Mom put the makeup on.
Question:
Carey… – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -Good afternoon Ziphiidae, It is me, again…Carey There are no perfect parents, just as there are no perfect kids. Mistakes are going to be made, and they will need to be addressed and corrected. In this we, as adults and parents, have a chance to teach our children some of the most important lessons of life. What I don’t understand is putting one’s child at risk…especially after having the nature of the risk so vividly and tragically brought into reality. What I don’t understand is a parent putting one’s own wants ahead of the needs of their children. What I don’t understand is some parents’ ability to treat their children as though they were an inconvenience or nuisance or worse, IMO, with indifference. It is quite possible that my expectations and image of parenthood, as it should be, is greatly distorted by my own experiences…and if that is the case, so be it. But I know the love Lestie and I have for Bethany. I know the love Lestie and I have for all of our ‘other’ children, regardless of where they came from or who they may be at the moment. And yes, I have made many, many mistakes as a parent. But all of my children have known my love and experienced my concern for their well being. Even in the worse of times, they have known my love. That is what I expect of parents…nothing less. That is what I have tried and continue to try to offer all my kids. …still casting bottles into the sea Carey
Seems to me like you would have been a good parent for any of us to have had. Thank you for being who you are. Ziphiidae — For more information about this service, send e-mail to:
Response:
Carey, If you decide you do want to at least find out where…let me know. I am not that far from Rhode Island and, in fact, have a sister that lives there. I could certainly do the legwork for you….save on phone bills, anyway. I would probably need the last name and the other relatives names…she might be buried in their plot. Again if i can help, it would give me pleasure but won’t intrude if that is where you are most comfortable. I lost a sister through tragic means in ‘87. (We weren’t close at the time but I wish I had been more understanding and supportive to her and her illness.) I know the strong emotions that are associated with those types of memories. Eileen – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -Ummmmm, I will have to think about this a bit. Nita did ask our egg donor about it, but her response was that it really wasn’t any of our business. She is like that…
Response:
Carey, I am so very sorry to hear your story. (I didn’t see the original post but read it in Caroline’s.) How awful. And what a terrible legacy your parents and "stepmonster" provided. I am with Caroline…I think they should be shot!!! What a credit you are to have survived and handled this all and yet, are so caring and kind. I’ve always been fascinated by fires also. I think it is the ferocious power and energy that holds me in awe. Anyway, I am glad you have a good life. I often hope that because the first 40 years(+) were so difficult maybe the latter ones will be better and run smoother. Would be a nice treat to know the worst is behind me..but after the last week I don’t think happy days are here yet for me. Eileen For many years Nita and I heard this story, especially around Sherry’s birthday. To this day, neither Nita or I know where Sherry is buried, other than in Rhode Island somewhere. My mother has told Nita that it is simply none of our business. …we were forced to sit in the car in the parking lot where they worked for the whole day. We would have to sneak
out of the car and squat between parked cars to relieve ourselves as we were not allowed in their buildings.
During the school year, Nita and I were locked out of the house at 6:30 in the morning and didn’t get back in until they got
home, around 6:00 p.m., though after a while I learned how to sneak in the house through the bathroom window. ….I was left in the car by myself that summer…….My step monster was in town one day and came by the house and caught me in it…I have two scars on my right wrist from getting thrown through a window in the ensuing *fight*. They were not the first nor the last scars he left.
Response:
Hi Lorraine, Something about me… I’ll share some of my only memories of my childhood they are not happy to me they were extremely shameful, but I found that in sharing there is healing… I was very lonely child too. I hope this helps. One of my earliest childhood memories is of my father sitting at the kitchen table, steel with a green Formica top. His face was covered in blood and he was very angry. My mother stood beside him with a wash cloth in her hand. He kept yelling and hitting her for hurting him. Both of my grandparents were standing at the door of the small apartment watching, neither saying a word. I was peeking out of my bedroom door, while Kathy lay in her crib drinking her bottle, oblivious to the scene. I must have only been three. My mother was sewing on my fathers ear. It had partially been torn off in a fight at a bar. It had to have been late, my grandparents were both dressed for bed and my mother was ready for work. I can see myself standing there, I can still hear his voice. It will never go away. Back then I thought it was my mother that hurt him. I know now that it was over booze. He got his ear partially torn off for a bottle of booze, a great story for the grandchildren. When my mother went to work, my father would always come in and wake us up. He would always have to change Kathy’s diaper, even if my mother had just done it. She would always cry. I can hear myself telling him, "Daddy don’t hurt the baby." I thought he was sticking her with a pin. Now I know what he was doing. He wasn’t washing her. I felt so guilty about this memory when I was older. But after he was done with her it was my turn. I should have been afraid or scream, but I didn’t. Even then I knew when he touched me that it was wrong, I was ashamed. He would sit in the living room in his underwear and make me sit on his lap. I would whine and say over and over, " Daddy I’m tired, I just want to go to sleep." He didn’t hear me though. He was never mean to me then, he was nice as could be. He would say I was hot and should take my pajamas off so he could take my temp. He always had me undress for him. The way he watched me made me feel dirty and ashamed. I