ANATOMY

OF A
LIFE

Penelope Meriwether

Published by Penelope Meriwether
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2014 Penelope Meriwether
All rights reserved.



This book is also available in print at most online retailers.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
Thank-you for downloading this ebook. This book may be distributed for non-commercial
purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends or anyone you feel may
benefit from the subject matter of the book to download their own copy from their favorite
authorized retailer.




DEDICATION

First and foremost, I am dedicating this book to my God without whose help I never would
have had the memories or the words to turn this book into a reality. Next, to my family, whose
patience with me knows no bounds and who sacrificed their time order to allow me to complete
this monumental task. I would also like to dedicate this book to my first two children to whom I
owe everything, and now prayerfully, will fully understand why I did what I did. Im so sorry to
everyone Ive ever hurt.




Introduction
I dont think anyone should write their
autobiography until after theyre dead. ~Samuel Goldwyn


I tried to sleep last night, but couldnt. Maybe it was the giant piece of Devils food
chocolate cake with thick chocolate fudge icing and sweet French vanilla ice cream I ate about
an hour before bed; something I dont recommend to anyone who actually wants to sleep since
the chocolaty concoction sat in my gut like a lump of coal. The caffeine and sugar pulsed
through my bloodstream with each heartbeat, tricking my brain into thinking I wanted to be lying
there wide-awake at 1:45 in the morning. To top it off, I had so many things running through my
mind I couldnt have slept even if I didnt drown myself in sugary poison.
To take my mind off things during the endless days, hours, minutes and seconds in our new
home in the central Mountains of New Mexico, Ive been doing what Ive done all my life,
physically pushing myself until Im stiff and sore, scratched and bruised. My husband and I have
been cutting down trees, three to four inches in diameter and about ten to twelve feet high for the
past two weeks. Not that the tree-cutting has taken exactly two weeks, thats just how long it has
taken between recovery days from the strenuous work of cutting down the trees in order to
construct a fence across the whole six hundred and sixty feet of our new property in order to
separate us and our living space from our horses and their living space. Because, what most
people dont understand, and its due mainly to the fact that most horses in this day and age live
in a space equivalent to most bedrooms, is that a horse in actuality, is just an oversized goat.
Theyll eat anything and everything in their path, and theyre particularly good at making sure
they eat their way straight to your favorite flowers and freshly planted trees if they are given the
freedom to do so. They follow their nose to what they perceive as the tastiest nibbles, and of
course, that will always be the brightly colored flowers and radiant green leaves of a newly
planted garden, which to them is the equivalent of our French vanilla ice cream topping our
decadent chocolaty fudge cake, and so it is with our horses and newly planted flowers and trees.
Theres also another reason the horses come up to where we are, and its because horses are
social animals and want to be near us, especially if its anywhere close to feeding time. Where
we used to live, they were only a hundred feet outside our back door and could track the
activities going on during the day, making sure we knew when it was time for their breakfast,
lunch or dinner without much effort. However, we now live on ten acres, with the barn on the
bottom five and our house on the top five, which is obviously unacceptable to their horsy minds
and I am so reminded of this fact every time I see our decimated pecan and apple trees and
ripped up and missing flowersso much for this growing season, hence, the fence.
Im now entirely covered in mosquito bites since its July in New Mexico, and come to think
about it, everywhere else in the world as well I suppose. Furthermore, Ive learned, during our
two-week tree cutting and fence building marathon, that mosquitoes enjoy feeding
indiscriminately morning, noon and night, especially when youre tromping through the dense
brush of the Manzano Mountains getting cut and scratched and tempting the little bloodsuckers
with, blood. Ive always experienced and so believed that mosquitoes only came out to feed in
the evening and after dark, but oh, how Ive learned differently here. The New Mexican
hematophagous little fiends have taught me a new and aggravating fact, and that is if there is
some unsuspecting warm-blooded mammal to feed on, the dinner bells aringin no matter
what time of day; however, its all worth it since I can now sleep easier, knowing my freshly
planted trees and flowers will be safe from some giant goat wandering around in the wee hours
of the morning looking for a succulent branch or delicate bud to chomp off.

Sleeping easier? Did I say that? What I meant to say is there is one less thing on my mind as
I toss and turn trying to sleep. Whats wrong with me? I ask myself for the hundredth time in the
last few months, even though it has been my mantra since I was nine. What is this feeling Im
feeling? I know theres a need to do something meaningful, to make a difference in this world,
but since Im one of those people who always wants to do something meaningful and always
feels as if I should be making a difference, but somehow cant or wont come up with a way to
do it; Ive always just been someone full of good intentions. Nevertheless, the idea that what Ive
been through in my life and what Ive learned from what Ive been through could actually help
someone else, has been going through my mind for the last two years. Thus, for the third time in
as many years I feel as if Im being directed to write about, my life.
The first time I had the urge I just ignored it, reluctant to undertake something that would
dredge up so much unpleasantness and pain. The second time, I actually attempted to write
something, but decided to write in the third person, conjuring up some imaginary person who
would have the misfortune to live my life, but about twenty pages into my masterpiece I realized
I was unsure as to what audience my nightmare should be directed toward since Ive led, lets
say, a not intended for younger audiences lifestyle, and so I gave up on the writing proposal,
thinking it was a dumb idea in any case. Now, here I am again, this third time, a year later, with
the same voice telling me in the middle of the night to write about my life. Is that You God? I
ask the voice. Is this what You want me to do? I receive an answer immediately that reassures
me it is God. Yes, I want you to write a book! I hear the words as clearly and loudly as if God
had just whispered them in my ear. I instantly feel relaxed and at peace with the answer and in
my excitement, roll over and tell my husband right then and there, at 2:20 in the morning, the
same thing Ive told him twice before; Im going to write a book! He gives me a sleepy, a-ha,
without even opening his eyes, as in, whatever honey, but I completely understand his response
since he knows all about my good intentions as well as all my ideas on how to make a difference
in this world, but how I cant or wont find a way to fulfill them, along with knowing how easily
I give up; nonetheless, not this time. This time Im going to be the one who starts and finishes
like every other normal person, and not be someone who cant start or wont finish. The next
morning I wake-up still relaxed and sure, with a renewed sense of confidence knowing I now
know what I should be doing.
Obviously, Ive had a rough life, or I wouldnt even consider sharing my story since while
writing, I have found it hard to believe that I was so lost, so dark, so empty, so blind, and as co-
dependent as any other person in any other abusive relationship, a fact I have never
acknowledged before now. In view of the reality that I have been so emotionally incompetent
throughout my thirty-eight years, Im now feeling so thoroughly embarrassed with myself, that
sharing my broken, inept life with anyone is difficult, let alone trying to write a book about it.
Yet, I was an unloved, emotionally and psychologically abused slave-child, which was pretty
awful in my opinion if only because of being the one who had to live it. Even so, I know my
childhood wasnt even close to the worst Ive ever heard about either, but as Norman Wisdom
once said, I was born in very sorry circumstances...both of my parents were very sorry. Dont
worry though, Im not going to bore you with another sad story of childhood abuse and neglect,
but instead, Im going to help you understand why a person from an abusive past does the things
they do. Those things that make others scratch their heads and wonder if were crazy. Im going
to touch on those parts of my childhood I believe had the biggest impact on the forming of my
mind. Those parts that include the fear, favoritism, criticism, traumatic experiences and inner
anger I grew up with, which led to the outward anger, hostility, anxiety, lack of self-esteem,
neediness, co-dependency and depression I experienced for my entire adult life up until this
point. Still, you might think my life wasnt so bad and that everything I went through once I
finally moved out of my parents home was my own fault, in which I would agree and disagree.
Yes, my broken emotional state was due to the way I was raised which led to regrettable
decisions, but they were my decisions. Nevertheless, what needs to be understood is the snowball
affect abuse has on ones emotions and in turn, a persons decisions. Abuse causes you to base
your choices on however you are feeling at the present moment. Rash decisions that make no
sense at all except to the one making them, which in turn, cause small problems to turn into large
problems, and large problems to morph into monstrosities. It would be like asking a twelve-year-
old for advice on life which they couldnt possibly give due to lack of experience. Emotions are
quite unreliable especially when they dont mature due to being stuck in a time warp from living
in fear, criticism, abusive love, etc. while your body and brain continue to develop physically as
expected, whereas in my case, my emotions didnt catch up until around forty years of age.
The psychological and emotional abuse Ive suffered throughout my life affected my every
thought and emotion, and I dont care if stick and stones can break your bones, nothing hurts
worse than the hateful, angry words that I, and I know many others have grown-up with, as well.
Words attack and distort emotions and descend deep into your very heart and soul and twists
your hopefully rational mind into what resembles a brewing tropical storm, which can, at any
given second, turn into a category five hurricane, not good for anything but death and destruction
let alone trying to make any major, or as in my case, minor life decisions. Theyre out-of-control
emotions that take the choice out of decision-making, wherein every choice becomes an
irrational need. I need to do this, I need to do that. There is no longer an element of want, or
should I, could I, maybe or someday, which leave options open; take note as you read, every
decision to me was truly a life-threatening do-it-now or elseneed. Again, I want to make it
clear, my story isnt about how horrible my childhood was, but starting from the beginning is
necessary in order to understand the devastating effect any type of abuse has on a persons
decision making and in turn, their life. Along with that, Ill explain how damaging prolonged
negative emotions can be, how they can change the chemical make-up in the body and cause
serious physical ailments that can affect the rest of your life.

Delayed Development
The Parents Zone, an Internet community education publication, reports delayed development as
the most prominent effect of verbal abuse on children. The publication states that verbally
abused children develop slowly in all areas, including physically, socially, emotionally and
academically. Verbally abused children continue to experience problems in interpersonal
relationships and tend to fall behind in career development as they become young adults. Many
eventually develop mental disorders and become depressed or anxious. (By Valerie Belew, eHow
Contributor)
Prayerfully, Ill be able to help someone avoid making the same mistakes I did before their
own mistakes are set in motion, or to help someone exit off the destructive decision-making road
they might already be traveling down. I want you to know youre not alone. There are other
crazy people out there who have lived crazy lives making damaging decisions almost daily
because of immature emotions. I want you to know as well that God has given eye-opening
solutions to a certain crazy persons questions on how to start overcoming the crazy emotions,
which influence the damaging decisions, and how to take the blame for some pretty pathetic
mistakes instead of always looking back to the ones who placed me on this crazy roller-coaster
ride in the first place. As you read, you will also learn about the effects of abuse on a childs
mind from interjections of information that were so eye-opening I just had to include the
information where my life mirrored the description. I had never read anything on the effects of
abuse until after writing my book, and needless to say, I was shocked to see that Im a classic
case of someone who was emotionally and psychologically abused.
Its been a couple of days now, and I dont feel quite as confident about the daunting task
ahead of me. I am in my own words, a professional quitter. Dont get me wrong, I mean; when
it comes to cleaning, gardening, cooking or other things that give me an immediate sense of
accomplishment, Im passionate. However, anything that may expose me to criticism or pain of
any kind, I try my best to avoid or even just up and quitbut Ill hit on that later. First, we must
go back to the beginning where my story all began; on a cold, lonely night...just kidding...my life
actually began in a small hospital, in the Hollywood hills, on an all too normal day.
Brain Damage
The environment that children are raised in molds not only their mind, but also their brain.
When that environment is hostile or socially unhealthy, development of the brain is affected and
often it is impaired. Early childhood sexual abuse, physical and/or psychological abuse, or even
witnessing domestic violence, have been shown to cause abnormal physical changes in the brain
of children with lasting effects that predisposes the child to developing psychological disorders.
This is something many long suspected, but now we have scientific instruments that show us how
dramatically childhood experience alters the physical structure of the brain, and is well
established by human brain imaging studies which proves how sensitive we are as children to
these environmental effects. Brain scarring words, verbal harassment from peers and, as a
previous study from these researchers showed, verbal abuse from a childs parents, can cause
far more than emotional harm. The remarkable thing about the human brain is that it develops
after birth. Unlike most animals whose brains are cast at birth, the human brain is so
underdeveloped at birth that we cannot even walk for months. Self-awareness does not develop
for years. Personality, cognitive abilities, and skills take decades to develop, and these attributes
develop differently in every person. This is because development and wiring of the human brain
are guided by our experiences during childhood and adolescence. From a biological perspective,
this increases the odds that an individual will compete and reproduce successfully in the
environment the individual is born into, rather than the environment experienced by our cave-
man ancestors and recorded in our genes through natural selection. Developing the human brain
out of the womb cheats evolution, and this is the reason for the success of our species. Early
childhood experience can either nourish or stifle brain development, and the consequences are
physical, personal, and societal. (Published on October 30, 2010 by R. Douglas Fields in The
New Brain)



Chapter 1
My life is one of those, you had to be there jokes.

A long, long, long time ago, thirty-eight and a half years to be exact, in a galaxy far, far
away, (If youve ever been to Hollywood youd know what Im talking about) yours truly was
born. If you think about the details, it seemed to be a rather remarkable birth since it was
January, the beginning of a new year and the fact that I was born in Hollywood surely meant I
was destined for great things, or, destined to be seen my whole life like a freak from another
planet.
Anyhoo, as it seems to be the norm nowadays and at least as far back as thirty-eight years
ago, my birth mother decided my dad and I were cramping her style. As a result, when Im about
one-year-old, she up and left and didnt look back, except once, just to be sure she wasnt
making a mistake, than satisfied she wasnt, off she went into the wild blue yonder. My mother
liked to party according to my dad, and decided shed rather go live with her boyfriend, who
must have been a heck of a lot more fun because of him not cramping her style like a husband
and a baby can. I suppose it came down to my mother not being finished sowing her wild oats
yet, or whatever it is women do. Of course, at the time, I had no idea what was going on, and if I
did, I dont remember being a baby and all, and consequently, when my father finally tells me
about my real mother and why she up and left us combined with the life I was subjected to
because of her not wanting us, as far as I was concerned, I couldnt care less about her...or, so I
thought. Somewhere in my soul, unbeknownst to me for years, I blamed her for the nightmare I
was living as well as the love and acceptance I had to fight for on a daily basis in order to survive
emotionally. Therefore, without even knowing it, my birth-mother became part of my growing
distrust of the human race, mothers in particular, and the bitterness and anger in my heart.
My dad always said we got along just fine without my mother because life without a
partying, cheating and I dont want to be a motherkind of wife was certainly far better than
living with a partying, cheating and I dont want to be a motherkind of wife. However, being a
young man, dad obviously still had needs, not only physically and emotionally which goes
without saying, but he also had practical needs, like a woman to be a mother to his now
motherless baby girl.
Now, if babies could speak or were possessed with a sixth sense about things, I would have
been jumping up and down, stomping my feet, screamin and cryin and basically throwing a fit
over the gigantic mistake my dad was about to make. Unfortunately, as a one-year-old, I didnt
have much to say about anything, and seeing as how my dad was as clueless as a fly heading for
a spiders web, he ignorantly flew straight into the arms of another woman dragging me, his
innocent baby girl who had her whole life in front of her, right along with him into the arms of
my soon-to-be new mother. There I was, at the mercy of the larger human beings in my life, and
it didnt matter that I was born in Hollywood in the first month of the year, or that I might be
destined for great things, I could do nothing to save myself. My father marries Alice shortly after
he divorces my other mother even though it would have been better for all of us if they had never
met, but they married nonetheless, and Im sure dad was grateful at the time. No matter what he
says, dad was ill-equipped to raise a child by himself, so when Alice came around he thought it
was a match made in heaven. Alice just happened to be a single mother of a five-year-old
daughter herself, recently divorced and needing a man to take care of them and oh, look, we have
so much in commonthe fact we met at all must mean were meant to beso lets get married
and make one big, happy family! Its the age-old silly idea lovers in love feel and believe to be
true. However, soon after dad and Alice get hitched for life, dad has second thoughts when upon
walking in the door after work one evening, who does he find sitting on the floor with a pair of
scissors carefully cutting up pictures of ex-lovers and a not-so-long ago wife? The spider herself
in whose web we now reside.
My new mother is an average-looking woman, with blond hair and green eyes, but overall,
theres nothing particularly memorable about her, however, Alice is tough and everyone knows
she rules the roost. When she walks into a room we all step aside, offer her our seat and make
sure alls right in her world. Alice grew-up on a Pennsylvania farm and was raised (from only
meeting him once) by a sweet, mild-mannered father and a Hitler-type mother who ruled with an
iron fist. Gramma came to live with us after our grandpa died, and it was then that I decided our
gramma wasnt the kind of grandmother you read about in storybooks like my sweet, Apple pie-
baking grandma on my fathers side. Arriving at the house with cold grey eyes, a little button
nose, and sparse white hair she kept permed to keep from having to deal with the thin, wispy
strands she has left, she says hello and forces a smile. Her furrowed brow and the numerous
wrinkles around her mouth tell of countless years of frowning and belie the smile she flashes us
upon arrival. In that split second I decide that my new grandmothers smile could have never,
even in her most youthful days, expressed much warmth of heart. I realize as well that my
mother is the mini-me of her own mother, but since Im only fourteen when gramma comes to
live with us, the translation of what this means is lost on me. However, since having someone
else, anyone else living in the house meant less focus on me, I dont mind. No one could be
worse than Alice, so my permed, wrinkled, cranky-looking gramma will do just fine.
Youd have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to see and feel the tension between Alice and her
mother, especially since gramma treats her like she cant do anything right and now its Alice
who steps aside, offers her seat and makes sure grammas world is revolving around her the way
it should be revolving. Gramma is also especially good at barking out orders, or criticizing mama
about one thing or the other as well as having no qualms about her lack of please or thank-you
when speaking to anyone. My mother takes it all in stride though, and does her duty, no more no
less, however; there is one thing I see gramma doing that can turn Alice hotter than a summer
day in hell, and thats the way she seems to care for my dad and me but has an apparent dislike
of my brother and sister. I know gramma sees that no matter what we do, Alice considers my dad
and me the black sheep of the family. Gramma also knows my brother and sister are spoiled and
selfish which might explain her irritation with them. She knows Im treated differently than my
siblings so maybe she understands my situation and feels bad for me, or maybe she sees herself
in her own daughter and it causes irritation with herself; who knows? I appreciate her sympathy
though, because as far as Im concerned, if someone feeling sorry for me is the only way to get
any kindness shown to me, its just fine with me.
Ironically, even though Alice hates the way her mother treats her, and instead of stopping
the cycle of abuse, she allows herself to take after her own abuser by treating me the same way
her mother treated her and still treats her today. It just reminds me once more that it doesnt
matter that I was born in Hollywood, or the first month of the year or that Im destined for great
things, because to Alice, Ill never measure-up nor will I ever be her real daughter. Im the
stepchild, and the only way to make being the stepchild worse is to be the middle child, which I
become as soon as my brother makes his grand entrance into the world. Thereafter, my fate is
sealed and my life essentially ends when my brothers begins.
Im only one year of age when Alice becomes my new mother, so I dont even know she
isnt my real mother, and I also cant understand why she seems to love me less and less as the
years go by, until that is, when Im around seven-years old and my father tells me about my other
mother.
Were at Ricardos, my familys favorite Mexican restaurant in the local shopping mall. Its
where we usually went after a Sunday morning service at the little Nazarene church we attended
when we were still going to church as a family. My dad starts telling me the story of my
biological mother and how we cramped her style, and she needing freedom to sow and me
hearing, but not hearing as I munch on chips and salsa. Then dad asks if I might be interested in
meeting this supposed real mother some day and I immediately respond with, I have a mom!
All the while, my seven-year-old mind keeps wishing they would stop talking about this other
mother who was cramped and needing room to sew, because now Im feeling a strange feeling
Ive never felt before and the whole conversation, along with the weird feeling is interrupting a
perfectly good lunch of my favorite, Chimichangas. Thankfully, my response seems to bring the
conversation to a close and smiles to both of my parents faces, and I start feeling better knowing
I must have said the right thing. I now know I have another mother in addition to knowing Im
not Alices real daughter, but it doesnt change the fact I love her since shes the only mother
Ive ever known. Ill just have to be the best daughter I can be to make sure shell always love
me even though Ill always just be the step-middle-child.
Life in my parents household is as normal as normal can be, at first, and between the ages
of one and five, life is happy for the most part. The first house we live in is a tiny place in a small
bedroom community, situated on a cul-de-sac with giant, mature shade trees and green lawns,
along with other tiny houses and other families just like our own. Its a real, can I borrow a cup
of sugar kind of neighborhood. All the kids from all the houses play together, and on the
weekends, all the dads and moms drink beer, laugh and talk about their week, their jobs, and
their lives as we eat BBQ and Apple pie together. Sometimes at night though, my sister and I
hear our parents yelling at each other about who knows what, because to our young ears all we
hear is the angry, yelling voices, which makes my stomach all wobbly as if its spinning in
circles, never stopping until the fighting stops. Its frightening to hear the loud, heated words,
doors slamming and things breaking while hiding under our covers waiting for it to be over, but
luckily, once my parents make-up, life goes back to normal. Cartoons and Sesame Street in the
mornings, kindergarten during the week, playing in the backyard all day on Saturday, Sunday
school on Sunday mornings, riding bikes in the evenings and mom and dad making grunting
noises in their bedroom late at night when I should have been sleeping. The sounds always scare
me and I dont have a clue whats going on. The only thing my young mind can imagine is that
my father must be hurting my mom and I cant go back to sleep in case I have to run in and save
her. In the morning, however, both my parents get-up in a happy mood and relief washes over
me knowing the only mother Ive ever known is alive and well, and daddy obviously hasnt hurt
her. In those days, there are still good times between the bad times, even if the bad times are
pretty bad.


Chapter 2
Big sisters are the crab grass in the lawn of life.
~Charles M. Shultz


Im four, and Im sitting alone at the dinner table in front of my dinner plate being told I
have to eat all of my food before Im allowed up, and if I refuse to eat what Im supposed to be
eating, Ill be eating my dinner for breakfast, cold from the frig because of refusing to eat it now.
I sit at the table until I decide to eat what Im refusing to eat, but the decision never comes and
my refusal usually lasts until bedtime. When morning inevitably comes, I pretend Im still
sleeping to avoid having to eat breakfast altogether, but eventually, in comes my mother
mocking my pretend sleepiness and telling me my dinner is waiting for me in the kitchen.
But I dont feel good; I lie.
Probably because of not eating your dinner when you were supposed to be eating your
dinner and now youre hungry. So get outta that bed, get in the kitchen and start eating; mama
responds in a not-so-friendly way. Why do parents have to be such know-it-alls all the time
anyhow? It makes me wonder how she can possibly know why I dont feel good, especially since
I feel fine and only said I dont feel good so I might finagle my way outta having to eat the
spinach or carrots or broccoli or any of the other vegetables I hate and refused to eat. To make
matters worse, my plate is usually covered with dried-up ketchup and congealed grease from
whatever meat had been served the night before, as well as a scattering of cold, hard Minute Rice
that feels and tastes as good as a mouthful of wood. Currently, the veggies, rice, ketchup and
grease are all mixed together from me pushing the mess around on my plate during my
vegetable-eating refusal the night before, but it doesnt matter. I now have to eat the cold
concoction no matter how revolting I think the combination happens to be whether I like it or
not, and as I enter the kitchen, I see the plate sitting on the counter where a yummy, sweet bowl
of cereal should be and Im sad. I soon realize however, after two or three mornings of forcing
down plates of cold, stale dinners, that dinner is much better hot from the stove at dinnertime
even if I hate everything I have to eatthan eating it cold, hard and covered in dried ketchup and
congealed grease for breakfast.

We move to the second home of my short life when Im five and we live there until Im
eight years old with life still happy even though mama is strict and our parents fight.
Living in Niceville is like living in Mayberry. Kids can ride their bikes and play in their
front yards without having to worry some child-killing psycho is going to grab them and take off
to do who knows what to them. We can walk up to the corner burger joint and buy corndogs all
by ourselves even though were just six and ten-years old given that everyone knows everyone.
My father owns a business on the main street of town, and because we know many of the
merchants in the other stores, it isnt uncommon for us to stop-in and say hello on the way to his
shop or to the neighborhood park. The elementary school and the little Nazarene Church we
attend are two and three blocks away and easily within walking distance, though the church
sends a bus around on Sunday mornings to collect all the boys and girls in the neighborhood for
Sunday school, thereby encouraging Sunday school attendance. Its a friendly and safe
neighborhood, making Niceville a particularly delightful place to live. Life is good even though
between the ages of five and eight, my childhood revolves around just three things; playtime,
discipline and my parents fights. We have fun most of the time, except of course, when dad and
mama are arguing, or any time were punished. My mom seems to know all kinds of tedious
punishments for us to do for the smallest infraction with her favorites being making us stand in a
corner for hours on end, or what seems like hours to our young minds because of having no real
concept of time, or making us pick-up every itsi-bitsi fuzzy, tiny grain of sand, hair or paper bit
we can see on the carpet in our bedroom or in the backyard. Shes always sure to remind us that
well have to start all over again if she finds anything on the floor or in the yard after we say
were done, and having to redo what we just finished seems to happen more often than not. I hate
the fact that my mother has x-ray vision as well as eyes in the back of her head which are only
there in case the eyes in the front of her head dont catch whatever it is we missed. Other than
that, discipline is business as usual, with spankings and/or groundings for any disobediences, or
having to swallow a spoonful of dish soap for any talking back or lying, which is, unarguably,
one of my favoritesand yes, dogs meow.

Rachel is Alices daughter. Shes plump and cute as a button, and we take up the roles of
sisters quite easily once Im old enough to understand I have a sister after realizing I have a new
playmate. Being that shes four-years older than I am, Rachel takes on the role of taking care of
me whenever mom and dad arent around and she does a pretty good job of babysitting. She
always holds my hand crossing streets as well as helping me learn to ride a bike with, and
eventually, without training wheels, and to a little sister these things are priceless. I love my new
best friend.
Riding bikes is one of the joys of being a kid, but because of not having a big-girl bike of
my own at the time; Rachel will sometimes let me get up on her bikes handlebars as she peddles
up and down the sidewalk. Its all fun and games until mom yells from the front door to knock it
off before we hurt ourselves, and dont sit on those handlebars again because handlebars werent
made for sittin and someone is sure to get hurt. Nevertheless, as soon as we know were safe
from mamas roving eyes, I climb back up on the front of Rachels bike, laughing and carrying
on, which is how I experience the first real injury of my short life.
Its summer and were outside constantly, playing in either the front or back yard depending
on what we choose to play that day. As usual, my dad is at work and mama is in the house doing
mom things when she suddenly comes out and tells Rachel and I to come inside. She has to run
to the store and shell be right back, and oh, Im gonna take your brother with me and stay outta
trouble. As mama is walking out the front door she reminds us to stay in the house or in the
back- yardI dont want you two in the front yard or running all over the neighborhood while
Im gone. Except, as soon as she pulls out of the driveway, were out in the front yard playing
exactly where we arent supposed to be playing. My older sister, the one whos supposed to be
staying out of trouble and keeping me, the little sister, from getting into trouble, decides she
wants to keep riding her bike on the sidewalk in front of our house. Now I, being the little sister,
and not having a bike of my own, start whining for a ride like little sisters do, so Rachel stops her
bike so I can hop on because of her being the best big sister ever and who always wants to make
her little sister happy, or stop whining, one or the other. This time though, we do try to obey the
no handlebars rule, mainly because were already breaking one rule as it is by riding Rachels
bike in the front of the house where we were specifically told not to ride, and we dont want to
push our luck. However, in trying to avoid sittin on the handlebars, I decide to hitch a ride by
standing on the bolts that hold on the back tire of Rachels bike and hanging onto her waist. The
problem with this solution is that I happen to be barefoot and my feet keep slipping off the bolts,
and when my feet slip it hurts, but instead of thinking that maybe I should go put-on some shoes
so my feet stop slipping and hurting, we decide the only possible way to help my feet will be for
me to get-up on the handlebars which werent made for sittin and where someone is sure to get
hurt.
At this particular moment, my sister and I think were smarter than the average mom, or at
least, our mom, because weve never been hurt and we have no intention of getting hurt any time
in the near future. Except, this is before I climb onto the handlebars that werent made for sittin
because my feet are bare and keep slipping and hurting, and now I have my toes on the bolts that
hold on the front wheel instead of the back wheel, but my feet are still slipping even though Im
sitting. I dont mind so much that my feet are slipping because at least Im not falling off because
of my sitting until it happens. As I try to get my toes back onto the bolts holding on the front
wheel, my toes go into the spokes while the wheels continue to roll, being stopped only by the
tangling of my toes and only after I let out three blood-curdling screams, one for each turn of the
wheel. When the bike finally stops and while cryin my head off, I must now untangle my toes
from the spokes before I can even attempt to get down, which seems strange since toes normally
arent long enough to tangle around anything except when youre riding on handlebars you were
told not to ride on but do anyhow. My toes are now cut and bleeding and as Im sitting there on
the sidewalk crying, Rachels face goes white as a sheet.
Get up! Get up! Rachel screams at me; we need to clean up your toes before mama
comes home! She pulls me up and marches me, limping and whimpering, into the bathroom
where she immediately starts running warm water in the bathtub, instructing me to soak my cut
and bloody toes as she does. Now, without either of us knowing due to the fact the water in the
tub is running and being its so loud we cant hear anything besides me whimpering and crying
over my cut and bloody toes, mama comes home and hearing the commotion, comes straight to
the bathroom.
WHAT IN THE WORLD HAPPENED?! Mama yells as she stares at my toes through the
torrent of red-tinted water. Rachel quickly tries to explain about our attempt at obeying the no-
sittin on the handlebars rule but that my feet kept slipping and hurting and in order to solve the
slipping problem we decided that I should get-up on the handlebars which we were told not to
get up on because of someone getting hurt, and then someone did get hurt just like she said we
would, but that we only did it because of us trying to obey. Except, mama doesnt care at all
about the trying to obey part because of us going ahead with the disobeying part, so, after all is
said and done, my sister is spanked and grounded, and Im grounded but not spanked seeing as
how I already suffered enough with my cut toes.

When Rachel is ten years old, shes fed-up with being punished for crimes she felt she didnt
commit, so she tells me that shes running away and I can come along if I want to. Now, being
Im only six, and my big sister just invited me to run-away with her, I say, Okay! without
hesitation.
Where are we going to go? I ask; looking all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and thinking
life without parents or punishments or eating cold, ketchup-covered vegetables for breakfast will
be heaven.
Well figure it out as we go; she tells me. Right now, we need to pack so well be ready
to go in the morning.
Even though Rachel is only ten, she knows exactly what she wants to do, and that is, get
outta this house. Being only six, I think I want to get out of the house as well given that I agree
were punished too much, but other than that, I believe I should want to get out of the house if
only because Rachel does because big sisters know everything. Except, I cant say for sure if we
deserve our punishments every time or not, or if we receive more punishment than any other kid
receives since nobody talks about things like that, that I can recall, being Im only six.
We pack the things we think well need, a shirt, some pants, a favorite toy and most of my
smaller stuffed animals, then hide our packs under our beds. The next morning Rachel wakes me
up early, super early. I know its early because the sun is barely up as well as there being a fog as
thick as pea-soup outside and I cant ever remember being up before the sun or seeing such a
thick blanket of fog outside our house before. We get dressed as quietly as we can and as we do,
I tell Rachel Im hungry, but she says theres no time to eat, we have to get going before mama
and daddy wake-up. We put on our coats and grab our packs, then Rachel opens our bedroom
window and we crawl through, just like bandits, then quietly, she closes the window behind us.
The fog is so thick we can barely see our feet, but we continue on our way toward the
neighborhood park, which besides dads shop, church and school, is the only place we know how
to get to, with me clutching my teddy bear and Rachel deep in thought. We must have been a
sight, two little girls all bundled up in pink coats with pink backpacks, wandering around the
neighborhood in the wee hours of the morning in a fog as thick as pea soup all because we
believe were punished more than we think we should be, except, were not even sure if its true
since nobody talks about things like that.
We come to a park bench and sit down. My stomach is rumbling with morning hunger, but
Rachel just tells me well eat soon enough, just let me figure out where we should go. While
were sitting there on the little bench on the edge of the parks lawn, we see a police car roll to a
stop at the corner red light just up the street from where were sitting. The fears of being found-
out surrounds us now just like the soup-like fog.
Are we gonna go to jail? I ask Rachel.
How am I supposed to know? Rachel says back. We continue watching as the black and
white car slowly turns left toward my sister and I and the park bench were sitting on, then just as
slowly pulls-up and stops right in front of us in the middle of the street. Everything seems to be
moving in a slow, foggy motion, and the sight of the police car sitting there, and the two police
officers staring at us, seems at the moment, worse than ten spankings.
You two okay?
We nod our heads and mumble yesssss at almost the same time.
What are you two doing out here so early? I look over at Rachel as she tells them that
were pretending were running away from home; both cops chuckle. Youre not actually
running away, are you? We both shake our heads no. We certainly arent planning on telling
them the truth, besides, why would they think two little girls in pink coats and backpacks would
actually run away from home?
Okay then, have fun. Then, as slowly as they had appeared, the two friendly police
officers drive away through the dissipating mist. The idea of running away has now quickly
become a bad idea with the thought of going to jail being worse than being spanked or grounded.
The interaction with the police officers is enough to change our minds about our escape plan, as
well as the excessive discipline we think were receiving, and maybe we should just go home,
and maybe we wont be punished as much anymore, and now I think Im starving to death so
lets get going so we can have breakfast.
We arrive home quickly enough, and amazingly, everyone is still asleep. We sneak back into
our room through the same window we snuck out of, unpack our bags, change back into our
pajamas and climb back into bed as if nothings happened. Eventually, we hear mom and dad
start stirring around the coffeepot in the kitchen, so Rachel and I get up and go in to say good
morning as innocently as any other morning. Mama makes pancakes and bacon seeing as its
Saturday, and we eat until we can eat no more, and only Rachel and I know that for twenty
minutes one foggy Saturday morning, we were free.

