The destruction of ones personal value.

Not many that know me know that I am a survivor.   Not from cancer, or some huge car wreck (though I have).   But a survivor of abuse.  I have been beaten, cursed at, abandoned, molested, raped, and tortured.   

I have no interest in harming others or forcing anyone to feel the way I do.    

I do however have a lot of anger left over from those days when I was too helpless to do anything for myself.  I did not understand the causes of the abuse and tried my best to learn how to survive it. 

As a kid, I had a very tough time getting along with others, not because I was foolish, rude or otherwise undeserving, but because my step father would follow me around and ambush me.   Taking any item he may carry with him as evidence to prove to me, and anyone that might have bothered to be a "friend" to me at the time, that I am a terrible kid, I have ruined my parents lives, and why can I not learn to grow the fuck up?  (yeah,..um... 10 years old was hard.)
One particularly embarrassing event was after I had started being touched in the middle of the night by my mothers friend.    I became a bed-wetter and even started trying to never poop.   I guess I did this in the hopes that if I was very gross and such, I would maybe get messed with a little less.    I never did understand the behaviors at the time.  Someone wanting to look at me, touch me.  It was better than being beaten with a belt, screamed at, told I am unwanted or burned with cigarettes.   Sure, NOW I know it was not a good thing, NOW I know that I should be in the very least a bit embarrassed when I say it was the only thing in my life at the time that actually did not cause me immediate physical pain.... mostly.

The thing I feel bothers me the most about this, is that my mother was told about this when I turned 19./ I had a breakdown lost my shit and did everything I could do to try and understand why it mattered now, why it suddenly was something I could not stop crying about.   It changed everything.   I think it must be similar to telling your friends that you are into the same gender.   All that time you hide it, try and pretend to not have any insight during conversations.   I still have a hard time listening to women discuss the savagery and inhumanity of rape, the violation, the pain.    I have not once in my life, EVER heard a woman say, "ya know, if it is this bad for us, imagine the social implications of a man admitting that he had been raped." or even anything close to that.      I do not blame genders, I blame perspective and our willingness to assume that ours is the only one that can validate on-goings of the world.

Paradigms.... That is the world of this lifetime.    We all suffer because we are like fish.  We swim about, school to school, reef to reef.  We wander and are mostly lost, aside from that sparse few that are gifted.     I am sorry, for you, the reader.  I am working on my education.  I am definitely trying to improve myself.  Believe me, I have long since learned that not matter how sad your plight. No one will help you if you do not show that you are tough, and will do whatever you have to.   So, I make sure to remind everyone that I am sharing stories of my life, not whining.     Although ya know... after going through and reading these.   I think I deserve a whine or two.  and if you don't?  Tough titmouse.

So, all that background was given for the preface of a simple, and horrible experience my step father created for me.   

So ya remember back in the start of this story where I said I would get ambushed?    Well, when I came back to the apartment complex, I found that my step-dad had taken a pair of my underwear that were, less than clean.   (I remind you... serious levels of abuse for several years do some strange things to an 11 year old.)  Basically, I hid my underwear because I was terrified that if I told my parents I had an accident, that I would get beaten, or embarrassed or some other unpleasant thing done to me.     He took a pair of my underwear, stabbed a broom upright into the ground, and placed my underwear upon the bloom bristles, so they hung, fully extended... gross...embarrassing. humiliation.   underneath the underwear was a sign that said "Property of PIG".    Not only did six of my only friends come around the corner to see it, but I was beaten half stupid that day... spent the rest of my week in bed, before and after school.  And only ate the food given to me at school.   I was a child.   No one helped me.   No one believed that what I told them could really be happening to me.    Not with the burn marks on my hands, not with the many times I had been sent to school with makeup on to cover belt lash marks on my face, neck and arms.      No one helped me. No one saved me.  No one has yet come and made it all better.   I had to do this on my own.   I had to survive, and learn to love myself.  To take the place of all the love I never got at home.   To forgive myself for allowing so much blame to fall upon my shoulders.   I was a child.   I had no idea how to protect myself, how to get help.      
So, if at times I seem a bit off, or maybe just don't make sense...  Forgive me, and I promise the same.  I am learning this being a good person thing by my self.    I am doing my best.     Thank you.    I am done writing for today.

Today while walking....