would leave on my panties, he liked taking them down. He use to tell me that it was less embarrassing for me. And while he did, he always told me what a cute body I had, and would have to be careful that boys didn’t touch me. At age three he started drilling me with this information. Until I was five we went through this same ritual every single night my mother went to work. Even on the nights he came home after she left with his friends. He never made me touch him until I was about five. He wasn’t drunk and this time it wasn’t at night. It was a Saturday morning just after my brother was born. I remember it being Saturday because it was my first year of school, I love it. Getting away from my parents was the best thing that had ever happened. My father had stayed out most of Friday nights drinking. When he came home, everyone knew not to wake him, or else you would get the belt. I was in the kitchen doing the dishes and my mother had gone out shopping and left me here to do the dishes. He was sleeping on the couch that pulled out into a bed in the living room. I dropped a glass when I was drying it. The glass shattered on the floor of the kitchen, waking my father. I was so afraid of him that day, he charged into the kitchen naked, grabbed me by the throat and picked me up then threw me against the counter and told me to clean the mess while he got his belt. I cleaned it up the best that any five year old child could do. But it wasn’t good enough. I know because he came back in and pushed my face onto the floor and dragged it around until there was blood streaking the floor. "There is still glass on the floor," he growled at me. his breath smelled so bad I thought I would vomit. "your brother could have been crawling in here and he would have gotten cut, now clean it all up" I don’t think the cuts were that bad, but my face had several spots on it that were bleeding. When I was done, he made me strip naked and he beat me with the belt until I couldn’t stand up. Then he made me crawl over to the couch and lay with him until he went to sleep. He made me touch him until he went to sleep and if I cried he would put it in my mouth and choke me with it. I remember as if it were yesterday, crawling off of the couch and crying inside as I went into the bathroom to see the damage in the mirror. I was covered in bruises and my face covered in dry blood. My hair was a mess. I can see that little girl standing there and I can here her thoughts. "I hate him" Then my mother came in and saw me, she didn’t comfort me, I was chastised for waking him up. It was my own fault you know. Because I know how daddy gets when you wake him. And my hair looked so bad, never mind the blood, it washed right off, and my clothes would cover the bruises, but my hair was a mess. I never took care of it, not like Kathy. So I was taken to the barber that day, to add insult to injury and had my hair chopped off like a boy. The entire time being told I was fat and lazy. When I went to school on Monday my mother came with me, to explain the cuts on my face. I was playing on the floor and cause my mother to drop a glass, the pieces shattered and caught me in the face. She practiced it the entire drive. I was told that I never should let anyone know what went on at home, because if I did that they would take me away and I would see what it was like to really be mistreated. I couldn’t even tell my grandparents, whom I have to believe knew this shit was going on. It was just easier to pretend that they didn’t. he was their son. After the first touching experience it wasn’t long after before the blow job requests were frequent. But I wasn’t quiet anymore and was beat more often than not. That is when he started using Kathy. I didn’t know at first, because his games were becoming more and more sneaky. He would actually take us aside when everyone was here, take us out in the shed to show us something or in his truck, broad daylight, night, morning, drunk or not drunk. We were his daughters, he could do anything he wanted to us, even kill us, no one would care, because he owned us and if we didn’t do exactly as he said then He would kill a member of our family and make us watch, because it would be our fault. I found out he was sexually abusing Kathy, because he wrapped the silver tape around my mouth and then my neck attaching it to the pole in the closet my hands were tied behind my back. I thought he was going to hang me. I really thought it was my day to die. Just because I wouldn’t suck his cock. Then he left. I don’t know how long I was in there, I kept crying out in my brain, "Mommy help me, where are you mommy." I was in Kathy’s closet, I heard the door to the room open and Kathy crying. I heard him take off his belt and make her take his cock out of his pants. She was trying not to cry, I could tell by her voice, "Put it in your mouth, be a good little whore" where was my mother, I kept crying to myself, why is she letting this happen to us. When he was done and Kathy left the room crying, he opened the door and said, " Do you see what you made your sister do?" and he left me there. My mother came up to find me, I don’t know how long it was, but I had wet myself. To me it felt like hours. But who knows. My father told her that one of my friends did this to me when they came over to play. I was beat for letting them do it. For letting people treat me that way, didn’t I know better, what a fucking moron I was. At 5 years old. People had a hard time excepting her tape around the neck story and mouth. It left a horrible burn. After that day, my father just raped me anytime he wanted. He even let his friends watch. I use to cry a lot at first, it use to burn so bad when he did, he use to beat me half unconscious before so I wouldn’t struggle so much, then he learn that he could just tie me up and gag me. Always calling me his good little whore. The older I got the more sadistic he became. The meaner he became. At 13 I felt like a used worn rag. I had no friends and my mother was gone more and more. Poor Kathy looked as if she were just going to die. Neither of us talked not even to each other about what was going on. He came in my room on the last night. I couldn’t fucking take anymore, I was going to kill him. I had it all planned out, the butcher knife from the kitchen was right beside me. He lay down in my bed, and reached for my hand, like he always did, this time I said, "no," I didn’t whine and I wasn’t afraid. It