Rachel has always had a little extra weight on her bones, but as she starts maturing the little
extra weight starts accumulating in all the right places, and since she loves wearing clothes that
are just a little too tight, they accentuate all the right places a little too much. As a young girl, I
hated seeing Rachel in her skimpy tops and short shorts, primarily because Id never dream of
dressing like that, but mostly because as she enters her teens, my dad starts acting weird when
hes around her and her short shorts and skimpy tops, which for some reason, makes me feel
weird as well as uneasy. As Rachel and I grow older, our relationship begins growing into non-
existence, as well as resentful on my part. The age difference is partly to blame, but the biggest
reason by far is the fact that the discipline Rachel has always resented so much slowly comes to
an end for her but just continues getting worse for me. As the years pass, Rachel has fewer
responsibilities around the house while Im given more. Rachel acts like an entitled princess,
while Im treated like Cinderella. She gets the big birthday parties, I get the chores. Shes
allowed to go out with friends, I get her chores. Shes allowed to use the car, while I do all the
chores. Shes spoiled rotten and gets to do whatever she wants, while I am condemned for how I
carry-out doing the chores. Im confused about the favoritism toward Rachel and it makes me
angry. I miss my older sister; the one whose handlebars I rode on, and who held my hand
crossing the street, but I despise whom shes become even more. Shes self-focused and lazy,
without a care in the world unless its about herself, and the worst part is, its all okay with
mama.

Chapter 3
The Destructive Narcissistic Parent creates a child that only exists to be an extension of
herself. Its about secret things. Its about body language. Its about disapproving glances. Its
about vocal tone. Its very intimate, and its very powerful. Its part of who the child is.
~http://Chris@Fortrefuge.com


My troubles start the night he is bornnot that I know it at the timesince Ive now
become the middle child. Both my parents gush with love and pride over their infant son who is
the first shiny new ornament on our family tree, and my first and only brother resulting from dad
and Alices union. When Peter is old enough, he and I become inseparable, and the older we get,
the more fun we have, especially after mom and dad move us to the house on the hill when Im
eight and Peter is four.
Peter and I love being outside, which is where we are most of the time. I become such a
tomboy there are no limitations as to what we can do together. We have many different and
imaginative adventures because of having grand imaginations. Mama wont let our minds be
stifled with TV which she says kills the imagination, and without an imagination you may as
well open the window and let all desire to play fly outside to play without us. My brother and I
love hiking and pretending were explorers; our bikes become horses, motorcycles, or dragons;
we play catch or swim for hours during the long, hot days of summer. We ride our ponies
through the hills acting as if were the Lone Ranger and Tonto and imagine hikers we see
wandering along the secluded paths as the bad guys. Were hardly ever without something to do,
but inevitably, Peters and my relationship changes as well as Peter learns the dynamic of Alices
and my dissention. The fact he could manipulate situations to meet his needs caused resentment
on my part because of the control he had over me. He knew that I was dependent on him to
intercede between mama and me because without him, my life, up to age seventeen, was almost
unbearable.
If I ever want something from my sweet, little, younger brother, I have to do something for
him, and if I dont, hell go running to mama complaining that I wont play with him...then I hear
itmama yelling; Penny! Get in here right now!
PENELOPE! GET IN HERE! I roll my eyes and inconspicuously glare at Peter as I pass
by him, me on my way to be yelled at, and him heading back to his computer with a smirk on his
face.
Why wont you play with Peter? She asks.
I dont know; I mumble.
What do you mean you dont know? Mama is looking at me with an evil squint as if she
knows an awful secret about me that I couldnt possibly know.
I dont know; I say again in a sad, pathetic, almost inaudible voice.
Why are you being so selfish? Her tone of voice makes me think that she thinks Im trying
to ruin everyones day.
I dont know; I repeat, but Im lying. I dont know is my standard reply because if I told
her how I honestly felt about things, Id be grounded in my room for the remainder of my life.
Who do you think you are? Why are you being so mean and selfish? ANSWER ME!
If only she knew it wasnt meanness and selfishness Im feeling, but resentment. Resentment
at the way she treats Peter and Rachel differently and better than she treats me, and the way Peter
gets his way no matter what even if its at my expense, in addition to how Rachel and Peter dont
have chores but I do and me not understanding why. I know mama would blow a fuse if anyone,
especially her step-middle-child, brought to light the fact she isnt perfect, and shes mean, and
she plays favorites which hurts my feelings tremendously, every minute of every day. Therefore,
its better to say I dont know and make-up a lie as to why Im being mean and selfish, even if
Im not. Eventually, when she realizes she isnt going to get a real answer from me, she tells me
to go play with your brother and you better be nice or else!
What do you want to do? I ask my brother on a daily basis.
Play on the computer, he answers automatically.
Noooo I whine. Lets go outside and ride bikes, or ask if we can go riding and we can
play like were bad guys or play tag. Remember how much fun we had the last time we did
that? Im hoping that reminding him of the fun we had the last time we rode our ponies will
suddenly make him want to jump up and ask mom if we can go riding again because he wants to
go riding and repeat the fun we had the last time.
I dont feel like it; Peter replies. Figures.
Come on, I promise Ill play what you want next time. Please
Even if I want to play on the computer?
Yes, anything! Except, you have to ask, or at least come with me so mama will say yes.
Fine; Peter agrees.
Ever since my parents brought home a computer, and Peter discovered what he could do
with a computer, playing with the computer was all he ever wanted to do. I suppose its the same
as when my mother brought home our first horse and I discovered the joy of riding, then
horseback riding was all I ever wanted to do. However, sitting in the house on a beautiful day,
staring at a screen, pushing buttons, and pretending to drive computerized cars, pilot
computerized planes, destroy computerized men and monsters, or eat some little, yellow
computerized dots, is the dumbest thing I can think of doing. Then again, if what you want to do
doesnt include a horse, even if it is just a bike, or a stick with a twisted-up newspaper for a tail, I
think its a dumb idea. I could live on the back of a horse, my brother, in front of a computer
screen. But if I want my brother to go riding with me ever againIll have to sit in front of the
computer and play computer games for as long as he wants. The only good thing is, me playing a
few games of Pac Man, Space Invaders or Ping Pong always works. I hate that bribing is the only
way to get Peter to go riding with me, but hey, I gotta do what I gotta do.
Mama spoils Peter as much, if not more than Rachel, as well as believing he cant do
anything wrong. If he gets hurt, somehow its my fault because Im older and I should know
better. If something is lost or broken its my fault, because again, Im older and should know
better. If his rooms a mess its my fault as well and I should know better than not help him
clean-up the mess I must have helped create even if I didnt. I sometimes wonder what it is that I
should know better than my brother, but I decide to keep my mouth shut instead of asking what
that something is or Ill be in trouble for not knowing what I should know better. Peter is the
baby of the family and the sunshine in Alices life. Whatever he wants he receives, whatever his
interests are, hes supported no matter how much they cost. My brother and sister are loved and
encouraged in anything they wish for in life, and I remain the step-middle-child Alice can never
be rid of and what can be worse than being the step-middle-child? A step-middle-child who lives
life fearfully and unloved.
The summer before Im to enter the third grade we move into the last house Ill ever live in
with my family; the house on the hill, the house located in the foothills of the Smoggy
Mountains. Ill never forget the address as long as I live since its at this address where my life is
shaped into what and who I become for the better part of the next thirty years.

Chapter 4
I dont know that there are haunted houses.
I know there are dark staircases and Haunted people. ~Robert Brault


There are five acres in all. Our new house sits above all the other homes on our street and is
barely visible from the bottom of a long, curving driveway. Lining the driveway on one side are
tall pink and white flower-filled Oleander bushes. On the other side, a steep grass and Ivy
covered hillside that is supported at the bottom by a railroad tie retaining wall where the Ivy
cascades down over the top. Four of the five acres are undeveloped, still in the natural worlds
natural state, and have winding trails leading all over the foothills that over-look the city. The
house, pool, kennels and corral are spread out on the other one acre where we reside.
The new house seems enormous compared with the last two homes we lived in, with this
new one having an extra-large living room which gives the house an extra-large wow-factor. In
addition to the living room, it also has a family room with an old brick fireplace, but which ends-
up being used as a dining room most of the time along with a smallish kitchen for such a large
house. It has three bedrooms and three bathrooms even though two of the bathrooms are actually
just washrooms or toilet rooms since theyre only half-baths. In the lowest part of the residence,
there is a huge basement that used to be a garage but which my parents convert into a master
suite, thereby turning one of the half-baths into an actual bathroom, or shower-toilet room since
they dont install a bathtub, and giving us all our own rooms. Being that Im only eight when we
first move into this home, whenever I hear the term half-bath I wonder why half-baths are called
half-baths since there is nowhere to take a bath and nobody takes half a bath. Then again, why
are some bathrooms called bathrooms when there isnt even a bathtub? I think about asking but
decide against bothering my parents to question this logic since my questions are usually
answered in a tone that tells me my curiosity isnt appreciated. Oh well, I guess Ill just keep
wondering.
The house sits to the right at the top of the driveway and is built into the hillside. Its tri-
level, with the bedrooms being up six prominent wide steps and the basement sitting below the
bedrooms. The middle part of the house, where the living room, family room and kitchen are
situated, sit on the side of the hill to the right side and center of the bedrooms and basement,
making the arrangement of the house look like a V up on its side. If you head toward the left at
the top of the driveway, a path leads toward the horse corral, and when looking toward the left,
one can see down into the backyards of the neighbors below us through the trees. There are two
magnificent, lush Avocado trees growing at the bottom of the Ivy-covered hill which must be at
least one hundred-years-old going by their size. They produce the largest, tastiest avocados Ive
ever seen or tasted, but unfortunately, go unappreciated because of the abundance and my young
age. Oh, how I wish I could go back now as an avocado-loving adult and make-up for the lack of
appreciation I showed for the glorious green fruit that sat wasting away year after year from pure
ignorance. How sad!
Toward the right-hand-side of the same path and across from the edge of the downside of
the Ivy-covered hill and aforementioned avocado trees, there is a storage/tack shed, hay storage
and dog kennels all lined-up along a rock wall built into the base of the hillside. Continuing on,
you come to the horse corral which was placed along the same hillside, but which was bulldozed
and scraped into a two-story tall wall thus becoming the back side of the corral enclosure. Once
you pass the corral, you come to an area we call the point, where the entire city and beyond is
visible if its a clear day, as well as being a place to let the horses out to graze, roam and play,
and where my brother and I spent most of our time when out playing.
Now, since we own five acres, animals become a way of life for our family. We acquire
many pets while living in the house on the hill, mostly because mama loves her dogs. When I
was younger, Alice showed Collies and we spent many a weekend at local dog shows. After she
gave-up dog showing, we would always have the odd dog here and there which included a Fox
Terrier named Frowzy, a mutt named Lucky and Hershey, the last Collie my mother ever owned.
Along with the dogs, we eventually acquire five various size horses and ponies because mama
apparently loves horses as well as dogs, though one couldnt have guessed by how little time she
spent with them and sometimes I think she only owns horses just to be able to say she owns
horses. Whatever the case may be, Im just happy we have them because of my loving horses
more than anything else in the world.
Besides dogs and horses, we usually have a cat or two at different times, but who always run
the risk of losing one of its nine lives by venturing outside given that while on the prowl, the
hunter becomes the hunted by the various wildlife which usually ends in us having one less cat.
We usually have chickens as pets as well, not to mention fresh eggs, but it seems along with the
cats, theyre just another contribution to the feeding of the aforementioned wildlife. Back in the
day, there were very few houses in the hills of Niceville, so my brother and I had the run of the
place along with an abundance of birds and animals like squirrels, rabbit, mice, skunk, raccoons,
lizards, hawks, owls and Blue Jays, in addition to hundreds of other types of birds who called the
foothills their home. Packs of Coyote and hundreds of rattlesnakes thrived on the hillsides and
property surrounding the house, and we could often watch the coyote from the living room
window, creeping close to the house for a little investigating as well as having many close
encounters with the snakes. It was me, who most of the time came within inches of a perfectly
hidden rattler while reaching for the hose, a rake or a ball partially hidden by Ivy or rocks, and in
doing so, almost stepping on its tightly coiled body. Waking a snake from its afternoon nap
always causes extreme anger on its part no matter what the reason. Even if Im just going about
minding my own business of trying not to get myself into trouble, or the fact its the snakes own
fault it was disturbed because of deciding to take a nap on our one acre of the property, nope,
these things dont matter to a rattlesnake. They go wherever they please and considering how
cranky they are when disturbed, its surprising they even gave me a warning rattle instead of a
quick bite in making sure I get the message about leaving them be while they snooze.
Thankfully, the warnings gave me time to jump out of the way, and with my heart in my throat, I
run screaming for my dad, our snake terminator, who quickly terminates the dangerous
trespasser with a bullet to the head. Afterward, he chops off the rattle and puts it in our ever
filling jar ofrattles. My hero!


Chapter 5
I knew I was an unwanted baby when
I saw my bath toys were a toaster and a radio.
~Joan Rivers


Im lost. Im eight-years-old and in the third grade, and its the first day of the first week in
my new school after we move to the new house, and Im lost. I have to walk home from school
for the first time since moving to the foothills.
Do you think you can find your way home? Mama asks me.
Yes.
Are you sure?
Yes, I insist; even though Im not sure, but Im not about to tell mama Im not sure since
failure isnt in her book of possible conclusions. I know I have to head up Mayflower Ave.
toward the hills, I know that much at leastI think. I wish Id paid more attention to how we get
home while in the car, but its hard to care about how you get from one place to another when
youve just turned eight and caring about directions is the last thing on your mind because of
knowing youll always end-up in the right place even when not caring how it happens. However,
now Im in charge of getting myself to the right place so now I care a lot, not that the fact I now
care is helping. When I reach the Y at the end of the road, I turn left and continue uphill as I
know I should. I then come to a tree that grows in the middle of a second Y where I have the
option to go up and to the right of the tree, or down and to the left of the tree. I could go back the
way I came, but I know for sure that the way I came was the right way to come so Im not going
to turn around and go back because that would be dumb, and Im not dumb. Nevertheless, I still
get confused at the choice I have to make even though Ive eliminated one of the choices.
Everything looks familiar and unfamiliar at the same time and thats a problem. Should I
head up the street or down to the left and around the turn? I cant remember. My stomach is
starting to bubble and feel woozy but I try to be brave. I decide to head down around the turn. As
I walk, I try to find a street that looks like the street we live on but its confusing because all the
streets look like our street, except they dont. I know we live on a hillside, but there are hills with
houses all along to the right of me, but still, I cant find our driveway. I again tell myself that I
need to start caring how I get from one place to another while in the car from now on, so I never
again get lost on streets that look like our street but not quite. A few more minutes pass and
eventually mama pulls up in the car. Great, I guess I actually am lost if I have to be rescued.
Where ya heading? She asks in a sardonic tone as I open the car door. I now feel
embarrassed for failing to find my way home and scared because mama hates when I fail. The
next time you need to keep heading up as I told you to do this morning; she explains to me as
she drives home. I dont know the look on her face or the tone she uses; I just know it makes me
feel small and dumb even though I tried my best not to be dumb.

I wet the bed again. Why do I keep doing that? Im eight, almost nine, and I cant stop
wetting the bed in the middle of the night. This time though, I hide my underwear and pajamas
and hope that maybe theyll dry before mama does the laundry. I go down to the basement and
into the laundry room, and then hide them under a pile of clothes. I go back to my room to deal
with the bed. I have to make it while its still wet because if I change my sheets mama will know
for sure I did it again. I just need to act as if nothing happened. It works. I make it to school, but
worry all day about her finding outshe always finds outdont ask me how but she does. I
walk home and in an instant shes in front of me holding my underwear. My stomach drops and I
feel sick within that second.
You wet the bed again?
Yes. Its more of a nod than an actual word since my throat feels as if its closing.
And you tried to hide it? She seethes.
Yes, I mumble.
WHY?
You know whyI hear a voice in my head answer her question before I answer. I dont
know, the real me mutters. I then wonder what she wants me to say. I know she knows I tried to
hide my wetting the bed to avoid being punished, so why does she insist on hearing me say it?
Well, youll have plenty of time to think about whyfollow me. I know whats coming as
I follow her down to the basement laundry room. She takes my underwear, which are still damp,
and puts them over my head so that the wet crotch is in the middle of my face and the leg holes
become eyeholes, and now I look like some kind of underwear superhero even though Im
anything but a superhero since I know for a fact, superheroes dont wet their beds. Needless to
say, I dont feel especially super. I tell her that Im sorry, but being sorry doesnt matter and it
certainly wont keep me from wetting the bed like sitting alone in the basement laundry room
with wet underwear on my face will.
Now you can sit here and think about why youre wetting the bed and why you hid it from
me!
I cry as I sit alone in a pile of dirty clothes in the dark basement laundry room with my dirty
underwear on my face; its all I can do.
Bedwetting
The emotional neglect of a child can lead to bedwetting. If the child is ignored or comes from a
disrupted home, he will likely lack emotional stability. Children with a history of abuse or
neglect or who are adopted or placed in foster care may also start to wet the bed as a response
to this stress. (By Heather Topham Wood)
From the outside, we look like the perfect, all-American family living on a perfect all-
American street in a perfect all-American city. Looking in from the outside, Im sure everyone
thought we were the perfect family, with the hard-working, self-employed father, the stay-at-
home mom and their three well-behaved children. We have the large house on five acres in a
desirable neighborhood, a pool, a fishing boat, a new motor home, five horses and theres usually
a new car in the driveway. We attend a private Christian school and usually go to church on
Sunday, but all is not what it seems, and by the time Im nine-years-old, were all starting to
realize mama isnt happy anymore. Im starting to feel more and more nervous and inadequate
around her as Im learning what being a step-middle-child entails. Even so, Alice is my mom and
I love her and I want her to love me and theres no changing that fact.
Life Problems
Parental verbal aggression (e.g., yelling, insulting) or symbolic aggression (e.g., slamming a
door, giving the silent treatment) toward children can have serious consequences. Children who
experience these forms of abuse demonstrate higher rates of physical aggressiveness,
delinquency and interpersonal problems than other children. Children whose parents are
additionally physically abusive are even more likely to experience such difficulties.
(http://www.thisiswar.com)
My mother has complete control. She has control of every aspect of my life including my
appearance. Im given no choice on the matter, but Ive learned its much better to wear what she
picks for me than risk upsetting her. Sometimes, if she cant find something she approves of,
shell make my clothes because according to her, its hard to find clothes to fit my tall, skinny
frameso I have to make them; she constantly reminds me. Like there have never been tall,
skinny girls before me? I love it! I say every time she makes me some frilly dress. I cant tell her
that I hate it, which I do, and dont want to wear it, which I dont, and Im going to be made fun
of, which I am and will she just stop practicing her sewing and making me her guinea pig! If I
told her things like that Id sound terribly ungrateful for her time and effort and then she might
like me less than she already does. Therefore, I just try my best to make her feel good about
herself and her sewing ability so shell believe Im the easiest step-middle-child to please in the
whole wide world.
When I do receive store bought clothes which consists mostly of tee-shirts, jeans or shorts in
the summer, theyre usually a size or two too large for some reason, still; its better than wearing
homemade clothes so Im happy. School is the exception. I love the fact were required to wear
uniforms since I dont have fashionable clothes like other kids. Even so, the vest I must wear as
part of my uniform is homemade which is just another experiment on my moms part. As usual
she insists that Im so skinny there isnt a vest to be had that will fit me, except, I seem to be the
only one who has this problem, however, Ill do anything to avoid AlicesIm so disgusted
with you lookwhich I hate more than anything else besides theyoure so stupid I want to
screamtone of voice. Though I must say, my absolute worst fear is my moving down another
wrung on her ladder of so-called motherly love; so if avoiding all these thing means pretending
to love ugly, baggy clothes, so be it. My people-pleasing days have just begun.
Parent/Child Interaction
A behavioral occurrence between parent and victimized child is a role reversal of sorts. In this
instance, the child is particularly sensitive to the mood of the parent, willing to adapt his
behavior to the parents at all costs. He may try to settle any potential conflict that arises for
fear of making the parent angry, although conflict resolution is normally initiated by the parent.
(By Spencer Hendricks, eHow Contributor)
My siblings and I attend a Baptist Christian school where girls are not allowed to wear
pants, and if you do wear pants, youre committing a cardinal sin because of causing the entire
male race to commit the even bigger sin of lust, and once that happens were all doomed to the
fires of hell. Consequently, Im convinced of the damnation which awaits me for wearing man-
pants, so one day after school I decide, even though Im feeling sick from my nervous stomach,
that I must tell mama Ive made my own decision about not wearing pants, and hopefully,
because its a religious decision, she wont kill me for thinking Im someone who can make my
own decisions.
I get in the car and announce to Rachel, Peter and mama that Im no longer going to wear
pants because of being doomed to burn in hell if I do, when out of nowhere, instantaneous
laughter fills the car. Mama says good luck with that, but still manages to flash me her evil,
squinty, hateful look in the rear-view mirror as I expected she would. Her expression tells me
that she thinks my not wearing pants wont last, but Im determined to show her that I mean what
I say. Therefore, its skirts for class, and culottes for P.E., and from now on, culottes for
everything else I do as well. At least I survived the whole stomach-wrenching ordeal, getting
away with just a sarcastic comment and one nasty look in the rearview mirror. Im astounded
that I was able to accomplish something that wasnt my mothers idea, and I thought not wearing
pants would be easy, but as I age and the hair on my legs begins to grow, I quickly became
exceedingly self-conscience about wearing dresses since my leg hair starts to resemble long
brown fur. Knee-highs are my only salvation, and without them, I would have died from
devastating embarrassment since I cant ask to shave my legs. Asking if I can shave my legs
would bring attention to the fact that I was growing-up, and since I dont think mama wants me
to grow-up, asking to shave my legs is out of the question. Im now overturning my decision to
eliminate pants from my wardrobe, not only because of my tomboyish lifestyle, but also because
of my embarrassment over my hairy legs. I feel stupid and ashamed for not following through
with my decision to not wear pants because now I look like a quitter and someone who cant
follow through with her decisions. I can tell mama feels all proud of herself for knowing my not
wearing pants would never last and that makes me angry with herand myself.
Shoes are the vain of my existence as far as my wardrobe goes, and its all because I have to
wear my shoes until there are holes where my toes go, or the soles of my cowboy boots are
flapping up and down with each step I take before I can have new ones.
Why dont you just ask your mom for new boots? The neighborhood kids ask me as if its
the most normal thing in the world to ask your parents for new shoes.
I cant, shell get mad, I say; since I cant really explain the confusion that happens when I
ask for something because of my not understanding it either.
For asking for new boots? They look at me like they dont get it, or they think the fact that
mama will get mad for my asking for new shoes is weird, or maybe that Im weird and then I feel
stupid and embarrassed because of being weird.
At first, I figure mama must be waiting to buy me shoes for some reason that only she
knows sowho am I to question her reasons. Therefore, I put off my asking and wait to see what
happens. After waiting as long as I can with no new shoes in sight, I start thinking that maybe if
Im extra helpful, mama will finally think I deserve new shoes without me having to ask for
them, but that doesnt work either. I now figure she wants me to ask for new boots or shoes when
I need them even though she already knows I do, except, she also knows how hard it is for me to
ask for anything because of being so afraid of her. If I ever do get up enough courage to actually
ask for boots, shoes or anything else for that matter, it sounds more like a timid suggestion
instead of a request since I never know how shell react. My timidity just makes her angrier and
more disgusted with me than the asking does in the first place, so the whole asking ordeal is just
a never-ending vicious circle.
Speak up! Whats wrong with you?
I dont know.
What do you mean you dont know? Now what? Why are you crying?
I dont know
The whole situation is confusing, frustrating and nerve-racking, and all these feelings finally
spill out of me by way of tears. Im confused because it seems mama hates when I clomp around
in my worn-out boots or shoes as if I want people to feel sorry for me, but at the same time, she
acts as if she hates when I ask for anything as if I think I deserve anything, and who do I think I
am to think that. It also seems as if she hates the fact Im so afraid of her because she acts all
disgusted with me when I act afraid, then her disgust turns to anger which leads to me getting the
dreaded look, which just scares me even more. If I try to pretend Im not afraid and act casual
and normal, or as normal as I can when I talk to her, my heart starts beating in my ears and my
stomach feels as if its going to fall out of my butt. None of my trying to be brave or normal ever
works because as soon as she looks at me with her look, which now seems to be her permanent
expression whenever Im around, my resolve melts away like ice cream on a hot day and then
shes angry yet again because Im scared.
Blame
The verbal abuser will always blame you if something goes wrong. Because the things that
you have done make the abuser angry and abusive, the anger and abuse she inflicts become
your fault as well. (Steven Stosny, Ph.D., Psychology Today)
Dorothy Hamill is mamas idol. What other reason could there be for the fifteen years Im
made to endure the Dorothy Hamill haircut? I must say, Dorothy has had a significant impact on
my childhood until about nineteen years of age, mainly because of how ugly and boyish the short
haircut made me feel.
It makes you look so cute! Is what I hear every time mama gets done cutting. Sometimes,
I agree the style is cute and easy to take care of, but half the time mama chops my hair way too
short then the chop-job just makes me look more like a boy than I already do with my tall, thin,
stick-figure frame. Granted, if you squint and tilt your head sideways, I do kinda look like
Dorothy Hamill with my short, straight brown hair, but the difference is, she looks like a girl
with her cute little skating outfits that go with her cute little face and her cute little haircut, and I
dont. Come to find out years later, Dorothy admits to hating her famous haircut as much as I
did. Can you believe it?
I wish I can have long hair, but anytime I mention growing out Dorothys hairstyle, mama
just makes a tsk sound, rolls her eyes and tells me that Im better off with short hair. She tells me
I wouldnt want to have to deal with long tangled hair every day, and besides, you look cuter
dont forget cuterwith Dorothy Hamills haircut. Mama knows I hang on any compliment I
receive from her so she uses them like weapons to manipulate my feelings knowing Ill agree
with anything she says with the hope of clinging onto a moment of kindness from her. Therefore,
I keep Dorothys short cut if only to keep mama happy.
Manipulation
The verbal abuser uses any means to get you to conform to her will. Shell use threats,
humiliation and insults, or she may go to the other end of the spectrum and charm you with
compliments and promises. Either way, her words are meant to achieve her own goals and to get
you to do what she wants you to do, even if its something that makes you uncomfortable. (By
Yvette Sajem, eHow Contributor)
Besides being boy short, I have dirty hair. Dirty, greasy, boy short hair. My hair is usually
dirty since I have to ask to take a bath or shower and that means mama having to take time out of
her evening to wash my hair. For some reason, she feels the need to come into the bathroom
never mind that Im naked, or that I care that she sees me nakedand wash my hair until Im
around twelve or thirteen years of age. Maybe this is the reason she doesnt want me to have
long hair...because she doesnt want to wash long tangled hair. Doesnt she know she wouldnt
have to take care of my long hair because I can take care of my own hair, long, short or tangled?
The fact I have to ask her to wash my hair, which means her doing something for me, is
paralyzingly frightening even if it is her decision to be in charge of washing her unworthy step-
middle-childs hair. The idea of asking if I can wash my own hair is equally as terrifying so I
keep my mouth shut. I figure there must be a reason she wants to wash my hair, and who do I
think I am to decide that I dont need her to wash my hair anymore. I sometimes wonder if Id be
in trouble if I took a bath or shower without asking but I dont dare find out. But then, why do I
have to ask in the first place? Mama probably thinks I dont care that my hair is greasy or that I
smell like a horse, when in reality, I just dont want to ask for something she doesnt feel I
deserve even if that means being dirty. When I am dirty, why cant she just tell me to take a bath
like a normal mother? Why doesnt she care when my hair is dirty or I smell like the hillside?
Im so scared, confused and frustrated I want to scream, but instead, I just continue to function as
long as I can without a bath until I cant stand for other people to see my greasy hair for one
more day, or until I can find the courage to face my fear of having to ask mama foranything.
Neglect
Child neglect, a very common type of child abuse is a pattern of failing to provide for a childs
basic needs, whether it be adequate food, clothing, hygiene, or supervision. Clothes are ill-
fitting, filthy, or inappropriate for the weather. Hygiene is consistently bad (unbathed, matted
and unwashed hair, noticeable body odor) as well as untreated illnesses and physical injuries.
(Melinda Smith, M.A. Jeanne Segal, Ph.D.)
Turning twelve is a turning point in my life because of being struck with a life-changing
affliction. Its the greatest form of distress during my pre-teen and teen years. Im in a constant
state of embarrassment, which in turn, causes a significant shyness and loss of self-esteem. When
I reach puberty, the mighty god of teen acne descends upon my face with it arsenal of bacteria
and infection and destroys any shred of dignity I have in me. Great cysts form, and I pick and
squeeze and stick them with needles to drain the puss, leaving them looking like swollen, red,
scabby welts on my face. Why God why? I ask God on a regular basis what I did to deserve this
repulsive burden. Why do I have this dreadful affliction? First, I have to deal with mama, now
pimples? Is it because of some sin I dont know Im doing? I then start going through a list of
sins I think Im committing, asking God to forgive me, and if He forgives me then maybe Hell
clear up my face.
Dear god! What happened to your face? Total strangers will ask me. How do I answer a
total stranger whos staring at me and asking whats happened to my face when there isnt
anything I can say since I dont know whats happened, except for the fact that the teen acne god
has cursed me.
I dont know is all I can say. I also dont know what to do about my pimples except try
to fight them using whatever Im told will do the trick. Dab some bleach on those pimples,
theyll be gone before morning; someone tells me. I go home, get a cotton ball and some bleach
then soak my face, but all I get is a raw, burning face. Try lemon juice; another says. Again, raw,
dry skin. How bout peroxide? Alcohol? Salt water? Plain ol soap; get a sunburn; stay out of the
sun; stop washing your face so often; wash your face three times a day; stop eating
chocolatewhoa now, lets not get carried away!
Nothing is working. I cant look anyone in the face out of complete and utter
embarrassment, and now I completely and utterly hate going out in public. I walk with my head
down ninety-nine percent of the time and try to hide if someone comes to the house. I see
commercials on TV for acne medications and out of total desperation will dredge up the courage
to timidly suggest to mama that maybe I could try one, but she just tells me, in no uncertain
terms, that those medications dont work. They only say they do so desperate, acne-ridden kids
like me will whine and manipulate unsuspecting parents out of their hard earned cash for a
product that promises clear skin, but in actuality, wont deliver. Just keep washing your face,
eventually itll clear up. Therefore, I wash and scrub and scrub and wash, but my face never gets
any clearer.
With my baggy jeans, t-shirts and boots, always being dirty from working, hiking, playing
or taking care of the horses, along with my greasy, boy short hair and pimple covered face, youd
never know I wasnt a boy unless you asked me my name. I wear the same thing every day,
everywhere, except at school and church if I can help it. I dont mind though, since Id rather
look like a boy than a baby wearing mamas frilly homemade dresses, which I think she only
makes for me because she wants to practice her sewing, or its too hard or too much trouble to
find clothes to fit my tall, skinny toothpick frame.
I dread Sunday mornings most of all being its the day I have to wear my homemade dresses
with white ankle socks and flat brown sandals, while my sister along with my friends from
school, wear nylons and heels with their store-bought dresses, looking pretty and normal. I
become a different person on Sundays as I try to avoid eye contact with everyone I know and
strangers alike, so maybe they wont realize the pimply-faced monster who looks like a boy with
short dirty hair, wearing a homemade dress with white anklets, brown sandals and furry legs is
me. When were finally on our way home, I can relax knowing Im headed for the seclusion of
the house, the hills and the horses, and away from the eyes of friends and strangers unless of
course, mama is in a bad mood.
Abusive Mothers
The abuse that mothers inflict on daughters is generally emotional in nature. Even in cases of
physical abuse, mothers tend to slap their daughters as a means of emotional degradation. In
many cases, the abuse is verbal. Some abusive mothers actively degrade their daughters with
insults and gestures. Other times, the abuse is more subtle. An abusive mother may simply ignore
the daughter or unconsciously speak to her in a negative way. In many of these cases, abusive
mothers are channeling their own psychological issues into a negative relationship with their
daughters. (By Alexander Eliot, eHow Contributor) Because verbal/emotional abuse often
accompanies other types of abuse it is difficult to prove and is rarely reported, accounting for
only about 6 percent of confirmed cases. (Healthofchidren.com)

Chapter 6
Every beginning is a consequenceevery beginning ends something. ~Paul Valery


From ages eight until nineteen, chores become the grout that holds the tiles of my life
together. I wake early every morning and do chores. I come home from school and do chores.
The house and property bare tokens of assiduous care all thanks to my constant attentiveness to
anything out-of-place, out-of-order, dirty, cluttered or in any state of unkemptness. Even on the
weekends, which are in the childs mind, two glorious days of freedom from school, homework
or any other weekday monotony, nothing changes for me except that Im now home all day to do
the extra, odd chore. These additional weekend chores are jobs that can take hours or the whole
two days. When theyre done, and only after a thorough inspection, then, and only then may I go
out and play. If I dont look busy or have something to do, Im assigned some random task since
theres no point in just sitting around doing nothing. Inside or out, it doesnt matter, if something
needs to be cleaned, cleared, sorted, moved, put-away, washed, swept, trimmed or found,
somehow I look as if I have nothing else to do no matter what Im doing. I could be reading,
drawing, riding my bike, watching TV or just hanging outside with the dogs, chickens, horses or
Peter when suddenly, cutting through the air like an arrow Ill hear; PENELOPE! or
PENNY! depending on mamas mood. If she uses my full name, I know Im in trouble, if not,
I know Ill still be doing some sort of monotonous job but at least there wont be threats and put-
downs.
The only time I know for sure the day wont be so bad is after a night of hearing moans and
groans coming from my parents room. Mama still wakes-up cheerfully on these days, and will
come into the kitchen with a big, Good Morning! for everyone including me. Its only then
when I can smile, inside and out with relief knowing the day might not be so bad. How mama
can wake-up happy after sounding as if shes getting tortured for what seems like hours is
beyond me. I love those days and just wish the moaning and groaning happened more often, no
matter how anxious or confused the sounds make me. Even so, as I stand obediently in front of
my mother and take my orders like a good little step-middle-child as Ive done a million times
before, Im wishing, by the time mama is finished saying what shes saying, that my head would
explode. I just want to be done being the go-to child when theres work to do and just be a
normal kid for a day and go out and play.

The Beginning
Once upon a time, there was a girl. She loved life and loved her family. In fact, she loved
them so much she was willing to do anything to show them how much she loved them. One
day, while watching as her mother cleaned the bathroom, the girl asks if she could clean the
bathroom for her. It makes her mother so happy, she tells the girl from that day on she can
clean all the bathrooms for her. The little girl is overjoyed shes able to make her mother so
happy that she cant wait to help again; for then her mother will surely love her forever.
However, things suddenly start changing. Her mother isnt happy with her anymore, in
fact, she seems angry with her more now than ever before. After a while, the mother tells
the little girl that from then on, she not only must clean the bathrooms, but she must wash
the dishes every day as well. Then one day her mother tells her to do all of her sisters and
her brothers chores besides everything else since her siblings were much too busy with
other activities to do chores. Before long, she has to do all the dusting and all the
vacuuming and all the sweeping as well as anything else that needs doing along with
cleaning the bathrooms and washing the dishes. The list of chores continued to get longer
and longer but no matter how often or how well she accomplished the jobs assigned to her,
the girls mother kept getting angrier and angrier! Soon, the little girl felt her mother must
hate her, for she was never happy with the girl again.

