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SO and other Things- 2nd try December 28, 2007

Posted by only4now in abuse, betrayal, Discipline, doubts, Music, Random thoughts, Sensory Overload, sexual abuse, Trust.
Counting flowers on the wall,
That don’t bother me at all.
Playing Solitaire till dawn,
With a deck of fifty-one.
Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo.
Now, don’t tell me I’ve nothing to do.

How appropriately nuts to put Pulp Fiction together with this song. My mind is zinging around like an errant ping-pong ball. My thought process is leading me from one topic matter to the next with no bridges in between.
Driving in to the office I was thinking about an email from Scott. He stated his favorite song and group. I wanted to send him back an email with my favorites… but came up empty. I love music, I really do. But, I could not think of a single song that I could call a favorite. While thinking back over the MANY Cd’s that I own, the crazy song jumped into my head. I had to laugh because it is often on the tip of my tongue. Which is odd because it has never been considered a favorite by any measure.
But I did come up with a song that I am very fond of at the moment. “The Reason” by Hoobastank. My son bought the Cd for me.I also enjoy “Right to be Wrong” by Joss Stone
I just don’t listen to music very often anymore. I suffer from periods of Sensory Overload. Many songs with repetitive lyrics and or beats drive me batty. I become so annoyed with the repetition that I am no longer listening to the song itself.
Sometimes it is a combination of outside distractions, a clutter on my desk, a book out of place, a piece of thread on the carpet… all throwing my mind into turmoil. Add to that the noise from a television or a radio and I cannot put together a concise thought.

So, unfortunately, I seldom listen to music anymore unless I have Cds playing in the background while cleaning the house.

Yesterday I was waiting in line at the Post Office. There were about 15 people in line, all chatting either on their cell phones or with others in line. The chatter was in several different languages and I almost went bonkers. I could feel a panic attack coming on. Thankfully the Post Master noticed that I was only in line to pick up a package and he waved me to the front.

I have only had a few episodes in which the overload became too much and I felt as if I were losing control. The other times were in busy restaurants. I wish I knew how to tune out the distractions. It is a scary feeling when the room begins to swim around me. The noise rising to a deafening level, but none of it making any sense.

This does not happen every time I am in loud crowded areas. Monday I was at the Chargers football game. The stadium was packed and the fans were crazed. I loved every minute of the event. I screamed and cheered along with the 68,000 in attendance, never once feeling overwhelmed.

Changing Channels: (or new topic)  My flight back from San Diego, CA to Houston, TX was 4 hours of HELL.

Before I begin, let me just say that I love children. I enjoy getting down on the floor and playing with them on their level. I take great pride in my ability to construct an awesome building block fort! My three year old nephew with his imaginary friend are two of my best buddies to hang out with. The honesty of a young child is refreshing. Rediscovering everything thru their eyes is almost like experiencing it for the first time all over again.

That being said – I was ready to hand a parachute to the four year old seated behind me and give her a gentle nudge out the window. Parents who have absolutely no control over their children should not force the rest of us to endure their crap.

I was subjected to four hours of the little chit kicking the back of my seat; a minimum of three hours of screaming tantrums, and to top it off the little ‘Princess’ pooped her pants about mid-flight.

When her mommy asked her why she did not get up and use the restroom, the young girl defiantly stated, “Because I don’t want to be here!”

Well Hell Fire, I don’t want you to be here either, but I am not going to poop my pants in protest.

Her mommy told the little ‘stinker-butt’ that she would have to just sit in ‘it’ until they landed. OMG she was going to make all of us suffer to prove a point. Lady, you and your daughter can both grab a parachute and jump.  
I so badly wanted to stand up and tell the brat to Shut the Fuck Up! I think I could have been convincing enough to shock them both into silence. Alas, I just sat silently on and endured the repeated blows to the back of my seat. 

Another Channel Change: Parenting skills … via my Dad and Step-Mom ~ I adore my Dad. He has always been my rock. He is tough with his rules, yet fair. I did get a couple well deserved swats on the butt. yet, I never once felt anything but love from Dad. He is the type of person who commands respect when he walks into a room, yet everyone welcomes him with open arms. Dad loves people and people love Dad. 