threw him off. I told him he was disgusting and that I was telling my mother and if he didn’t leave now I would scream. He left. I got up and went to bed with my sister that night, she never slept at night, she was always awake. I didn’t’ say anything to her. But she knew what had just happened. The next afternoon when I saw my mother. I told her what my father was doing to Kathy. Not me. I wouldn’t admit it for years later what he did to me. I had to help Kathy survive, I was afraid that she was just going to die. I told her that if she didn’t make him leave that I was either going to kill him or I was going to the police. She threw him out that day, she was so afraid that she packed us up and we left for MA to stay with her parents. My parents were divorced shortly after. My mother had a new boyfriend within weeks. And she would send Kathy and Bob off to my fathers apartment so she could go away with him, knowing full well that my father was a pedophile. Go fucking figure. She couldn’t understand why I would put up such a fuss and not go. " But he takes them skiing and does all kinds of nice things now," she would say. Talk about burying
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Response:
Hi Carey, I’m so sorry for all that your family suffered at the hands of monsters. My hopes are that your world is a much brighter place now. And that you are making new happy memories to ponder in years to come. Thank you for sharing.. Mo
Response:
Hi Carey…. What a life…the way your parents treated you …wow, Im so glad youre here to tell about it I love fire, too. I use it to mourn things I never knew I lost … love I never got … respect that just wasnt there…since your sister died in a fire, sounds like you might do this too by the way, has anyone said to you *condolences on your loss* … it seems like such a little thing but sometimes it means a lot … condolences on your loss(es) … mansi
Response:
Thank you for sharing all this for me, Carey. That sounds terrible. I know about being blamed for things that aren’t your fault, although my mother was more concerned about being perceived as a perfect mother, so I was never locked out or anything like that. – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -Good morning, Ziphiidae, It is me, again, Carey… Here is the story of my sister’s death. When I was 16 months old I had double pneumonia and was given about 72 hours to live…this would have been in 1951. My ghost dad, who was in the Navy, was stationed overseas off the coast of Korea. My mother went to the base Chaplain’s office at Oak Knoll Naval Hospital to arrange for my funeral and for emergency leave for my ghost dad. While she was in the Chaplain’s office, she left Nita and Sherry in the car. Sherry found a book of matches and started playing with them, eventually setting her dress on fire. The dress was made of nylon and had no flame retardant in it at all, as was the way things were in 1951. A passing chaplain’s assistant heard the screams from the car and pulled Sherry out and put the flames out…but she had 3 third degree burns over much of her body. She died on three days later, on the day that I was suppose to… My mother held me and Nita responsible for Sherry’s death. I was responsible because if I hadn’t been sick, none of this would have happened, and besides I was the one who was suppose to be dead. Nita was responsible because she should have taken better care of Sherry. For many years Nita and I heard this story, especially around Sherry’s birthday. To this day, neither Nita or I know where Sherry is buried, other than in Rhode Island somewhere. My mother has told Nita that it is simply none of our business. My egg donor and ghost dad divorced about a year or so after Sherry’s death. I have not seen nor heard from him since. In 1960, my parents started taking Nita and I to work with them during the summers…we were forced to sit in the car in the parking lot where they worked for the whole day. This was because my stepmonster had come home one afternoon and had caught Nita playing *their* stereo. BTW, *their* children had a babysitter they went to each day… We had packed lunches and a book or two to read. We were not allowed cards or games or anything like that. We would have to sneak out of the car and squat between parked cars to relieve ourselves as we were not allowed in their buildings. This was bad enough, in and of itself, but… I was a fire setter. I had started setting fires early on…it increased a lot after I was raped. Both my egg donor and stepmonster knew this…at the age of 11 I was still playing with fire and setting fires…the car had two cigarette lighters…and much of our time we were bored stiff. Yes, I played with the lighters. No nothing came of it…except I sometimes wonder if my egg donor was looking for, maybe hoping for, a repeat performance… It is not a good nor pleasant thought, but still… During the school year, Nita and I were locked out of the house at 6:30 in the morning and didn’t get back in until they got home, around 6:00 p.m., though after a while I learned how to sneak in the house through the bathroom window. The next year Nita, at the age of 15, ran away from home permanently, except for 3 weeks she was forced back home about 18 months later. I was left in the car by myself that summer…it was when I first discovered cutting as a release and recreational sport, as it were, though I was not very dedicated to it and gave it up after about a year or so. Apparently it is not an art reserved for the female of the species. Towards the end of that summer, my stepmonster’s boss caught on to what was happening and told him that it could not go on. So I was left in town, supposedly locked out of the house. My step monster was in town one day and came by the house and caught me in it…I have two scars on my right wrist from getting thrown through a window in the ensuing *fight*. They were not the first nor the last scars he left. ummmm…I seem to have gone a bit a field here…oh well… On one final note about fires…I never burned an occupied building, mostly vacant, overgrown fields, and an occasional abandoned barn or shed. I did come very close to burning down my parents house with them in it…but by some other sense of survival, refrained at the last moment. Even today I am fascinated with fire, but confine myself to wood burning stoves, fire rings and so on.. Fire speaks to some very primal part of me. So there it is…thank you for asking.