I once saw an old picture of my father at my grandparents house. It was of my dad when he
was around twenty years of age. Dad was the typical 50s jock with black slicked-back hair and
sideburns, rolled-up jeans, and a white t-shirt with his cigarettes rolled-up in his sleeve. He was
as cute as any rock and roller or movie star of the day. My dad is about 510 and slim. As he
ages he stays thin, except for a small potbelly which is the only place he ever gains weight. He
isnt a heavy drinker, and the only unpleasant habit I know of is his smoking which mama says
she hates. Along with being a disgusting habit, she says it will kill him someday for sure. She
then looks at my brother, sister and me and adds, It will kill you too if you decide to start
smoking! Except, we all hate breathing in the smoke from dads cigarettes so we all say, Yuck,
no way! and promise never to start smoking especially since mama and the church tell us God
doesnt like smoking either. I do wonder sometimes whom dad is in trouble with more because
of his smoking, mama or God, but since mama smokes in secret, I think it must be God both
mama and daddy should be worried about.
Dad starts his own business after working for a leading department store for many years.
Hes then on his way to business success and early retirement. He hires two employees, Eddie
and a little Taiwanese man we call Soapy because of his name being Taiwanese as well as
having about twenty letters in it and since we cant pronounce his real name and it starts with
Soap, we nickname Soapy, Soapy. Soapy and Eddie work for dad for over fourteen years, with
both being dependable and loyal. My dad is a hard-worker and a fair boss so his business grows
and dad becomes the man about town. Years later, he starts up a second business which is
successful as well because of the quality workmanship my father expects. The only problem is
that while dad is out becoming successful and being the man about town, hes hardly home and it
seems we never see him except at dinner. Hes the classic father who leaves the house and
raising of the kids to his wife, so he either doesnt see or refuses to acknowledge whats
happening under his own roof.
Now, I do know that most fathers work during the day and are usually only home in the
evenings and on the weekends, so I suppose my dad is home the customary amount of time that
is expected of a dad. I also suppose that maybe the reason I feel I never see him is because of
always being preoccupied with mama. Dealing with her, trying to appease her or finding ways to
escape her take-up every minute of my life, with no time left for anything, or anyone, unless its
the horses. Dad will sometimes take Rachel, Peter and I out on the weekends, except, our
weekend excursions to the beach, or some random boat, car or gun show usually coincides with
mama being in a bad mood or a fight the night before. But, at least were with dad and not with
her which is always a relief for me, even if my dad spending time with us is only an escape on
his part. The times my father is home, I know he knows mama is usually aggravated with me for
one thing or another as well as yelling at me for one thing or another or that Im always doing
chores or grounded in my room. I also know that he knows that Rachel and Peter are never being
yelled at or doing chores and are always relaxed and happy, however, he never brings it up.
Someday, I hope hell find the differences between my siblings and I unusual and perhaps
discuss this fact with mama. Maybe then hell be able to put a stop to the favoritism and abuse
and just stand up for me for gods sakebut my dad standing up for me never happens.
Victimization
In cases where mothers are abusive and the other parent turns their head, children often develop
cases of victimization in adulthood. They often come to lie at one of two extremes: either the
child puts themselves into positions so that they become a victim or they learn that they have a
high degree of control in their life and become overly aggressive. (By Peter Grant, eHow
Contributor)
Sometimes, if dad and I happen to be alone for a few minutes, hell ask whats going on
with me, always speaking in a real quiet voice in case mom is within earshot. He usually wants
to avoid her knowing that hes speaking with me to avoid the trouble hell find himself in if she
knew.
Why is mom always mad at you? He asks me, lighting a cigarette as he does.
I dont know, I tell him; except, Im telling the truth about not knowing this time. Dad
exhales his inhaled smoke above his head so as not to blow it in my face then flicks the ashes in
the ashtray.
Well, what are you doing? Are you doing something to make her mad?
No, Im not doing anything; I say exasperatedly. She says Im not doing what she tells
me to dobut I am.
You must not be doing something; he insists. I just shrug and scan my brain for something
I might be missing, anything that might make my troubled existence make sense. All I can do is
shrug again. Dad then tries to explain why Alice gets so angry and that I should just try to deal
with her emotional ups and downs, but nothing he says makes any sense. Its then that I realize
he has no idea my whole life is about dealing with her fanatical ups and downs with the real
problem being, not knowing when shell explode.
She just gets stressed out sometimes, thats all; he adds as if this one realization will make
it all better. He thinks she gets stressed out? If anyone gets stressed outits me. I stand in front
of him not accepting the excuses hes making for her, all the while, hes looking at me as if I
should understand what hes talking about when nothing hes said imparts any wisdom on my
situation nor helps change it one bit.
Just try to stay outta troubleshe does love you, you know.
Yeah, except she makes me feel like she hates me; I tell him, then wonder why my dad
feels as if he has to tell me my own mother loves me as if theres a question. There isntis
there?
Its hard for dad to talk to me like a father. I know hes trying, but his trying just ends up
sounding more like hes sympathizing with me as a fellow-sufferer in persecution than sounding
like the head of the household or leader of the family type of father I see on TV or hear about at
church. Were actually just two peas-in-a-pod trying to figure out a way to keep the peace so that
maybe, just maybe, he and I can live our lives with a little peace and calm ourselves
occasionally. Dad uses work as an excuse for avoiding our lives; not that I blame him. Its a lot
easier for him to come home and be the happy-go-lucky dad than confront any issues he thinks
might need confronting. When he does come home at the end of the day and I see or hear him
driving up the driveway, my stomach and heart jump with relief, and fear. My dad being home
means mama will be directing her anger and disgust at him, which gives me a reprieve and thus
the relief, but if shes mad at him it will be worse for me, thus the fear.
Sometimes, when dad gets home from work, hell make himself a martini which means hes
relaxed and things are good at the moment between him and Alice. But when dad drinks, it
tempts mama to take a sip of his martini or have one herself and then my heart drops, because no
matter how little she drinks as soon as the alcohol moves into her system the change begins, like
a werewolf on a full moon. First, shell become oddly quiet for someone who always seems to
have something to scream about with the expression on her face growing dark like storm clouds
moving across a sunny blue sky. A voice in my head then screams for me to run for cover, so I
run to my room or start double-checking the cleanliness of the bathrooms or start setting the table
for dinner if need be, anything to seem as if Im the best step-middle-child in the world, though
Im wishing invisibility was an option. Even so, its inevitable, the tongue lashing thats coming
as well as the barrage of accusations and questions about my alleged failures, but being yelled at
while dinner is being prepared is becoming the norm even when mama doesnt take a sip of
dads martini which only makes the inevitable worse.
PENELOPE! I hurry downstairs to the kitchen.
WHY DIDNT YOU DO WHAT I SAID? She screams.
I dont know. I did do what you said.
WHY DONT YOU LISTEN TO ME?
I didI do; I mutter. I dont know what to say. What do I say? What should I say?!
SPEAK UP!
I dont know. I did listen to you! Did I miss something? I dont think soWhat did I miss?
WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DONT KNOW? HOW COULD YOU NOT KNOW?
I dont know; I say again, but crying now in my confusion. What do you mean?
What do you think I mean?
Think! Think! What didnt I do? Im panicking now. I dont know; I mumble again.
WHATS WRONG WITH YOU!?! WHAT ARE YOU CRYING ABOUT NOW? DO
YOU WANT ME TO GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT? I then wonder why she
says shell give me something to cry about when I already have something to cry about.
No. Sniffle, sniffle. Im crying because youre yelling at me and accusing me of not doing
what I know I did What IS wrong with me?
I TOLD YOU TO DUST THE LIVING ROOM!
I did dust it? I whimper. I know I did.
OH, REALLY?
YesI did dust. What is she talking about? My minds racing again, trying to remember
if there is anything I might have missed or forgotten.
Then why does the table leg still have dust on it?
I dont know. Sniffle, sniffle.
When I tell you to do something, I EXPECT YOU TO DO IT AND DO IT PROPERLY!
I know I forgot the table leg?
THEN WHY DIDNT YOU DO IT THE RIGHT WAY? Do you like being grounded? Do
you like making me angry? Cant you do one thing properly? I wash your clothes and make your
dinner and you cant do one thing I ask?
I really hate when she asks me these kinds of questions and I wonder, does she actually want
an answer?
No, noI dont know what you mean!
I dont know what she wants me to say. Whats the right answer? Is there a right answer? I
wipe my nose to keep it from dripping, and so I can stop sniffling because all Im focusing on
right now is how much my nose runs when I cry and how I cant stop sniffling, which in turn
causes me to not pay attention to what mama is saying when all of a sudden she yells
WELL? ANSWER ME!!
I dont know; I mumble. Im so confused now. I didnt hear what she said because of
concentrating on my drippy nose.
WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DONT KNOW? Did you even hear what I said? Are you
even listening?
Yesssss. Sniffle-sniffle.
Then what did I say?
Uh-oh. Idontknow; I say whimpering and snifflingstupid nose. I wipe it with the
back of my hand because for some reason the thought of standing here being yelled at while
sniffling or letting snot run down onto my upper lip makes me feel even smaller and more stupid
than I already feel and Im trying to cling to some sort of dignity even if my clinging isnt
working.
I realize a big problem is that my I dont knows only infuriate my mother and just get me
slapped across the face or more time in my room to think about why I dont know. Now I have to
come up with a reason why I dont know why I didnt do what she told me to do, even if I did, or
why I dont know why I dont listen to her, even though I do, which, as you might expect means
Ill never be able to answer her questions. But what mama doesnt know is when I tell her I dont
know, it means I dont know what to say. What does she want me to say when I honestly dont
know how to answer her since shes already made up her mind. To top it all off, it doesnt matter
what I say, and whatever she says is always followed up with her usual threat ofor else!
The tongue-lashings get old in a hurry being this is the routine at least four nights a week,
but as the years go by, my mind starts wandering so badly during the verbal assaults, I only pick-
up bits and pieces of whats being bellowed at me. I completely detach from my body and
usually end-up in a field of flowers. No worries though, the accusations, put-downs and threats
are always the same as well as the subject of every attack, so when I come back to reality Im
able to pick-up the gist of whatever point shes trying to drive home thereby avoiding the trouble
Id be in for not listening. She rarely notices when Im mentally not there, just like Dad, Rachel
and Peter dont notice the yelling anymore and just continue sitting in the living room watching
TV while I stand in the kitchen getting torn to shreds. Sometimes I cry, sometimes not depending
on how vicious Alice is beingAND GET THAT LOOK OFF YOUR FACE BEFORE I SLAP
IT OFF!! I then wonder what look shes talking about since I certainly dont feel like I have a
look, unless a blank stare is a look. Mama continues on and on as I continue to stand and stare at
her with my blank stare when suddenly her hand comes out of nowhere and slaps me across the
face, knocking me backwards against the oven as I start crying from the shock and pain. I listen
as she reminds me that she warned me about my look and now shes warning me to stop crying
or elseso I try my hardest to stop crying but then I start sniffling all over again. No one ever
comes in to save me, not my brother, my sister, my father or a knight in shining armor, but can I
blame them? With mama yelling at me about everything and anything including things that make
no sense at all, nobody is going to come in and risk getting themselves in trouble, or slapped for
having a look on their face that they didnt know they had, nevertheless, it doesnt keep me from
hoping.
Effects of Abuse
Child victims of physical abuse often seem to be alert or watchful, as if expecting something to
happen, and may shy away or flinch from sudden movement. (By Shewanda Pugh, eHow
Contributor) Children who experience rejection are more likely than accepted children to exhibit
hostility, aggressive or passive-aggressive behavior, to be extremely dependent, to have negative
opinions of themselves and their abilities, to be emotionally unstable or unresponsive, and to
have a negative perception of the world around them. (http://www.thisiswar.com)

Chapter 7
When in doubt, mumble.


Mama; thats what my siblings and I call her even though Im eleven now. Mama is a term
of endearment, yet I feel wrong calling mamaMama, because there are no endearment terms
between us. Mama; thats what babies say and Im not a baby even though she makes me feel
like a baby, but not in a good way. She doesnt spoil me, cuddle me or love me, but instead
makes me feel dumb and small and weak and having to call her mama makes me sound like I
cant think for myself and Im pretty sure that is what she wants. Rachel and Peter call her
mama, but it sounds okay when they call her that, and them calling her mama fits them well
because she does spoil them, cuddle them and love them.
I wish I could call mama, mom, but for some reason Im terrified to try. I think if I do shell
think I think Im growing-up and getting too big for my britches, and then shell ask me, Who do
you think you are? I never know how to answer this question because I know she knows Im
Penny, but if I answerIm Penny, shell accuse me of thinking shes stupid, so I say I dont
know even though I do. For that reason, and as a result of being treated like a baby, Ill continue
to call her mama and I will until Im grown up enough, or brave enough, to call her plain ol
mom.
The Unfavored Child
The unfavored child, who is often on the receiving end of the parents anger, suffers even long
after he or she has left home whether it be through depression, weakened self-esteem or a
chronic need to feel special. Theyre more likely to be depressed because they spent so much of
their lives trying to court parental favor that they may not have developed their own personality,
furthermore, wondering all the time what is wrong with them that they are invisible and
unwanted, all the while fading into the background learning to be needless, want-less, and
unsure of feelings and who they are. In many cases, sibling relationships are strained as
resentment from favoritism breeds. (Ellen Weber Libby, Ph.D.)
The morning starts like any other, but this morning, just as Peter and I are getting ready to
leave for school, mama comes into where we are with a new kind of demand from me.
When you get home from school today, I want you to go outside and pick up every scrap of
paper, pile of dog poop, sticks and weeds as well as anything out-of-place. I expect everything to
be picked-up before I get home or youll get a spanking with a wooden spoon; she says
callously.
A wooden spoon? Thats a new one. I wonder why she wants to use a wooden spoon instead
of a belt? I wonder if it hurts more. It doesnt seem as if it could hurt any worse than the belt, but
then again, why would she want to use a spoon instead of the belt if it didnt add an extra bit of
pain factor? The thought scares me, but her ice-cold voice scares me more. She speaks matter-of-
factly, as if shes telling me to go riding, or swimming and have fun, shell see me when she gets
home. Oh wait, thats what she said to my brother. Her voice snaps me back into reality.
Im going to check, so you had better be sure you pick-up everything. Theres nothing for
me to say so I just nod. My brother just keeps his eyes down and on what hes doing while mom
finishes threatening me with the wooden spoon. We dont look at each other until after she
leaves the room, him with an expression of sorry, but Im glad its you and not me, and me with
a look of total confusion and devastation. I have to fight to swallow the giant lump in my throat
which forms whenever I try not to cry, feeling as if I dont swallow, I might choke to death right
where Im standing. One minute Im fine, the next, my own body is trying to choke the life outta
me. I hate that.
After Peter and I leave for school, I ask him why he thinks mama wants me to clean-up after
school. He just shrugs. We cant come-up with one reason why. Besides, I clean-up every day
already, so trying to think of anything to find that may need picking-up is causing a queasiness in
my stomach that I cant shake because now I feel this is some sort of test and when Im put to
one of mamas tests, I typically fail miserably.
Once my stomach-turning, stress-filled day at school is over, I immediately go outside with
a trash bag to start searching for things to pick-up. There isnt much since, again, Im constantly
cleaning-up around the outside of the house and driveway anyway and picking up dog poop is
one of my daily chores. I scour every inch of the property, along the entire length of the
driveway, and in all the Ivy and grass growing alongside it. I check behind the house, around the
sheds, in and around where we store the hay, under and around the boat, along the rock walls,
around the pool area, in the gardens, on and around the front porch as well as the back patio. I
then do it all again, double-checking where I had just been and all the while, Rachel and Peter
are in the house watching TV. It makes me sad and mad, but the fear of knowing mama will be
home soon is overpowering any other emotion I have right now. My stomach is wrenching in
pain, and I swear Im gonna get an ulcer before Im eighteen because of the way my stomach is
always twisting and turning and grumbling and burning whenever my mother is around or about
to be.
Anxiety
Anxiety may result from mental abuse. This particularly occurs when a victim is in an abusive
relationship or lives with the person who is treating him or her poorly. Anxiety is fueled by the
victims attempt to modify behavior to meet the needs of the abuser. (By Brooke Nichols, eHow
Contributor)
I stay outside until almost dark and until I hear mamas car coming up the driveway. I
quickly run into the house and up to my room so I look as if Im not worried one bit. Im
trembling as I go down to say hello, acting as if everything is normal even though theres nothing
normal about this day. Rachel and Peter are already saying their hellos and talking to mama
about their day, so I melt away into the background and start setting the table for dinner, all the
while, hoping shes forgotten about her threat, and me. Dad comes home a short time later and
we have dinner. Afterwards, mama disappears just as I start cleaning up the table. Maybe she
wont check...I can only hope. I make it to just before bedtime when I hear my name. She tells
me to follow her to the basement. Uh-oh. She goes over to a table and picks up the spoon. Im
staring at it and her with confusion as she tells me that she found a pile of dog poop in the Ivy
alongside the driveway.
But I checked there over and over! I start sobbing, not thinking until later that there was
plenty of time for one of the dogs to go between the time I checked and the time mama checked.
Well, you didnt check good enough. Now pull down your pants and bend over the table.
Terrorizing
Here, the parent or caregiver threatens or bullies the child and creates a climate of fear for the
child. Terrorizing can include placing the child or the childs loved one (such as a sibling, pet or
toy) in a dangerous or chaotic situation, or placing rigid or unrealistic expectations on the child
with threats of harm if they are not met. (Besharov, D. J. (1990). Recognizing child abuse: A
guide for the concerned.)
Everything I do must be done to impossible specifications, which I can never achieve. Make
sure its done properly, or elseyoull do it over until you get it right. Better be sure you get it
all, or elseyoull get a spanking. You had better do it before I get home, or elseyoull be
grounded for a week. Everything Im told to do has an or elseattached to it. What I dont
understand is why my brother and sister never have to do anything and when or if they do, why
arent they threatened with or elseor the wooden spoon, or a week in their room. I live in a
constant state of fear from mamas constant threats, her nasty looks, and hateful tone, but most of
all, her disappointment. In response to my fear of her, I learn to overdo everything. I become a
perfectionist, but even then, I can never live-up to her expectations. Her constant irritation
toward me doesnt discourage me though, instead, it makes me try even harder to be better than
perfect the next time. Ill never stop trying to make her happy, and hopefully, to love me.
Unrealistic expectations
Unrealistic or impossible expectations such as perfection or forcing the child to be someone
she/he simply isnt are placed on the victim, and if these expectations are not met, the victim is
criticized or even punished.
While sitting in my room day after day or week after week, or getting my butt beat, or being
slapped across the face for a look I didnt know I had, I think, and when I think, I get confused,
and when I get confused, I get angry, and right now Im angry as to why Im in trouble because
of knowing I did the best I could at what Ive done. I also know for a fact that Mr. Clean or
Merry Maids or Superman himself couldnt have cleaned or scrubbed what needed cleaning and
scrubbing any better than how well I cleaned and scrubbed what needed cleaning and scrubbing.
The fact mama keeps screaming at me about my scrubbing and cleaning or lack thereof, couldnt
be more confusing, frustrating or infuriating which makes me imagine my head exploding into a
million pieces and splattering all over walls, floors and ceiling. I then picture mama cleaning up
the mess of skull and brain and blood that splatters all over the walls, floor and ceiling all by
herself because of not wanting Rachel or Peters hands to get dirty, dad being at work and
gramma being too old. The best part, however, is the fact mama cant call in her step-middle-
child to clean it up or elsebecause of me no longer having a head and no longer having eyes to
see the mess my own head makes. Shell be sorry then; sorry shes so nasty that her nastiness
made my head explode, and now thinking of her frustration at having to clean-up the brain mess
herself makes me laugh my head off. No pun intended...hehehe!
Thank God I love to draw. Images of horses run through my mind and fill the many hours I
spend alone in my room which I think is mamas favorite punishment because of it keeping her
from having to acknowledge my existence. Drawing takes me away from the life I live and
transports me into a world all my own. An artist is someone who can be moved by what they see
in their mind and then acting upon that vision, bringing it to life, which is exactly what I do. As a
natural-born artist, I can create anything Im able to see in my mind or in real life with horses
being my greatest inspiration.

The Silent Treatment
Silence is considered emotional abuse if your parent consistently ignores you, if she rarely
speaks to you or pays you no attention. Purdue Psychology professor Kip Williams states that the
silent treatment tends to have detrimental effects emotionally and physically on the receiver,
resulting in low self-esteem, depression, loss of belonging, increased stress and loss of control.
The silent treatment is form of ostracism, according to KenSavage.com. Being ostracized affects
the part of the brain that detects pain, meaning the silent treatment causes actual physical pain.
(By J.S. Copper, eHow Contributor)
Years nine through twelve come and go with dad at work and mama mostly home. Shes
usually either working part-time at dads businesses, or starting and stopping one hobby after
another. Rachel spends all her time concentrating on boys, friends, school and boys, with Peter
spending his days in carefree splendor playing video games or watching TV. He and I continue
to go to school and life is routine, even if my routine includes never-ending chores, being yelled
at on a daily basis, being treated as if tolerating my mere existence is intolerable, or just hiding in
the hills or out with the horses by myself, just to find a little peace.
Effects of Abuse
Growing up in such an environment is terrifying and severely affects a childs psychological and
social development. Male children may learn to model violent behavior while female children
may learn that being abused is a normal part of relationships. This contributes to the
intergenerational cycle of violence. (www.thisiswar.com)

Chapter 8
A child only educated at school is an uneducated child.
~George Santayana


I am to clean the corral before and after school. Having five horses attracts a lot of flies, and
being that were good neighbors and the perfect all-American family, mama wants to make sure
the corral stays clean so we dont attract as many flies, thereby, keeping the nasty little pests
from bothering the other perfect all-American families living on our perfect all-American street
in our perfect all-American town. Why God? Why did You make flies? What good can come
from the dirty, little pests? Im constantly asking God why He made certain things like bugs,
snakes and pimples, reminding myself to remember to ask Him why He made bugs, snakes and
pimples once I get to heavenif I get to heaven. Its a question now whether Ill make it or not,
especially since I failed at my promise not to wear pants once I realized not wearing pants in
fact, is highly impractical. Im just hoping God will forgive me knowing how many things I do
where pants come in handy.
Besides the flies, cleaning the corral is my favorite chore, which to me isnt a chore at all. I
love being out early in the morning as the sun is just coming-up over the horizon as well as
feeling the first warm rays of light cutting through the chilly air. Hundreds of birds zip around
sounding as if singing Zippidy Do-Da as they start their hectic search for breakfast. The
morning smells and the sounds of the hills around our home make me feel happy to be alive. Its
a magical time, a world belonging to the birds, horses, dogs and me. Ill usually wake at six am
to get started on the corral which gives me time to finish before its time to get ready for school.
Many mornings, Ill get-up at five just so I can spend a little extra time with the horses and get in
some riding before anyone else is awake. Therell be hell to pay if Im caught riding without
permission, but I cant help it, I have to ride. I figure, if mama is going to stand in the way of my
greatest joy in life, Ill find a way to ride on my own. Horses are my greatest passion and nothing
in the world is more beautiful to me. I spend as much time as I can just brushing the horses silky
coats, or sitting and watching and listening to them napping, playing or just chewing hay. These
moments are the most peaceful moments in my life, saving my head many a time from
exploding. Nothing else matters when Im with them, no matter how terrible things are. If only I
could live in the mountains where the pine trees grow, breathing in the crisp clean air with just
my horses and my art, I know I could be happy forever. However, since that isnt happening
anytime soon, I resort to exercise. Exercise gives me speed, strength and escape that no one can
take from me.
My drive to be physically stronger than everyone else is the only thing I have control of in
my life. Its an emotional outlet, not that I know this at the time, but since I have no other way to
vent, being physically relentless fills a hole. Some kids turn to drugs or alcohol to get relief from
their dysfunctional family life, but being incapacitated or out-of-control is the last thing I want
and is the complete opposite of my character. Being in the best physical condition I can achieve
is my goal, and since Im dreaming of going to the Olympics someday, I have to be in the best
physical form possible. I may only be a teenager, but the rivals in my mind are the real athletes I
watch on television. Ill get their heights or lengths of jumps, their racing times and distances
then work toward doing better than the best athletes in the world. I practice whenever Im
outside, taking advantage of whatever Im doing at the time and working as if working toward a
gold medal. On the hillside property where we live, and with the kind of chores I do, I can use
everything to my benefit. I know running uphill is perfect for building stamina and muscle so
Im always running up our driveway, running around the neighborhood as well as running with
the horses in the hills not only for a workout, but because I love it. Running is my forte with my
focus and drive being ironclad. Im constantly doing pushups, pull-ups and sit-ups and along
with whatever exercise is required of us at school, I continue getting stronger and faster.
Rocky Balboa is my hero. After watching a Rocky movie I cant help but go running as hard
and as fast as I can around the neighborhood as if Im running for my life. I imagine myself
becoming Rocky, being Rocky, I am Rocky! Until I hear my name being screamedthen reality
slaps me in the face once more and Im back to being plain ol Penny.
School is the only place I can escape my life and where I can achieve whatever it is I put my
mind to without being put-down or told Ive failed yet again. I strive for academic excellence,
friendships, and once I reach high school, becoming eligible to play on the sports teams. I
become our schools new star athlete, giving my new endeavor all I have and as a result,
becoming better than the rest of my teammates. But unlike my teammates, I have to be the best
in everything I do so hopefully, someday; Ill be good enough to stop disappointing Alice. I do
have friends, mostly because of my athletic ability, and though Im not popular, Im well liked. I
usually only have one good friend at a time with the friendship lasting the whole year until the
following year, then my last years friend is usually hanging out with a new friend because
honestly, I dont have anything in common with other girls my age. My mentality stays the same
as the years go by because of nothing changing at home. I feel older, yet, I think the same way in
sixth grade as I did in fifth grade, the same in eighth as I did in seventh, etc. which makes me
giggly and childish every year. Im not street smart, style smart or boy smart and Im often called
nave. Nave. What does that mean? I dont want to ask because then they might think that Im
dumb and nave.
Effects of Abuse
Less mature socially, abused children show difficulty in developing trusting relationships with
others. (Encyclopedia of Childrens Health)
I dont let anyone know much about me, but at the same time, Im starving for attention. On
the outside, Im a smiling, happy girl, but on the inside, I keep my heart at a distance so that no
one will ask questions and no one will find out what kind of life I live. I rarely invite friends over
and Im rarely invited over to their homes either. Ive accepted that this is how it is and most
likely will never change.
Isolation
Domestic violence and/or abuse affect children socially as they learn to isolate themselves. They
arent comfortable having friends over with the abuse going on in the home; however, they may
dedicate themselves to their schoolwork as a sort of escape. (By Stacey Buckner, eHow
Contributor)
At our Baptist Christian school we address all the male-gender teachers as Brothers, and the
women as Miss or Mrs. because as Christians were taught that we are all brothers and sisters in
Christ. I suppose calling the men, Brothers, is to remind us of our spiritual connection. I guess
we dont need reminding of our spiritual connection with the women given that we dont call
them sisters, but I suppose if we called the women, Sisters, it would make them feel like Catholic
nuns and I dont think Baptist women want to be thought of as Catholic nuns. So its Miss or
Mrs. for the sisters.
Brother Bowen is one of our brothers in Christ, a pastor-in-training at our school as well as
being our coach. Hes young, fun and energetic. He cares about all of the students along with
making sure we know what it means to try our best in everything we do whether in our Christian
walk, academics or his first love, sports. As a coach, Brother Bowen is super competitive and
makes us want to win. He encourages us through humor, making us laugh, which makes us want
to try harder since being happy is a powerful motivator. Ive never met an adult who can make
me laugh the way he does, and that in itself makes me glow with pure joy when Im around him.
Id die if I ever disappointed him, and I just wish he were my dad, brother, uncle or some other
sort of relation other than just a brother in Christ, teacher, or pastor-in-training. If he were, Id be
able to live happily ever after with my young, energetic, kind, loving, funny dad, brother or
uncle, and Id never have to go back to the house on the hill where Im just the step-middle-child
living with an insufferable mother and a despondent father.
Reluctance to Go Home
Abused children may dread being home for fear that more abuse will take place. Children with
this mindset will avoid going home whenever an opportunity allows them to do so. They may
arrive at school early or hang around afterwards for long periods of time even if there is nothing
going on to keep them occupied. (By Spencer Hendricks, eHow Contributor)
School Days are not long enough for me. School is a safe haven so I dread weekends,
holiday breaks and summer vacations when I have to be home all day. I could be happy going to
school year round because between friends, sports, field trips, Wednesday chapel services and
even the beautiful mile and a half walk to and from school, I can pretend I have a normal life.
Wednesdays are our half days, and half of the half day were in a chapel service where the
Brothers practice their preaching and Bible teaching. Its where were taught what the Bible says
about right and wrong with the prime example being girls who wear pants, the boys who gawk at
the girls wearing pants and what happens if either of those things happen.
Periodically, the church will have a guest speaker coming-in for the Sunday services, so as a
treat on Wednesdays, the visiting pastor will come-in and preach to the students. I love the fiery
Southern pastors who come in preaching hell, fire and brimstone, and warning about sins like
fornication, drunkenness, listening to rock musicwhich is the devils music, watching dirty
movies, and about how women ought not to wear pants as well as the wicked men who lust after
women who wear pants. (Theyre obsessed about those darn pants!) Anyway, these sins
guarantee were headed for the fiery furnace unless we change our wicked ways by confessing
our sins to God, begging for forgiveness and accepting Christ as our Savior. I never hesitate to
get-up and head straight to the front as soon as the alter call is announced. I kneel before
Almighty God and accept His Son every chance I get.
Now, the reason I visit the alter so often isnt because Im a fornicator or a drunkard,
especially since Im only in middle school. I never listen to the devils music, unless country
music can be considered the devils music, and mama never lets us watch dirty movies or
inappropriate shows. However, I do wear pants but Im no longer worried about that because
surly God understands about my tomboyish lifestyle and embarrassment over my hairy legs. Im
also not worried about causing boys to lust over my wearing pants on account of my pants
always being so baggy. My alter obsession comes down to me not understanding that I dont
need to accept Christ over and over. I didnt know that once is all it takes to be saved. Every time
I hear the message about Gods love and how much he cares for me, and after living through
another tough week at home, I cant help but go forward to the life-giving alter, begging Jesus
once again to come into my life. I need Christ in my life. I need a hope and a Savior. I need to
know someone loves me and God promises he always will. Therefore, I promise my life to God
and anything He wants to do with it because of knowing Hes the only One who loves me
unconditionally, and if that means going up to the alter every week, Im more than happy and
eager to do it. Yes, I hate when school ends because that means Wednesday chapel alter-calls
end, and it also means I have to be home all day with you-know-who, but at least I have the
horses, and now, God.

Chapter 9
Death is not the greatest loss in life.
The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.
~Norman Cousins


Mama is in a bad mood so I get out of her line of fire as fast as I can by running up into the
hills, thereby avoiding her and her iron fist. I love the solitude because the less I see my family,
the less miserable I am. I spend as much time outside and alone as I can, except of course, for the
dogs, or if the horses tag along, and I dont go home until the absolute final second before Im
late. I head to my secret spots that no one knows about but me, not even Peter. I know every inch
of every trail on every hill, every rock, bush and tree. I can spend hours investigating animal
paths winding through the brush wishing as I do that I were an animal. If I were an animal I
could live alone free to do anything I wanted, to live anywhere I wanted, to eat, sleep, play or
move anytime I wanted with no one telling me to clean this, or wear that. Someday, nobody will
ever tell me what to do and then Ill be free, free as a bird. When Im alone, I can actually see a
light at the end of my dark tunnel as I look out over the expanse of life outside of my own little
world, and dream.
The dogs always go with me whenever I venture out and sit quietly beside me as I daydream
about all the things I want to do when I grow-up. I have my life all figured out. First, Ill go to
college and get a business degree, and while at college, Ill be on the track team and qualify for
the Olympics. Ill then compete in the Olympics and Ill win the gold Medal for being the fastest
woman alive! Then, with my business degree, Ill move to New York City and get a job as an
executive in a high-rise office building downtown and with the money Ill be earning, Ill own
the most incredible horses that anyone has ever seen! On the other hand, maybe Ill just become
a truck driver where I can be paid to travel the country, that way I can be by myself without
having to bother with anyone else or anyone else to bother me. Another promise Ive made
myself is that Im never gonna have kids, because kids are either spoiled brats like almost every
kid Ive ever met including my own brother and sister, or a disappointment like me and I dont
need any of that when I grow-up. Besides, Im gonna be way too busy for kids! I cant help but
smile and feel all hopeful inside as I let my thoughts run wild as I dream of those faraway,
carefree days. However, with the solitude comes the loneliness of not having any friends, or love
from any human being on earth as far as I can tell, and many times while sitting out on the
hillside alone and while staring out over the city, I cry. I just sit and cry and feel sorry for myself
because nobody loves me, and Im never good enough, and because Im sick of always being
afraid. I wish I could just standup to my mother or just have the guts to run away from the thorn
in my side. Other times, I wish mama dead, which I know is a sin and will send me to hell for
sure, but the anger I feel wont let the thought leave my head or even care that its wrong.