In school I pushed hard with my studies, eager to see Dad’s smile and feel his hugs for a job well done. On the weekends I would be his shadow, following him from project to project. Handing him a wrench or a screwdriver as was needed for each job. 

On cold winter mornings, Dad would pick me up from my paper route and take me out for hot cocoa and a donut. It was our special time together.

… And then there was my Step-Mom (SM). She was by no means as evil as Cinderella’s Step-Mom, but neither was there any of the love which I so badly craved. I tried for years to please her, baking bread and cookies, setting the table, ironing, mopping floors. 

But, I cannot remember her ever smiling in my direction. Perhaps she was upset with the doting love my Dad showered upon me. In years past, I have wondered if Dad gave me extra hugs because he saw Mom’s lack of contact with me… Did his extra attention backfire causing her to push even further away from me? Maybe, I was exuding a subliminal resentment that kept her at bay.

I do remember many incidents in which she left me in tears. One being when I was 11 or 12 years of age. My best friend told me that she didn’t want to be my friend any longer. (this is traumatic news for a young girl) I went into the house in tears and told Mom what had happened. She began to laugh and said “nobody likes you, everybody hates you, why don’t you go eat worms?” 

She then turned back around and continued to prepare dinner. She might as well of slapped me across the face. The end result would have been the same, only this time the pain did not leave a mark on the outside.
I also think she knew about my step-bothers molesting me.  I often wonder if that was part of the reason for her barbs. Maybe she was afraid that I was going to tell. (I often wonder why I was too afraid to speak up) 

My  SM made me a couple soft flannel night shirts that she gave me for Christmas one year. They were fantastic. So warm and soft to sleep in during the harsh winters of Northern Wyoming. However they were not as sweet to sleep in in the hot stagnant air of the summer months.

Often times in the middle of the night, I would strip off my nightie and sleep in my panties between the sheets. On a couple different nights I was awakened by my SM and spanked for being indecent. What is so indecent about a 9 year old girl sleeping without a night shirt in her own bed in her own room? In a normal family I would like to think that little girls are safe and can sleep however they choose. 

My SM told me that I was dirty and I was asking for trouble. Yes, I think she knew.

I am relieved that I no longer need her love and approval. I don’t wish her harm, nor do I wish to spend another moment in her presence. 

Too bad I cannot send out an invitation for only my Dad to come visit. My life will crumble when it is Dad’s time to pass.  Alas, I hope I go before him. (selfish I know)    

Sorting it Out December 19, 2007

Posted by only4now in abuse, betrayal, Pain, sexual abuse, Trust.

 I have yet to decide just how much of my past I am ready to share…

(I typed that first line three days ago and could go no further. I think today I am stronger and ready to proceed.)

The first memory of sexual abuse was when I was five. (I wrote a short post about it here) trying to let go  I told a couple people about my brother, but they were obviously skeptical.

I would like to say that it does not matter that they did not believe me. But, it does matter. Not so much the validation of the event, but that they now think I told them a lie.

It was not easy to open up, and then to have my painful past scrutinized… Well, I can’t deal with that. Dammit, I didn’t tell you because I needed sympathy. I told you because I needed you to understand where I was coming from.

Even though I have not been back to that place in more than 35 years, I could still take you to the very spot. Yes, this is the spot

3rd base dugout…

Some things, such as this are etched deep in my mind. They don’t always sit on the surface and hurt. In fact I seldom think about them. But, when I do push them to the front it is for a reason. Telling me I am full of shit, only does one thing. It closes all channels of communication between us.

(The person who needs to see this never will. But just maybe, someone else will think twice before slamming somone who has opened up and shared their pain.)

After that day I do not recall any abuse for some time. I am not saying that it never happened. I am just saying that IF it did occur, my brain put it somewhare deeper than I can reach.

… It will take more time before I can move on to the really bad stuff. I am going to do it though, because I have found that writing ‘stuff’ down and reading it 40-50 times, makes it so much less painful for me.