You are certainly welcome! It helps to hear that there are others who had painful childhoods, that I am not alone. ..still casting bottles into the sea Carey
Ziphiidae — For more information about this service, send e-mail to:
Response:
Hi Carey, It’s me kaitlyn 
I was reading this post, and realized how much you have in common with someone I call my net sister. Her name is Helen. She too had to spend hours in a car while her parents worked in a bar. And then I read about you sister and how neither you or Nita know where you sister is buried. Helen didn’t know where her brother was buried either, other than it was in Mich and it was by a lake and a catholic church. After some calling on my part. Me calling from Calif to Mich to funeral homes I was lucky enough to locate her brother’s grave site. The people at the funeral homes were of great help. Me just telling one what I did know, and they then giving me a number of someone who had been in business for decates got me the answers I needed. Helen, each time her brother’s death date came around would go into flash backs. She did this for years of me knowing her, and once I was able to find the place, my net brother Teddy and I flew out to Mich, and drove Helen to her brother’s grave site. After that she never had flashbacks on her brother’s death date. Anyway, I’m mainly writting this to you to say, Rhode Island is much smaller than Mich. Maybe if you remember where you lived at the time, that might help. I mean I’m sure your sister would have been buried close to where you were living at the time. I’m assuming that she died in Rhode Island. Do you know the date? Her full name? I know you were too young to really remember, but how old was Nita? Did she go to the funeral? If so what does she remember about the cemertary? I’m assuming that you would like to find your sisters grave site. If so, maybe this will help some. Each grave yard has records of who is buried there. Hugs Kaitlyn
:Good morning, Ziphiidae, : :It is me, again, Carey… : :Here is the story of my sister’s death. : :When I was 16 months old I had double pneumonia and was given :about 72 hours to live…this would have been in 1951. My ghost :dad, who was in the Navy, was stationed overseas off the coast of :Korea. My mother went to the base Chaplain’s office at Oak Knoll :Naval Hospital to arrange for my funeral and for emergency leave :for my ghost dad. While she was in the Chaplain’s office, she :left Nita and Sherry in the car. Sherry found a book of matches :and started playing with them, eventually setting her dress on :fire. The dress was made of nylon and had no flame retardant in :it at all, as was the way things were in 1951. A passing :chaplain’s assistant heard the screams from the car and pulled :Sherry out and put the flames out…but she had 3 third degree :burns over much of her body. She died on three days later, on :the day that I was suppose to… : :My mother held me and Nita responsible for Sherry’s death. I was :responsible because if I hadn’t been sick, none of this would :have happened, and besides I was the one who was suppose to be :dead. Nita was responsible because she should have taken better :care of Sherry. For many years Nita and I heard this story, :especially around Sherry’s birthday. To this day, neither Nita 
r I know where Sherry is buried, other than in Rhode Island :somewhere. My mother has told Nita that it is simply none of our :business. : :My egg donor and ghost dad divorced about a year or so after :Sherry’s death. I have not seen nor heard from him since. : :In 1960, my parents started taking Nita and I to work with them :during the summers…we were forced to sit in the car in the :parking lot where they worked for the whole day. This was :because my stepmonster had come home one afternoon and had caught :Nita playing *their* stereo. BTW, *their* children had a :babysitter they went to each day… We had packed lunches and :a book or two to read. We were not allowed cards or games or :anything like that. We would have to sneak out of the car and :squat between parked cars to relieve ourselves as we were not :allowed in their buildings. This was bad enough, in and of :itself, but… I was a fire setter. I had started setting fires :early on…it increased a lot after I was raped. Both my egg :donor and stepmonster knew this…at the age of 11 I was still :playing with fire and setting fires…the car had two cigarette :lighters…and much of our time we were bored stiff. Yes, I :played with the lighters. No nothing came of it…except I :sometimes wonder if my egg donor was looking for, maybe hoping for, a :repeat performance… It is not a good nor pleasant thought, but :still… During the school year, Nita and I were locked out of :the house at 6:30 in the morning and didn’t get back in until :they got home, around 6:00 p.m., though after a while I learned :how to sneak in the house through the bathroom window. : :The next year Nita, at the age of 15, ran away from home :permanently, except for 3 weeks she was forced back home about 18 :months later. I was left in the car by myself that summer…it :was when I first discovered cutting as a release and recreational :sport, as it were, though I was not very dedicated to it and gave :it up after about a year or so. Apparently it is not an art :reserved for the female of the species. : :Towards the end of that summer, my stepmonster’s boss caught on :to what was happening and told him that it could not go on. So I :was left in town, supposedly locked out of the house. My step :monster was in town one day and came by the house and caught me :in it…I have two scars on my right wrist from getting thrown :through a window in the ensuing *fight*. They were not the first :nor the last scars he left. : :ummmm…I seem to have gone a bit a field here…oh well… : :On one final note about fires…I never burned an occupied :building, mostly vacant, overgrown fields, and an occasional :abandoned barn or shed. I did come very close to burning down :my parents house with them in it…but by some other sense of :survival, refrained at the last moment. Even today I am :fascinated with fire, but confine myself to wood burning stoves, :fire rings and so on.. Fire speaks to some very primal part of :me. : :So there it is…thank you for asking. : :..still casting bottles into the sea : :Carey : : Good morning Lorraine and Mansi and all who see this : : It is me, Carey : : But worse of all, she convinced my : sister and I that we were responsible for our sister’s, Sherry, death 
I : was 16 months old, Nita was 5 years old at the time Sherry, who was :three : burned herself to death. I have posted about it in the past, but if :anyone : is interested, I will post it again.) : : : Please do, I’m new and interested… : : Ziphiidae : : : : : — : For more information about this service, send e-mail to: : : : : : : : : :– :For more information about this posting service, contact: : : :If you wish to get an anonymous email/posting account, visit our sign-up page: : :http://asarian-host.org/emailform.html Prism Collective has a web page. URL is: http://www.angelfire.com/ca/prismcollective/index.html
Response:
