Nite Writing.
Before I head off to bed, I wanted to share some writing I did after I watched a clip on Oprah after my sister called to tell me about it. It will really give you an idea of what this blog will be like. This was written on October 20th. Below is this note.
Tonight is Thursday October 20th, 2010 and I sit here very depressed and feeling so very low. I cannot begin to tell in words how low I feel. I talked to my sister who also shares my abuse. She told me about an Oprah show that just made her cry; she said I needed to watch it. Well on the web there was no place to watch the whole show, only excerpts of the show. He talked about the worst beating that he took and it brought back memories of beatings that I took. I have no idea why I was beaten with the wooden spoon in VG. That’s where the spoon broke over my leg. I don’t even remember the whole beating, only the part where it broke. I mentioned to my sister about being beaten with the spoon and she said she could remember when I was beaten really badly with a wooden spoon after he told on us that we had sex. He was never in trouble, even though we both tried to explain that we did not even know what sex was. This I can remember vividly. I am numb right now; I don’t even know how I am typing. I was about to mention that at age 8 I was taken to the hospital for rectal bleeding. I have this very overwhelming numbness as I can vision that on that day he placed his finger into my rectum the day he made my sister and I have sex. What I can tell you is that my shoulders feel so weighted down; my face feels like it is drooping, I am shaking, my lips feel numb and I feel like I am going in slow motion. Even my eyelids are heavy. I really do sit here and wonder how in Gods name I lived to be 44. I have my medical records and things that I have been told do not match anything that is written in the records. I question, and I have no idea why I question this but the rat poisoning I wonder if it was my mother trying to kill me. I say this because the levels of arsenic were stated to be low levels and the other kids who I was said to have played with did not have any problems. I was told we all had it however I was the only one. There are things in my records that show things that I have no recall of. When I was 12 years old I had fractured my pinky finger, you would really think I would remember this but I do not. I have no idea how this happened or any details about it. The same goes with the fact that they thought I had dislocated my shoulder only to find it was a strain. I would have remembered that as well I would think. Oh another voice, I am sitting here with headsets on and I heard my name again from the door area but no one is there. I have a feeling that Keith is sitting on the side as I write this because I feel like I want to cry, yet I can’t cry. I stopped crying when my mother beat me with that spoon in VG. You know, I watch a video from Eminem and I can remember being dragged out of my closet. I can remember being pulled along by my hair. Just as his mother took pills, mine did as well. She was always popping Valume or Xanax because she was always upset or stressed or so I was told. She knew too that I saw her cut her wrist and she used to use this for many years, even a year after Dad died she said she was going to stop taking her pills because no one is there for her and that no one wants to listen her. Even though she would call me at all hours of the day, she always would use suicide as an excuse to get her way with me. You cannot imagine the fear I grew up with, right up until High School scared that I would come home and find her dead or that my brother had beaten her up. There was a day I came home to find the police at my house because he had hit my mother. So I never felt safe at home, could not feel safe in or out of school because of the kids who picked on me or would chase me because my brother announced that he was gay. I never really did have a safe place to live. No matter where I went I would be scared someone would know me and I could not get away. I often wonder what would have happened if I was not able to get into that old folks home when that car load of kids were after me. God, I sit here and think about all the sexual acts that I had to perform or take part in. Oral, anal, animal, masturbation and I even wonder about mutilation. Yes, in my records it spoke about a split penis and bruised scrotum. My question and my feeling is that I do remember when he preformed oral sex on me it would hurt because of his teeth and I wonder now if I have a cut or tear on my penis from that. I really do not know because I do not remember this ever happening to me. And to say that I fell on the ice just does not make sense. The scar on my head, the laceration on my face does not make any sense to me either. How did I end up with one on my face and eye with a belt buckle? Was it my brother or my father? I do not believe it was my brother because he never hit me that I know of with a belt. That was a tool my father always used, and to have to go to the hospital it must have been pretty bad. You know, speaking of tools I remember too how he used my mother’s vibrator on me but I do not know when or how old I was. It sucks because everything in my life and past is so such a blur. I remember the BB gun and the darts.