I remembered this story as I was walking back from the supermarket today.   I was fidgeting with my ring and muttering a song to myself.  then BOOM!    I remembered how when I was 15 I would walk home from school.  I would grab a brand new leaf from a tree, and tuck it into my ring and chant 8 times. He will leave me alone.  He will leave me alone....   I know this was not a very effective way to manage my stress.   But,.. It gave me the tiniest bit of hope.  I could wish very very hard, and maybe if the universe loved me extra that day....  My step-dad would not be home.     This particular story is a little bit different in that, he was home.  He was also very angry that I was home from school 35 minutes late.   Now all silliness aside, I have to say, this is a pretty damn funny story now that I am older.  I was not so much, when it happened.    I had gotten jumped on my way home from school that day.  It was a very inventive technique.   Two kids walked up to me and got in my face, and pushed me around.  Then when I turned around to run the other way, KABOOM! A bicycle hits me in the face.  I took the main support bar (between the seat and the handlebars) across my lips.   Fortunately, a large portion of my life was getting swung at, hit, and thrown around.  I had learned to flinch like a champion.  In my home you got two for NOT flinching.    I launched backwards at the last second and managed to save my teeth, but busted open my lip, and when I went down to the ground.  I got stomped on.   Literally.  STOMPED on.   

Now, this was a bag full of suck.  Getting the crap beat out of you by kids that have no reason to do so other than if they don't, someone will do it to them is harsh..  But what made it worse was that when I walked into the door, tears streaming silently down my face, blood dripping down my chin and onto my shirt.  I shit you not, I had blood bubbles in my nose...  and SLAP! my step-dad charges me and connects with my face at full force.  My teeth rattled, my lip exploded all the way open and I bit my fucking tongue so bad I could not breath right for an hour.

There is no redeeming part to this story.  It just sucks, and sucks some more.  Imagine living it and having to look people in the face.   

My step-dad began to scream at me while he choked me in the corner, front door not even yet closed.  Telling me that I had let my friend Glenn hit me in the face so that I could stay after school and hang out longer.      It takes 15 minutes to walk home.  I was 35 minutes late.   I got the shit kicked out of me, and was told that I FAKED it, so I could hang out my with friend who frankly was nearly as bad off as myself.    He did not get beaten, but just as bad, his parents abused his mind.  They made him their slave.  Egg and mayonnaise sandwiches at all times all days.   This is no joke, or exaggeration.   His job once he got home was to clean the house, wash the Camaro (And do NOT forget the fenders you stupid faggot!) and cook fried egg sandwiches slathered in mayo to his mother, father and sister.  I will have to move this tale over to another section at another time, on another day.  

So that was my story of why I hoped that magic would one day save me.   Now I realize long after the fact that even if I had been able to change events with magic. I would still suffer the same amount, I would still have as much joy.   No  matter the path or the goal, We will always have things to compare our pleasures against.  And our suffering.      Rambling comes to an end......here.

Another part of the life I have been living.

I am rolling a 20 sided die to decide what story to tell.
There was a point in time, when we lived at the apartments I grew up in.  That I was getting into trouble quite often.    I  can not really explain just how often and have people believe me.   I Go outside, and five minutes later.. Someone has found something that I did wrong and I would be embarrassed in front of the other kids.    One instance of this that I can remember was when I was outside playing "The ground is lava filled with sharks, wont someone just grab my hand and save me?  I am falling here!"   Yes, it was a long name for a game that lasted 4 minutes.

I was called inside and told that I had put the dishes away in the wrong spots, and that I had not taken out the trash "properly".   I was slapped and told to do it right... But not told what I had done wrong.   So naturally I was pretty upset.   I think I was only about 10.  I think what happened was something to the effect of, I got hit, I started to try and get out of the way.  I got shoved into a wall sideways.   When I crumpled to the floor, I was picked up by my arm and leg and throw onto my twin bed.  He pulled off his belt to begin beating me while swearing at me as was the usual routine.     However,  I wanted nothing to do with this.  I  jumped up, ducked under him,  and as I was leaving the room the corner of the belt caught me across my face and snapped the far side of my cheek.     I know it sure was not funny then, but now it does give me a grin to think of the spectacle.   Me, with a big red and purple triangle mark on my face.... That story comes later.   

At this point, I flipped and started trying to escape as well as I could.  This was including and not limited to, spins, rolls, twists, squirms and screams. So, being the smart person that my Step-father was, he kicked me in the head to stun me.   I became aware again, after what cant have been but a few minutes.  To realize I had been DUCT TAPED to the bed.   Apparently, I still needed a beating, and was going to get one by god.    So, to prevent my squirms and other tactics that caused him to potentially hit  me in the face with a wild belt swing.  I was now strapped to my own bed with tape.... embarrassing.  
I am so amazed and freaked out, I don't feel the dozens of impacts.  I truly don't.  I can barely breath, I have a bad time breathing out my nose as it is.     So, right around when he was finishing up, a doorbell rang.   Apparently, someone had called the police and reported abuse.    I listen while I hear my stepfather reassure the officer that I had crossed a line and required discipline.   When the officer asked to see me, he says, I am sorry, but part of his discipline is no talking with anyone for one hour.   After a few more things I could not hear, I heard the police officer say "oh no, I understand, I have to put my son over my knee on occasion.   Have a nice day Mr.******.   I think I fell asleep at that point, as I have no recollection of the events that followed.   I know I woke later, sad.   Wishing I had done things right.  I really wanted to have them (my parents) like me. That way I was not going to get  into more trouble.   How silly a thought that was.  There was no such thing as me not in trouble.   I remember my step-dad would scour my room, looking for things to yell at me for.   I had to sit on the edge of my bed and do NOTHING.   not even sigh.  A sigh meant a whooping or some screaming.       Heaven help me if I were to doze off after a few hours.   That was a nightmare in and of itself.    I am sure that I am the way I am because of these and many other experiences.   I am not sure if I am happy about that or not.  Would i change it?  maybe no.   I would change getting an education.  I would definitely not have reproduced.   and THERE is a fun story.  I really should write that out.    You heard of shotgun wedding?   I had a shotgun CONCEPTION.   wow, yeah I am going to have to write that one down.   See you folks around.   Remember to be good to each other.  Otherwise my not becoming a mass murderer was all for nothing.  And,.. I am still young.   