carey i dont know if we ever talked before but i think you are very nice and i think what you went thru was very nd i think i hate your parents alot and i mean that i think you are very brave and smart and resourceful and i think it is good you say all this because it makes everybody feel stronger for it, because you survived !!!! and sound strong!!!!! thankyou for telling me love caroline – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Good morning, Ziphiidae, It is me, again, Carey… Here is the story of my sister’s death. When I was 16 months old I had double pneumonia and was given about 72 hours to live…this would have been in 1951. My ghost dad, who was in the Navy, was stationed overseas off the coast of Korea. My mother went to the base Chaplain’s office at Oak Knoll Naval Hospital to arrange for my funeral and for emergency leave for my ghost dad. While she was in the Chaplain’s office, she left Nita and Sherry in the car. Sherry found a book of matches and started playing with them, eventually setting her dress on fire. The dress was made of nylon and had no flame retardant in it at all, as was the way things were in 1951. A passing chaplain’s assistant heard the screams from the car and pulled Sherry out and put the flames out…but she had 3 third degree burns over much of her body. She died on three days later, on the day that I was suppose to… My mother held me and Nita responsible for Sherry’s death. I was responsible because if I hadn’t been sick, none of this would have happened, and besides I was the one who was suppose to be dead. Nita was responsible because she should have taken better care of Sherry. For many years Nita and I heard this story, especially around Sherry’s birthday. To this day, neither Nita or I know where Sherry is buried, other than in Rhode Island somewhere. My mother has told Nita that it is simply none of our business. My egg donor and ghost dad divorced about a year or so after Sherry’s death. I have not seen nor heard from him since. In 1960, my parents started taking Nita and I to work with them during the summers…we were forced to sit in the car in the parking lot where they worked for the whole day. This was because my stepmonster had come home one afternoon and had caught Nita playing *their* stereo. BTW, *their* children had a babysitter they went to each day… We had packed lunches and a book or two to read. We were not allowed cards or games or anything like that. We would have to sneak out of the car and squat between parked cars to relieve ourselves as we were not allowed in their buildings. This was bad enough, in and of itself, but… I was a fire setter. I had started setting fires early on…it increased a lot after I was raped. Both my egg donor and stepmonster knew this…at the age of 11 I was still playing with fire and setting fires…the car had two cigarette lighters…and much of our time we were bored stiff. Yes, I played with the lighters. No nothing came of it…except I sometimes wonder if my egg donor was looking for, maybe hoping for, a repeat performance… It is not a good nor pleasant thought, but still… During the school year, Nita and I were locked out of the house at 6:30 in the morning and didn’t get back in until they got home, around 6:00 p.m., though after a while I learned how to sneak in the house through the bathroom window. The next year Nita, at the age of 15, ran away from home permanently, except for 3 weeks she was forced back home about 18 months later. I was left in the car by myself that summer…it was when I first discovered cutting as a release and recreational sport, as it were, though I was not very dedicated to it and gave it up after about a year or so. Apparently it is not an art reserved for the female of the species. Towards the end of that summer, my stepmonster’s boss caught on to what was happening and told him that it could not go on. So I was left in town, supposedly locked out of the house. My step monster was in town one day and came by the house and caught me in it…I have two scars on my right wrist from getting thrown through a window in the ensuing *fight*. They were not the first nor the last scars he left. ummmm…I seem to have gone a bit a field here…oh well… On one final note about fires…I never burned an occupied building, mostly vacant, overgrown fields, and an occasional abandoned barn or shed. I did come very close to burning down my parents house with them in it…but by some other sense of survival, refrained at the last moment. Even today I am fascinated with fire, but confine myself to wood burning stoves, fire rings and so on.. Fire speaks to some very primal part of me. So there it is…thank you for asking. ..still casting bottles into the sea Carey Good morning Lorraine and Mansi and all who see this It is me, Carey But worse of all, she convinced my sister and I that we were responsible for our sister’s, Sherry, death (I was 16 months old, Nita was 5 years old at the time Sherry, who was three burned herself to death. I have posted about it in the past, but if anyone is interested, I will post it again.) Please do, I’m new and interested… Ziphiidae — For more information about this service, send e-mail to: — For more information about this posting service, contact: If you wish to get an anonymous email/posting account, visit our sign-up page: http://asarian-host.org/emailform.html
Response:
Good morning Lorraine and Mansi and all who see this It is me, Carey But worse of all, she convinced my sister and I that we were responsible for our sister’s, Sherry, death (I was 16 months old, Nita was 5 years old at the time Sherry, who was three burned herself to death. I have posted about it in the past, but if anyone is interested, I will post it again.)
Please do, I’m new and interested… Ziphiidae — For more information about this service, send e-mail to:
Response:
Good morning mansi, It is me again, Carey I am snipping a big part of this..otherwise I get confused. :)
hi. i’m just butting in here to confuse you more! Carey — wondering if you feel as I do when the world talks about family as if theres nothing better, no greater source of strength and support etc.,,, all that stuff about blood being thicker than water … doesnt that mean it hurts more when they are mean, vindictive, abusive and just downright nasty
Me, I just try to pretend I don’t need family. in fact, I don’t "need" anyone. Whenever I get in a fight with my husband (frequent, recently ), and I get scared, I started saying things like, "just tell me you’re not supporting me, just tell me you’re mad at me." I think sometimes I almost dare him to reject me. because, deep down, he must hate me, right? what’s to love? Yes. If someone wants to see my hackles rise they just need to say something like: "Well don’t you think that they really loved you? I mean, all parents love their children."
Well, maybe they loved me, but they definitely loved themselves more! And the disarray and scattered remains of my birth family is something I still mourn from time to time. In so many ways I feel orphaned, probably would have been better off if I had been. It took me an awful long time to figure out that as a child I was lovable, I just wasn’t loved.
i like that, may I quote it sometime? sending warm feelings and respect mansi Thank you for you thoughts and feelings… …still casting bottles into the sea Carey
Lorraine "We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust our sails."