Acts of Omission
Most typically, child maltreatment in this category consists of psychological neglect.
Psychological neglect of children generally refers to sustained parental non-responsiveness and
psychological or physical unavailability, such that the child is deprived of normal psychological
stimulation, soothing, and support. One of the most obvious impacts of child neglect is its
tendency to decrease the extent to which secure parent-child attachment can occur. As a result,
the neglected child will not be as likely as others to encounter benign interactive experiences
that teach self-awareness, self-security, positive views of others, and the development of
regulated affective responses to interpersonal challenges. In addition to the obvious effects of
parental non-availability on intra- and interpersonal learning, psychological neglect is thought
to produce acute psychological distress (Bowlby, 1988). Because children are social beings with
profound bio-psychological needs for contact comfort, nurturance, and love, sustained neglect
can result in painful feelings of what appear to be deprivation and abandonment. This acute
distress, in turn, may affect the childs development in many of the same ways described for
caretaker acts of commission. These acts, whether physical, sexual, or psychological, can
produce longstanding interpersonal difficulties, as well as distorted thinking patterns, emotional
disturbance, and posttraumatic stress. Also present, however, may be a growing sense of
psychological emptiness and neediness and a general tendency later in life to be especially
sensitive to the possibility of abandonment or rejection by others. When abuse and neglect occur
early in life, they are especially likely to motivate the development of avoidance strategies that
allow the child to function despite inescapable emotional pain (Putnam, 1997). Faced with
parental violence, the child may develop a style of relating whereby he or she psychologically
attenuates or avoids certain attachment interactions with a given abusive caretaker (Bowlby,
1988). Although this defense protects the child to some extent from overwhelming distress and
distorted environmental input, it also tends to reduce his or her access to any positive attachment
stimuli that might be available in the environment (Briere, 1992). This response, in turn, further
deprives the child of normal attachment-related learning and development, reinforces avoidance
as a primary response style, and may partially replicate the difficulties associated with neglect-
related attachment deprivation. Together, early acts of omission and commission serve as an
etiologic reservoir for the development of later psychological disorder. Some of these responses
are the direct result of psychological injury, whereas others appear to represent coping
responses to the emotional pain associated with abuse and neglect. (John Briere, Ph.D.)
Occasionally, I allow how Im feeling on the inside show through, and its only then when
others can see just how unhappy I truly am. I usually never let-on about how Im feeling, but
sometimes I feel so psychologically beaten down I can no longer hide it and my face will give
me away. Its at these times, however, when mama will somehow achieve a tiny amount of
compassion, or could it belovefor a split second. Her sudden and unexpected gentleness
takes me aback, so much so that when she comes into my room, sits next to me on my bed and
starts asking me questions, I go into what can only be described as shock with the effect her
niceness has being as powerful and as painful as a stun gun. I dont know what to say to her so I
say I dont know, even though I know that everything that is wrong in my life has to do with her.
I stare at her staring at me, wondering if she even realizes its her fault I feel the way I do, and if
thats the case, maybe she feels bad and thats why shes in my room right now freaking me out.
Whats wrong? Alice asks quietly.
I dont know.
Well, how do you feel? I feel tired. Sick and tired of you and the way you treat mebut
maybe if we try really hard, youll be able to love me and then we can be happybecause I still
love you no matter what youve done, because youre my mom
I dont know; I mumble for a second time.
How can you not know? She asks, trying her best to keep her voice soft. Are you sad?
Mad? Happy? Think about it! I stare at her wide-eyed as she recomposes herself and then
calmly continues.
Im sure you can figure out what youre feeling, cant you? She says in a way that reminds
me of a balloon thats about to burst. But as mama sits and explains feelings to me as well as
how to analyze which feeling Im feeling, I cant help but start crying out of frustration
frustration from knowing whats wrong but not being able to say it and feeling like a dumb-mute
because of not being able to say it. Besides all that, shes still freakin me out by talking to me in
such a gentle tone of voice.
Now, when the one person I wish would stop yelling at me actually stops yelling and
proceeds to speaks to me in a normal, caring way for a change, it gives me the willies. Why? I
have no idea. I just cant handle it. My mothers tenderness makes me so uncomfortable that I
dont know what to do with myself, so I cry, which just confounds and upsets her fragile illusion
of kindness toward me. Consequently, by the time she is leaving my room, she is no longer
compassionate or loving, but aggravated, and now Im scared Ive ruined the only chance Ive
had in a long time to bond with my mother. I know that the likelihood of a relationship between
mama and I evolving out of thin air after one heart-to-heart is slim to none, as well as me not
knowing if having a true mother-daughter relationship with Alice is something I want. My
thoughts on the matter are befuddled at best, with me worried the risk Id be taking in trusting
her would be too great if by some shocking and unforeseen chance an opportunity arises to
solidify a bond with my evil-step-mother. Oh well, at least when she leaves my room I wont
have to worry about her sudden change-of-heart occurring again for a looong time. Im
especially relieved given that I dont have a clue as to how to have a conversation with the one
person Im afraid of the most. At least now that this bizarre occurrence is over, I can get back to
what I know how to do bestbeing verbally and emotionally abused. Yay me!
The Psychological Effects of Verbal Abuse
When the victim feels kindness or love from the abuser, they know that it is short-lived and abuse
will reoccur. Victims live in a constant state of hyper-awareness, watching for clues of
impending abuse. Victims cant trust the smile of someone they love, and that is a very big deal.
(By Kellie Holly, HealthyPlace.com)
In my eyes, my father can do no wrong. It doesnt matter that he never protects me, stands
up for me, spends time with me, or that he spends less and less time at home which subjects me
to an uneven share of moms disdain. The only thing that matters is that theres no favoritism on
his part as there is with mama. He treats Rachel, Peter and I with equal amounts of neglect, but
as always, he and I are in the same boat; just along for the ride as we navigate the waves of
Alices wrath. We give each other knowing glances when one or the other is on the receiving end
of the outrage and disgust that flows from mamas eyes and mouth, but when dad tires of the
abuse he can always leave, but when I get tired of her abuse, I must continue standing in front of
her as I always do, being subjected to her mistreatment once more. Honestly speaking, dad does
deserve what he gets most of the time, the rest of the time its just mama unleashing her
unharnessed fury out onto the only two people she feels deserves it, dad and me. I guess Rachel
being her first-born, and Peter being the baby can never disappoint her the way dad and I can. I
always wonder what I do to warrant being treated the same as a grown man and husband when
Im just a pimply-faced step-middle-child. I dont know how or where I even fit into the crazy
scenarios of mamas miserable life, or why Im a factor in her extreme unhappiness and anger.
One of the main reasons I know of as to why mama is so unhappy is because of her finding
out that dad had an affair with her best friend, Susan. It was the first real wrongdoing that I know
of on my dads part, and the first unforgivable rift in an already volatile marriage.
My parents meet Susan and her husband, Gary at church, and before we know it, Gary and
Susans family start having get-togethers with our family on a regular basis. Over the summer,
they and their two daughters are over at our house swimming and BBQing almost every
weekend. Mama and Susan are now best friends and start doing everything together. Its the first
time in a long time Alice seems happy.
Susan is bubbly and full of life. She has long, wavy strawberry blond hair, looks like a
movie star and is too sweet for her own good. She spoils her girls and allows them to run all over
her just as fleas run over a dogs hide. Susans husband is an armored truck driver whos tall and
lean, muscular and mean, and just like mama, has a look scary enough to scare the devil.
However, Gary only has the look when Susan is around, and mama has the look when Susan
isnt around. Gary hates that Susan is such a flirt, and even at age eleven I can see how angry it
makes him, and when hes angry, hes terrifying. He isnt even my father and I want to run out of
the room along with the devil himself. Even so, and besides her hot-headed husband and spoiled
children, I like Susan more than anyone else I know because of her being happy and bubbly and
looking like a movie star. Or maybe its because of her taking notice of how harshly and unfairly
mama treats me. She tries to encourage me by telling me to just keep hangin in there, and it
wont last forever, which is so kind of her, but mostly I think its because shes happy and
bubbly, and anyone whos happy and bubbly is someone I like. Circumstances begin to change,
however, when Susan starts showing-up when mama is at her ceramic classes. She always seems
to have a good reason for stopping by, but when her stopping by keeps happening, and when she
starts goofing around and acting a little too friendly with dad, I know something is wrong. As
soon as I see Susans car racing up the driveway, I get nervous. I know there isnt anything I can
do to prove something is going-on, or put a stop to whatever I think is going-on, so I just try to
make sure I stay in sight of both dad, and Susan to make sure no hanky or panky starts going-on.
Mama has no idea about Susans visits, and Im certainly not going to say anything since theres
enough fighting and turmoil in my life as it is. I dont need, nor can I handle any more trouble in
our perfect all-American family. My parents fighting is already almost nightly, and again, if
mama is angry with dad, shell take her irritation out on me. The whole situation makes me
angry at my dad for putting himself, and me in this position because I know if mama finds out
about Susans secret visits, shell hate dad and me even more than she already does.

The phone rings and mama answers it.
Hello? Hi! OK. Come on over. Ok. See you in a minute. Bye-bye. That has to be Susan, I
think. There isnt anyone else mama would talk to in such a cheerful manner or whom shed tell
to come over so late. I glance at the clock to confirm that it is actually late. Its almost nine o
clock at night and I wonder whats going on to prompt Susan to come over right now. She
probably just had another fight with her husband and needs to get out of the house. Ten minutes
later I hear her car coming up the driveway since her house is only a few blocks away from ours.
Its easy for her to zip over whenever she feels the urge, and lately, more than one kind of urge
prompts her to visit. Mama is happy to see her, but Susan is obviously upset about something.
Oh no, whats wrong? Mama asks in a caring kind of voice. A kind of voice Ive never
heard directed at me in my entire life so its hard to believe Alice can actually make her voice
sound that pleasant. Susan doesnt say whats wrong but instead asks if they can sit and talk
somewhere, alone. Just another fight and more complaining I figure, so I go to bed given that its
always the same story with her, however, just ten minutes later, I suddenly hear my mom yelling.
Get out!
Alice wait Its Susans voice.
Go! I cant believe you would do this to me! Mama shouts. I cant help but jump out of
bed and crouch in the hall in order to listen to the heated words and find out whats going on,
because any kind of out-of-the-ordinary words, hot or cold, causes the butterflies in my stomach
to take off in a whirling mass of wings, alerting me to critical changes in the crucial comfort
levels I maintain within my world of chaos; so I need to know.
Leave now!
Alice, let me talk to you! Susan is pleading to stay and talk, but mama wants her out. Now
dad is with the women by the door which is odd. Why is he putting himself into the middle of
mom and Susans argument? Its also odd that hes now pleading with mama to calm down,
except she isnt calming down, not in the least.
Alice, calm down and well talk about it. He reaches out for her but she pulls away from
his hand.
Dont you dare touch me! Get outboth of you! Mama is crying, and now my stomach is
spinning because Im extremely worried that mama wants dad out as well. Susan finally gives-up
and heads out the door.
Ill call you tomorrow; Susan says as she leaves.
Alice, it meant nothing! I hear my dad saying now.
Get out!! Dont touch me! How could you?
I dont know. Just sit down, lets talk about it.
Get out! Mama repeats even more explicitly and with more austerity this time.
Shhhh, the kids I hear my dad say.
I dont care! is Alices only response.
When my dad finally leaves, I hear mama sobbing in her room. Peter and I whisper about
what happened, but I dont tell him what I think happened because hes only nine and shouldnt
hear about things like that.
The next day, Peter asks mama what happened and wheres dad? Mama then tells us dad
will be living somewhere else for a while, and well all have to wait and see what happens. The
fear and dread of being the only outlet for mamas anger hangs over me like a black cloud and
follows me everywhere I go. Why did he do this to me? Dad cheated on mom but it sure feels
like he cheated on me since Im the one who has to deal with the aftermath of his mistake.
Its only been a few weeks but mama finally allows dad to come back home. I think she
decided it would be better for him to be here at home where she can keep her eyes on him, and
where it will be easier for him to stay out of trouble, than at a hotel where trouble is sure to find
him. Susan is no more, and now Im bummed because Susan was happy and bubbly and she
made mama, and dad happy and when theyre happy, Im happy. But now Susan isnt happy, my
parents arent happy, and neither am I.


Chapter 10
A Life without horses, is like taking a breath without air. ~Unknown


Hows Copper? I ask mama when she picks us up from school. Copper is my horse and
hes been sick for a while but we dont know whats wrong with him. Mama looks at me in the
rearview mirror but doesnt say anything. She and my sister look at each other, then Rachel looks
back at me, and then I look at my brother, but still no one says a thing. I dont know why she
wont say anything and now my stomach is churning as usual.
As soon as the car stops at the top of the driveway, I run up to my room to change my
clothes then run out to the corral. Except, as Im running I notice strange marks in the dirt
heading toward the driveway from the direction of the corral as if something had been dragged. I
slow down, follow the drag marks and start calling for Copper. He always whinnies when I call
him, except for today. Strange, he must be out on the hill, I think to myself as I follow the marks
out past the corral. I continue to call, and yet, I hear nothing. The marks in the dirt are
surprisingly still going as I continue on to the point, still wondering what theyre from and where
theyll end. The other horses are following me and its weird that Copper isnt with them. I finally
get to the end of the drag marks when I see that they end under a canopy of trees and bushes, one
of Peters and my hideouts. Copper isnt there so I continue calling for him, but still theres no
answer. I run around the other trails looking for my horse, getting more and more worried
because of him being sick, and now, missing. I run back to the house to tell mama I cant find
him.
I cant find Copper! I say in a panicked voice. Its then when she finally decides to tell me
what happened.
Copper died this afternoon. He went out to the hill to die and then had to be dragged back
and out to a truck so he could be taken away to wherever dead horses are taken. My mind is
swirling like a whirlpool and my throat is starting to choke me again.
Why did he die? My eyes are filling with tears and blurring my vision. I mean, I knew he
was sick, but not sick enough to die!
Well, the vet came out and did an autopsy and found a stick stuck through his esophagus.
Whenever he ate, food would go through the hole and travel down to his lungs, and thats what
killed him.
Butbut he was doing so much better! I insist. He shed out his coat, he was energetic,
and his eyes were bright Im trying to understand but cant seem to grasp the reality that the
one thing I loved more than anything else in the world is actually gone.
The vet said that looking and feeling better usually happens right before death. Its called a
surge; mama says coolly and matter-of-fact. I know I cant keep it together much longer so I run
up to my room and sob uncontrollably into my pillow.
After a while, I force myself up in order to start my chores, but whimper and cry throughout
my whole routine. I can barely hold it together through dinner, then cry myself to sleep that
night. I fight to stop my tears the next morning as well as trying not to choke to death on the
lump forming in my throat from my stop-crying effort. I must stop crying so that I dont go to
school with my eyes looking like soggy marshmallowswhich will definitely cause my
classmates to ask whats wrong and then Ill lose all control over my emotions. But my trying to
not cry doesnt work. As soon as I get to school the students and teachers cant help but notice
that Ive been crying, so of course they need to know whats wrong and sure enough, as soon as
they ask me the dreaded, Whats wrong? I lose all control just like I knew I would. The tears
fall freely now and theres no stopping the downpour.
I cry off and on for more than two weeks. Copper and the other horses and pets are the only
things in my life that represent love, but Copper was mine and now hes gone. His death is the
first time I experience loss, and even though its devastatingly painful, I have to go through this
lesson on death on my own. What am I going to do now?

Pet losses seemed to happen more often than not as I grew-up, and not only from old age or
being snatched by a coyote. It seemed as if every pet that was minereally truly minewould
be taken. My horse died. A white bunny I received for a birthday present which I loved and even
walked on a leash, escaped from its outdoor cage and vanished. I never understood how it could
have happened since I was OCD careful about locking the gate to the pen to ensure my bunnys
safety. Later, my dad brought home a Border collie and he and I bonded like superglue, but after
a few months my mom decided, for no reason at all, to give the dog to someone she knew who
had a farm up in Northern California. She knew how close that dog and I had become. She knew
I spent every second I wasnt busy with that dog. I took care of all the animals so the dog wasnt
even a hassle for her. We also had land, and animals, and everything Scooter needed to be happy
and healthybut she gave him away anyhow. The devastation from this loss was as bad as
losing my horse, but in a way, it was worse because of why I lost him. All the losses were
devastating to me because of the bond Id create with the animals because of it being the only
love I knew and trusted, and every single one had a lasting effect on me.


Chapter 11
The Rose bowl is the only bowl Ive ever seen
I didnt have to clean. ~Erma beck



Dishes, dishes, dishes; breakfast, lunch and dinner, never-ending dishes. I honestly dont
mind doing the dishes, the only thing I mind is the fact Im the only one whos made to do them.
Monday through Sunday, set the table with the dishes, clear the table of the dirty dishes, wash
the dishes then put the dishes in the dishwasher after washing the dishes in order to wash the
dishes again. Once thats all done, I must put the dishes away once theyre dry after being
washed by me as well as the dishwasher. Can you sayredundant? Holidays are the worst since
aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents gather at our house making two to three times the dishes,
but Im still the one who sets the table with the dishes, clears the table of the dishes, washes the
dishes and puts the dishes away after theyre dry. I move robotically through each step involving
the handling of the dishes and now I actually look forward to the time alone. Just the dishes and
me; its a love-hate relationship, however; its a relief knowing Im doing something I cant
possibly mess-up. Dishwashing becomes a kind of meditation time where I can almost totally
relax and drift away in my thoughts.
One evening, after a relatively calm day, and after finishing my homework and chores as
well as my nightly tongue-lashing and dinner, I start clearing the table. Im singing my new
favorite Judds song as quietly as I can, which is basically just mouthing the words, and as usual,
Im moving through the motions of clearing and washing the dishes without thinking about what
Im doing.
Grandpa, tell me bout the good ol days.
Sometimes it feels like this worlds gone crazy,

I keep singing as I wash the plates.

Grandpa, tell me bout the good ol days,
When the line between right and wrong,
Didnt seem so hazy.

I load the dishes into the dishwasher, then start washing the silverware as I try to remember
the chorus of the song.

Did lovers really fall in love to stay?
And stand beside each other, come what may

Im now loading the silverware into the utensil basketoops, dropped one.

Was a promise really something people kept?
Not just something they would say and then for

Wham!! Is all I hear as my head slams into the tile edge of the counter as Im reaching for
the dropped knife. I hear my brain hit the left side of the inside of my skull, and as I stand-up
straight it feels as if its still sloshing around. As I grab for my head and try to get my eyes to
focus, I see mama standing on the other side of the open dishwasher door with her look that can
make the devil run for cover and, unfortunately, I can now hear her yelling at me as well.
WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? Then something about a bad attitude. Im crying and
defending myself as I insist I dont have a bad attitude as my head throbs with each heartbeat.
She starts accusing me of being rough with the dishes and silverware, and I DONT CARE
WHAT YOURE ANGRY ABOUTI BETTER NOT HEAR YOU THROWING AND
SLAMMING THE DISHES EVER AGAIN!!
Im not mad I blubber through the pain and tears; I just dropped a knife. She doesnt
comment about my dropping the knife but instead, squints her eyes extra squinty as she drives in
her last point while sounding as if she could spit venom.
YOU HAD BETTER JUST WATCH IT!! She snarls in conclusion, storming out and
leaving me feeling shaky, weak and thoroughly confused. My breathing quickens and I feel as if
fire is coming from my eyes and if my name was Bruce Banner instead of Penelope, I know Id
be transitioning into the Hulk at this very momentbut alas, Im not Bruce Banner or the Hulk.
Im just a skinny, pimply-faced thirteen-year-old girl who looks like a boy with my dirty short
hair, jeans and t-shirts, who was just minding her own business doing exactly whats expected of
her while trying to remember the words to her new favorite Judds song. I keep replaying what
happened in my mind and wonder how I didnt hear my hulk-invoking adversary come into the
kitchen. Maybe I was being extra noisy with the dishes and silverware without even realizing I
was being noisy, but except for dropping the knife, I know I wasnt. Im clearly not singing
anymore, but rather, whimpering and seething within myself as I finish the dishes as quietly as I
can, but instead of asking grandpa to tell me bout the good ol days, Im now repeating three
little words; I Hate Her. I Hate Her! I HATE HER!! And I dont care if its a sin.
The next morning Im reminded of mamas sudden, unexpected fit of rage by the soreness
and swelling on both sides of my head; the right side, where her hand hit, and the left side where
my head hit the counter. When I go downstairs and into the kitchen, I see the perfect, dome-
shaped crack in the tile above the dishwasher and I repeat to myself, I hate her.
UNPREDICTABLE RESPONSES
Whenever someone in your life reacts very differently at different times to the same behavior
from you, tells you one thing one day and the opposite the next, or likes something you do one
day and hates it the next, you are being abused with unpredictable responses. This behavior is
damaging because it puts you always on edge. You're always waiting for the other shoe to drop,
and you can never know what's expected of you. You must remain hyper-vigilant, waiting for the
other person's next outburst or change of mood.
(http://silverreflection.tripod.com/speakoutagainstverbalabuse)

Chapter 12
When youre going through hellkeep going.
~Winston Churchill


She shows-up unexpectedly, but I guess thats just how it seems to kids even if your parents
knew all along that the person was coming. I met her once many years before and when I see her
it all comes rushing back. Shes mamas niece, our older, twenty-something cousin, the daughter
of my Uncle Al whom Ive called Uncle Owl since I was little because I couldnt say Al, being I
was only five, going on six. Her name is Tanya, but it might as well be Tony, because of her
looking manlier than my dad. I cant help but notice that she walks and talks more like a man
than a woman. Shes short and stocky and her hair is even shorter than mine, but at least hers is
clean. She has an unfriendly face and dark eyes, and along with all of her manly qualities, she
makes me feel weirdly uncomfortable and all at once, I dont like her or her manly ways one bit.
When she arrives, mama goes up to her and hugs her like theyre long lost friends which is odd,
since I never see her hug anybody and that includes her own kids and husband. My parents arent
the touchy-feely-type so hugging is an extremely uncomfortable act for any of us to do.
Mama and Cousin Tanya are as happy as two peas-in-a-pod as they sit and talk for hours,
and always in whispers if any of us happen to be passing by, but more so if they see me. They
both look at me as if Im a joke, then look back at each other and snicker. Im extremely self-
conscience as it is, but this time I know for sure theyre talking about me and I also know its not
the first time. As it has been my entire life, whether on the phone or in person, at home or away,
Im always the brunt of mamas jokes or the source of her irritation that she cant help but share
with anyone who will listen. She embarrasses me on a regular basis, telling about my constant
and never-ending mess-ups, mistakes and clumsiness whether theyre true or not, even if she has
to make-up details just for shock factor.
Public Humiliation
Abusers often attempt to humiliate their partner or family member in public places or in front of
friends and relatives to project superiority and to humble or embarrass the victim. Victims
respond by usually apologizing for the abuser's behavior or feel inclined to explain the
aggressor's behavior, or if a child, becoming extremely shy or withdrawn. (By Rob Wagner,
eHow Contributor)

Yes, I admit, I may seem a bit clumsy at times and have broken my share of things, but its
only because Im trying so hard to avoid making mistakes. Im always trying my best at not
disappointing my mother but it always seems to backfire. I usually end-up in more trouble than if
I would have just not worried about disappointing her in the first place. Maybe if I stopped
worrying so much about what mama thinks of me, my mistake-making and ending-up in trouble
might not be as frequent. But how do I do that? Im always nervous, and when Im nervous I
tremble, and when I tremble I get clumsy especially when Im worried about being yelled at or
watched by mamas evil eyes. Im always worrying and hurrying to get chores done before
mama checks my work even though I know full well it doesnt matter if I get done what needs
getting done since Ill be yelled at nonetheless. However, I continue trying my best to avoid her
inevitable disappointment which inevitably leads to her yelling at me, which in turn, keeps me
nervous.
Mama is not a forgiving person, and knowing how unforgiving she is makes me even more
nervous than I usually already am which causes more accidents, which causes more clumsiness,
which causes her to hate me, which causes her to ignore me, which makes me more nervous,
which causes more accidents, and so on and so forth. She lets me know about this particularly
ugly and hateful trait with each mistake I make. If I break something, especially something of
hers, she wont look at me or speak to me for at least a week, and to a kid whose only attention
comes from being yelled at or being told what to do, ignoring me is the worst thing she can do.
She treats me as if she hates me along with hating the sight of me even more than usual. At least
when mama is yelling at me shes acknowledging my existence, but take that away and I dont
know what to do with myself. Im used to her telling me what I should, or shouldnt be doing,
and except for my daily chores, Im dependent on her to tell me what she wants done to be sure
Im doing the right thing. Without her commands and demands, how am I to know what she
wants or doesnt want from me, especially since Ill still be in trouble for doing or not doing
what it is shes not telling me she wants me to do or not do. As a result, I end-up apologizing two
or three or more times as well as doing extra, extra jobs around the house in order to cover all my
bases in order to win back her attention and direction. Im always walking on eggshells around
her as it is, but if shes ignoring me, I feel as timid as a mouse, never knowing when she might
lash out about the things I dont know I should or shouldnt be doing, and this confusion, I dont
know how to do. Its a vicious, never-ending cycle which is why, when I hear her talking about
me to everyone we know, I shut down and hide within myself. Im humiliated and embarrassed,
hating myself for giving her reasons to gossip about me and just wishing I can shout out to those
listeningIts not true! Its not true what shes saying! If only I can explain the vicious, never-
ending cycle I live through every cotton-pickin day!
Distrust
A child who is verbally abused may walk on eggshells around the abuser, watching for clues of
what might set the abuser off. The abuse itself is stressful, and the watching and waiting for the
next attack only compounds it.
The day before my Cousin shows-up unexpectedly, it happens to be a rare day when Peter,
mama and I are all out grooming the horses together. She rarely spends any time with the horses,
so all of us grooming together seldom happens. My mind is at odds with itself however, given
that I love, but also hate when mama joins us outside. I love the fact she must be in a good mood,
but hate the fact that everything I do from now on will be scrutinized. Ahhh, Scrutinization! Who
can live without someone examining everything you do under the proverbial microscope?
Nothin better than trying to have an enjoyable and relaxing day while someone analyzes every
move you make. I just love it! Aah-yeah.
Fear
Verbal abuse causes fear in the child, but it is usually felt as anxiety or a general wish to flee
from the abuser. He or she begins to distrust the abuser even when they are behaving in a kind,
loving or compassionate way, as the child is unsure of how long it will last and knows it wont
last. (Kellie Holly, of the http://www.Healthy Placewebsite.com)
Its a beautiful summer day with the temperature around eighty degrees, clear blue skies, no
more chores to do for a while and mama in a rare good mood. Since my horse Copper died, I am
given Rachels horse, Spinner, since Rachel no longer rides and I need a mount. Im very happy
about it because Spinner is a young, spirited horse who loves to run. Shes a Pony of the
Americas, A.K.A., P.O.A, with grey-roan coloring on her head and front end, a white blanket
around her mid-section from her withers back to her tail, four black legs, and a short, grey,
spindly mane that sticks up in all directions due to its shortness. Her tail is also thin and grey, but
is at least down to her hocks. Typical color and pattern for an Appaloosa, but being theres so
much white its terribly difficult keeping her clean. I love when the horses are bathed, trimmed
and looking beautiful unlike mama, who barely cares how they look. If I had a choice, Id never
go riding without them being bathed, trimmed and looking as beautiful as possible, but since my
opinion doesnt matter, the best I can do is give a good brushing since mama is in charge of the
clippers.
On the day mama is in her good mood and is helping groom the horses, Im the first to finish
since Spinners tail is thin and her mane mostly non-existent. I go to help mama with her horse,
Buddy, who is an Arab/Paint mix, with a long, thick, luxurious white tail that takes forever to
comb through, so I figure Ill start brushing it out for her while she finishes combing his mane.
Now, knowing mama always keeps an eye on whatever I do, I want her to see how careful I am
at the combing of Buddys tail as well as hoping shell like what she sees and maybe offer up a
compliment on my doing a good job. I start combing from the bottom of the tail as I know I
should and always do, then work my way up as I work-out the tangles. Nevertheless, even
though Im being careful quite a bit of hair is coming out since it hasnt been combed-out for a
while. But then, just as Im pulling the comb down and out the bottom of the tail, mama looks
down and sees the hair that has accumulated in the comb, and along with the hair that is coming
out with my last downward pass, she instantly assumes her incompetent step-middle-child is
ripping her horses tail to shreds.
STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! She screams as she grabs the comb from my hand,
holding it up for me to see. WHATS THIS? LOOK AT THIS! Shes looking at the hair in the
comb while I stand there looking dumb and confused since it always takes a few seconds to
figure out what shes suddenly angry about especially since shes acting as if I just slapped a
nun.
I was being careful. I mumble.
You call this careful? Just forget it. If you cant do it right, just dont touch his tail! I
thought I taught you better than that! You always start at the bottom!
I did.
If you did, you wouldnt be ripping out all his hair!
It doesnt matter to her that Buddys tail hasnt been combed-out in weeks, or that hes
shedding, or that its normal for a horse to lose hair just as every other creature including humans
do, or how she has no idea how I love beautiful horses and Id never do anything to risk ruining a
tail as beautiful as Buddys silken tresses. Nope, its my incompetence as usual. The next day
mama is still irritated with me, and wont make eye contact with me, or speak to me, and is
basically acting as if she hates me, and I dont know what to do with myself, and then Tanya
the manlier than my dadcousin shows up out of the blue, and now, thanks to my stupidity,
theyll have a lot to talk about as well as having a good laugh at my expense.
Depression/Anxiety
The most common long-term effects of verbal abuse are depression and anxiety, which also
opens the door to other symptoms such as mood disorders, anger issues and self-critical
tendencies. There are many forms of verbal abuse, such as threats of physical harm, insults,
cursing and demeaning comments. However, there are also wordless forms of verbal abuse
such as grimacing, laughing, rolling the eyes, brainwashing and sarcasm. All of these cut to the
core of ones being and initiate feelings of being unloved, undeserving and worthlessness. These
feelings provide a high-speed ramp to depression and anxiety later on in life. After repeatedly
hearing negative comments and insults, both children and adults begin to believe what they hear.
The negative traits instilled in them by their abuser are often used as explanations for common
mistakes and anything that goes awry, whether or not it is within their control. (By Patricia Hill,
eHow Contributor)
Ive gone to bed early after an evening spent trying to act as if I cant tell my cousin doesnt
like me. She makes fun of something, looks at me then looks at mama and they laugh. She sits
and talks with Rachel and Peter asking them all about their lives, but ignores me, which is for the
best I suppose, since I never know what to say or do if someone is looking directly at my
wrecked face. Im so self-conscience, all form of ordinary communication flies out of my head.
Tanya glances in my direction as if Im the third wheel, and like maybe I should just roll-away
already and stop looking as if I expect her to ask me about my life even though I already know
she wont. I just want to be included. Thats how it is and always has been with me. Im always
hoping to be included and when Im not, it hurts, but the very next day there I am again, waiting
and hoping to be included, until Im not.
Eventually, everyone goes to bed except for Tanya and mama who are still sitting in the
kitchen talking. I can hear their voices but not what theyre saying until that is, I hear my name.
Knowing for certain theyre talking about me causes my heart to start pounding fast and hard,
and I jump-up and go to the hallway to listen.
You should have seen her. She starts at the top of his tail and just yanks and pulls the comb
all the way through, down to the bottom just ripping-out large clumps of hair. Mama says in her
usual exaggerative and dramatic fashion whenever shes talking about me and, in her mind, my
stupidity and mistakes.
You have got to be kidding. What an idiot; Tanya responds.
I know; can you believe it? It doesnt matter what I say, shes always doing stuff like that.
Goes in one ear and out the other, huh?
Always, and then she just stands there looking likedahhh! I can see her now as she acts
out what she claims I was doing and saying dahhh like I had been standing there staring at her
with my mouth hanging open, drool running down my chin, and not comprehending in the least
what the hair in the comb meant.
Maybe she has mental problemsbut if she doesmaybe you can send her away to some
mental hospital and be free! HaHaHa!
Wouldnt that be a relief! HaHaHa! They laugh together then start whispering again but
suddenly stop talking and laughing as if on purpose, making the house jarringly silent. I think
they might have heard me since Ive gone down the stairs to hear better and I mightve made a
noise. I quickly tiptoe back to bed, but my ears strain as I continue to listen to them snickering
like evil minions. My heart pumps hard in my chest and my stomach feels sick, and I start
sobbing at the fact my own mother can be so cruel and now I feel hate oozing from every pore
toward her and my man-like cousin. She might as well have put a gun to my pimply-faced head
and pulled the trigger, it wouldve been a lot less painful. The next morning, I have swollen eyes
from crying, but I also feel something new inside of mea deadness. A deadness and darkness
and coldness have enveloped me, black and suffocating. When mama comes to the kitchen for
coffee, Im having a bowl of cereal and for the first time in my life I dont say good morning. I
dont say anything nor do I look to see what kind of mood shes in because for the first time in
my life, I dont care. Alice doesnt say good morning to me either and her icy silence makes me
hate her even more.
Every time I think about what she and Tanya were saying along with the wicked sound of
their laughter at the stupid little step-middle-child, I start to cry. I cry myself to sleep many
nights afterwards and pray to God Hell allow my head to explode. Tanya leaves the next day
and I never see her again, but her visit has a lasting impact on me and its never forgotten.