Stories of my life

So, I have decided to start putting some of my experiences down.   I have noticed that when at parties, talking with friends etc.  That I have a lot of experiences that other people have not.  It seems to entertain them well enough, so I shall offer a few here.   for the sake of entertainment, as opposed to my usual reason.  Social survival.     


Today I will start with my early life.  

hmm....  what shall I tell about.   Hmm.    Ok, I will tell the story of how I learned that police are people too...


I had a rather abusive childhood.   I feel actually, that I am understating the situation.  However, I will allow that postulation to be done by outside sources.  I am definitely skewed in the favor of the story teller.       I was a fast thinking, smart ass child.   I had more brains than I or my parents knew what to do with.   I was constantly being suspended, or sent home due to being beaten up at school.    This is not a very big deal, as many people got picked on, or beaten up as kids.  that is part of what school is for.    However, I know that one experience I had, was not exactly what other people would consider a great thing.   I was in sixth grade.   My teacher had learned that my grandmother was going through treatment for cancer.   While I admire and respect this man for having the compassion to try and make things better for me.  he grossly underestimated the cruelty of children.     He quietly, explained to my class that I was having a "rough time"  because of the recent impact of my grandmothers poor health.    This, as I said.  Was a noble deed.   However, the kids in my class.  Lorenzo was one,... (I will always remember his name, and face.) thought it would be funny to call me "Chemo-boy" as my teacher had explained my grandmother was going through chemo-therapy and was quite ill.       I will remark here that I was ALWAYS the one getting beaten up.  I have never beaten up someone weaker than me.   EVER.   I have been a jerk to people sure.  But that is because they were bad, selfish people.  Insults are not insults for them, it is a description.       Anyways,  my sixth and seventh grade school year were hell.  My grandmother passed away that year in June.  the 12th if i remember right...    So it caused a lot of pain, when starting my new school year, kids were still calling me chemo boy.      my grandmother was my savior, my Bastille, my... protector.  she did her best to understand me, and even when she couldn't, she accepted and loved me.    I feel like my world is a better place because of what i learned from her.     I think my own mother, believes that i blindly love my grandmother, that i do not know the evils she committed when she was a mother to my own.    It is a shame really.  I realized that my grandmother had done many bad things in her life.  However, I was able to see past that because she was working so hard on being a good person in the present, that it was unfair to ever hold her past actions against her.  It would invalidate all her work.  I did not want to be a part of that. 
   
So,... When I, several years later, encounter Lorenzo, and two other kids that used to pick on me.    I got out of my car, and walked up to the phone booth they were standing at.    2 outside, one inside. Lorenzo was the one on the phone.      I walked up and said, "Hey, aren't you that guy, Lorenzo that went to kit Carson?   "yes"  he said.   "oh good!" I said with jubilation.   I promptly grabbed Marco and the other guy.... Pushed them quickly into the phone booth and shut the door inwards.   I then, (at the time i SWEAR i did not know I was going to do this) got really really mad and shoved the phone booth OVER. 

Yes, I said that, and I mean it.  I pushed this phone booth OVER.  

Bolts tore through the aluminum frame, and stayed embedded firmly in the concrete.      I want to point out by the way,...  I Was about 17 or 18 at this time.  I had grown a lot, and been through even more.    I can not express how amazing it felt. Watching them, STUCK inside the phone booth.  Terrified, not sure WHY I was exacting such a cruel piece of revenge on them until I walked up. Put my foot on the door and said.   "This was for you Lorenzo, compliments of CHEMO-BOY.  You should be glad that I did not just kill you."    I then walked off, paid for my gas and left with my friends.  Who did not see anything other than my shoving the phone booth over.     I admit, I was almost as surprised as they were.  I am not a violent person. I do not enjoy confrontation, or harming people.   However, this group was one selfish exception.    I felt better, and hopefully they grew up more, and learned that the past can and will come back to haunt you if you are a wicked person.
Well, this concludes today's story.  I  may log in and write a few more, off and on.   Who knows. :D