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<snipfor brevity. (Mo’s talking about her sister here) She just wasn’t strong enough to handle what happened. It was horrible, I thank god every day that I did, somedays I felt guilty that I survived and she couldn’t.
Whew, it would take a lot of strength. I’ve been thinking about you, and you are one person I could really call a survivor. So many people stay victims all their lives. I suspect it’s because you stood up and said "No!" So many of us agonize over the fact that we didn’t! And now, I’m having to say ‘no" to the ghost of my abusers in therapy, and it’s costing me. (I’m learning not to blame myself. I tell myself over and over that it wasn’t my fault, but, that little thought creeps back in. "You should have stopped it, you shouldn’t have liked it, you let it happen…" and there I go again.) I want to tell you not to feel guilty for surviving, but I don’t understand that one. I was a alone in it. I think helping Kathy did, (gave me the strength). She is a very sad soul who desprately needs love and reassurance.
The fact that you can give that love says a lot for you. too many families are blown apart by abuse. Mo
Lorraine "We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust our sails."
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thanks, I needed this. it didn’t sound strange. -Ronny
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -Hi Mansi, Thanks for the note, I’ll try to answer your questions.. … that forgiveness thing is like a two-edged sword seems to me … Because no one thought that my molestation or child abuse was real. I was told to forget it, it was over and I had to go on. Thats what I did for a long time. But I hated my father and mother and it was killing me. I did drugs from age 13 till 17 just so I didn’t have to feel the pain and sadness. At 17 I almost died and no one even knew. My girlfriend use to steal her parents perscriptions and we’d take them before school. I took her fathers heart medication and by the second period I was semi unconcious. The teacher kept waking me up, then finally gave up and let me sleep. After class my girlfriend and my now husband took me home. (skipping school wasn’t uncommon) they put me to bed at noon that day. I didn’t wake up until 4 the next afternoon. No one even checked on me. It was my wake up call. I had to face facts and start dealing with my problems, myself or die. My mother was the first one I had to confront. She to this day won’t admit that she abused me. (putting a childs hand on an open fire isn’t abuse to her its a way to show them it hurts.) It wasn’t until I was in my 20s that I decided to confront him. I did because I was angry. (He had stopped molesting myself and my sister when my mother threw him out.) I had started seeing him again because he was dieing. I didn’t plan the confrontation. It just happened. I blurted it out. He was just as shocked as I was. but I guess the fact that he admitted his guilt helped — how did you feel about him feeling sorry for himself for being such a bad guy I felt sorry for him and me. I wanted a father. I pity him because he was such a sad pathetic man with nothing and no one. What he had taken from me as a child, he now had that for himself. He had to live with the nightmares and face me. He loved me. … how did you manage to help him when you needed help yourself .. I neglected myself and gave him back some of his self respect. He didn’t have long to live and I had the rest of my life to deal with it. It gave me power and selfworth. did his admissions help you like you said and was that enough What was enough was that I saw that I was a better person. I overcame and was better. I wanted and needed to know that he loved me as a person, not a slut. (sounds really strange I know) Im interested because I always thought that forgiveness was something other people asked for so they could stop thinking about it and not do anything or challenge the behaviour It is.. He didn’t ask and nor would he. So I had to. I needed him to know that I wouldn’t hate him the rest of my life the way he hated his father and let it destroy me. I needed for him to have some kind of peace because with my children I had found it. I couldn’t imagine what he had gone through after being kicked out of the family. Not only our unit but his entire family had given up on him. It was really a very sad life. In forgiving my father and mother I freed myself. I allowed my self to love freely and honestly. I can’t begin to tell you what a relief it was. When my dad died and the last tear ran down his cheek. I cried… I loved him I hope I answered your questions.. thanks for your support Mo
Response:
Good morning again Carey; We seem to be focussing on similar postings. In this one you were responding directly to me re family of origin issues …. thanks for your response … I think we share some experience here … I have no contact with some of my family members since disclosing abuse … its better that way — they dont get to try to make it worse ….whats strange though is they think they are punishing me and mostly what I feel is relief …. If they knew how good it is to have them out of my life, they would probably look me up just for spite … so I let them think what they want which is peaceful for me…. take care Mansi P.S. I tried to send this to your site and couldnt get through — is this what happens when you have a protected site — Id like one then I feel insecure about posting this info here in case one of those family members is cruising this ng (especially the abuser whom I know finds his latest child porn on the net) can you help me feel safe here … Mansi
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Hi Chrystal, Thanks for the note. As for my sister. She is a very sick woman. She has been an alcoholic since age 12. She’s 36 now and doesn’t drink that often anymore because she has chrones disease. She had 14 feet of her intestants removed last year just after we found out our sons were being molested. Kathy has never been able to let go of the past. Every time she drinks she cries about what happened. I’ve been by her side her entire life trying to help her and her children. She has neglected her own children because of the alcohol. She just wasn’t strong enough to handle what happened. It was horrible, I thank god every day that I did, somedays I felt guilty that I survived and she couldn’t. I think helping Kathy did, (gave me the strength). Because my mother was never there for any of us. She made us all leave the house when we graduated from HS and before that she wasn’t there. She did give us all the monitary things a kid could want. Trips cars and on and on, she felt it was her obligation until we graduated. Kathy and her children have lived with me and my family on and off for the past 20 years and I take care of her now. She is a very sad soul who desprately needs love and reassurance. Mo
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Mo: I admire the fact that you could forgive your father and take care of him when he needed your help. I still won’t go anywhere near my stepfather or mother (who knew what he was doing to me and my brother – and NEVER stepped in to protect us) unless I have to. That is the only way I can cope. One question: What about your sister? How is she now? — Crystal "To love oneself is the beginning of a life-long romance." – Oscar Wilde
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The thing with my egg donor is that in so many ways she engineered some of the explosions of my stepmonster. I think it fulfilled some perverse need of hers to watch all of us fight…and she was very good at making my sister and I feel that we were responsible because ‘you know how he is’ and ‘you should know better, you know…’.