Gramma and mama barely talk even though she lives with us. Dad only talks to his mom
and dad over the phone and on special occasions, or when we go to their house for Christmas or
if they come to our house for Thanksgiving. I have no idea what happened to my aunts and
uncles and cousins who used to come for the holidays either, but I know they must be out there
somewhere even though I dont know where. Mamas sister and her husband and son live in
Hawaii and I know mama talks to her the most, but still, not very often. I dont hear her talking
to any other family members either until that is, the day Tanya showed-up out-of-the-blue. I
sometimes wonder if other people talk to their grammas, grandpas, aunts, uncles and cousins on
a regular basis as they do on television and if its strange that we dont. It isnt strange to me that
we dont, its just the way it is.
Family
You can identify family characteristics that may contribute to or show signs that abuse is
occurring in the home of a child. Families will have very few or no friends, and relatives do not
visit. The family may not even have a church support system. Parents may have been abused as
children and the family will have constant crises, including money problems or be constantly
moving. (By Rebekah Smith, eHow Contributor)

Chapter 13
Character is what you are in the dark. Dwight L. Moody


Bitterness, resentment, hatred, rage, guilt, low self-esteem, fear, jealousy and always
wishing my head would explode is being woven into the fabric of my brain. My body is maturing
without my mind. My emotions are growing, but only the harmful ones. The constant fear of
failure and in disappointing mama is like a ball and chain; its with me no matter where I go. The
seemingly happy-go-lucky girl I pretend to be is just masking the interior despair and anger.
When I look in the mirror, Im disgusted and embarrassed by the pimples, cysts and scabs
covering my face. Its humiliating to be seen in my baggy clothes or short socks with my hairy
legs in plain view. I resent Rachel and Peter for being spoiled and favored. Im thirteen going on
fourteen and my hormones are raging and I feel like all I ever do is cry. I cry because my real
mother didnt want me; my stepmother hates me; my father neglects me; my brother takes
advantage of me and my sister couldnt care less about me. I have no friends, Im too ugly for
boys to like me and I still dont have the guts to stand up against any of it. Im becoming numb
and dark and dead. The only thing Im sure of is that God is with me and he loves me. I dont
question why I have the life I have, I just pray Im able to make it to a new one. I dream of a life
full of love, and where I wont wish my head explodes on a daily basis, or I have a nervous
stomach that will surely give me an ulcer, or where I get looks that can make the devil himself
run for cover. Furthermore, I want a life where no one will ask meWho do you think you
areto which I can only answer, I dont know.
Emotional Effects of Abuse
Physical and verbal abuse both hurt children in an equal manner. Even though the signs of
verbal abuse may not be as easily seen, they emotionally scar a teenager in the same way
physical abuse does. Low self-esteem, depression, anger, fear, stress, emotional numbness and
feelings of guilt and worthlessness are all emotions that teenagers exposed to verbal and
physical abuse can experience. A teenager can carry some of these emotions all the way into
adulthood where lack of trust can cause relationship problems and depression can re-occur. (By
Conny Marian, eHow Contributor)
The inappropriate behavior seemed to go on for what felt like years, every time mama left
the house, making her leaving a catch twenty-two for me. I want her to go and leave me in peace,
but now I want her to stay so my dad will leave my sister alone. I have a nervous stomach when
shes home and now I have a nervous stomach when she leaves knowing whats to come.
Mama doesnt have a clue. She escapes to the serenity of her ceramic classes, or to the store,
or the mall or wherever else she can go, anywhere that isnt home since her perfect all-American
family isnt perfect anymore now that shes married to an adultererbut no one has to know
about that and at least we still look the part. When she goes anywhere, Ill glue myself to either
Rachel or dad in the hopes of keeping them apart. I try distracting dad so maybe he wont feel
the need to go after Rachel, but it never works. She always comes waltzing into the room in her
tight little shorts and way too tight t-shirts, and the fact shes quite voluptuous now that shes
seventeen quickly catches dads attention. Hes no longer my dad at those moments, but more
like a wolf in daddys clothing. Furthermore, Rachel seems to love the attention, or any kind of
attention for that matter, and depending on the situation, I can see she doesnt care if its good,
bad, right or wrong. The whole situation is always worse if mama isnt home at night and its
close to bedtime. I always stall as long as I can before I have to go upstairs, but when I finally
do, Ill keep watch through my bedroom window where I can see down into the living room. If I
ever see anything going on that doesnt seem quite right, Ill make up some excuse to go
downstairs and interrupt dad and Rachel from whatever I think is inappropriate daddy-daughter
behavior.
What are you guys doing...? I say sleepily. Youre making too much noise, I cant sleep;
I lie. My sudden appearance and made-up excuse for suddenly appearing typically works; it puts
a stop to dads tickling of Rachel, and hopefully, not because of the noise of her laughing
keeping me awake, but because he realizes that I know his behavior isnt right and figures it
would be wise to back-off.
Now, what I know I didnt know I knew. Im not sure how I knew what I know, but I know
for sure I knew. Ive never been taught about sex, or inappropriate touching or even what sex is,
all I know is what dad has been doing with Rachel makes me feel the same as how I felt when he
played around with Susan. Dad makes what hes doing seem like innocent tickling, or hugging,
or playful affection, but I know its not. I try my best to prevent whats going-on, but as with my
dads affair, I cant. The whole situation stresses me out even though I dont even know what
being stressed-out really is. I just know I get the same anxious feeling from my determination to
keep the peace, which means keeping everyone, including myself, out of trouble in order to
maintain the peace. I try to keep dad away from Rachel in order to avoid the trouble that will
surely disrupt the peace, therefore keeping mama from becoming unhappier than she already is
which is the main reason theres hardly any peace to speak of in the first place.
Signs of Abuse
Abuse victims will work so hard at keeping the peace between them and their abuser that they
will become emotionally and physically exhausted. (By Yvette Sajem, eHow Contributor)
Before mama found out about the affair with Susan, and when Susan and her girls had been
coming over on a regular basis, I had once seen my brother goofing around with Susans oldest
daughter, which in itself is fine. But when I see him get-up behind her and wrap his arms around
her waist, bending her forward as he leans over her the way I see my dad do with Rachel, I react
so violently I scare myself. I scream Peters name, but its more than a scream, its a growl and a
scream, like a growling scream, and as I do, I yank him off her and push him against the wall so
hard I practically lift him off his feet. I put my face in his face then hear myself speak in a deep,
growly Clint Eastwood type voice, like when Clint says, Go ahead Punk, make my day.
Except, I dont encourage my brother to go ahead and make my day, because what hes doing
would do anything than make my day, so instead I say, If I ever see you doing what you were
doing to her or anyone againIll kill you! and I mean every word just as I know Dirty Harry
means every word, and I know Peter knows I mean every word because he just nods and
mumblesO-kaaay. Hes as shocked as I am at my reaction, but he never touches anyone
again the way our dad touches our sister.

Its hard to put a stop to something when you are the only one trying to stop the thing you
want to stop, and I want to put a stop to dad and Rachels playful affection that goes on every
time mama leaves the house. Rachel knows as well as I what happens, yet she does nothing to
help herself. I wonder what can be going through her head for her not to take a stand and just say
no. Her giggly resistance and skimpy clothes do nothing but encourage dad to keep doing what
hes doing and nothing to stop what hes doing. Rachel must know whats happening especially
if I do, with me being only thirteen while shes seventeen, and yet, the inappropriate behavior
continues.
On the last night Id ever have to worry about being the only one trying to stop what needed
to be stopped, mama is getting ready to leave for her class as she always does on Tuesday nights,
with nothing seeming out-of-the-ordinary.
Im leaving now. Ill be home around ten; she casually announces. I always wonder why
she announces shell be home around ten when shes always home around ten and we already
know shell be home around ten unless she thinks weve forgotten from the last time she came
home around ten. Maybe she just wants to make sure we remember so that were all behaving
when she walks in the door. Who knows?
Okay, bye; Rachel, Peter and I all say in unison. Were watching television. Dad is in his
usual place, reclining in his Lazy Boy recliner.
Bye-bye, have fun; he says indifferently. Mama looks around at all of us as if shes
disappointed we arent all jumping-up to give her a kiss and hug goodbye and that we dont seem
to care shes leaving. I think thats strange since kissing, hugging and caring all add-up to loving,
and finding love in our family would be like finding diamonds in Nicevilles foothills
ridiculous.
After mama leaves, we continue watching the show we were watching, although, now Im
not relaxed but on high alert for any sign dad has decided its safe to play with Rachel. Sure
enough, within just a few minutes of hearing moms car head down the driveway, my dad
suddenly comes down to the floor in front of the television set where Rachel and I are, then lays
on top of Rachel whos stretched out on her stomach. Uh-oh, here we go again; I think to myself.
Dad-dy, giggle-giggle, what are you doing? I say in a lighthearted way while rolling my
eyes so he cant see how perturbed Ive become. He just smiles and acts as if hes trying to adjust
himself in order to get comfortable.
Daaad; Rachel whines as she looks back at him then back at the television. My brother
thinks its a game and climbs on top of dad, so now they all look like a daddy sandwich. I just
stay on the floor where I am, pretending I think its funny.
Okay, okay, youre squishing Rachel; I say as I start pushing dad and Peter off of her. Dad
gets-up and goes back to his chair a little out of breath from the exertion, since he isnt used to
getting up from the floor plus he has smokers lungs, or maybe its because of something else
or maybe all three.
Time for bed; dad suddenly announces and instantly, my insides turn cold. A dark cloud
of dread descends down on top of me as I make my way upstairs to my room. Somethings
wrong. Somethings different, though I cant put my finger on it. All I know is something feels
very, very wrong. I put on my pajamas, brush my teeth, then go back downstairs to say
goodnight as well as stall a little longer before leaving dad and Rachel alone. I can only buy a
few minutes when dad insists I need to get to bed.
O-kay, goodnight, I say as usual; then going upstairs, I turn off my light, go straight to my
window, get comfortable and start my watch. Peter is in bed and seems to be asleep already. He
and I are sharing a room at the time since the basement master suite is still incomplete, and my
sister and parents have the other two bedrooms next to ours. Peter is used to seeing me watching
the living room and when he asks why, my answers are vague since he wont understand
anyway, but mostly because I cant explain what I think is happening anyway since I dont fully
understand it myself. Right now though, I dont care that I dont know or understand what is
happening, all I care about is that I can see dad in his chair, Rachel on the couch and that I can
hear the television. After about fifteen minutes or so, I lie down but continue to listen. I dont
hear any giggling or laughing which helps me relax. Maybe Im worried for nothing. Im trying
not to drift to sleep, but Im getting sleepy and my eyes are getting heavy. I lay there for another
minute listening to the sound of the television as I try not to drift off, but I seem to be losing the
battlethe next thing I know theres complete silence in the house. It takes a second to
understand what Im not hearing and when I do I jump straight-up to see whats going on in the
living room.
What? Why are the lights off? Peter! I whisper as loudly as I can. The lights are off in the
living room!
Huh? What? Peter mumbles through his sleepiness. I just want him to share in my panic,
but he cant wake-up enough to care.
I cant see them! Why are the lights off? The TV is turned-off as well! I feel myself start
trembling while my mind races as to what I should do. I finally cant stand it any longer so I
jump out of bed and head downstairs. I decide Ill just tell dad I didnt hear the TV and was
wondering why, in case I have to cover my tracks. Silent as a mouse I start down the hallway,
except, I cant see a thing in the living room since the small kitchen light over the sink is on and
making the living room seem pitch black. Then, just as my hand reaches for the foyer light-
switch, I see a flash of movement and in the next instant the light comes on and what I see takes
my breath away. I wait a second for my eyes to adjust to the brightness and when they do, I see
my dad on the floor on his hands and knees with some kind of stupid smile on his face, and
breathing as if hes been doing push-ups, but I know for a fact he wasnt doing push-ups because
he never exercises. Just then I see my sister under the dining table to my left trying
unsuccessfully to hide from me.
The first thought that flashes through my mind after comprehending what Im seeing
isthank God they have their clothes onbut then I feel an unexpected and explosive fury rise-
up throughout my body and suddenly Im screaming at my dad the way I did with my brother.
THATS IT! I scream. Everything Id been holding in starts coming to the surface and
pouring out of me like helium from a deflating balloon.
OH MY GOSH! Oh my gosh! Im telling mom! I say in my growling-scream. I back away
then turn to run upstairs. Im telling mom! I continue yelling. Tears are falling but Im not
quite crying. All I can feel is intense anger, and all I can think is, Oh my gosh! Thats it! Im
telling mom. Dad comes up to my room a few minutes later, sits on the edge of my bed and leans
over me, but I refuse to look at him because Im so disgusted.
Penny. Penny, calm down; he says quietly.
No! Im telling mom! I scream at him.
Come on now, you dont have to do that, nothing happened; he says in a soft, reassuring
voice. I guess he thinks if he speaks in a soft, reassuring voice he can get through to me, but I
refuse to accept any of his softness or his reassurances.
I dont care! Thats it! I realize Im yelling at him, but I dont care because right at this
moment, he isnt my dad. He tries to explain away what I saw, but I know hes panicking and
just trying to save himself, and I know what I saw. When he asks me not to tell mom, I let out a
weird, wicked grunting kind of laugh at his ridiculous request, causing him to leave my room
looking like a dead-man walking. I count the minutes until mama comes home, relaxed and
happy after her ceramics class, not knowing Im about to cause her already fragile world to come
crashing down. The thought that I should have said something sooner starts running through my
brain. Why didnt I say something? This never would have happened if only I would have said
something! This is all my fault! How stupid can I be? Im definitely going to be in trouble for not
saying something! Why am I so stupid?
When mama comes home, I stand at the top of the stairs and tell her that I need to talk to
her. Strangely, she doesnt even hesitate as she turns to head-up the stairs, though she looks
confused and curious as she asks why. I start with the details of the events which had been
happening up until that night, and how I tried to stop what was going on but couldnt because of
being the only one trying to stop what needed to be stopped. I then tell her how I had a terrible
feeling about tonight, and how I didnt hear the TV so I went downstairs and dad was on his
hands and knees and breathing like hed been doing push-ups but how I knew that couldnt be
true because he never does push-ups, and then about how Rachel was hiding under the dining
table and how all I wanted was for her to come home.
Okay, thanks for telling me. Goodnight; is all mama says after hearing everything I had to
say, then afterward, she just gets-up and calmly leaves my room. Mama looks like shes in a daze
as if shes been hypnotized, and oddly enough, her hypnotic state scares me more than if she had
lost her temper and stormed out to face this new hurdle she now needs to confront. Later on, I
hear my parents fighting and my dad leaving the house. I know he wont be back anytime soon.
The next day, I see Rachel and mama go into my sisters bedroom with mama carrying the belt.
When the yelling starts, I hide behind a couch. When I hear the slaps and my sister scrambling
around trying to avoid the beating, I just hug my knees and rock and sob and sob and rock,
repeating over and over, what have I donewhat have I done?
Mama kicks dad out of the house for a long time this time, though he stops by occasionally
to say hello. Rachel never speaks to me about why she was hiding under the table, or why she
never tried to stop what should have been stopped. It was as if none of the inappropriate behavior
ever happened. Mama never mentions anything about it either except that dad will be living
somewhere else for a while, again.
At night, when I look through my bedroom window now, I see mama watching television
alone, but now shes drinking wine. After dad is allowed back home hes on his best behavior,
but mama still comes up from her new basement bedroom, teary-eyed and red-nosed most of the
time. Dad finishes their bedroom suite soon after he comes home, probably in hopes of looking
like a good husband for a change, but now theres a problem. My parents new bedroom is right
under my room where I can hear the grunting, the fighting and the crying which I hate with a
passion, and now Im on edge even while in my room. Curses!
Rachel stays in her room for the most part now, and its a long, long time before mama
leaves us alone with dad again.
Chronic Stress
Even after the stress is gone and the bullying or attack has ceased, the stress may continue.
Cortisol and adrenaline increase when the bodys fight or flight mode is activated during a
threat. As a result, people who are victims of chronic intimidation may perceive a threat
whenever they feel stressed. Over time, this can weaken the immune system, causing various
physical ailments including but not limited to headaches, stomach aches, and pain throughout
their bodies. Chronic stress also leads to anxiety disorders in adults and children (By Karen
Kleinschmidt, eHow Contributor)

Chapter 14
I hope life isnt just a big joke,
because I dont get it. ~Jack Handey


Im starting to lose my temper. I start losing my temper with one of our dogs, poor unlucky
Lucky. Lucky is the kind of dog that loves chasing after horses. Im the kind of horse lover who
hates seeing a dog who loves chasing horses, chasing horses. I call, whistle and call again to get
him to stop the chase, but to no avail. He goes after the horses like a dog possessed with a horse-
hating demon whos commanding Lucky to chasewith the demon voice being the only voice
Lucky can hear and obey. Eventually, the horse-hating-demon commands Lucky to bite as he
chases the horses, so off he goes, chasing and snapping, snapping and chasing, trying his hardest
to grab a bite of horse flesh. He tries his hardest even though its rather difficult as well as
dangerous when hes being kicked at by hooves soaring an inch past his face and up over his
head. Occasionally, Lucky lands a bite, and sometimes the horses land a kick, and for this
reason, Lucky is called Lucky.
The vet who treats Lucky each time hes kicked or run over is the one who named Lucky,
Lucky in the first place, and only because of the fact Lucky is usually lucky to be alive. I have to
agree with the vet, Lucky is lucky to be alive because Ive wanted to kill him many times myself.
I always hope after each injury he sustains by a running or kicking horse that his horse-hating-
demon will be exorcized, but the little devil just wont leave, so I start trying to beat the
wickedness out of Lucky myself.
Now, I never head outside with any intention of beating the demon-dog, I love Lucky. Hes
a cute, medium-sized dog, white, with light brown patches and some kind of Samoyed and horse-
hating demon-dog mix. Hes a terrific all-around kind of dog as far as dogs go, with no sign of
any other kind of demon dwelling inside his cute little head. Dad rescued him from a bunch of
punks who obviously thought spray-painting a white puppy green would be funny, but before
they could paint him completely, dad liberates the poor thing from the spray-painting thugs and
brings him home where we welcome the little white, brown and partially green puppy with open
arms.
Up until this point, I dont really have a temper, or I just didnt know I had a temper. Yes,
Im angry at how Im treated by mama, but Im only angry with her. Sometimes Im mad at my
brother or sister for one reason or another, but Im sure thats normal for siblings. Ive never
taken my anger out on anyone or anything before, except the time when my brother triggered
such a violent reaction out of me it surprised us both, but at the moment, he was lucky what I did
was all I did. However, a powerful rage seems to come over me now whenever Lucky starts
chasing the horses and its as if Im the one possessed. I grab a hold of him and let loose with my
hand, yelling through clenched teeth one word with each slapBad-dog! Leave-the-horses-a-
lone! Just-stop! Bad-dog! I then drag unlucky Lucky to the kennel and lock him up. Im now
huffing and puffing partially from the physical exertion, but mostly from being so angry. I never
feel sorry about the kind of justice I dole out on the poor thing even though hes just doing what
comes naturally, or what the horse-hating demon is commanding him to do. My lack of remorse
is mostly due to the fact Im too angry to feel bad about anything, let alone beating a horse-
chasing demon-dog who I feel deserves everything he gets. The stress from trying to stop whats
going-on between my dad and sister, plus the stress from the everyday dealings with mama are
taking their toll on my psyche. Even so, I know this kind of behavior would be more than
frowned upon, so I never let anyone witness my attacks on poor unlucky Lucky because then Id
be the unlucky one. Therefore, I indulge in my fits of rage in secret, but the more I do the worse
my temper seems to become seeing as how Ive got no reason to keep it in check. Oh well, I
dont care, besides, I get over my possession once Lucky is locked-up and I catch my breath,
then Im back to normal as if the whole incident never happened.
Anger
The anger that is often instilled in abused children is likely to be incorporated into their
personality structures. Carrying an extra load of anger makes it difficult for them to control their
behavior and increases their risk for resorting to violent action. To control their fears, children
who live with abuse may repress feelings. This defensive maneuver takes its toll in their
immediate lives and can lead to further pathological development. It can interfere with their
ability to relate to others in meaningful ways and to feel empathy. Individuals who cannot
empathize with others feelings are less likely to curb their own aggression and more likely to
become insensitive to brutality in general. (Encyclopedia of Childrens health;
http://www.healthofchildren.com)
Nighttime is the time I can finally relaxas long as things are quiet in the rest of the house.
While lying in bed waiting to fall asleep and while dreamily looking up at the starry night sky
through my bedroom window, I can unwind while listening to my favorite music, country music,
on the radio. I think about life and love, and the day Ill fall in love and make love just like all
the singers are singing about. But then I wonder what is making love exactly? Is it different from
sexor is it just sex after marriage? Is it when someone loves sex? Im not sure. The only thing
Im sure about is that sex before marriage is wrong and if one has sex before marriage, one will
be committing a mortal sin and will surely find himself boarding a one-way train to hell for sure.
I then wonder why God created us to be able to do something everyone obviously loves doing,
but then expects us not to do it. I know lots of people talk about doing it on TV, and sometimes
they even do it in the movies, so how can it be wrong when so many people are doing it even
though its a mortal sin and God says not to do it? Therefore, I make up my thirteen-year old
mind right then and there, and decide sex before marriage cant possibly be wrong, and God
couldnt or wouldnt send so many people to hell for doing something He created us to be able to
do. Would He? It just doesnt make sense. I then pray and ask God if He can give me just one
more favor on top of clearing-up my face and saving me from mama, and that is to please delay
His return until I can do it and see what all the hype is about. Thanks God, I really appreciate it.


Chapter 15
Every moment of pleasure in life has to be
purchased by an equal moment of pain.
~Jean Luc Picard


I love proving to myself and anyone whos interested, how strong I am for a girl. I have
large cut muscles in my arms and legs with thick veins popping out from my arms and wrists and
the back of my hands. I arm wrestle anyone whos willing whether man, woman, girl or boy with
no worry about the outcome.
So, you think you can take me? Thats what they all say and at this particular moment, its
Steve, whos sort of seeing Rachel. Steve is a Brother at our Baptistgirls cant wear pants
Christian school where we meet him for the first time. He moved down from Canada and was
hired as a teacherwho doesnt actually teachbut who is, in actuality, a pastor-in-training
standing-in as a teacher. During her senior year, Rachel develops a crush on the new Brother, but
being its a conflict of interest for him to date a student, shell have to wait and graduate before
they can go out on a real date.
Besides school, we see Steve on Sunday mornings at church where he gets to know our
family and kinda takes a liking to us. (Weird, I know.) He starts coming over to our house to
hangout, and mama practically takes him in as a son since hes the perfect older brother-type
companion for Peter. She thinks its important for Peter to have a Godly-male influence in his
life and Steve fits the bill perfectly. After Graduation, Steve and Rachel start dating occasionally,
but nothing serious ever happens because instead of acting like a romantic interest, he acts more
like an older brother to her as well. Still, that doesnt stop him from his frequent visits to our
home and spending an unusual amount of time with us. I guess were like his surrogate family.
We all love Steve; my parents, because of him being a pastor-in-training and a Godly role-model
for my brother; Peter, for the fun and camaraderie Steve offers; and then theres Rachel and me
who both love him as any girl would, being that hes cute and funny. He has a slim build, blond
hair and has the coolest Canadian accent as welleh. I have the biggest crush on him for not
only his looks and his accent, but for his quiet, caring, big-brother ways which brings us back to
the night in the living room where he challenges me to a pinky-wrestling match.
So what do you think, eh? Think you can take me?
I think so; I respond. Im not worried one bit.
Are you sure, now? I dont want to hurt you.
Yes; I reassure him. You couldnt have slapped the smile off my face. His attention to me
is priceless; besides wanting to prove to him how strong I am as well. Since I have a giant crush
on Steve, and me being a silly teenager, I have the absurd notion that what a man wants is a
strong woman, or should I say, a pimply-faced girl who is as strong as many menYep, thats
hot! Oh, wellIm young.
We lock pinkies.
Peter, call it for us, eh.
On three. One, two, three! Peter says enthusiastically. Our pinkies tighten and we begin to
strain. Steve thinks itll be easy. He thinks itll be quick. It isnt. We both become serious, both
concentrating hard. Our pinkies are locked and straining but neither of us will quit.
You ready to give up yet? Steve asks me as if hes nervous about the outcome.
Noooo...are you? I tease him. I honestly cant feel my finger anymore so I feel as if I can
hold on forever. We continue our straining until everyone in the room hears a loud SNAP!
Except, no one knows where the sound came from since the TV is blaring. Steve and I look at
each other and almost in unison ask; Was that you?
No, and No, eh. After another thirty seconds or so, we call a tie, but as Steve starts to
release his pinky from mine, I have the sensation of not being able to move my finger. Then, in
the next instance of pinky freedom, the pain explodes in my hand and goes screaming up my
arm, and as I let out a yelp I know as does everyone else in the room, that it was my pinky bone
that snapped, crackled or popped and made the loud snapping sound.
Well, now youve gone and done it. How does that feel? Mama says with a patronizing
tone and an insolent smirk across her face that reminds me not to complain about the pain.
Not so tough anymore, hah? Tears well-up in my eyes but I fight them as hard as I can,
embarrassed to cry in front of Steve and refusing to give mama the satisfaction. Its the first time
Ive ever felt pain like this, but I will not cry. I hope you dont think this will get you out of
your chores, she says with a crooked smile. Oh dont worry, Id never think that.
Are you okay, eh?
Oh, yeah, Im fine; I lie when Steve asks. At least somebody cares about me.
Mama isnt about to take me to the hospital or help me in any way since its my own fault
my finger is broken, or sprained, or whatever else might be wrong with it. So that night, and
many nights afterwards, I struggle to sleep without moving my hand, but sleep is hard to come
by especially since the slightest movement sends searing pain through my pinky and hand.
Chores are a little more difficult with an un-set, fractured finger, but not impossible since I can
do most of them with one hand. Cleaning the corral is the hardest task to accomplish since it
takes two hands to rake and shovel, then lift and push the wheel barrel, but I manage because I
have to. I think about setting my own finger, but I dont dare because it would attract unwanted
attention and remind mama of my showing-off and then shed have to remind me of my
deserving to have my pinky broken. Eventually though, the pain lessens, and in a matter of about
six weeks my finger heals normally without ever being set. I have a slightly crooked pinky
finger, but it works just fine.

Its a beautiful summer morning the day Steve comes by the house. He knocks at the door
and Peter and I both run to answer it because of seeing through the window who it is.
Steve! Hi! We both say excitedly.
Hi there; he says with his usual friendly smile and cute accent. An older woman is with
him whom weve never seen before. Shes small and stout, with short, grey, curly hair that
makes her look like someones grandmother. Mama comes to the foyer when she hears Steves
voice.
Hi Steve, come in. Steve lets the woman with him go ahead of him.
I want you to meet my Mum, Edith. She just arrived yesterday from Canada and I wanted
her to meet you, eh. Mama responds cheerfully as she takes the womans hand.
Hello, Im Alice. This is my son, Peter, and this is Penny.
Wheres Mr.?
Hes at work; Mama interrupts. The less she has to think, or talk about dad the better.
Its nice to meet you; Edith says to mama. She speaks in the subdued tones of someone
whos led a sad life. Steve has told me so much about your family and what a lovely home you
have here.
Ah, thank-you, its nice to meet you too; mama responds just as warmly.
My Mum wants to see Mexico so Im going to take her down to Tijuana and do some sight-
seeing. Well probably spend the night then come home tomorrow; Steve informs us.
Wow! That sounds like fun; mama says a little too enthusiastically. Why do adults always
seem to act one-way one minute around some people, and entirely different the next moment
around someone else? It weirds me out. I never know what to expect.
Yes, and I was thinking Peter and Penny could come along, eh?
Really? Hum, Im not sure. When are you leaving?
Im thinking of leaving right now so we can get down there and still have most of the
afternoon to explore.
Theres no way. I say to myself. There is no way shell say yes, but amazingly, it kind of
looks as if shes actually considering it. Oh, please, oh please, OHPleasesay YES! My
insides are bursting in anticipation of her decision.
Please, Please, Please! Peter repeats as he bounces up and down at mamas side.
When will you be home? Ugh, more questions. Is she trying to kill me?
Ill have them home tomorrow around noon.
Are you sure you want to take them?
Itll be no trouble at all! Steve insists. Then, for the first time in our lives, mama gives us
permission to go away with someone other than family.
We can go? Peters excited, Im flabbergasted! Im on cloud nine as I float up to my room
to pack. Steve does like me! Why else would he want to take me with him to Mexico? I mean, I
know Peter has to go so no one gets suspicious, I understand, but thats fine, just as long as we
can spend this time together! As an attention-starved, love-craving, hormone-raging, pimply-
faced fifteen-year-old with a major crush, I ignorantly think a twenty-two-year old man, who is
occasionally dating my sister, is actually attracted to me.
In a couple of hours were crossing into Tijuana, Mexico. We find a parking space near a
touristy-looking area then proceed to walk with other touristy-looking people toward the
touristy-looking areas and shops. We go walking through mazes of little streets, looking at the
merchandise being sold by little vendors in little booths that are decorated so colorfully youd
think it was a holiday. Blankets, ponchos, and giant Mexican hats hang from every ceiling and
beam; brightly colored ceramic figures, leather goods and boots are stuffed in every available
inch of space. Edith goes ahead and buys a few things, we give money to some begging children
and explore old buildings rich with Mexican history. We eat tacos from a little taco stand for
lunch, roam and explore until evening, then find a decent-looking restaurant for dinner, even
though its quite dark and seems a little dirty from what I can tell. Oh well, I dont mind, besides,
its easy to be distracted by the Spanish music wafting through the different dining rooms as the
Mariachis walk around singing to diners songs like, La Negra and Las Alazanas. Steve
waves his arm to the three-man band to come over to our table and requests a song be played for
his Mum. Edith seems less than thrilled, in fact, she has seemed less than thrilled all day, but I
chalk it up to jetlag. Of course, the over-eager Mariachis dont hesitate and immediately begin
playing Las Mananitas which means, For Our Mamas, despite Ediths protests. Steve says I
can ask for a song, so I ask the band to play Tequila which is my favorite, and they once again
start without hesitation. Steve hands them some money as he thanks them and they continue
through the restaurant, starting songs without being asked, hoping to be tipped for their effort.
Steves voice breaks my concentration. We need to hurry and find a hotel before it gets too
dark, eh.
Okay, are we getting one or two rooms? I ask.
Well probably get two rooms. Steve answers quickly.
Okay; I say. I still dont have great communicating skills, so yes, no, okay, I did, I didnt
and I dont know is almost all I ever say to anyone over twenty. It leaves much to be desired in
way of conversation. I feel extremely uncomfortable when no one else is talking or I cant think
of anything to talk about, so if the silence continues for too long Ill make some quick
observation of the surroundings and ask random questions just to break the break in
conversation. I find myself doing this a few times through this evening particularly since I dont
want Steve thinking Im not having a good time.
We finish dinner, Steve pays the bill, and away we go into the warm, Mexican night air that
smells strangely of BBQ, garbage and weeds intertwined with perfume, pollution and gasoline.
Luckily, we dont have far to drive since were already in a touristy area and we soon find many
cheap, touristy hotels.
Two rooms, please; Steve says to the front desk clerk with a giant smile plastered on his
face. He hands his mum a key.
Here. You and Penny can take room 201, and Peter and I will take 202, eh?
I thought Peter and I were going to stay in a room together? I hesitantly question.
No, no, guys with guys and girls with girls, eh. Hahaha.
Somethings wrong. I know this feeling all too well. My stomach starts doing flip-flops and
I dont know why. What could possibly be wrong? This is Steve, the cute Canadian import with
the funny accenteh. The pastor-in-training, a Brother, a teacher who doesnt teach, my sisters
semi-boyfriend, my mad crush, and besides all that, both my parents love him and they dont
love anyone so why am I so worried? First of all, I barely know Edith, and she isnt overly
friendly or thrilled to be here so what in the world will we say to each other? Second, each room
has only one bed which means Ill have to sleep next to an old woman I hardly know and wont
that be fun? Im sure having to sleep next to a shy, pimply-faced girl she hardly knows isnt
Ediths first choice either, but for some reason, the thought of Peter sleeping in the same bed as a
grown man is scaring the cussword outta me.
Theres only one bed! I exclaim when the door opens.
Dont worry; itll work out, eh. My mum wont bite. Steve says, laughing at his answer. I
cant argue with him being Ive been taught well to know my place as a step-middle-child, and
talking back or arguing with an adult is the number one no-no on mamas, and Gods list of no-
nos, and besides, what am I to say? Um, excuse me, but I dont care for this situation and would
prefer if my brother and I slept in the same room since I dont trust that you wont try to do
something that will make Peter want to hide under a table and make you start breathing as if you
were doing push-ups. So if you dont mind I just dont think that would go over too well.
Its okay; its okay; I repeat to myself, though the butterflies in my stomach say otherwise.
Theyre the same butterflies that always warn me when any out-of-the-ordinary situations, tones
or actions may lead to dangerous changes within my tiny chaotic world, which, at this very
moment, are warning me of an out-of-the-ordinary situation. I end-up having to run to the
bathroom a few times from the inevitable result from what the whirling mass of wings and a
twisting gut cause.
Edith turns on the television and shes actually able to find some American sitcoms, which
is a relief because now we wont feel, or should I say, I wont feel the need to talk. I put on my
pajamas, and as I climb into bed, I thank God the bed is a king size so I wont have to lie too
closely to someone I hardly know. Im suddenly sorry this is the trip mama finally said yes to
because of being more uncomfortable at this moment than I can ever remember being in my
entire life. We can hear laughing in Steve and Peters adjoining room, especially since the beds
are backed-up to the same wall head to head.
Sounds as if theyre having fun; I say with apprehension.
Yes, it does; is all the mum replies. Edith continues to watch TV, I continue to stare in the
direction of the TV but my full attention is on Peters laughing, and now the bumping of the
headboard on the wall.
Maybe I should go tell Peter its time to go to sleep. It is late, so I think its a good reason
to go check on himbut the mum stops me.
Let them play, theyre just being boys, ignore them, theyre fine, eh.
Now I want to scream! I think Im going to vomit. Again, my deep-seeded obedience over-
rules my fear. Eventually, Edith turns off the television and the lamp and says goodnight. We can
still hear Peter laughing and theres no doubt theyre wrestling. Im now trembling and my
stomachs spinning, and I wonder if the mum can feel the bed shaking from my trembling, and
then silence, except for some faint sounds I cant make-out, then tears slip silently down my
cheeks.
Whats happening? My mind isnt sure, but my instinct, my gut, or heart or God, whatever
you want to call it, knows. If you were to walk up to me at that precise moment and ask me what
I thought was going on in that hotel room, I couldnt tell you. I mean, Id been taught about
stranger danger, but not any specifics on what kidnappers do to youexcept kill you. However,
Steve isnt a stranger, and no one ever warned us about friends, neighbors or wanna-be pastors
from Baptistgirls cant wear pantsChristian schools, and inappropriate touching. The not-
knowing whats actually going-on, and my not wanting to disobey a direct order from an adult,
even one I hardly know and who is now sound asleep and snoring right next to me, keeps me
paralyzed and glued to the bed until I cant hear anything anymore and I finally fall asleep. The
next morning, a knock at the hotel room door wakes me up. Its Steve, making sure mum and I
are up and moving, eh. Theyre discussing the day as I slowly wake-up when I suddenly
remember the night before as my mind clears.
Wheres Peter?! Hows Peter? Is he all right? They both look at me like Im crazy.
Hes getting dressed. Hes fine, why? Steve replies so calmly and evenly and ever so
happily.
Well...we could hear you guys wrestling, and it was late, and I was just wondering if he got
enough sleep Im making stuff up as I go so he wont think Im thinking what Im thinking,
like maybe I think he did something that might make my brother want to hide under a table.
Peter seems to be acting normal. I laughingly mention the goings-on heard through the wall
the night before but he blows it off as if nothings wrong, like everythings a-okay. Am I wrong?
Did I just let my imagination run wild? Surely, Id be able to see something on my brothers
face, wouldnt I?
In the following months, Steve continues to come around the house, but I cant pick-up on
anything out of the ordinary. My crush on him is over in addition to no longer trusting him as far
as I can throw him even though I have no proof of anything being wrong. Then one evening
while Im in my room doing homework, Peter walks past my door and down the stairs, and the
next thing I know, he and our parents come upstairs and go into his room and shut the door. I
know its serious if the door is closed since none of us ever closes our doors for no good reason.
The first thought I have is of the sounds I heard through the hotel room wall in Tijuana as if it
were just yesterday. My stomach starts churning and I could swear I have an ulcer already even
though Im only fifteen. I know Im gonna be in trouble for not saying anything about that night,
so I strain to hear whats being said but I can only hear low murmurs. After about an hour, the
door opens and it startles me. My body jerks with the sound. Next, my worst nightmare comes
true when mama comes into my room and sits on the bed.
I want to talk to you about the trip to Tijuana.
Darn it! Just explode already; I say to my head. Okay, I respond miserably.
I want to know what you know, or what you heard, or if you thought something might not
have been right that night. Why me? Why is it always me?
Um...everything was OK, at first; I begin. We walked around and looked at stuff, then
went and had dinner and listened to mariachis. Afterward, we got a hotel, but then Steve said I
had to share a room with his mom, and that he and Peter were going to share a room. Later, I
could hear Peter and Steve laughing and wrestling around on the bed, and since it was getting
late I said to Edith that maybe I should tell them to stop, but she just said to ignore the wrestling
and the laughing, but I couldnt. After a while, it got quiet so they must have stopped wrestling
but I could still hear some soft sounds so I knew they were still awake, but then I fell asleep. The
next morning everything seemed normal and we got breakfast and came home.
Okay, thanks; mama says quietly. She gets-up and walks out of my room with the same
hypnotized look on her face that she had when I told her about dad and Rachel. I listen as she
goes downstairs to her basement bedroom where I can hear the grunting, fighting and crying, and
where I can now hear her go into her new bathroom, I mean shower-toilet room, and throw-up.
My gut instinct was right that night, something was happening that shouldnt have been
happening, but again, just as with my sister, I didnt stop it. Its my fault my brother was hurt
because I didnt do enough to stop what needed to be stopped and save my little brother from
wanting to hide under a table. I should have done something, anything, even if it meant getting
myself into trouble for disobeying the adults in-charge, but I didnt, and now I have to live with
that.
Once my parents report Steve to the proper authorities the whole story comes out.
Apparently, Steves father had molested him for years, but after being accused of molestation
himself up in Canada, Steve moved to the States to start over. It had already been reported he
molested some other boys at our Baptist Christian school where they hire pedophile pastor
wannabes, but the word had not gotten out before our trip to Mexico. Charges are issued and
Steve goes to prison. However, the person I hold most accountable is Mum Edith, for knowing
her sons history but allowing him to share a room with an adolescent boy anyhow. I cant
believe that she could listen to what was happening on the other side of that dirty, dingy wall of
that cheap, touristy hotel, but did nothing to stop what was going on as well as stopping me from
stopping what was going on. She disgusts me.
Mama takes us out of school after this happens and were home schooled until my brother
and I graduate. When I think back on the things that happened as I grew-up, I never have to
question how I handled it all; it was God. I know He was with me while going through these
deep valleys of death as he promised He always would be, blanketing me in a calming peace and
warming love every time. Because of this, Id make it through and never forgot God loved me.
Emotional and Psychosocial Consequences
All types of neglect, emotional neglect in particular, can have serious psychosocial and
emotional consequences for children. Some of the short-term emotional impacts of neglect, such
as fear, isolation, an inability to trust, shame, embarrassment, an inability to achieve close
relationships and guilt can lead to lifelong emotional and psychological problems, such as low
self-esteem. (Erickson, M. F., & Egeland, B. 2002)