I just sit her and think about the sexual abuse by him and the two others. I sit here and think of the physical abuse by my family. I sit here and think about how mom would use suicide to get her way. I think of all the traumatic things I saw growing up. I think about the searches for dad when he worked the bar. I think all the things kids did to me after my brother announced he was gay. I think about the photos of the kids he snuck in thru the window, which mom saw and did nothing. I think of all the beatings I took from him which she would do nothing but say “one day you will grow up and take him down”. Her comment about “Bite it off” when I told on him forcing me to do oral on him. The beating my sister and I got when he told mom that we had sex. I think about seeing him rape that girl. I think about camp where he would smoke drugs with Dad. I think about all the fears I had to come home. I remember always being told how kids would be killed in bathrooms of restaurants so I never would ask to go in. How he treated others like at camp burning all his cloths. I think about ways my parents would embarrass me in stores when I would get yelled at and people would watch. I think of the school counselor who said I should have committed suicide at age 16. No one ever did anything to stop what was going on. If my own mother did nothing about the sexual abuse what reason would I have to go tell anyone else. When this teacher fondled me in her room, what reason would I have to go tell anyone what happened to me? Even when the youth minister took me to that parking lot I did not tell anyone because I was raised to believe nothing comes from telling. What reason did I really have to tell any adult? He was able to abuse Tyke and other kids mother babysat. We were all made to watch this, and everyone asks where my parents were when all this happened. Well, they were not home. How it happened, I remember now that mom and dad cleaned houses which would take all day. They would also go out a lot, to the starlight inn, VFW, friend’s houses or CB Parties. They had the social life one would not believe in the Military not like the one they had when dad retired. Here in NY they would go play cards at family homes like the our cousins. There was more then enough ample time for him to have his way with my sister and I. What hurts the worst over all this is that my own mother knew. How can my mind keep doing this to me, why won’t it stop or slow down so that I can have my life back? Why does my mind keep playing things over and over, not just one flash back but the same one over and over? Every once and a while a new one will appear but it only gets added to the mix. I can’t stand the feelings I have inside of me, how upset I get at my wife when she gets upset with me. I know I am a father, I need to be a father, but these feelings overcome me and I just can’t be who I was or need to be. I know she is right but it is not easy to do things when there is absolutely no ambition or drive to even move. I yell I don’t care because my mind cannot deal with problems on the outside of my body. Is it the way I was taught not to care? I always cared like when my sister was in the kitchen with those boys how I fought to stop it and yet ended up getting beat. This is one image of many I cannot get out of my head. I picture how things were back then. Right now my body and mind are so low it is hard to tell how I am feeling. Tonight I got scared because I was looking for my phone, I was in a panic and I really thought I was loosing my mind. Here it is 2am, I have been up since 8am and again I am weak but not tired. Three times I have heard the door open while it is locked; I have heard my name twice. I have a headache yet I am numb. Weird would you not say or agree? I feel like I have regressed over the past week and tonight I feel like I have regressed almost back to after I had the rubber bands. I am sitting here in a state of fear, afraid to go to sleep. Afraid to go upstairs, afraid to move from where I am sitting, stupid I know and I know I have nothing to be afraid of but the mind and the body work separate and not together like most people thing. This I can speak of with authority because I feel it and I sense it. I often ask myself why I waited to hear my nephew was abused to speak up, the reason is that my mother knew and I really thought that she was protecting them. Yet, I found that when he had his nude parties they would get his daughter out of the house. I now wonder why I did not question it and why I fought my wife to allow my kids to spend the night at his house. I was blind and dumb to the whole situation, the world and myself. Who knows…. But I am going to stop typing because I should try and get some sleep. I doubt I will be able to go to sleep with my head turning around in circles. Like I said in the beginning there is so much that I have seen, so much has been done and so much has yet to be said I just don’t know if and when or how long it will take if ever to really get over it or back to just dealing with it. I just don’t know………
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