So did my mother. This is a new realization for me. At least he was honest in his anger for the most part, it was dangerous, but it was generally up front. She was even more dangerous than he, because she was coniving and insidious.
I never realized how manipulating my mother was until my older son (21yo) finally ran out of "luck" and ended up in jail. He is out now and doing well but she still pushes his buttons. He’s a smart kid, though, he has been on to her and my stepfather for a long time. He hd them figured out way before I did – lucky him. They totally ignore my youngest son (15yo) who will probably never forgive them for the blatant "favoritism" shown to his oldest brother. But my "parental" units used my oldest boy to manipulate me for a long time (long story). But I digress….. I have only spoken once to my mother in the last 25 years or so…and that was at my stepmonster’s funeral. What a waste, on both counts. There is simply no healthy way for me to be in her presence.
Same here. For awhile, I was doing the "she’s your mother no matter what" until it dawned on me that that was, indeed, true. She ‘was’ my mother. Where was she when her husband was sodomizing, etc. me and brutally beating my younger brother? I will, however, have a few things to say when she passes from this world…and I am learning a few dance steps for that same occasion.
I’m trying to learn the macarena. …still casting bottles into the sea, Carey
– Crystal "To love oneself is the beginning of a life-long romance." – Oscar Wilde
Response:
ahhhh mo. so much of it familiar. our exfather told each of the children that if we did what he wanted, he wouldn’t do it to the other. that if we said no, it would be our fault that he did it to someone else. and the glass on the floor. i’m so, so, sorry it happened to you, to me, to anyone. we all deserved so much better. hugs if you want them…. silverleaf — "I am a limpet, and you are my rock." – from silverleafs’ silly husband.
Response:
Hi Mansi, Thanks for the note, I’ll try to answer your questions.. … that forgiveness thing is like a two-edged sword seems to me …
Because no one thought that my molestation or child abuse was real. I was told to forget it, it was over and I had to go on. Thats what I did for a long time. But I hated my father and mother and it was killing me. I did drugs from age 13 till 17 just so I didn’t have to feel the pain and sadness. At 17 I almost died and no one even knew. My girlfriend use to steal her parents perscriptions and we’d take them before school. I took her fathers heart medication and by the second period I was semi unconcious. The teacher kept waking me up, then finally gave up and let me sleep. After class my girlfriend and my now husband took me home. (skipping school wasn’t uncommon) they put me to bed at noon that day. I didn’t wake up until 4 the next afternoon. No one even checked on me. It was my wake up call. I had to face facts and start dealing with my problems, myself or die. My mother was the first one I had to confront. She to this day won’t admit that she abused me. (putting a childs hand on an open fire isn’t abuse to her its a way to show them it hurts.) It wasn’t until I was in my 20s that I decided to confront him. I did because I was angry. (He had stopped molesting myself and my sister when my mother threw him out.) I had started seeing him again because he was dieing. I didn’t plan the confrontation. It just happened. I blurted it out. He was just as shocked as I was. but I guess the fact that he admitted his guilt helped — how did you feel
about him feeling sorry for himself for being such a bad guy I felt sorry for him and me. I wanted a father. I pity him because he was such a sad pathetic man with nothing and no one. What he had taken from me as a child, he now had that for himself. He had to live with the nightmares and face me. He loved me. … how did you manage to help him when you needed help yourself .. I neglected myself and gave him back some of his self respect. He didn’t have long to live and I had the rest of my life to deal with it. It gave me power and selfworth. did his admissions help you like you said and was that enough What was enough was that I saw that I was a better person. I overcame and was better. I wanted and needed to know that he loved me as a person, not a slut. (sounds really strange I know) Im interested because I always thought that forgiveness was something other
people asked for so they could stop thinking about it and not do anything or challenge the behaviour It is.. He didn’t ask and nor would he. So I had to. I needed him to know that I wouldn’t hate him the rest of my life the way he hated his father and let it destroy me. I needed for him to have some kind of peace because with my children I had found it. I couldn’t imagine what he had gone through after being kicked out of the family. Not only our unit but his entire family had given up on him. It was really a very sad life. In forgiving my father and mother I freed myself. I allowed my self to love freely and honestly. I can’t begin to tell you what a relief it was. When my dad died and the last tear ran down his cheek. I cried… I loved him I hope I answered your questions.. thanks for your support Mo
Response:
hi carey a mom who doesnt see … what a sorry role model for you carey wrote Good morning Lorraine and Mansi and all who see this It is me, Carey The thing with my egg donor is that in so many ways she engineered some of the explosions of my stepmonster. I think it fulfilled some perverse need of hers to watch all of us fight…and she was very good at making my sister and I feel that we were responsible because ‘you know how he is’ and ‘you should know better, you know…’. …I like your renaming her as egg donor — that works I watched her on more than one occasion pursue him, even to the point of physically blocking the door so that he couldn’t get out, or she would throw things at him. And when he finally struck out at her, she wore her bruises with pride. She was very adept at playing the martyr. She reminds of the old say about ‘killing your parents and then throwing yourself on the mercy of the court because you are an orphan’. She could do that. At least he was honest in his anger for the most part, it was dangerous, but it was