Chapter 16
The future is like a Japanese game show,
you never know whats going on.
~Tracy Jordan of 30Rock


Home school? Did I hear that right? Dont get me wrong, I am given a choice. Start
attending Niceville High School or, finish school at home. Hum...? Lets see, lets analyze my
options. Onego to tenth grade at a public high school where I know exactly no one, with my
face looking like a bacterial war zone, wearing clothes that are as stylish as an outdated sofa, and
a haircut that will confuse everyone as to whether I should be throwing a football or holding
pom-poms screaming, Go Team! at the guy throwing the football. I can always tell the other
students that its not my fault I look the way I do and that I truly am just an ordinary girl just like
all of them, however, they probably wont care because kids only see what they want to see, and
what theyll see is a shy, pimply-faced girl who looks like a boy. Then theres my second choice.
Stay home and spend every minute Im alive with the one person who I wished wasnt. Wow,
tough choice. In the end, staying home is the only option since I know how to deal with my evil
stepmother, that I can do. Knowing how to deal with the humiliation Id experience in a public
high school, that I cant do.
I end-up handling being home full time better than expected...just get my chores done then
stay locked away in my room under the guise of schoolwork. I learn math, English, social studies
and science, but Im missing out on sports, socialization, life experience, friends, homecoming
and prom. However, I graduate early which is all right by me.
Just before Im to graduate and a few months after I turn seventeen, mama comes into my
room to ask me one question.
What do you think about enrolling in the Army? Youll be able to travel and earn money
for college.
Really?
Oh yeah! Mama says in a cool, Fonzy-like style. You can request to serve anywhere you
want, including Hawaii or Europe, and when you get out they give you money for, college! Its
called the G.I. Bill and it pays your way through, college! I must admit, the idea is exciting, but
whats most exciting is the opportunity to get away from home, the dream Ive been waiting for
most of my life. It only takes a second to decide its the best idea Ive ever heard even if it is the
only idea Ive ever heard. I restrain my excitement and try to slow the racing thoughts going
through my mind and just focus on asking appropriate questions, even though all I really want to
know ishow soon can I leave? Mama is equally excited for me to leave so the next day, down
to the Army recruiters office I go.
Military life sounds perfect for a step-middle-child who knows how to obey orders, take
verbal abuse, keep quiet, do her duties, work hard and is already in excellent physical condition,
so boot camp should be a piece of cake. I look forward to the challenge almost as much as
moving out of the house and traveling the world for free. Where do I sign?! The following week
I go in for my physical and mental tests. Im so excited about the upcoming tests knowing Im
gonna ace them all, I can hardly sit still. Im still proud to show off my physical prowess, and if
anyone will appreciate it, I know these Army guys will. Its a cattle-call type of operation, and
the mixed-bunch of women trying-out along with me stand single file as we go through the
strength and fitness aspect of the tests. Once were finished with our exercise routine, we all head
to a classroom and take a written test, then perform a cognitive test, and after all that is said and
done, were sent into a doctors office one-by-one to start our physicals.
The doctor who examines us is cold and unfriendly, which I can only assume is due to the
constant repetition of examining new applicants every day, except, I dont understand this at the
time and the unfriendly doctor makes me nervous about joining the military if this is how it will
be. Dr. Grumpy looks in my mouth, my eyes and my ears, then pokes and prods me all over my
body. After the poking and prodding is finished, Im told to strip down to my underwear where
Im checked over for any kind of skin abnormality, even though I could have told him the only
kind of skin abnormality hes going to find on me is on my face and I dont need to strip for him
to know thathahaha. I ace every aspect of every test just as I knew I woulduntil the health
questions begin and my dream of escape comes crashing down all around me.
We enter a small room individually where another reserved, unfriendly and dreadfully
serious Army doctor starts asking questions.
How old are you? Whats your weight? How tall are you? Do you have or ever had
allergies or cancer, heart disease, diabetes, and does any of it run in my family. Next, the
womens health section; yes, Im a virgin; yes, I have periods. My last period was two weeks
ago. Yes, theyre regular. No, theyre not heavy except for the first day. Yes, I do have bad
cramps and yes, they are a problem for the first six hours after I start. What happens? Well, I
become, what seems to be, deathly ill. I even have to lie down in the bathroom just to be sure Im
near the toilet in case I throw-up and because I have terrible diarrhea. I become extremely
nauseous and dizzy as well as having intense cramps and pain around my middle and around to
my lower back. My hands and feet go cold and numb, I break out in a cold sweat and feel as if
Im freezing while at the same time, Im burning-up inside. I feel so weak I can hardly get-up off
the floor and when I do, I feel as if Im going to pass out. I basically feel like Im dying. Also,
any over-the-counter medications just intensify the symptoms, although, my doctor recently gave
me a pill that works great. It takes away all my problems, so now, the death-like symptoms I
once had arent a problem at all. I finish-up telling him about my menstrual dilemma with a big,
confident smile on my face.
Do you think its a condition that might keep you from being able to work or go to war
not that youll be going to war mind youor be able to serve whenever needed? Dr. Serious
asks me after listening to me rattle on for the last two minutes.
If I dont have my pills, yes; Im utterly useless, I answer matter-of-factly. But only for
six hours. I know this because I time my ordeal every time it happens and its always six hours,
but if I have my pills, Im good to go! Hes looking into my eyes as if hes scrutinizing
everything Ive told him.
OK. Next!
Im taken to a waiting room where mama is waiting and looking all bright-eyed and bushy-
tailed in her apparent anticipation of being rid of me. Soon though, were ushered into a small
office and asked to take a seat. The man sitting at the desk introduces himself.
Hello, Im Dr. Colman. I regret to inform you that Penelope has been rejected, and now
you wont be able to join the United States Army, travel the world for free, collect on the G.I. Bill
to pay for, college! or escape from your monster of a mother the reason being, the problem
on the first day of Penelopes monthly cycle. Now, I know youre taking a medication for the
symptoms, but unfortunately, that isnt good enough. We need to have our soldiers at the ready,
and what happens if its your time of the month and youre too sick to do your duty? What if
youre out in the middle of nowhere and dont have your medication? We just cant chance it.
Im sorry.
Mama and I sit in stunned silence. If I had ever wanted my head to explode before, it was
nothing like how much Im wishing for it to happen right at this precise moment. I wish someone
would just shoot me already. The look of disappointment on mamas face is abundantly obvious
as well, perhaps, a little too obvious, as if it were her dream that had been dashed. She then looks
over at me with her now dull-eyes and flat tail as if Im a dream dasher, or like I failed on
purpose which makes me a failure, and whats she supposed to do with me now. Nevertheless,
and even though Im extremely disappointed as well, I wont show it, not wanting to join-in with
Alices outward display of frustration, and hoping if I dont, hers will pass quicker. She doesnt
speak on the way home so my stomach starts doing flip-flops as if Ive done something wrong
and I dread what might happen when we get there. What now? What am I going to do with
myself after I graduate? I already know mama doesnt want me around, but where am I to go?
Life remains the same until I finish school, but practically right after I place the last period
after the last word on the last answer of the very last question on my final exam, mama makes an
announcement.
Youre looking for a job today.
Theres nothing else to say except, Okay. Im seventeen-years old.


Chapter 17
When God closes a door, He opens a window.
Our job is to not jump out of it.


I have mixed feelings about the situation. First off, Im only seventeen, and a young
seventeen at that. Then theres the prospect of going out and dealing with adults on an adult level
in the adult world which is scaring me to death. I have absolutely no experience in the dealing
with adults department, and now Im being thrown to the lions without anything at my disposal
in which to defend myself.
The only experience Ive ever had with adult homo-sapiens is not what Id call, educational.
Between either being yelled at, being made to feel stupid or like a failure, or a stupid failure in
addition to not being able to stop them from making my siblings want to hide under tables, all I
know is that adults are scary and untrustworthy monsters. I mean, there are the adults at school
who didnt yell at me or put me down, but they actually only spoke to me about school related
topics and then mostly ignored me so that doesnt give me anything to look back on for help
either. My dad is a successful businessman, but he never shares his business knowledge with me
because of him being too busy being a successful businessman, furthermore, being secluded at
home instead of attending school during the most critical socializing years in my short
seventeen-year existence, made it so that I never overcame my shyness or my lack of
conversational skills. On the other hand, Im excited at the thought of making money, which is
the first step in getting away from her. Ive always been able to do anything I put my mind too
and this is no different, except, its much more important.

First stop, McDonalds. What other job could be easier for a first-timer than McDonalds. Ive
already filled out the application, I have an appointment with the manager and Im as ready as
Ill ever be even though Im shaking in my shoes Im so nervous. A tall handsome, mustached
man walks toward the table Im sitting at and sits down across from me. The thought of a
handsome, mustached man seeing my face makes me even more nervous than I already am. I
barely glance at him as I say hello, shake his hand and then quickly glance away, embarrassed
about the pimples, cysts and scabs on my face. I know I need to look confident as well as look
him in the eye when he speaks, but I cant and I cant help it. Its never easy for me to talk to
anyone because of knowing theyre looking at my face, either feeling sorry for me or simply
being grossed-out which isnt fair because on the inside, Im just like everyone else.
So? Just graduated? Mr. Manager says in a I couldnt care less kind of way.
Yes.
Any work experience?
I did a lot of work around our house. I wonder if that counts
Ahh; Okay. Mr. Mustache-man laughs at my answer as if he thinks Im joking.
I see youreseventeen?
Yes.
Well he pauses as he scans my application. I can tell he isnt really looking at anything
since there isnt enough information on my application to warrant so much staring time, and I
realize his staring at my empty application is the only way to avoid having to look me in the face.
Yes, Im that scary.
Well, I have a few more applicants to interview, but Ill give you a call when we make a
decision; he says to me while still looking at the paper hes holding.
I say okay, but what I actually want to say is, please ignore the hell on my face and just give
me a chance and then youll see Ill be better at my job than anyone else, even better than the
ones whose faces look like heavenbut of course, I cant.
Thanks for coming in. He then quickly stands and shakes my hand.
Thank-you. I sheepishly say, and again, quickly glancing at him then away in order to
avoid eye contact.
I may be a first-timer, but I dont think the interview went well. I go out to the car where
mama is waiting and get in.
Well? Howd it go? She asks first thing.
It was okay. He said he had more people to interview and then hell call.
Im no dummy. I know when someone is grossed-out by my face, especially when the
person grossed-out is a tall, handsome, mustached man who can barely look me in the eye for
any longer than I can look him in the eye. I dont think Ill be getting a call.
The next place we go is a small deli with a help-wanted sign in the window. Its in a mid-
sized shopping plaza which includes a ten-story office building on the backside, a grocery store,
a shoe store, a stationary store, a pizza parlor, and a few other small apparel and gift shops. The
deli is co-owned by three Armenian friends, is well established and a favorite lunch spot for the
neighboring store employees and businesspersons. When I walk in, a short, curly haired,
mustached, middle-aged man is behind the counter and I ask him for an application.
Oh, okay, I get you one; the merry little man says with a friendly smile that lights-up his
whole face. He then hands me the application. Sit anywhere you like, fill it out and when you
finish, we go over it together. OK?
Ok; I say cheerfully, surprised at his friendliness. He doesnt seem disgusted by my
appearance and even though Im relieved about this fact, I wont let myself believe his apparent
disregard of the redness, dryness and sores covering my face. The fact is, youd have to be blind
not to be disgusted by it. Im uncomfortable sitting in front of him because of him looking me in
the eye, which means hes looking at my face which Im trying to hide by glancing down every
other blink. He tells me his name is Hutch, like Starsky and Hutch. He seems kind and speaks
gently, unlike the tall, handsome, mustached manager from McDonalds who probably wont call.
I like Hutch instantly and I start to feel at ease for the moment. Its Friday, so he tells me to come
back on Monday at 7:30am and you will start working, yes?
I got the job? Im shocked.
Yes; you want it, right?
Oh, yes! Thank-you! I shake his hand and tell him that Ill see him Monday. I run to the
car and jump-in as I excitedly announce that I got the job.
When do you start?
Monday; Im all smiles as I answer. Mama looks relieved and as if shes pondering the
future.
Well, good.

Monday morning I walk into the deli and see another man there besides Hutch who I assume
is one of the other owners, and another employee, a girl named Sarah. They all watch me walk
in, and when Hutch says good morning, the man and girl realize Im the new hire and stand-up to
greet me. I can tell the man is scrutinizing the way I look as he reaches out his hand.
Hello, Im Garo; the man says.
Hi, Im Penelope; I say with a smile. Garo is tall and a little sloppy looking unlike Hutch.
Garo tells me there is another boss Ill see from time to time and his name is George, but hes the
silent partner while he and Hutch manage the deli.
One of us opens the store in the morning, and the other comes in for the lunch rush, then
whoever opened the store in the morning will leave around three in the afternoon while the other
stays until closing. The two of us could run the entire deli ourselves if we had the inclination, but
we decided we wanted employees so we can sit here in the back and relax. Well help when
needed, so dont worry, well always be right here. Garo wasnt kidding. He and Hutch sit at
their little table in the back sipping espressos, chatting and smoking every day, unless of course,
I need help. Garo is the type of person who is outspoken, straightforward; say it as it is, and
feelings, what are feelings? He tells me that as long as I do my job properly, Ill be fine, if not,
hell let me know. If I have to tell you more than once, youre out. I tell him I understand.
When I arrive in the mornings my duties will be, first and foremost, make coffee, then make
fresh chicken and tuna salads when needed, boil eggs when needed, slice tomatoes, then fill the
sandwich condiment containers to get ready for the lunch rush. I help customers, fill drink
orders, work the register and eventually make sandwiches. Throughout the day I slice all the
meat and cheese needed for the day, put everything away after deliveries, wash the dishes, sweep
the floor, keep the tables clean, keep the kitchen clean, keep the bathroom clean, keep the walk-
in clean, put the sandwich condiments away at the end of the day as well as make Garo and
Hutch espressos whenever they ask. I know Garo isnt thrilled with me at first, and if what I do
isnt perfectly executed its quickly and forcefully brought to my attention. However, the one
thing Im good at is being yelled at, so I just take it the best I can even though hes intimidating
and many times, makes me cry. Ive been made to cry plenty of times in my life so Im used to it
and refuse to quit. I know Im only making beginners mistakes even though Garo isnt allowing
that as an excuse, therefore, I just try harder, work harder and learn faster until I finally win his
approval.
Hutch has an entirely different temperament and personality. Hes quiet and sweet. He
seems to know there is more to the happy girl behind the counter than what everyone sees on the
outside. When its slow and were alone, hell ask me simple questions about myself, which
helps me open up about how I feel about life. Hes the first adult who has ever taken an interest
in me enough to want to know me better. He takes me under his wing to help me learn every
aspect of running the deli as well as helping me learn to be more confident in life in general.
Hes more a friend than a boss, and eventually, Garo joins in our conversations and the three of
us start becoming amazingly close. Its as if I have two new dads.
Both Garo and Hutch get a kick out of teasing me about everything, being Im so naive and
innocent about, everything. Theyve never met a seventeen-year old who was so childlike in their
thinking before meeting me. However, Ive never met anyone who spoke about sex so
muchnot that I ever knew anyone who spoke about sex, period. Both men seem obsessed with
the subject although the whole topic just embarrasses me. I turn bright red as I laugh and laugh
because to me its downright hilarious. I feel as if Im making-up for a lifetime of laughing, plus
Im learning about men and everything that comes along with them. The subject may be
embarrassing but it makes me laugh, which makes them tease me, which makes me turn all red
and I love every minute of it.
I love my job and cant wait to go to work in the morning but hate when its closing time. I
still have my chores to do at home plus the corral to clean, but I get everything done that needs to
be done and try to avoid mama as much as I can. Alice barely acknowledges my existence
anyway, except for the occasional tongue-lashing about one thing or the other. I suppose she
sometimes feels she needs to remind me of what a disappointment I am and about all the things I
dont deserve just so I dont forget. However, its at those times when I just let my mind drift
away to the deli and I dont hear a word she says. The deli is an escape now and nothing she says
can take that away from me.
Effects of Abuse
Repeated verbal abuse such as blaming, ridiculing, insulting, swearing, yelling and humiliation
has long-term negative effects on a persons self-esteem and contributes to feelings of
uselessness, worthlessness and self-blame. (http://www.thisiswar.com)
The worst part of getting up for work in the morning is finding out what my face did
overnight. Theres always something different about the topography of my skin when I wake-up
either for the better or for the worse. Before I go to bed, I squeeze whatever needs squeezing and
pop whatever needs popping, Ill then scrub my face with soap, rinse, then soak a washcloth in
ice cold water and let it rest on my face in the hopes of calming down the irritation from my
squeezing, popping and scrubbing. Occasionally, Ill try one of the many home remedies Ive
been told about over the expanse of the last six years in the hopes it will work this time, but it
doesnt. Afterwards, I go to bed and pray as I do every night, that God will heal my skin, or
reveal to me what lesson Im supposed to be learning from the natural disaster on my face. At
least, I pray, make known what sin it is Im committing so I can stop committing whatever sin it
is that Im being punished for but dont know Im committing. Id really appreciate it. I know not
to expect a miracle when I wake in the morning because of also praying many a time to be
rescued from the grasp of Alice, and that request has never come true either. Thus, I continue
getting-up every morning and while looking at myself in the mirror, pick and scrub and soak
again, hoping it will help enough so that people wont have to look at me with pity, or as if Im
the creature from the black lagoon just once.

Sarah is the only other employee working at the deli. Shes eighteen, an only child, comes
from a broken home and lives with her mother in a cheap, run-down apartment. She wears way
too much make-up with bright blue eye shadow being her favorite accessory as well as wearing
cheap, too-tight clothing which show a little too much of her pasty white skin. Her weight and
complexion tell of a diet consisting of too much fast food and her bleached-blond hair looks as if
the crispy locks might fall out in clumps if its bleached even one more time. Sarah loves to
smoke and since she smokes like a chimney, she inevitably always smells of cigarettes.
Her father left her mother when she was only five, leaving them with nothing but an old,
broken-down car and rent on an apartment they could barely afford. When her mom finally got a
job, Sarah was passed around to different babysitters until she was old enough to start school and
stay home alone. Through the years, Sarahs mom searches, yet never finds Mr. Right though
there are many Mr. Right-Nows, however, as her mom struggled to keep her right-now men
happy, Sarah found ways to keep herself happy. She falls in with the wrong crowd and starts to
party. She starts drinking and smoking, and unlike me, she learns about boys, and sex. When she
turns sixteen, Sarah has to get a job in order to help her mother with the bills, which is how she
came to work at the deli. Shes in her second year here and started at the deli as a first-timer, just
like me, so she knows exactly how I feel.
Dont worry about Garo; she tells me, he just likes to bark. Just do your job and youll be
okay. I follow her around for a few days, listening as she narrates while working and teaching
me the way things need to be done. When she needs a smoke, I take over whatever she was
doing as she watches from the little table in the back with Garo and Hutch, them with their
espressos and her with her coke. Im the new kid on the block and have to earn my place at their
little table, but the more work I take-on, the less Garo, Hutch and Sarah have to do and that
makes them happy, which leads to me being invited to sit at their special little table where we
become one happy little family.
Sarah and I work well together even if she does allow me to do more than my share of the
work, however, Ive become so efficient at my job I dont need her or anyone to help me and so,
after about two weeks, Im finally allowed to start training at making sandwiches. During the
lunch rush, we must be able to make as many sandwiches in a minute as we can in order to keep
the line moving at a steady pace. Im able to make two sandwiches a minute when I first start,
but soon, Im making three, then five sandwiches a minute, and since the line is usually out the
door for a good hour or two, the more sandwiches I can make, obviously, the faster the line will
move. One of us works the register, one fills the drinks and the to-go bags, and one makes the
sandwiches. Its hectic, but fun, especially when we move like a well-oiled machine. Once the
rush is over and I finish the slicing and cleaning-up, we sit at our little table in the back, talking
and laughing about life and love, and that becomes my favorite part of the day.


Chapter 18
Youre so beautiful you could be a part-time model,
but youd probably have to keep your day job.
~Flight of the Conchords


Go to the store and get some of that face medicine; Garo keeps insisting.
My mom says that stuff doesnt work, I respond. Ive always believed what mama told me
about acne medicines because I never believed she would lie about something that might help
heal my face, knowing the embarrassment Ive had to go through ever since I was twelve.
You might as well try it, what can it hurt? You need it, Garo tells me in a gentle,
concerned dad kind-of way which touches something in me that I dont recognize. Garo has
never kept his comments about my acne to himself and even though hes just trying to be helpful,
his remarks still embarrass me. I defend myself by explaining my morning and nightly rituals to
him and anyone who will listen, so hopefully, theyll understand it isnt my fault my face looks
the way it does.
As Garo keeps insisting I try some OxyClean, or any of the other acne medications lining
the shelves that promise life-changing results, I must admit, Im tempted. However, I worry what
will happen if mama finds out Ive gone behind her back, or worse yet, realizes I no longer
believe what she has told me for years about the supposed acne remedies and their life changing
promises. If the miracle cream ends-up working, Im sure mama will wonder why my skin is
suddenly becoming clearer, which means shell probably ask me why my face is suddenly
clearing-up. Ill then be put on the spot and will have only seconds to decide whether or not to
lie, or just tell her the truth about the fact I dont believe her mantra about acne-medications
anymore. If I tell the truth, Ill have to explain how I needed to try the medication for myself and
see if their life-changing promises were true since Im the one who has to look in the mirror
everyday as well as face the public looking like a creature from the black lagoon. Even so, I can
still hear her nowWHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?
Sarah says shell go with me my first time. My first time defying my mothers word, my
first time buying something with my own money and the first time taking a step at doing
something for myself. We head over to the grocery store and go straight to the health and beauty
aisle, all the while; my stomach is twisting and turning. I just want to hurry-up and get outta
there because you never know, this could be the day mama decides to do her grocery shopping in
this exact store, on this exact day, at this exact minutethe exact day and time I decide to defy
her word and buy the acne medicine that promises to change my life. Sarahs taking her time
explaining her experiences with the different brands so I tell her to just choose the one she thinks
will work bestuntil I see the warning of possible irritation on the back of the box. The thought
of possible irritation scares me because mama will surely notice if my skin is extra irritated, so it
needs to be gentle enough for a first-time user; I insist. I hurry Sarah along and we finally pick
one. I pay, then we dash back to the deli.
Whew! Made it safe and sound.
Did you find one? Hutch asks when he sees us come through the door. I nod my reply
with a big smile on my face.
Good. Now go put some on so it can start working; Garo says in his usual candid way. I
go to the restroom, then decide it would be safer to try the cream on just one pimple for now to
see how drastic the miracle will be since its better to be safe than sorry.
Did you do it? Hutch asks as soon as I come out. Hes always asking unassuming little
questions, some silly, some embarrassing, and some that just make me stop and think. I love his
questions no matter how they make me feel, mostly because they let me know he cares about me.
Yes; I put some onone, then explain why along with wishing my skin angst wasnt of so
much interest to everyone.
When I get home later that night, I rack my brain as to where I should hide my little tube of
life-changing promises knowing my room can be searched at any time. Therefore, I decide to
hide it outside behind the house where I know it wont be foundI hope.
Sarah and I have become fast friends. Its so much fun hearing about her life, plus it helps
me stop dwelling on my own for a change. It amazes her that Ive never had a boyfriend or tasted
a drop of alcohol in my life.
How old are you? Seventeen? And youve never kissed a boy? Why not? She asks me.
Just look at my face. Boys dont like me, besides, my mom would never let me.
What about beer? Have you ever had a drink of beer? One beer?
No; but my dad said he used to give me beer when I was four or five and he said I loved it.
I respond sounding younger than usual.
Oh my gosh! Youre such a goody-goody! Sarah says as she rolls her eyes. What about
make-up? Why dont you wear make-up?
My mom says I wouldnt want to wear make-up because my skin is so bad. I dont think
she would let me anyhow.
Would you want to if you could?
Of course; do you think I want to look like this? Now Im rolling my eyes.
Thats exactly what make-ups for; she says, to cover-up skin problems.
Oh, and by the way; I say, Im not a goody-goody and I could be a baddy-baddy if I
wanted to be.
Oh my gosh! Only a goody-goody would say baddy-baddy!
Okay, fine, maybe I am a goody-goody! We then both laugh at my goody-goody status.
Sarah decides right then and there, that it will be her personal mission to put some make-up
on me even if she has to tie me up to do it. She approaches me with the idea a few days later.
Oh no, my mom would never let me! Whenever I think of doing something against
mamas word, I get nervous, and when Im nervous, I laugh, and the idea of actually going and
buying make-up makes me extremely nervous, so Im laughing a lot.
Your mom doesnt have to know, does she? Sarah asks in a wily sounding voice.
I guess not. Except, what happens if Im wearing the make-up and she comes in and sees
me? By now, Garo, Hutch and Sarah all know about my relationship with mama so they
understand my reluctance.
You can just put it on when you get here and take it off before you go home. If she comes
by here you can run to the bathroom and one of us will tell her that youre busy, and that youll
be out in a minute which will give you time to wash your face. Somehow, thinking of being
able to remove all signs of a made-up face in a few nerve-racking minutes seems like a logical
idea at the time, so off to the store we march with me as a hesitant, but decidedly willing
participant. Even though Im worried about getting caught, Im not able to resist the idea of
making myself look like a girl. Oh, how I want for once in my life, to feel and look like a girl.
The acne medicine is working, so well in fact, I continually worry mama will notice and ask me
why my face is suddenly so clearbut so far so good. So, off I go to do what most eighteen-
year-old girls take for granted, and that is, buy make-up. Again, I tell Sarah to hurry as she takes
her time looking through the miles and miles of cosmetics lining the aisles, but eventually she
feels she has enough and I quickly pay, then once again, hurry back to the deli.
Did you get it? Hutch asks, again.
Yes! I say excitedly.
Well, go put some on! Garo says in his typical candid way.
Okay, okay! Then into the restroom Sarah and I disappear. When I reappear, Garo and
Hutch let out catcalls and whistles and stare at me admiringly. Their little girl is growing up
before their eyes.
Mama comes into the deli unexpectedly one evening for only the second time in the thirteen
months Ive worked here. Shes with my aunt who is visiting from Hawaii. Im behind the
counter and when I hear the door open I automatically turn to look and there she is, my worst
nightmare coming through the door, and here I am with a face full of make-up. The plan Sarah
and I came up withabout running to the bathroom to wash my face flashes through my mind,
but there isnt time to run to the back and wash my face, there isnt even time to turn back
around without looking as if Im hiding something. I do anyhow, purely out of shock and fear
and now I look guilty as all getup. Knowing Im caught, I change my tactics and try to act as if
everything is normal.
Hi! I say as casually as I can.
Oh! Look at you. You look so pretty! My aunt says to me, causing mama to zero in on my
made-up face as she adds to my aunts comment.
Youre wearing make-up? Whered you get that...? Mama is trying to sound as
lighthearted as my aunt does, but it doesnt work since mama doesnt have a light-hearted bone
in her body.
Oh, Sarah took me over to the store and helped me pick-out some things. I try to sound
indifferent.
Oh really? How bout that, is the only thing mama says, but the look on her face tells me
that she doesnt believe a word out of my mouthor well talk about this lateror how dare you
and who do you think you are? I dont know for sure since it may be all three, and if its all three,
Im dead. In any case, the secrets out and Im glad, though I must summon every ounce of
courage I possess to come out of my bedroom in the mornings with make-up on my face and
incur the biting criticism and sarcastic remarks mama throws my way. Just ignore her, I remind
myself. Im eighteen, and with the encouragement and reassurances of my new family of friends
from the deli, I can make my own decisions now, and there isnt a thing mama can do about it.
Yeah, sure, whatever you say.


Chapter 19
Our guardian angels are closer to us than anything,
except the love of God. ~Eileen Elias Freeman


I have a guardian angel. My angel looks after me wherever I am. In Psalms 34:7 God says,
The angel of the Lord encamps all around those who fear Him and delivers them. and I believe
this passage wholeheartedly. I do keep my angel busy, however; how else can I explain never
being bitten when stepping or reaching innumerable times directly past the head of a hidden
rattlesnake? I think about the times Ive fallen from a horse, been thrown from ATVs, slipped
down hillsides while running along trails, and any number of other accidents Ive had and
escaped serious injury from during my lifetime with some instances being hard to believe. Its
those times which left only one explanation in my mind, and that is, my faithful angel was
protecting me with my earliest memory being from the fourth grade and when I was nine. It was
during recess and Im running a race across the schools sports field as fast as I possibly can. Im
racing a boy and were three quarters of the way to the finish line. Weve been neck and neck the
whole way up until this point, but when I tell my legs to move faster, I slowly start to pull ahead.
Im dead-set on beating my challenger when out of nowhere, another boy on the field goes up to
a spot where my competitor and I will be running past and sticks his leg out right in front of me.
I have no time to react. His leg is a stride away from me tripping over it when suddenly, Im
lifted over the boys leg then set back down on the other side where I keep running as if nothing
out of the ordinary happened. I instantly recognize Gods intervention even at my young age.
The race is a tie, but Ill never forget the day my angel saved me from certain injury or at least a
painful tumble on an elementary schools infield so many years ago.

We own a rogue horse. Hes a human-hating gelding named Sam. Mama owned him once
when he was younger, but she has re-acquired him and now hes older and meaner. He hates not
only humans but his corral-mates as well and he reminds us daily by his sudden unprovoked
attacks upon them. The other horses have new cuts and scrapes every morning to show for Sams
disdain. Because of his unpredictable nature, Ive been told to stay away from Sam and just clean
the corral and get out, and for the most part, Sam usually just stays in one corner of the corral
while I clean. We keep an eye on each other the whole time, but he knows what Im there for and
he lets me do my job in peace.
Im not afraid. I believe I can befriend Sam. I believe I can befriend any horse, so one day
after mama leaves to run some errands, I decide to go into the corral and try to win Sams trust
with a gentle brushing and a lot of love. Sam is standing in his corner so I duck through the bars
on the other side of the corral and cautiously, yet confidently, approach, talking to him the whole
time. I make it to his shoulder where I start petting and brushing his neck as he stands looking
miserable and annoyed at having to put-up with a humans touch. I relax as Sam seems to accept
my presence, standing with his hind leg cocked and looking relaxedunhappybut relaxed. I
continue on with my talking and brushing and now Ive stopped worrying anything terrible will
happen, but its at this exact moment, when my guard is down, when he suddenly and without a
twitch of his skin, ears or eyes, nothing to give me any warning of his impending action, swings
his massive head directly toward me with his mouth open and teeth bared. He may as well have
been a rattlesnake striking the way he moved so fast, but just as quickly I jump out of the
waytah-dah! That was close! Except, my tah-dah suddenly becomes an oh-no because
unfortunately for me, I stumble as Im turning to run and down I go. I must have great peripheral
vision because while on my way down to the ground, I see Sams enormous body start rotating
as it follows his head and teeth in my direction and to my surprise, hes still after me. Hes trying
his best to grab a hold of me anywhere he can plant his monster-sized mouth and as I hit the
ground, I look back up and all I see is what resembles a steel trap ready to clamp down on me. I
immediately realize that Sam is dead-set on his task and isnt about to give up his effort just
because Im on the ground. With the next second comes the proof that the human-hating horse,
in fact, does hate humans and probably always will when his teeth finally make contact with the
back of my shoulder.
Sam has swung entirely around by this point, and now Im lying partly on my left side, with
my position enabling him to bite down on the upper right side of the back of my shoulder. He
grinds me into the ground in order to get a good hold, then picking me up by my skin, tosses me
in front of him. I once again hit the ground as Sam leaps forward to run off with his left foot
landing less than an inch away from my face. His front hooves stomp down on each side of my
head but theres nothing I can do but lie there hoping he moves away without his hind feet
stepping on me. Of course one does, coming down on the outside of my ribcage. He steps
forward and pushes off with that motion causing his hoof to slide down my side, pinching my
skin between his hoof and the ground. Im oblivious to the pain as I watch him trot to the other
side of the corral giving me a chance to scramble out through the bars of the fence before he
comes back for another round.
My angel saved me once again. I receive a large mouth-shaped bruise on my shoulder, along
with some scrapes from Sams teeth and from being stepped-on, but all in all, nothing serious.
Lesson learned. I paid the consequences for my disobedience even though it could have been so
much worse. A thirteen hundred pound horse stomping down on the side of my head could have
been a lot worse, but again, my angel was with me and protecting me from possible brain
damage or death.
I have many examples of my life being saved from serious injury, which, if they were just a
single event, the experiences might not seem so remarkable. But each and every incident, one
after the other, strengthened my belief in guardian angels. One time in particular is especially
remarkable and I know it was Gods hand touching and healing me.

