BLOG#1
I am the host and you are my guest. Don’t hover in the corner. Don’t hover on the doorstep. Take my hand and let me introduce you to the little girl who was abused and mute to the Straight Up Woman I Stand Today. This won’t be easy for me or you but as I speak, know I only speak truth.
As a child
As a child, I don’t recall until I was adopted, approximately 3 years old (funny the crap you remember when you’re so tiny). So, this part of the journey I am still naïve, but I am open to share what has been shared with me and the scraps I have scuffled together.
Before I recall, the story goes, he was a man of love and hate. (Looking back, I see the attraction my biological mother passed down to me…this explanation is for a later blog). They say he was angry and one day a cop got in his way. My mother was pushed down the stairs, in hope to kill us all, but as I survived, so did this light inside of me.
The Confusing Adoption
I have read somewhere that children only have a tendency to remember the dramatic details of their tiny lives. If this is true, most of my childhood was crap. As an adult and a woman, I have learned to take the rotten memories and know what NOT TO DO and HOW NOT TO TREAT OTHERS. However, it took me a very long time to learn this lesson (we can get into this later).
I never understood how I was adopted, by an abusive man that my biological mother married, had children with, and he was married to another woman (the paperwork is very confusing). As a child I remember my mother not being around a lot, but I remember the big, blonde, curly haired lady.
The Abuse
No one ever showed me.
I never saw anyone do it.
I don’t know what age I started but I know when I stopped.
I just wanted the pain to go away and I didn’t want to speak about it. I had no one to speak to so, I cut myself in places only I could see. I was the girl that wore long sleeves and was silent. Yes, I would say I was a screwed-up kid …until one day…
… it all came out, I burst into a voice, and all hell broke loose.
I WAS BETTER OFF NOT SPEAKING (I thought).
In court, they make tiny people touch tiny dolls where they were touched by nasty ass perverts.
I won’t forget this day.
In court, they make tiny people face the big people that hurt them.
I won’t forget this day.
I won’t forget every day after that my mother made me go stay with him. I won’t forget the bloody nose, or the stairs, or the attic, or the basement, or the rabbits freezing to death, or sitting in the corner all night because I didn’t like my damn potato salad. I HATE POTATO SALAD!
And I don’t care for this mother, but I HAVE LEARNED to grow from all of this and be a better person than who I grew up around. But, again, it took me a very long time to learn how to do this the correct way. If I didn’t have my Grandmother and the few good people in my life, I wouldn’t have survived.
The Emancipation
May 23, that’s my day of birth. When I turned 16 I thought I was free!! It didn’t matter where I went or who I was with. I thought life would get so much better and so would I. Well, I was right and wrong. Did life get better? Hell Yes! On my adopted side, I knew of this couple that took me in and expected nothing in return. I am sure they have good and bad memories of those 2 long years. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be alive. I was a teenager and we all do teenager things, ya’ know! However, where I went wrong was with myself. Life got better but, on the inside, I was still the same screwed up kid that went to juvie the year prior. Depression and anxiety have haunted me for a very long time.
The Life Long Depression
I remember the age of 3 because I remember the sadness that covered me. I remember when my Grandfather cheated on my Grandmother and she keyed his car. I remember the sadness he brought. I remember as I grew up, laying in my bed, while my mind scurried around the room, then laying in the attic. I remember the night terrors that held my body down (or do I just think they were night terrors). I would wake up, in the basement, at 2:30 a.m. every night and stare into the darkness and the red clock by my bed or sneak out because I couldn’t sleep. Then when I thought I was free, oh BOY WAS I NOT FREE, I would lay in bed, in my own room, every night, stuffing blankets under the door, listening to Linkin Park. I thought that Chester understood how I felt, I still do.
These feelings continued through an abusive relationship that ended up being a “stalking across America” type of thing. For now, let’s just say, it was hard to know there was a different kind of man out there (a later story). After falling for all the wrong men and women, all the alcoholic nights, parties (anything to stay “happy”), I finally decided that it didn’t matter HOW MANY THERAPISTS KICKED ME OUT, I WASN’T GIVING UP ON MYSELF!
Because I didn’t give up on myself, I found out how to live my life healthy and happy, every day (a later blog I would love to share).
…I plead to every person who feels like giving up, don’t, real help and a happy life is out there.
I am Katrina.