generally up front. She was even more dangerous than he, because she was coniving and insidious. But worse of all, she convinced my sister and I that we were responsible for our sister’s, Sherry, death (I was 16 months old, Nita was 5 years old at the time Sherry, who was three burned herself to death. I have posted about it in the past, but if anyone is interested, I will post it again.) —I wasnt around when you posted this…it must have been horrendous to experience I have only spoken once to my mother in the last 25 years or so…and that was at my stepmonster’s funeral. What a waste, on both counts. There is simply no healthy way for me to be in her presence. — I know this one well … and I like the *stepmonster* name too … I will, however, have a few things to say when she passes from this world…and I am learning a few dance steps for that same occasion. …still casting bottles into the sea, Carey — wondering if you feel as I do when the world talks about family as if theres nothing better, no greater source of strength and support etc.,,, all that stuff about blood being thicker than water … doesnt that mean it hurts more when they are mean, vindictive, abusive and just downright nasty sending warm feelings and respect mansi
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Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez Mo your experience sounds sooo hard. What a strong little kid you were…and a terrific woman not many people can see their abusers as people too — they do not present as people when they are abusing but as all-powerful beings … that forgiveness thing is like a two-edged sword seems to me … but I guess the fact that he admitted his guilt helped — how did you feel about him feeling sorry for himself for being such a bad guy … how did you manage to help him when you needed help yourself .. did his admissions help you like you said and was that enough Im interested because I always thought that forgiveness was something other people asked for so they could stop thinking about it and not do anything or challenge the behaviour I wish to express my deep feelings about what happened to you and admiration for your strong response mansi
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: My therapist helped me see something I hadn’t known… how lonely I : was as a kid. I knew my mom was in the room while my dad abused me, : at least once. I just never thought about it- The effect on me, I : mean. At the time, I felt sorry for *her*! and when he took naughty : pictures of me. He made her put it on really heavy, really "sexy". : It felt so wrong, but if I had been with other giggling kids, putting : makeup on, that would have been fun! : I was lonely. I had no one to turn to, and I knew it. *siiiigh* so sadly familiar, i’m afraid. my exmother sexually abused me, then was in the bed when exfather raped me. i was alone, too. i wasn’t allowed to take baths, or wear normal clothes, so i was the weirdo. you know, the kid that every other kid despises. i think this enforced solitude is one of the worst thing abuse does to its victims. i never knew there were people who would understand or feel compassion. i never knew that i wasn’t meant to fix it all myself. sometimes i still feel that loneliness, times that i withdraw because being vulnerable and needing people is scary. times that i forget it is safe to need, now. silverleaf — "I am a limpet, and you are my rock." – from silverleafs’ silly husband.
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Hi Eileen… a similar thing kinda went on with me.. this really brought this to the surface for me… My father used to put make up on me before he "too hard to write the words today" me. This is an awful thing to have happen… I understand to an extent… I understand how much pain you must be feeling… I still hve problems puting on makeup now..granted I have low self esteem so it is a double whammy…Damn, these ppl make me so angry!! Warmth and energizing thoughts to you liz – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – My therapist helped me see something I hadn’t known… how lonely I was as a kid. I knew my mom was in the room while my dad abused me, at least once. I just never thought about it- The effect on me, I mean. At the time, I felt sorry for *her*! and when he took naughty pictures of me. He made her put it on really heavy, really "sexy". It felt so wrong, but if I had been with other giggling kids, putting makeup on, that would have been fun! I was lonely. I had no one to turn to, and I knew it. Lorraine By the way, I’m a little vulnerable here. Normally I wouldn’t be posting such personal things, frankly, I’m embarrased. But with all the complaints about Donna, well, somebody’s gotta do it. Answer me, tell me about you, anything!
And the sun goes down filling the air with colour. Winds lift you up to God You fall to your knees and brace for the storm You don’t let go, you like to be twisted by the force you like to be shaken by the wind. I know you know.. watching you go is like dying. Take it to the limit, when the winds come up. Crazy men crazy women; crying out for love You’d rather be wrapped up in the arms of the storm. FM
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My therapist helped me see something I hadn’t known… how lonely I was as a kid. I knew my mom was in the room while my dad abused me, at least once. I just never thought about it- The effect on me, I mean. At the time, I felt sorry for *her*! and when he took naughty pictures of me. He made her put it on really heavy, really "sexy". It felt so wrong, but if I had been with other giggling kids, putting makeup on, that would have been fun! I was lonely. I had no one to turn to, and I knew it. Lorraine By the way, I’m a little vulnerable here. Normally I wouldn’t be posting such personal things, frankly, I’m embarrased. But with all the complaints about Donna, well, somebody’s gotta do it. Answer me, tell me about you, anything!
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lorraine I agree…somebodys gotta do it…I felt betrayed by my mom too…yeah its a lonely feeling….who else will be there if she wasnt please reply mansi
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Filed under: Loneliness Lonely
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