Its summertime, and mamas sister and family are here visiting. Everyone is inside chatting,
and as usual, Im doing chores. I finish, and in order to avoid being told to do any more work, I
run outside, deciding to jump on my horse bareback, and with just a halter and a lead rope so I
can take a quick spin around the hillside. Mama is busy and will never know, besides, its the
middle of the afternoon and Ive finished all of my chores, so why cant I take a ride? I cant
think of any reason so Spinner and I take off. Ive been practicing running barrel patterns
because of Spinner being so fast, and come to find out, shes a natural. The only problem is, I
dont have any barrels. I use whatever I can find until one day deciding a sawed-off log will do
the trick nicely. Its almost as tall as a barrel when I stand it up, its just not as fat and round as a
real barrel. The trick is making sure I clear the trunk since its obviously much harder, heavier
and sharper-edged than a barrel, and bumping into it hurts like heck.
We take a go at it. Spinner flies around the log with ease. We go again, this time she leans
over as she makes the turn and it feels as if her feet never touch the ground. Once were through
the turn, we pull away at top speed and the feeling is exhilarating. I decide to try one more time
since Spinner seems to be doing better with each turn, and, I cant help but want to experience
the floating sensation once more as she flies effortlessly around the barrel/log. Off we go toward
our mark, except this time, as Spinner readies herself to make the turn, she cuts the corner just a
little too sharply out of pure eagerness, then leans deeply into the go-round. Its at this moment
when I suddenly feel as if my shinbone has exploded into a million pieces as the weight and
speed of my horse slam my leg into the sharp-edged top of the sawed-off log. I scream as I feel
the shattering pain. I pull Spinner to a stop and drop to the ground, knowing I need to get off
before I fall off as well as hoping to evaluate the damage inflicted under my jeans. After what
seems like an eternity and after the pain-inducing nausea passes, I gently pull my pant leg up in
order to assess the injury. I see there is a purplish-black line across my shinbone and down over
some of the muscle where my leg hit the logs edge. My calf is swelling even as I watch and the
bruising is already spreading down the front of my leg. I dont know if Ive broken the bone,
although it sure feels like I have or at least fractured it, or maybe Ive torn the muscle, I just
dont know yet. I do, however, know I should probably get back to the house in case I need to go
to the hospital, or at the very least, put my leg up.
I cant think up a story to explain this particular kind of injury so I surrender to the fact Ill
have to admit to what actually happened. I dont know how mama will feel about me running
barrels, or sawed-off logs for that matter, or the fact Im riding without permission, but Im sure
Im about to find out. Since I can barely put pressure on my injured leg at all, I slowly half
hobble, half jump on my good leg all the way to the house. The trek is agony, but when I finally
arrive at the backdoor I can hear the adults making plans for all of us to go to Disneyland which,
if I have to go, will just prolong my suffering. Since my aunt, uncle and cousin have never been,
my parents think itll be fun to take them. I stiffen at the thought. I would have never believed in
a million years that I would shutter at the thought of uttering the word Disneyland. Normally, Id
be over-the-moon excited about going to one of my favorite places on the planet, but right now,
the notion of walking for hours on end as well as riding bumpy, spinning and speeding rides
sends shivers down my spine.
I dont think Ill be able to walk, I announce to mama, though Im making my statement to
everyone in the room knowing shell have to refrain from being too angry and too nasty in front
of our guests about the fact Im hurt, or the reason Im hurt in the first place. My plan works,
though Im still told I have to go to the happiest place on earth even if I cant walk since its my
own fault Im hurt.
I go to my room to get ready as the pain from any kind of movement brings tears to my eyes
and I cry as I change my clothes. My calf has swollen to the size of my thigh, which is staggering
to look at, and along with the size of the bruise that has formed, Im afraid Ive actually done
some real damage.
Disneyland is torture, and I, at this moment, consider the happiest place on earth to be hell
on earth. Im trying not to bring attention to myself by showing that Im suffering, though
halfway through the night I have to stop riding the bumpy, spinning and speeding rides out of
self-preservation after getting nauseated and almost passing-out from the pain while on Space
Mountain. Of course, mama thinks Im just trying to get attention and keeps making snide
comments about my so-called injured leg in addition to reminding me that its what I get for
riding without permission. By the time were leaving, my dad and uncle have to help me to the
car. Im exhausted and my leg feels and looks like a black and bluish-purple balloon. Once
home, Im helped up to bed and go to sleep, afraid to move and afraid of what my leg will look
like in the morning.
I wake-up late. I slowly open my eyes and remember the pain from the previous day. I dont
feel anything right now, though I know I need to try to move my leg to gauge how badly Im
injured. I start by concentrating on flexing my calf muscle slightly to see what I feel. Here I go. I
prepare myself for blazing pain. I move my foot slightly, but I dont feel anything so I slowly roll
my leg to one side, then back, and still I feel nothing. What the heck? I start rolling it back and
forth, not understanding why its not hurting. I whip the blankets back and sit-up to take a look.
Theres nothing, absolutely nothing. No bruising, no swelling, not even the mark where my bone
and muscle hit the edge of the log. I cant understand it. I pull my knee up toward my chin and
theres no pain. I get out of bed and theres no pain. Its as if nothing had happened. I instantly
know it is God watching out for me because I just witnessed a miracle.
I consider myself so lucky to have such a diligent guardian angel, and who continued to
protect me through many other incidents throughout my life. Sometimes I got hurt, sometimes
not, but I know Gods protection spared me from more devastating outcomes. God tells us that
he gives each one of His children an angel, and I couldnt be more grateful for mine.
Neglect
It is considered neglect if your parent fails to give you medicine or take you to the doctor when
youre sick or hurt, according to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. (By Mary
Strain, eHow Contributor)

Chapter 20
No hour of life is wasted that is spent in the saddle.
~Winston Churchill`~ Even if it hurts


The alarm goes off at 5:30 this morning. I set it a half-hour earlier so I can get-in some
riding before anybody else is up. Its cold and misty, but as the sun starts rising from behind the
hills, the mist quickly dissipates and the air warms up. Being out with the horses is still my
favorite place to be, even more than the deli. I let the horses out to play while I clean the corral
then head out to fetch Spinner. I throw a halter and a bareback pad on her and we trot off toward
the point. I take her through our usual routine as the other horses start following and playing
along with us. Our equine entourage eventually starts calming down and as they start
concentrating on finding whatever they can to nibble on as I steer Spinner down the path and
through the four-horse herd. Im see that Im now approaching the herd leader, Buddy, and as I
begin passing behind him I think nothing of it knowing the sweet horse doesnt kick. Ive ridden
past him and behind him hundreds of times since the day we brought him home, but for some
reason this day, he decides he doesnt appreciate Spinner violating his personal space. In order to
relay this message, Buddy suddenly spins toward us on his hocks with his teeth bared.
Now, I dont know if Buddy is in a playful mood and just wants to play with Spinner, or if
he is actually irritated about his violated space, but in that first second it takes him to reach us,
Im able to determine a couple of things. FirstI know Buddy is going after Spinner and not me,
and secondI need to get out of his way so that he catches Spinner and not me. In the instance it
takes me to realize this, I duck to avoid Buddys teeth, but what I dont think about in that same
instance and first second is the fact that hell most likely go for the top of Spinners neck, and
sure enough, that is exactly what happens. The problem is, thats exactly where I end-up as well
which is a colossal mistake on my part because at precisely the next second, Buddys teeth land
directly on top of my head.
Now for those of you whove never had horse teeth come down full force on top of your
head before, it goes something like this; first, you hear an unusually loud, Crack! Even if your
skull doesnt literally crack, you still hear an extremely loud cracking sound. Then theres an
eerie silence as if youve lost your hearing. Next, you hear a low, slow ringing tone thats hard to
explain and leaves you wondering where the ringing is coming from especially since your head
feels hollow, and empty, and the ringing sounds far away. The sound continues echoing
repeatedly while things start going black, then gradually, you stop caring about the ringing sound
as you realize you may pass out, but if youre like me and you know you cant afford to be
incapacitated for fear of your secret riding time being found out, you struggle out of the
blackness and start seeing stars. This is no joke, you honestly do see colorful spinning stars,
except theyre spinning inside your head instead of spinning above your head like the ones
portrayed in cartoons. The stars flash and flicker like beautiful fireworks, and even though the
fireworks are pretty, you cant help but squeeze your eyes shut trying to stop the flashing and
flickering since the flashing and flickering coincides with the throbbing pain. The flashing,
flickering, throbbing and trying not to black-out continues and as it does, youre trying to keep
your wits about you just enough to dodge another blow...in case another blow is coming. Luckily
for me, I see Buddy running-off kicking and swinging his head as if hes satisfied with himself
that he made his point, just as I grab my head and try to keep myself from falling to the ground.
I kick Spinner to go back to the corral as I hold my head with one hand and cling to her
mane with the other, all the while, still trying not to pass out. She walks up to the corral gate like
the good girl she is, then I slide off her back, sit down on a rail and continue to fight the
blackness that keeps filling in the spaces of my brain. I decide right then that if this is what an
exploding head feels like, I no longer want my head to explode even if mama has to clean up all
the blood and brains. After about ten, fifteen or more minutes, it seems as though things have
stopped spinning enough for me to let go of my head. At first, when my hand doesnt come away
from my scalp, I think that maybe I didnt actually try lifting my hand yet, being that everything
is still fuzzy. I then consciously tell my hand to move, and after a second, it pops-up with a slight
sucking sound that makes me afraid, yet curious to look at my palm. I peek, and I see blood, lots
of blood as my stomach heaves and I have to close my eyes and breath deep in order to fight the
sickness and keep from throwing-up, or truly passing out this time. I had been holding my hand
on my head for so long that the blood became thick and sticky, and now the thick stickiness is all
over my hand.
Fear of mama finding out that Ive been riding is the only thing keeping me conscious even
though things are still flashing and spinning, and passing out seems a more logical scenario as I
slowly stand-up on wobbly legs, removing the pad and halter from Spinner with one hand while
holding my head with the other. The standing motion instantly causes a feeling of being on the
deck of a ship in rough seas. I can barely keep myself balanced, including feeling as if I let go of
my head, Ill risk losing the only head Ive got if by some accident I allow it to fall from my
shoulders and roll overboard into the sloshing waves, gone forever.
Somehow, through the rocking and the sloshing, I manage to put the tack away and make it
to the house. Heading straight to the bathroom, I close and lock the door behind me, scarcely
managing to keep my head from falling off the edge of the rocking ship Im riding. Thank-
goodness no one is up yet; I think with immense relief. Now, when an unworthy step-middle-
child gets-up early to ride and an accident happens like getting hit in the head by horse teeth, and
when said step-middle-child doesnt have permission to be riding in the first place theres only
one thing she can doshe must overcome the throbbing pain and clean the thick, sticky blood
off of her head while praying no one knocks on the bathroom door as she does.
Its hard getting the blood out of my hair and off of my scalp since my head still hurts as if
Im being beat with a baseball bat. After a minute or two I stop trying, hoping what I did manage
to rinse off is good enough. I find a hand mirror and try looking through it into the bathroom
mirror behind me to see what I can see, but all I see is hair stuck in unnatural positions because
of the thick stickiness. I also see a sliver of something white poking-out between the dark, sticky
hairs. I dont know what it is, and a part of me doesnt want to know since I know it doesnt
belong there. The little white something is sticking out from the back of my head like a little
white flag, and since it hurts too much to poke and prod at in order to figure out what the little
white something is, I try as gently as I can to comb pieces of hair over the unidentified object and
again, pray no one notices. Im supposed to leave for work in an hour, so I go down to breakfast
just as the rest of the family is starting to stir. Peter comes into the kitchen, gets his bowl and
cereal, sits down and doesnt notice anything. Next, daddy comes in and I say good morning
inconspicuously.
Whats good about it? He says with a little smirk as he usually does, then starts the coffee,
puts his mug under the flow until the cups full, puts the pot back and leaves the kitchen without
noticing a thing. So far so good. Next, mama comes into the kitchen and I say good morning,
quickly looking down at my cereal as I do. She responds with a lack-luster good morning back,
then goes to the fridge and looks around. She takes a container of leftovers out and turning to
Peter starts saying, Why dont you take...OH MY GOSH! WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR
HEAD?! I knew it was too good to come true, that just once, just one time, things could go my
way.
Mama orders me to get in the car. Im taking you to the hospital, but first call work and tell
them that you wont be in today and why, and hurry-up Ill be waiting. When I finally get to the
car, her face is tight and her eyebrows are downnot a good sign. My head is hurting bad and
now Im scared, mostly because I dont know how serious the wound isbut since mama is
taking me to the hospital, it must be really bad. Right at this moment, however, mama doesnt
care that my head is hurting or that Im scared, all she cares about is how I got a giant gash on
the back of my head even though Ive already told her.
Tell me again what happened...slowly, she says, so I tell her what happened
again...slowly, detail by detail, except this time I say that I rode behind Buddy and he kind of
reared and spun around unlike the first time I told the story. In my panicked rambling the first
time around I said, Buddy reared and spun around, which of course raises questions for someone
whos always looking for wrong-doing on my part to justify her angry reactions.
So did he rear or not? She asks angrily.
He kind of reared. My answer causes her to glare at me suspiciously and with such
revulsion, Id cringe if cringing didnt hurt so badly.
I know youre not telling me something; she snarls. I know youre making the whole
thing up. I know you did something to Buddy to make him attack you and I promise, I WILL
find out the truth.
Im told I have a concussion and Ill definitely need stitches. The little white something I
saw ends-up being a chunk of my scalp sticking-up and out due to the swelling after my scalp is
split open, but I dont care about that right now. The attending emergency room doctor is young
and cute, and since Im a seventeen-year-old teenager, Im not thinking about my head anymore,
but thinking about how embarrassed I am at him being so close to my face since I still have some
acne and Im not wearing any make-up to hide the blemishes. Mama is standing next to the
examination room door glaring at me as well as making me feel small and stupid, so I probably
look small and stupid which just makes me more self-conscious in front of the young, cute
doctor.
My head is shaved around the wound and Im given what seems like a hundred shots of
Novocain. The shots feel like a hundred bee stings and it hurts like a cussword until the skin goes
numb. I then receive thirteen stitches and Im told to go home and take it easy. I can tell Mama is
super-villain angry now as were heading back to the car because when the cute, young doctor
asked me what happened, I sounded unsure. I tried to explain, but fumbled over the rearing part,
again, but only because of mama glaring at me. I also didnt think a non-horsy person would
know what rearing was exactly, so I said, my moms horse kind of jumped and spun around. I
guess to mama it sounded as if I was changing my story again, which definitely meant I was
lying, and that my injury actually wasnt an accident at all but a direct result from me abusing
her horse. On the other hand, I start thinking that maybe mama thinks I intentionally tried to
cause the doctor to think my injury was from something, or someone other than a horse. Like
maybe an angry, glaring, scary-looking someone may have hurt meespecially since I kept
glancing nervously in mamas direction. I noticed the cute, young doctor glancing at mama, then
back to me, then back at her with him obviously noticing my nervousness. I suppose I can
understand her being upset by that even if it wasnt my intention to cause anyone to think that.
Suspicious Parent/Child Interaction
Children of an abusive parent may exhibit outward fear around the abuser, even in a public
place. The child will seem especially timid around the parent. (By Spencer Hendricks, eHow
Contributor)
On the way home, I feel drowsy from the events of the morning as well as the pain
medication. Somewhere in the fog I hear mama talking at me, but its hard to pay attention
because of the fog. Then suddenly, after what seems like a never-ending babble of words I can
barely make-out, I think I hear her say that Im still going to work today, and instantly, the fog
clears a little. Did she actually just say what I think I heard?
What? I think to myself, then; But my head is shaved! I say as my nerves start revving-up
again. The thought of anyone seeing my head this way is so embarrassing. The young, cute
doctor had held-up a mirror for me so I could see what the stitched-up wound looked like, and
its ugly. The skin around the inch-long gash is bluish-grey from lack of sunlight as well as from
being bruised, swollen, bloody and stitched, and if customers see my Frankenstein head while
theyre eating, theyll probably lose their appetite, or worse.
You can wear a hat; mama says with an evil, hateful look on her face and tone in her
voice. How I hate that tone.
AHHHH! I want to scream! I want to say I cant! I want to say I wont! Nevertheless, my
fear prevents me from saying anything as usual. Alice continues with her reason for sending me
to work.
This is all your fault and why should the deli suffer because of your stupidity or whatever
else happened with the horses this morning?
I cant believe this is happening, yet it is, but Im actually surprised by this one. I manage to
work a few hours even though Im still incredibly dizzy.
Your mom made you come in with your head like that? Garo asks. What a b#@$%!
You can work as much as you feel you can, or you can just rest, it doesnt matter; Hutch
adds. Or, maybe you should just go home.
No; I say, I dont want to go home. At least here I dont have to deal with her. Halfway
through the day, however, the medication the hospital gave me wears off, and the wave of pain
hits me like a Tsunami hitting an unsuspecting coastline, suddenly and unexpectedly, drowning
everyone whos unfortunate enough to be in the way, and right now that person just so happens
to be me. Hutch calls the house.
Hello. Yes; Penny needs to be picked-up. Yes; shes in a lot of pain. Ok, bye.
Unbelievably, I now actually want to go home for a change. I just want to crawl into bed and go
to sleep, anything to make the pain stop. Mama pulls-up and I slowly walk to the car, but
thankfully, the only thing I remember as I climb into bed is being called a big baby for not
working the whole day, except, my head hurts too much for me to care.
When I was growing-up, I would sometimes wish I were sick or injured. I didnt care what
kind of sickness or disease Id have, but I wanted it to be something bad enough for mama to feel
sorry for me, and that might lead to her caring for me. I wished I would break an arm or a leg in
hopes of receiving sympathy from anyone, but especially my mother. I just wanted something,
anything to happen that would cause a look of concern, maybe even worry, to appear across her
face. How I wanted to feel she cared about me, even if it meant being terminally ill or suffering
through a painful injury. As I aged, however, I started noticing that it didnt matter if I was hurt,
or if I was sick. I received no more care or attention than any other day, in fact, injuries caused
even more grief on my part because of the accusations of being hurt because of my own
disobedience or stupidityand nobody feels sorry for someone whose own poor judgment
causes random injury so I stopped letting anyone know when I was hurt, however, the
probability of getting into trouble whenever I was hurt gave me an extremely high pain threshold
which has come in handy throughout my lifetime. Though I wouldnt say it is worth the lack of
empathy or concern I received from my mother while growing-up, by no means, but at least I can
look back now and appreciate at least one facet of my childhood because of this fact. Oh yeah!
High-five!


Chapter 21
Self-reliance is the only road to true freedom,
and being ones own person is its ultimate reward.
~Patricia Sampson


For the next year, things stay the same. I still have my normal routine as does the rest of the
family. Peter is still trying to finish school but doesnt put any effort into it, and for some reason,
mama doesnt seem to care. Rachel runs-off with the neighborhood playboy and plans on
marrying him even though our parents hate him and consider him a loser and a drunk. Dad sells
his businesses and is now steadily moving into premature retirement even though hes only in his
early forties. I dont quite know what mama does since I avoid her when Im home, in fact, I
hardly see any of them anymore because they start spending a lot of time at the Salton Sea. My
parents bought some property along the banks of the Salton Sea and plan to move there as soon
as things are wrapped-up in our perfect-All-American Town. I never realized the Salton Sea is
somewhere they planned on retiring, I mean; we grew-up fishing there, but I couldnt have
imagined in a million years living there. If youve never heard of the Salton Sea before now,
heres a quick crash course:

The Salton Sea, located in the southeastern corner of California, is actually a lake, which
occupies a desert known as the Salton Sink. This body of water covers a surface area of 376
square miles, making it larger than Lake Tahoe and Mono Lake. In fact, the Salton Sea is
the largest lake in California. The Seas current elevation is about 227 feet below sea level,
its maximum depth reaches 51 feet, and its total volume is about 7.5 million acre-feet. As an
agricultural drainage reservoir, the Salton Sea serves an essential purpose for the fertile
agricultural valleys that adjoin it. As an agricultural sump, the sea consists primarily of
commercial agricultural drainage. In fact, 90% of the entire inflow to the sea is
agricultural runoff from the Imperial, Coachella and Mexicali Valleys. This inflow carries
nutrients, such as phosphates and nitrates, which support the rich and abundant life in the
Sea. The inflow also carries an abundance of salt. Currently, the salinity level of the Salton
Sea is 44ppt, compared to 280ppt for Utahs Great Salt Lake, about 210ppt for Israels
Dead Sea, 87ppt for Mono Lake and 35ppt for the Pacific Ocean.
The Salton Sea is in the California desert, and if its anywhere near summertime, its HOT.
Its about a half-hour from Palm Desert and another half-hour to Palm Springs. In the hottest
months of summer temperatures reach 118 degrees or more, and when it does, the smell of
rotting fish fills the still, stale air. I know people love living there and wouldnt want to be
anywhere else especially since the place seems to grow on you the longer youre there. Im also
told that before long, and as you become accustomed to the heat and the smell, you no longer
notice it. Still, it just isnt my cup-of-tea. While growing-up, dad would take us to the Salton Sea
to fish on weekends which made acclimating difficult since we never had the chance to grow
accustomed to the scorching summer temperatures or the salty decaying fish smell. Instead, it
always seemed as if we were fishing in a dirty oven turned to broil; however, living right on the
water as my family does help. It makes it seem as though theyre living on an oceanfront instead
of on an agricultural sump. They get an almost constant fresh, salty breeze blowing-in off the
water, which in turn, blows the fishy smell away and makes the heat feel less hot. Despite that,
Im a working girl now and no longer have weekends free to travel out to the hot deserty oven.
Im left alone to work as well as take care of things at home and I love every minute of it. Im
finally free to relax, away from mamas evil, roving eyes. This past year and since starting work,
Im the happiest Ive ever been in my entire life and no one, not even my mother can bring me
down off the cloud Im riding. I live an entirely different life now, one with friends and people
who truly care about me, and although I realize mama knows Im growing-up, I wonder if she
knows Im also growing cold and hard toward anything she tries to use to control me.

Its the summer of 1985, and theres a madman on the loose in Los Angeles. The papers and
tabloids have nicknamed him the Night Stalker for the fact his heinous crimes only occur during
the dark of night. The still unknown killer is rampaging through different neighboring cities and
counties adjacent to our own perfect all-American town, killing and raping and mutilating the
innocent, unsuspecting victims who think theyre safe in their own homes thinking theres no
possible way some mysterious night stalking killer will show up at their house to kill, rape and
mutilate. That only happens to other peoplewe all think at one time or another, but this time is
different. The Night Stalker picks cities at random, even following women off freeways in order
to follow them home, then attacking and killing for no apparent reason, save for the bloodlust.
Im seventeen and Im terrified. Whenever our dogs bark at night, Im instantly awake and
peering out my window down our long, dark, tree-lined driveway, hoping not to catch a glimpse
of the elusive killer as my heart pounds out of my chest. I sleep remarkably little during the
killing rampage and even less after hearing the announcement on the news later that week. The
reporter sounds as ominous as a reporter can sound as my whole family listens intently to the
newest report on the happenings of the night before, May 29, 1985. Theres breaking news on
the serial killer dubbed the Night Stalker; the reporter announces. The unknown intruder has
attacked two women, one, Mary Keller, 83, and her invalid sister, Blanche Wooler, 80. The
attack happened in Niceville late last night. Both women were beaten with a hammer. The killer
attempted to rape Keller, but failed. Using lipstick, he drew a pentagram on Kellers thigh and on
the wall in the bedroom. Blanche survived the attack.
Hes in Niceville?! Yes, the Night Stalker murdered and attempted to murder two women
a few blocks from our own home. I try not to look too scared though my stomach is in knots.
We dont need to worry; mama says suddenly. He wont go into homes with dogs.
Really? I say eagerly.
Nope. He likes dark, quiet homes so hes not noticed.
Oh, thats a relief. Except, it doesnt remove any of my anxiety or fear.
Dad, mama and Peter are once again leaving for the Sea for the weekend.
What happens if the Night Stalker comes stalking our house? What should I do? I ask
them, nervously.
Oh, dont worry; hes long gone from Niceville. The truth is, the raping, torturing, night
stalking murderer actually was long gone since he had already raped and sodomized a mother
and her twelve-year-old son in another city some ten miles away the day after his attack in
Niceville. He let them live, although the police have no idea why he allows some victims to live
and then viciously murders others.
My gun is up on the mantel; dad says with a wink. I dont think they realize how scared I
actually am since it seems theyre making light of the situation. Im sure they dont think a
deranged serial killer could ever end-up at our house. Yeah, just like the previous victims
probably thought as well, and now looktheyre dead!
They finish loading the car and leave around noon. While its daylight Im fine, I do chores,
play with the horses and watch television. But once the sun goes down, the hair on the back of
my neck never lays down. Every sound I hear, every creak, every bump, every bark I jump, then
look to see if the boogeyman is finally here to get me. It doesnt help that our house is haunted,
and I think the spirit is having a little fun while trying to spook me good with a bump here and a
scratching sound there. The ghost living in our house is a woman in a long flowing white dress.
Mama told us that she has seen her on the staircase leading to the upstairs bedrooms late at night
as well as I having seen her on the driveway on one of my many late night, noise-inducing peeks
out my window. The sightings are brief with the ghostly figure there one second and gone the
next as quick as a blink, leaving one questioning themselves as to whether they just saw what
their mind is telling their eyes they saw. I dont know if shes real or just my imagination, I just
know that things happen in our house that dont make sense, but then again, I suppose I should
give some of the credit to the other spirit who resides in our home.
The evil spirit hasnt necessarily shown itself to me so I only know of it through intuition or
a sixth sense and mainly in view of the fact that I often feel its presence late at night when
everyone else is asleep. It wont come into my room so my bedroom has become a safe haven for
me. As soon as I walk through the door to my room, I feel perfectly at peace compared to the rest
of the house. I know the spirit cant hurt me, but I also know, by the strange way my mother acts
and the random attacks that come out of nowhere toward me, that the spirit is using her to get to
me. This spirit affects my father as well. How else can I explain the look in his eyes at times, a
vacant, mocking look as if telling me that Im powerless to stop the wickedness he wants to play-
out. I know of no other way to explain the evil that comes over my parents, besides, Ive seen a
spirit before when I was nine-years-old.
My brother and I are spending the night at a family friends home. They have two daughters
who are the same age as Peter and I, and we all love each other dearly as well as having
sleepovers. Their house is large, beautiful and old. It has an enormous back yard with numerous
trees and shrubs where we would spend countless hours playing tag or hide-and-seek. Their
home was a happy place with a cheerfulness and love I never felt in our own house. Whenever
my brother and I spent the night, Irene and I slept in her bed since she and I were the same age
and best friends. Peter slept on blankets and pillows on the floor in-between Irene and her
younger sister, Lauries bed. Their bedroom is pink and charming, lacy and girlie, and I love
being there where nothing unpleasant ever happens until late one moonless night.
Irene and I are still awake; we have so much to talk about and always find it hard to sleep.
Were lying on our backs looking up at the shadowy ceiling. Were able to see each other and
around the room because of the warm, pinkish-golden glow of the nightlight. Were giggling and
talking and Irenes little sister is snoring so we giggle some more. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a
shadow of a man moves across the ceiling above the window between the beds. The shadow
moves from one side of the window frame to the other as we both watch in horror. We clearly
see the outline of a mans shoulders, neck and head, with Irene and I simultaneously flinching in
terror at the sight as we watch the shadow move across the top of the window. Once gone, we
jump out of bed and run screaming to the other side of the house to the master bedroom where
Irenes parents are sleeping.
Theres a man outside! Theres a man outside! We saw his shadow! He walked past the
window! Were both crying now as both parents jump from their bed with Irenes dad quickly
grabbing a flashlight and heading outside. Irenes mother walks us back to our room. After a few
minutes, we see the light of the flashlight outside the bedroom window, and then a couple of
minutes after that, Irenes dad comes back inside and tells us that there is no one outside.
I even looked for footprints but found nothing; he tells us.
But we saw him! We saw his shadow move right across the ceiling at the top of the
window! Were pointing to where the shadow was as we explain how we were both lying on
our backs looking-up at the ceiling and there was no mistaking what we both saw.
Well, even if there had been someone walking by outside, there is no way his shadow could
be seen on the ceiling or anywhere else for that matter since there would have had to have been a
light shining behind him and even then, the shadow wouldnt be on the ceiling right above the
window.
Irenes parents were right. There was no way to create a shadow from the outside,
particularly because it was a dark, moonless night in addition to the window facing the backyard
where there are no lights as well as there being large Rose bushes right outside the window and
all along that side of the house. As far as someone being inside the house, that was a long shot,
and even if there were he would have to be small enough to walk past the nightlight which was
the only light being cast in the entire room that could cause a shadow. Now, even if that were the
case, it would make the shadow-man the size of a mouse and the shadow definitely didnt have
the appearance of a mouse. Besides, the nightlight was in an entirely different part of the room
and couldnt have caused a shadow on the ceiling over the window even if the prowling man-
mouse had tried. Irene and I know what we saw that night even though we never saw the
shadow-man again.

When Im finally able to summon-up enough courage to turn off the TV, for its then when
Im left in the eerie silence of the house and when my over-active ears can clearly hear the things
that go bump in the night, I quickly turn-off most of the living room lights, purposely keeping a
couple on for comfort. Once Im done with that, I go directly to the fireplace mantel where dad
keeps his gun, loaded and ready to blow-away any night-stalking night-stalkers, taking the only
protection I have to bed with me.
I dont sleep. I cant. I just lie under my blankets pulled up to my chin even though Im hot
and sweating and with the gun under my pillow. I lie there straining to hear any sound out of the
ordinary until exhaustion forces my eyes shut and into a restless sleep. I wonder why I need my
blankets so desperately in these moments of fear. I dont seriously think a sheet, blanket and a
comforter will protect meso why? Why do I lay here dripping in a nervous sweat? Maybe its
the fact Im no longer exposed to the evil that may come my way. I just know Id rather lie here
sweating with my blankets pulled-up to my chin, than lie on my bed with nothing but my PJs on,
exposed to whatever lies beyond the dark recesses of my mind, or my bedroom door. I wake the
next morning and realize I survived. Thank God, and only one more night to go. The next night
is just as terrifying with even more noises outside, additional sounds inside, and the dogs barking
their ominous sounding warning barks that fully convince me the Night Stalker must be stalking
our house. Again, hes not, and I survive to live another day.
On August 30, 1985, an arrest warrant for Richard Ramirez is issued and his face revealed to
the public. Hes immediately recognized and pursued, first by a single man, but whose pursuit is
quickly joined until a mob forms. The mob of civilians pursues Ramirez until they finally catch-
up, beat and subdue the killer until the police arrive. Forty police cars and seven police
helicopters rush to the scene, then finally, and after a yearlong rampage of rape and murder,
apprehend and arrest him. On September, 20, 1989, The Night Stalker and Satan worshipper
Richard Ramirez is found guilty on 43 counts in Los Angeles County, including 13 murders,
along with other charges including burglary, sodomy and rape. Hes sentenced to death on each
count of murder.

By the time I turn eighteen, the deli is practically my home. I work hard and effortlessly,
making sure everything runs smoothly for the days business. Sarah left the deli for a more
lucrative career but there was no need to replace her since I can handle all the work that needs
handling by myself, which now includes ordering and deliveries. Garo and Hutch trust me with
every part of the business and soon Im handed the keys to the store.


