. The part that wanted to pull the car over and give him a hug, tell him everything would be okay. The piece of me that knows, deep down inside, that former honors student, athlete, loving, caring person is in that mess of drugs somewhere.

I know he's been terrible to me, and for me. He isn't always bad. He always supported me. When I was in a relationship at college he was happy for me, he thought we were good together. After I told him about Bobby he was really glad that I found someone that treats me so well and I want to spend the rest of my life with. All I can do is pray for him, maybe one day, years from now, he'll come to a high school reunion or something, clean with a job, or just clean would be great. I've been to more NA meetings and sober parties than I can remember, but I guess it was worth it, as much as it hurt, and can still hurt. I'm a stronger person, I know that because I could drive away from the boy who stole my heart in 7th grade, and hasn't given it all back.

Bill (Part 2)

Disclaimer...If as you read this, you ask yourself, "how much more stupid can she get?" Just keep reading. Same goes for when you begin to wonder "How much more of this is she going to take?" The pain ends eventually, but it goes through a few ups and downs. There are probably a few holes in my stories from things I can't remember, but I'll do my best to get across each fun filled little event.

Besides the obvious inconsideration for my feelings, or anyone's feelings for that matter, through the course of Bill's drug abuse, there were a few events that are worth mentioning. Once during a visit to a mental hospital, Bill met a girl who was there becaus she tried to kill herself, unsuccessfully, obviously. While Bill was spending at least some of his time, getting me to believe that he loved me, he also decided to have some quality time with this girl. I can only assume the worst. I even think she called me once, wanting to know why I was trying to "get with her man."

Prom night, every girl waits for that moment, when they have the perfect dress and the perfect date. Bill would have easily been my perfect date, and the dress, that was already perfect. Bill instead of going with me decided to ask some other girl we went to high school with, one who I hated on top of that. I was pretty upset about it, well, that's an understatement. I think I managed to have a good time anyway, I brought my best friend Jil, and danced with everyone else's date. I got my picture taken with a friend, I wanted them taken with Bill, but by the grace of God, my friends wouldn't let that happen.

After prom a bunch of us went to stay at a friend's beach house. We had our cute little room assignments with our dates, but actually, I ended up being with Bill. His date didn't come to the beach house, and I'm a glutten for punishment. He was obviously strung out on dope for the duration of our trip. He would stay up late at night, and sleep a lot during the day, he came in with me one night, and we almost had sex. I don't know why I was going to do it, but I wanted him, I always wanted him. Again, my friends saved the day, they refused to supply a condom, and no sex was had.

Don't let that fool you, he's the boy I lost my virginity to. That was an interest turn of events. It came down to that fact that I didn't want to go away to college a virgin, I wanted to have sex with someone I had feelings for, and I cared about. I considered Bill my best friend, even thought he could be an ass. So the day came, and I went to the grocery store and got condoms, and went to his house. We started off really slow, he didn't want to hurt me. In the end, we had sex for what seemed like hours, in actuality, it was probably only about an hour. The benefits of boning junkies, they have a real hard time getting off when they're high. I don't regret it. I wanted it to be special, and it was, at least for me.

After the first time, sex turned into a thing we just did. I'd come over, we'd watch some tv, chain smoke a bit, talk, and usually have sex. It didn't take long for sex to lose meaning to me, it already meant very little to me because I was sexually assulted, but I thought maybe by doing it with someone I cared about I could bring some love back into it. The love that might have been there the first time was soon gone, sex was sex. Penis in vagina, thrusting...over. It took me years to find meaning in sex again, meaningless lovers, meaningless sex, meaningless me.

To be continued...the pain isn't over yet.

Bill (Part 1)

I feel like it is time to tell a story that is not only hard for me to tell, but hard for me to think about. It's a sad story really, because it starts off seemingly good, and then ends in heartache. There are unfortunately ups and downs, and the downs hurt the most because at the age this happened, I was naive. At any rate, this is the story of a boy, who could have grown up to be a smart, successful man, but instead lives on the streets, and though he seems to have nothing, will always be carrying a piece of my heart.

I first met Bill in my seventh grade English class, 4Th period, Ms. Davis. He was very quite, and sat in the back of the room. I was not exactly a social butterfly, but I noticed him, and for a while, that's all it was. I had a boyfriend, Doug, not the most attractive man in the world, but I settled, it's what I did. Bill and I also had biology together, I think that was 7Th period, with Mr. Keller, he was the greatest teacher ever. Somehow, I'm not quite sure, Bill and I came to know each other, though there is one specific time that I would consider our first cordial meeting.

We were both on the track team, I spent most of my time doing shot-put and occasionally long distance with my friend Amanda. Bill did the same events but he did them with his friend, Josh. On this special day, after a track meet, I was standing in the middle of the track with Amanda getting our equipment together to carry it all back inside, when Bill and Josh came up to us. Josh introduced everyone as though we'd never met, then Bill asked me if I wanted help carrying my stuff, and I let him help.

After that we spent a lot more time together. Doug and I broke up, and I started "dating" Bill. Doug was in a freak baseball accident and I, as much as I regret it now, dumped Bill to get back together with Doug. To this day, Bill blames me for this. He never let me forget it, and he sees as the point where is life fell apart.

We had a few dates. I remember one day in particular where I took the bus home with him, one of the first times I remember meeting his mom. We were sitting in his backyard on the deck, surrounded by various animals and reptiles. When we finally got up the nerve to hold hands, his mom came running out the back door screaming "Cannibals! Cannibals!" While running at the wild turkeys who were wandering around the backyard. We quickly pulled our hands apart.

In an unfortunate turn of events, Bill went from a guy who lifted weights all the time, and was on the wrestling team, to a junkie. It didn't happen all at once, but he went straight from weed to heroin, after that he went back and tried crack and stuff, but heroin was his first true love. Bill and I were both going through rough times, but we would make deals that we both knew we wouldn't keep. I would promise not to cut myself, and Bill would promise not to use. It wasn't because they were equal problems, but because I cared about him, I didn't want him doing drugs. He cared about me, and didn't want me to hurt myself.

Then came the ups and downs, he was in the hospital, he was out, he ODed, he was clean. Bill would overdose and then go to the hospital. On those days I would cut school and lay in the hospital bed with him all day, well, until They came to take him to the mental hospital. Those days while we laid there he was probably my favorite person. After he finally realized where he was and what was going on, he was the sweetest man in the world to me. I just sucked it all up, and clung to it like a life preserver while I waited for him to get back out of the mental hospital.

Sometimes he would disappear for a while, and when he would come back I was the only person he was allowed to hang out with, because his mom trusted me. I let him break my heart time and time again. I told him I loved him even though he would go out scoring dope and not come back for days, or end up in the hospital, or get arrested. I loved him through it all.

I loved him because of the person I knew he could be. The way he took care of me sometimes, he had a way of making you smile no matter what happened. It was pretty amazing, he was pretty amazing. I'd love to say that I grew out of the relationship, and realized that he was a mess. Unfortunately, that is not the case, it was a mess for a long time. Sometimes I wouldn't talk to him for a while, and I would just try not to think about it, but he always came back. Somehow or another Bill would be a part of my life until I almost graduated from college. Now I only can pray that I'm strong enough to stay away from him.

Daddy Dearest (Part 1)

Growing up in my house could only be described as a living hell. Well, most of the time. I can’t claim my life was always miserable, because that would be a lie. My dad had an interesting view on parenting, because his parents did such a great job with him.

My dad’s dad, who I guess I could consider my grandfather, but I never knew him to call him anything, was an alcoholic. He would beat my dad relentlessly when he was a kid. My dad hated his mother for never sticking up for him, but she didn’t really know what else to do. My dad had a brother, who I also never knew, he was in the military and after coming home and having a couple of kids, he killed himself. He was an alcoholic, and I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t know the names of either my uncle or my grandfather. I have a rough idea of what they could be because we’re big in naming our kids after other members of our families.

As I was saying, my dad got his butt kicked as a kid; his mom ignored it, and then sent him away to private school. I can only assume that for these reasons, my dad has no idea how to be a parent, nonetheless a good parent. On nights that my mom would work late were probably the worst. My dad would yell at us a lot, send us to our rooms for no reason, and then right before my mom came home make us come downstairs and clean up his mess. If there was any argument with any of his unreasonable commands, he’d hit us. I’m not just saying, oh, parents spank their kids when their bad, I mean, he HIT us.

My brother took the brunt of the abuse because he was the oldest, so I would protect and/or hide my little brother. There were a few times when after a beating we were sent to our rooms, and we would all huddle together in my room waiting for my mom to come home to save us. She never saved us. The second we would see her car pull into the driveway we would sit at the top of the steps and wait for her to come in the door, because we wouldn’t dare go back downstairs without her in the house. When she would enter we would surround her, crying of all the things that dad made us do, and how he hit us, and how a wall got a hole in it, or a door broke during the battle. She would just emotionlessly say that whatever happened, we probably deserved it.

I remember two events that may have led to the end of the abuse. For me, one day I was standing against my dad, and he was threatening me, and I said, “Bring it on, it doesn’t even hurt anymore when you hit me, I’m used to it.” He ended up just looking at me, and then walking away, the fight was over where we stood. My brother on the other hand, had a more interesting turn of events with my dad. After a battle between them, my brother sat, beat and broken, and through the tears said “Go ahead Dad, walk away in your father’s shadow.” My dad went to his room after that and cried. We were never hit again, though there were a few occasions where it was threatened.

Ironically, like my father, I blame my mom for the abuse. I somehow hold her responsible, and for what I’m not completely sure. I have an amazing relationship with my dad now, and can barely get along with my mom. I know that she didn’t know what to do in the situation so she would ignore it, or hide from it. I understand that, I just can’t seem to forgive it.