Chapter 22
Sometimes we must get lost in order
to find ourselves. ~Author Unknown


Kurt, Carlos and Mitch have been the best of friends for years. Theyre all around thirty-
years-old, huge Lakers fans as well as all working as Piping Designers for the same company
whose offices are in the building behind the deli. The three of them come over to the deli at least
three nights a week to have a few beers before heading home to their wives, except for Mitch,
who isnt married but wants to be. Hes from Boston, and its impossible to miss his heavy
Bostonian accent. Hes an average Joe of average height with a thick, bushy mustache that looks
as if some hairy caterpillar has taken-up residence on his upper lip, in addition to coarse, straight
brown hair that he wears in a style long enough to cover his ears and resemble a helmet. Hes
single but dates regularly and always on the lookout for a potential wife.
I know shes out there; hell muse, I just have to keep looking. Dating is like playing the
lottery; you have to play to win.
She has to look human! Kurt and Carlos tease. We have to wonder about some of your
dates. Hahaha!
What matters is whats on the inside; Mitch responds. I dont care what she looks like as
long as shes a good person. Hes used to their teasing and knows they dont mean anything by
it.
Then theres Carlos, a short, stout Hispanic man whos married to Sandra, the most beautiful
woman Ive ever met in person. Shes sweet and respectful to everyone she meets, especially
Carlos, which is strange to me since hes her husband. Shes a stay-at-home mom and loves kids.
They already have two boys, and later, add a beautiful baby girl to their beautiful little family.
When Carlos comes in, I never see his eyes wander or hear him talking about other women; he
loves his wife more than anything and it shows.
Kurt is another story. Hes tall and lanky with average looks, a sharp boney nose and short
brown hair. He sometimes wears a beard, sometimes not. Just your run-of-the-mill white guy
with a run-of-the-mill personality. Hes married to a woman whos climbing the corporate ladder
at the bank where she works and whom Kurt says makes great money, drives a Saab900
company car and who has no desire or time for kids, or him from what I gather.
I want kids but she doesnt, so, oh well. Kurt shrugs his shoulders and takes a swig of his
beer. Hes extremely laid back, and seems to be the kind of person whod be happy just watching
the world go by if it meant avoiding confrontation.
Since his wife works late almost every day, Kurt has nothing better to do than come over
and drink beer once Carlos goes home to his beautiful wife, and Mitch, who isnt married but
wants to be, leaves for another date with another potential wife. Kurt will sit and chat with Garo
and I, usually staying until its time to close-up shop.
Well, I guess Ill be going; he lazily announces.
Is your wife home? I ask for no other reason but for conversation.
Probably not. Ill probably just go home and watch TV.
Ahhh, OK. Have a good night; Garo tells him.
You too. See you tomorrow. Then off he goes to his empty house to wait for his ladder-
climbing wife to come home.
Working at the deli gives me more experience than just making sandwiches. Im also
learning to pour and serve draft beer which is typically what our evening crowd comes in for
after a long, hard day of work. One benefit of turning eighteen is that Garo allows me to pour
and serve our beer-drinking guests including two of whom come in at least five of the six nights
were open. Dan and Tony are a couple of divorced, single, fun-loving, blue-collar, middle-aged
men who are the best of friends, and who remind me of Laurel and Hardy, Yogi and Booboo, but
most of all, Fred and Barney. They work as mechanics and act like a couple of clowns, always
goofing around making us all laugh our heads off, especially me.
Every hour is happy hour; Dan always says, and with each beer they obviously do become
happier. We get to know each other from my first day of work when they welcome me to the deli
with open arms as if into their own homes. Theyre like part of the deli and when Dan and Tony
walk in, well shout their names from across the room; Dan! Tony! The deli is their own
personal Cheers. They come in around the same time almost every day, order a pitcher of beer
and start drinking, and in the last couple of hours that the deli is open and in-between the closing
duties, Garo, Hutch, the guys and I will all hang-out at the end of the bar, which is their favorite
spot, and laugh away the time.
They think its pretty funny, just as Sarah did, that Ive never had a drink of alcohol in my
lifeexcept when my dad used to give me beer when I was five or six years old. In any case,
they keep pestering me to take a sip of their beer just to see if Id like it. Being that Im only
eighteen, the idea of drinking never crosses my mind especially since I know its a sin to drink so
its almost certainly a lethal sin to drink before the age of twenty-one. Ive already decided a
long time ago to continue committing the sin of wearing pants even if it does cause boys to
commit the deadly sin of lust. I also believe that I should be able to have sex before marriage
without the fear of being thrown into the depths of hell, but Im not sure I can justify drinking
especially before Im twenty-one, however; I cant help but notice how much fun my friends
have while drinking. It doesnt matter what kind of mood Dan and Tony come into the deli with,
by the time they finish their first beer theyre relaxed, by the end of their next beer theyre
laughing and having a good ol time. Even Garo and Hutch loosen-up if they join-in and have a
beer; so of course, Im tempted.
Taste it, see if you like it; Dan says to me.
No way; I always say. I dont even like the smell of beer when I pour it, plus Im still
trying to decide if drinking, let alone drinking before twenty-one is something God will frown
upon, and if He does, would my drinking cause me to be ushered through the gates of hell when I
die. For a few weeks I contemplate the pros and cons of having a sip of beer, figuring itll go
something like this. The prosI taste it and like it, then I can get Dan and Tony off my back
about tasting it already. The cons beingI taste it and hate it, but Ill get Dan and Tony off my
back about tasting it already. I decide if I take a sip just to try the golden goodness, how could it
be wrong? I decide a sip to try couldnt possibly be wrong, so the next time they ask me to try it
youll like it, I will take a small sip and give it a try. In truth, what can it hurt?
Use a straw; Tony suggests. Just stick it in the pitcher and take a sip.
Thats a good idea; I agree. I get a straw, stick it in the pitcher of beer and take a sip.
Hum, not bad. I take another sip, not bad at all. Now I know. I know I like the taste of beer. Now
I can get Dan and Tony off my back about tasting it already, except, now theres a problem. Not
that I think its a problem at the time, but now, whenever Dan and Tony come in, I get my straw
and take sips out of their pitcher. Soon, the sips turn into gulps, then the gulps turn into drinking
half the pitcher by myself. I love the happy feeling I get and start looking forward to my new
drinking buddies coming in for theirs and now, my nightly buzz.
I get buzzed-up quickly being a virgin drinker, and on the nights I drink more than I
shouldnot that I should be drinking at allbut when I drink too much, it means I start
laughing so hard I cant stop. When customers come-in after Ive been drinking and while Im
laughing, Garo has to stop smoking his cigarettes and sipping his beer or espresso and take care
of the delis patrons himself, since Im no use to anybody. On the days Garo goes home early
and I drink beer with Dan and Tony, I try my best to act normal in front of customers, but the
fact that Im trying to act normal cracks me up even more. I have to fight not to laugh while
trying to serve the unfortunate person who comes in for an evening sandwich which is almost
impossible when your friends at the end of the bar are laughing at you trying to not laugh and act
normal. Garo and Hutch never seem to mind my drinking as long as I get my work done which I
can do with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back, so that is never a problem. The
problem is an invisible one, and it has to do with the beginning of twenty years of gulping beer
and wine, or whatever else I think will make me happy at the moment and numb my insecurities,
but as you might expect, it doesnt.
Behavioral Effects
Abused teenagers may start smoking cigarettes and display more severe self-destructive
behavior such as alcohol and drug abuse. Sexual promiscuity and sexual risk-taking such as
unprotected sex are also effects of verbal and physical abuse on teens. (By Conny Marian, eHow
Contributor)

Chapter 23
Immature love says: I love because I need you;
mature love says: I love you because I love you.
~Erich Fromm


The first relationship of my life starts out hidden from my parents. I cant face the mocking
looks, rolling eyes, or the condemnations I receive if its found out I have a crush on someone.
The looks mama flash my way tell me that Im crazy if I think anyone could love me, and
although I dont think I believe Im unlovable, I keep my crushes secret and my relationship
hidden. This is the true beginning of my adult life, though my mental and emotional maturity
level seemed to be stuck at around fifteen-years of age even though I was almost nineteen. I also
want you to know that Im writing in the, past-present tense, as if Im in the present moment in
any of the situations from the past. I let you know how Im feeling about the situations, persons
or actions at that exact moment in time, meaning, its not how I feel about those situations,
people or actions now that Ive matured and analyzed them. With that said, we can buckle-up
and move on.

Its 1987, and its been two years since I started working at the deli. I still love making
sandwiches and talking with customers. I still love Garo and Hutch as if theyre my real fathers. I
love when Dan and Tony come in, theyre like my brothers, and I love when Kurt, Carlos and
Mitch come in to drink beer and talk sports especially when the Lakers win, and the Lakers are
winning a lot lately. Magic Johnson, Kareem Abdul Jabbar, James worthy, Byron Scott, and the
only white guy I know of besides the Celtics Larry Bird who is worth a darn, Kurtwho said
white men cant jumpRambis are the team at the time. Im being caught up in the excitement
even though Ive never watched professional basketball in my life. I listen and learn as much as I
can from the mens conversations, eventually joining-in the basketball talk. I like being one of
the guys without looking like a guy for a change.
One evening, Garo and I see Kurt coming across the parking lot toward the deli with his face
dragging on the ground. He walks through the door and heads straight to the spot where I placed
his beer.
What in the world is wrong with you? Garo and I both ask.
My wife is leaving me; she wants a divorce.
Oh noIm sorry; Garo and I both respond with heartfelt concern; none of us saw this
coming.
Kurt doesnt say too much at first, but eventually hes coming over almost every evening,
spilling his guts all over the delis floor while going round and round about why his wife wants a
divorce.
I wonder when she realized she didnt love me anymore. I wonder who the person is she
might or might not be seeing and where does she see him? They must work together, that has to
be it, all those late nights? I just dont understand it; how can this be happening to me? Kurt
ponders over and over.
I certainly didnt understand it and couldnt provide any answers to ease his confusion
seeing as how my parents are still togetherfor some strange reason.
Kurt ultimately ends-up moving-in with Mitch, who isnt married but wants to be, because
Kurts ladder-climbing wife wants the house. We just listen and try to encourage him for about
three months until he starts acting more like his old self again.
Kurt is finally acting like his old-self and after his drinking buddies leave for their beautiful
families or dates with potential wives, Kurt comes up to the counter and starts asking me about
me. I dont mind and dont think much of it, but then again, Im totally oblivious to the fact he
wants to get to know me better for any other reason than friendship. To me, hes an adult being
that hes twenty-nine and Im just a kid, or at least thats how I see myself even though Im
eighteen going-on nineteen.
One evening while sitting at our table in the back, Garo is smoking and sipping espresso,
while I sip seven-up and wait for customers, Garo says something that throws me for a loop.
You know, Kurt likes you.
What?
Yeah, he told me.
No way!
Way.
No! Yuck! Hes old!
Hes not that old.
Yes he is, hes like, eleven years older than me. Yuck! Manwhyd he have to do this?
What? Garo asks.
Start to like me!
I dunno, but he does.
Great; I mumble in disgust.
The next time Kurt comes in, I hide in the back and do prep work. Im furious and disgusted
by his feelings toward me being that hes so old and Im only eighteen going-on nineteen. I cant
believe he wants to ruin our friendship like this, but my reaction is typical. Its always been this
way with me, now, as well as all through school. Whenever a male friend starts liking me as
more than a friend, its as if something snaps and my like of said person instantly becomes
hatred. I dont understand it, its just the way I am.
I do realize that I cant hideout forever and will eventually have to come out from the back
of the store and face my antagonist, so after about a week, I suck-it-up and come out of my
refuge. Kurt is sitting at the bar drinking a beer so I mumble
Hi out of courtesy as I pass in front of him. He says hi back and asks if he can ask me a
question.
O-kay; I say hesitantly.
I was wondering if youd like to go out for dinner some time, with me; he says cautiously.
I feel the heat rising in my face so I laugh and say no in aare you crazykind of way. He
takes my rejection in stride and even apologizes for the fact that I felt like I needed to avoid him,
just in case hes offended me. His apology helps me soften-up toward him and his violation of
our friendship, and soon the whole thing is behind us. He continues to come in, night after night,
with no ladder-climbing wife to go home too, and essentially, no life at all except work and the
deli, but things are cool with us now so I dont mind.
Not long after the blip in our friendship, Garo and I are standing around talking with Kurt
about the Lakers and basketball strategies, when Im again Im thrown for a loop, or should I
say, hoop?
Why dont we go shoot baskets sometime? Kurt says out of the blue.
I look at Garo, then laugh and roll my eyes. Ah-huhsurelike thatll ever happen.
Yeah, you can go one afternoon after the lunch rush; Garo chimes-in.
:Yeah, we can go on a Saturday when Im off work; Kurt adds.
Yeaahh; Garo agrees with a big devious smile on his big Armenian face.
Noooo, no-no. What if my mom calls? Then what?
Ill tell her that youre at the store getting vegetables; Garo is quick to respond. Youll
just have to call once in a while to check-in, Ill let you know if shes called, and if she has, you
can call her back. Thenyou and Kurt can go have a nice afternoon playing basketball and your
mom will never know.
I dont know about this.
Com on, itll be fun; Kurt promptly adds noticing that I might actually be considering it. I
look at Garo again and hes nodding and smiling.
Yes, fine, Ill go. I say even though Ive already started trembling on the inside with the
thought of it.
It goes without a hitch. Kurt shows-up and waits until everything is taken care of at the deli
and Garo gives me the okay to leave. We go to a local park, play some ball, he asks more
questions about my life, and then we head back. I feel nervous and uncomfortable most of the
day for one, because of the chances of being found out, and two, because of being out with a
grown man. I dont even consider playing basketball a date, even though Garo and Hutch cant
help but tease me about mydate. I keep insisting that it wasnt a date, its just two friends who
love basketball playing a friendly game ofbasketball.
Kurt and I go and play a couple more times and even grab a bite to eat afterwards. Im
getting more comfortable being with him, but still, Im in no way thinking in terms of anything
but friendship. The fourth time we go out, we pick-up lunch first and he takes us to a beautiful
park in the hills where we hike and have a picnic lunch. When we get back to the deli, we pull
into the parking lot and get out of the car to head in, except, this time Kurt calls me back and
turns me toward him by my arms.
I had a great time; he says.
I did too; I reply, all the while wondering why hes being so seriousand touching, I
mean, holding my arms and then, while still holding on to me, his face starts coming toward
mine andyouve got to be kidding me! Hes trying to kiss me! Oh My Gosh! Ok, I need to act
as if I know what Im doing! He kisses me. I dont know if Im doing it right, but I like it, and
now the part of me that just wants to be friends doesnt want to just be friends anymore, but
wants more of, lets be more than friends.


Chapter 24
Are right and wrong convertible terms dependent
upon popular opinion? ~William Lloyd Garrison


I have a boyfriend! I have a boyfriend! As usual, Garo and Hutch cant help but tease and
embarrass me just so they can watch my face turn beet red whenever they hint at sex.
Well? They say.
Well what? I play dumb hoping to avoid talking about what theyre implying.
Did you do it?
NO!!! I pretend to be appalled. However, things are heating-up between Kurt and I, that I
have to admit, and my two dads hang on every word I say as I describe our dates. The only
people who know about Kurt and I are my friends at the deli, and somehow, Im keeping our
relationship from my parents with a lot of lying and sneaking around. I dont like this sneaking
around. Being a sneak is humiliating and Im trying to act grown-up. Then again, Kurt and I are
still parking on random streets away from my house so my nosy neighbors wont see me get out
of a car they dont recognize then somehow accidentally mention it to my parents like Im still a
little kid. Dumb, nosy neighbors. They take the neighborhood watch thing to an entirely new
level.
Im thirty-years old; Kurt says to me. Hes getting annoyed at the sneaking around as well
but I plead my case.
If I tell my parents about you, theyll never let me keep seeing you.
Then maybe we shouldnt see each other anymore. Ouch, that hurt
What? Really?
I dont want to stop seeing you, I like you, but Im not going to keep sneaking around; he
warns me.
Okay, okay, Ill tell them. Ill tell them tonight.
Okay then; thanks. Ill see you tomorrow andhave a good night.
Uh-ha, Ill try; I say as I roll my eyes. I walk home and start going over what Im going to
say in my head.
Oh, hey Mom and Dad, just wanted to let you know Im seeing a man whos thirty years old
and a divorcee, and theres nothing you can say to change my mind so dont even try.
Yeah, that sounds good. Maybe Ill say that. I wonder what theyll do to me once they know
Im dating an older man, but then again, what can they do to me? Spank me? Ground me? Tell
me that I cant work at the deli anymore since I cant make good friend choices? I dont think so!
Mama and daddy are sitting in the living room watching TV. Dad is smoking a cigarette
while mama is flipping through a magazine wishing she could be smoking a cigarette. Hypocrite;
I think to myself. Its what I think every time I see her now.
I need to tell you something; I announce. Theyre both looking at me, except mama is
more like glaring at me as I try to keep from trembling. Trembling is a major weakness. I need to
work on that; I think to myself.
Im seeing someone.
Oh really? Who? My dad says in quite a pleasant way which helps me relax and think
things might go my way for a change.
Hes a man I met at work and have known since I started working at the deli. His name is
Kurt, and I really like him.
How old is he? Here we go.
I think hes around thirty.
Thirty?! Mama exclaims. Youre seeing a thirty-year-old man? You do know youre only
nineteen? No, thank-you for reminding me.
Yes; I say dejectedly.
Uh-uh, no way, you cant keep seeing him. Hes too old for you; mama says to me as if
she thinks Im crazy.
Hes just using you, you know. Have you had sex yet? Dad asks.
NO! I now look at them as if theyre crazy. Then I wonder why dad thinks Kurt just wants
to use me and how does he want to use me? Yes, I am still that nave.
Well, hell want too. All thirty-year-old men want to have sex. Has he been married?
Yes, but
I dont think soyou need to stop it now. Both my parents agree and make it crystal clear
that I will stop seeing Kurt. All I can do is agree and go up to my room.
Youll be better off; my Dad yells after me. Better off than what; I wonder.

I walk into the deli the next day with my face dragging on the ground.
Uh-oh, whats wrong? Hutch asks. I tell him what my parents said and how I feel about
what my parents said, but he doesnt comment either way.
What are you going to do? He asks after pondering my dilemma.
I dont know! Ill just have to see what happens when I tell Kurt; I respond, sounding
apprehensive as I do. Later, I inform Kurt of what my parents said.
So? What are you going to do?
What can I do? I have to stop seeing you.
Okay; he says coldly. He sits quietly for a second, obviously thinking about what to do or
say next when he suddenly stands-up to go. Then I guess Ill see ya.
Really? Kurt? He looks back at me and shrugs, then walks out the door. I head straight for
our little table in the back and practically fall into a chair, crossing my arms over my chest while
huffing and puffing like a little kid whos angry at being told to sit down. Im mad and sad and
now my throat is starting to hurt from holding back my tears. I dont like being told I cant do
something or have something, or someone especially now that Im nineteen. Im sick of it. Just
sick of it.
I mope, watch and wait for Kurt to come back to the deli for about three days until I finally
see him heading our way. I dont know if Im excited or scared as I watch him walking across
the parking lot, but my heart is beating a million miles an hour. I know he must be angry which
causes me considerable distress because the thought that someone I care about is upset or hurt
because of something I did is unbearable. However, when Kurt comes in, hes his same
easygoing self and acting as if all is right with the world.
He stays until closing so we can talk. When were finally alone, I tell him how happy I am to
see him and how I cant not see him anymore, and he says he feels the same way, and isnt that
the way it should be when two people like each other? We stand there kissing for what seems
like an hour until I say I need to get going. He says hell give me a ride so I tell him that he still
cant park on my street, but instead of getting upset, he just smiles and walks me to his car.

Kurts hands are going places I didnt even know they could go, and I dont care until the
thought of getting pregnant enters my mind and I tell him to stop. Kurt asks why as he continues
to kiss me, and I tell him because we just have to stop, embarrassed to admit Im afraid Ill get
pregnant if he goes any farther even though I truly dont understand what actually needs to
happen in order for pregnancy to happen. He stops, but now hes frustrated since this has been
happening every time we get together, but its just the way it has to be. I do not want to get
pregnant; period.
Kurt wants to take me out on a real date and he tells me to dress-up. Im so excited I run into
the deli the next day to tell Garo and Hutch about my impending night-out.
Really? Thats good! Both my dads say simultaneously, genuinely happy for me.
But I dont have anything to wear! I tell them.
Then go next door to the dress shop and find something there.
Really? I say, surprised Im being encouraged to go shopping when I should be working.
O-kay! I say enthusiastically; then run over to the dress shop, go in and look around until I
find an extremely short, tight, knit, turquoise colored dress, then hurry over to the shoe store to
find some shoes to go with it. I find some pumps that match perfectly. Ive never worn high heels
before, and I feel as if Im going to break an ankle so I wear them while I work to get over my
wobbling. I know I look good, with not an ounce of fat on me and being fit and tone with legs for
days Im told; whatever that means. I want to look sexy, and Garo and Hutch tell me that I do,
and luckily, my face is mostly clear and Im learning how to apply make-up to cover up the parts
that arent. My hair is still short, but I dont give it a second thought now that I have a life,
besides, Kurt says he loves short hair so its all good.

Kurt takes me to the Velvet Turtle in the Marriot Hotel where I have lobster for the first
time, loving every bite. We share a bottle of wine, my first time drinking white wine and I love it
as well. I love the attention Im getting in my short, tight dress and heels, with my legs for days
whatever that means. I still feel a little wobbly on my heels especially after the wine, but I hold
on to Kurts arm as we leave the restaurant and walk as if I know what Im doing. After dinner,
we drive to a secluded spot and start making-out. Kurt puts his hands places I know leads to
more than making-out, so once again I have to stop him. He tries a second time and I stop him
yet again, and again hes frustrated. All I can say is that Im sorry. It goes on this way for another
month until I can tell Kurt is seriously getting sick of this frustration and again, of the sneaking
around, so I decide its time I tell my parents. This time though, Ill tell them that I cant and
wont stop seeing Kurt. We love each other now so its different. I promise Kurt I wont chicken
out and he tells me that he loves me.
I love you, too.
Oh; Kurts voice stops me. I have to go out of town for a meeting and wont be back for a
week. Its in Atlanta at the company where my brother, Matt works. Im going to stay a few
extra days to spend some time with him.
Okay. Well then, have a good trip and Ill see you when you get backand I promise,
Ill have everything taken care of by then.
Im surprised by his announcement as well as disappointed I wont be able to see him for a
whole week. But what can I do
Okay. Love you; Kurt repeats.
Love you too.

Chapter 25
Love is not for the weak, but for the brave.. Ghandi


I want you out. Were leaving for the Sea tomorrow for the weekend and I want you out
before we get home. Thats what Im told by my mother a few days after announcing that I am
going to continue seeing Kurt, that we tried breaking-up but it didnt last and now theres no
stopping because we love each other. I wonder if mama will ever realize that rules without
relationship always end in revolt. I had countless rules, but I didnt have one meaningful
relationship, and now Im revolting. Its as simple as that.
Okay Is all that comes out of mamas mouth when I finish announcing my declaration
of love for Kurt.
Okay? Its all that comes out of my mouth after mama finishes kicking me out.
Humwowwhere am I going to go? I immediately start thinking to myself. Mama took
me to look at some cheap apartments one day a while back, but not being able to find one that
wasnt dark and dank or in my price range, I guess she gave-up on the idea. I had no clue it was
because she planned on kicking me out, but thats exactly what shes doing right after I tell her
that I love Kurt, and now, consequently, out I go without even a dark, dank apartment in my
price range to move into. Except, for some unknown reason, Im not worried one bit, though I do
wish I wish I could call Kurt and tell him the good news but I dont have the number where hes
staying. I rack my brain wondering whom to call, when it comes to meMitch, who still isnt
married but wants to beis my answer! Kurt still lives with him. Mitchs place is a two-story
condominium right up the street from the deli, and of course, Kurt has his own room so why
shouldnt I stay there until he gets home? At least then I wont be on the street! Yeah, Ill talk to
Mitch tonight; in the meantime, Ill just get packing. Now that I figured out the solution to my
problem, and the fact that Im moving out, I can barely hold in my excitement, but as Im
bouncing around my room happy as can be, just packing away and lost in my own thoughts,
mama appears in my doorway so suddenly it startles me.
OH! You scared me, putting my hand over my heart. Shes glaring at me with her queen-
like haughtiness as usual.
What are you doing?
Ah? Packing?
What are you smiling about? She asks, looking utterly bewildered by my apparent joy,
and now, either her confusion or my joy is making her angry.
Nothing; I respond as downtrodden as possible. I know I need to stop antagonizing her
with my smiling even if Im not meaning too. Shes so angry, I need to respect that. I almost
laugh out loud at the thought. Okay, focus nowI have to talk myself through the truly last
tongue-lashing of my life to keep from laughing my head-off. Wha-wa-wha-wa, wha-wa-wha is
all I hear. I have to keep looking down to keep mama from seeing the smile that keeps forming
on my lips. She must be able to tell I dont care about what shes saying, and it looks as if its
making her crazy.
Why are you so happy? She snaps. I know she thinks shes hurting me by kicking me out
which isnt the case at all, and it seems shes finally realizing it right now, right before my very
eyes.
Um, because Im leaving this crazy, dysfunctional, less-than-perfect, all American family,
and will never have to do another thing you say including: washing dishes, setting the table,
emptying the dishwasher, cleaning bathrooms, vacuuming, dusting, taking out the trash,
sweeping, mopping, organizing, folding, cleaning up dog crap, cleaning the corral, pulling
weeds, pruning and raking the driveway, cleaning out behind the house, clearing branches,
feeding and watering the horses, dogs, cats, and chickens, cleaning the litter box, cleaning the
ashtrays, cleaning and organizing cupboards, cleaning up around the pool, washing your car,
hosing the patio, playing computer games and I better like it or else; it better be perfect or else;
it better be done or else and last but not least, be made to feel like Im just an unworthy step-
middle-child and thats all Ill ever be! Except, I cant say that so I just say, I dont know.
Im nineteen-years-old.

Mitch is worried Kurt might be upset about him letting me move into Kurts bedroom so
hes hesitant.
Ah, dont worry; I say. I dont think thatll happen, besides, if he does get upset Ill just
tell him that I had no place else to go, which is the truth, and if he wants me to move out, I will,
but I dont think he will. Were both right. Kurt comes home and is shocked and surprised to
see I moved into the condo, and even more shocked and surprised Mitch let me move into his
room. However, as soon as I explain that my mom kicked me out because of our relationship, he
decides to let me stayuntil I can find my own place, as in, as soon as possible because theres
no way we can live together.
You moving in with me isnt what I expected when I told you to tell your mother about us,
Kurt tells me. He seems confused, somehow different from before he left on his trip.
I didnt know this would happen either; I say. Ill look for a place tomorrow, okay?
Well, Ill give you a few days then you can start looking. Hows that?
Fine. I guess
Mitch and Kurt grill some steaks while I make a salad. Kurt introduces me to Robert
Mondovi and we became fast friends. We drink Mr. Mondovis Cabernet Sauvignon, my very
first Cabernet, and its love at first taste. Theres music, a delicious dinner, more amazing wine
and fantastic friends. We laugh and talk most of the night and when we finally go to bed, Kurt
and I touch and kiss until I once again tell him noI dont want to get pregnant. Having a baby
is still the last thing on earth I want and Im not going to take a chance. The second night Kurt
has a condom, and with Mr. Mondovis help, I lose my virginity. Kurt explains everything hes
doing since its my first time and Im nervous. It certainly isnt what I expected, not that I knew
what I expected, yet somehow I did. Im amazed at how, even without prior explanation or
experience, I knew how things worked and what was going to happen as if its instinct, or a sixth
sense or something. It was weird, cool, different, fun and scary all at the same time. What I cant
understand is what all the hoopla is about. Maybe sex is a mans thing. Who knows? I think
again about what Id learned in church about sex before marriage and ask God as Im falling
asleep, to please forgive me if You really dont approve of what Ive just done. But I dont think
You can possibly disapprove of something You made us able to do, especially since giving us
the instinct or sixth sense to know what will happen without prior explanation or experience.
Thank-you God. Amen.
I have to work the next day and when I arrive, Hutch can tell theres something different
about me. How? Dont ask me.
What?? I ask because he keeps smiling and looking at me as if he knows something is up
but cant put his finger on it. Odds are, he assumes he knows because he knows I moved in with
Kurt and probably just wants to hear me admit it.
So you did it, huh?
Yesssss; I say shyly, hehehe. I cant wipe the smile off my face.
Sooooo?
What? Tehe.
How was it?
Well, hehehe, my face is beet red and I cant stop giggling. It isnt what I thought it
would be likeI dont know why everyone makes such a big deal about it.
Ah, just wait, I think youll change your mind. I just giggle and shrug.
When I show-up at the condominium after work, Kurt and I start making dinner when he
surprises me with an invitation.
If you want, you can stay here; he casually mentions. I slowly turn my head to look at him
with a look that questions his decision. I dont want to look as if I expected this all-along.
Really?
Yes; I think it might work out.
Yes! Thank-you! We embrace, clink our wine glasses together, then drink to us and our
new life.
Life is sweet for the next few months being its just one continuous party. Mitch loves
having people over for BBQs and get-togethers which usually last all night. We go out to bars
after Kurt and the guys get off work in funky little sections of L.A. Ive never been too before,
dining, drinking, and watching the Lakers do what they do best. We drink like fish, then drive
home and drink some more. Im young and ready to make-up for all the fun I missed out on
growing-up the way I did and my favorite way to do that is by drinking, and giving Kurt
whatever he wants.
I continue working at the deli while Im living it up until about six months later when Kurt
receives a job offer at the company in Georgia he had visited. Come to find out, he had actually
gone to Atlanta for an interview seeing as though he was newly divorced, and with nothing
holding him here, he decided to make a change and move closer to family, except, now theres
me. My heart stops as he tells me, but I try looking calm so he doesnt know Im seriously
freaking out. He asks me to sit down on the loveseat while he sits on the floor in front of me so
we can talk. Is he leaving me? No way! Oh my goshwhat am I going to do now? I have a job
so I guess I can get an apartment or rent a room with Mitch...Kurt is still talking but all I hear is,
Im moving to Georgia whawha wha brother, wha wha, Atlanta wha whawha and I was just
wondering if you want to go with me?
Wait. What did you just say?
My broth
NO, the last part.
I was wondering if you want to go with me; he says again.
Really?! Yes!!
How would you feel if we stop in Las Vegas and get married? Would you marry me?
Married? Yes!! Ill marry you!
Its set; well leave for Georgia in a month and well stop in Vegas for a couple of days so
we can get married. Kurt formally declares making our plans sound official.
Oh-My-Gosh! I gush as I fall onto Kurts neck and we hug and kiss. I couldnt have
dreamt of a better scenario. For one, Im getting out of California, and two, Im getting married!
My excitement is beyond words. A month later, our bags are packed and we head out to Vegas to
tie the knot.

We find the Chapel we want to use as soon as we arrive in Vegas, then I rent a gown and
Kurt rents a tuxedo. The next day, a few of Kurts family members fly in for the ceremony
including his mom Sherry, whom Ive met before but still feel uncomfortable with. I feel she
doesnt like me, or dislikes the fact Im so young, or the fact Im marrying her son, or the fact
Im just thinking this way because shes a mom and moms make me uncomfortable. However,
we all get through the ceremony unscathed and have a fabulous time.
Sherry takes us all out for dinner where we have cake and Champagne, then afterwards, we
head for the strip and later the hotel in order to continue our post-wedding party. The next
morning, we all meet for breakfast and talk about the night before, and how everyone feels after
the night of excessive drinking, except for Sherry, who doesnt drink because of being a Godly
woman and whose Godly living causes me to feel guilty about my excessive, underage drinking.
The conversation eventually moves around to marriage and what were planning to do once we
reach Atlanta, and as we talk, I look around the table and realize these people are my new family.
My own family doesnt even know where I am. They dont even know where I went when I left
the house, or that Im moving to Georgia, or that Im married now, and I couldnt care less.
Conditioned Associations between Abuse Stimuli and Emotional Distress
Perhaps the most basic learning that occurs during child maltreatment is that of classically
conditioned associations between abuse stimuli and negative emotions. Children who are beaten,
repetitively screamed at, sexually abused, or abandoned typically will come to associate aspects
of the abuser (e.g., his or her sex, age, physical characteristics, or escalating behaviors) with
fear and other emotional distress. These conditioned emotional responses (CERs) may be
embedded in generalized fear structures (Foa & Kozak, 1986), leading the child to experience
distress in response to seeing any male/female, authority figure, angry person, etc. In some
cases, this generalization will result in negative CERs to a variety of potential interpersonal
relationships, especially those involving intimacy, closeness, or vulnerability. (John Briere,
Ph.D.)

Chapter 26
People often overestimate what will happen in the next two years,
and underestimate what will happen in ten. ~Bill Gates


We arrive in Atlanta on an extremely hot and humid day with air so heavy I feel as if I have
to swim through it. I know what hot is; I mean, I grew-up fishing in a dirty oven turned to broil,
however, the humidity is another story. When I first open my car door and step out of the air
conditioning I have a hard time breathing. Its in the nineties and about eighty-nine point nine
percent humidity. Kurt and I are both instantly drenched, not only from sweat but also literally,
from the moisture in the air. Were both taken aback by the heats intensity, but Im too excited
about being somewhere Ive never been to care too much.
First stop, Kurts new employers office building on Peachtree St., or is that Peachtree Ave.?
On the other hand, it could be Peachtree Avenue NW, or NE, or SW or maybe, its Peachtree
Blvd. We get so turned around on Peachtree this and Peachtree that, it takes an extra hour to find
the building. When we finally arrive, we go in and find Kurts Brother Matt to let him know
weve arrived. After the introductions, Kurt tells Matt were going to go check into a hotel and
well meet up with him later. We find the Comfort Suites on Peachtree St. SW and check into
our room. We pay for the room, but Kurt will be reimbursed each week were here since well be
living at the hotel for a month, or until were shipped down to Tampa where Kurt will work on-
site.
I never thought Id ever be living such a fun life. Fun, fun, fun, thats my life. No work, no
school, no chores, no mom, no dad, no brother, no users, no abusers, no rules, no curfews, no
alarm clocks and no worries. I cant believe this is my life. While Kurt is working during the
day, I go jogging around all the old neighborhoods, falling in love with the old southern
mansions which are surprisingly close to the high-rise buildings downtown. If I look up above
the treetops I can see the tops of the office buildings, glistening grey and silver against the bright
blue of the crystal clear sky. I then look around me and Im instantly transported back in time, a
time when women still wore beautifully ornate dresses with giant hoop skirts and men wore suits
for any and all occasions. I imagine horse-drawn buggies and wagons going-up and down the
street carrying the impeccably dressed to their meetings or lunches, or the workingman and his
wares to the factories and shops. Its a clash of time and space, but yet, to have the conveniences
of modern living right downtown, yet so close to the comfort of a home as well as living in a
neighborhood that hasnt changed in over a hundred years, is something to relish.
Trailing Ivy and dripping moss hang over the balconies and trees; roses and flower gardens
fill every corner of every yard. Its all so intoxicatingly beautiful I feel as though Im looking at a
painting where the artist is only limited by the size of his canvas. Being in Atlanta is more
exciting than anything else Ive ever experienced, and even with the heat and the humidity, I go
out every day just to walk the beautiful streets these lucky people get to call home. I dont want
to miss a second of the beauty before Kurt and I move.
In the evenings, Kurt picks me up from the hotel after work and we meet Matt at his favorite
Bar and Grill to have dinner together. The bar doesnt check I.D. so Im able to get in and drink
with no problem. Sometimes other men from Kurts office join us, but they cant help but ask
how old I am after first meeting me since I look the same as when I was sixteen.
Nineteen, I say disappointingly, hating myself for being so young and wishing I could
look older if only so Kurts friends might stop asking me how old I am.
You look fifteen; one says.
No, twelve; another responds and laughs. Another asks where Im from, how I met Kurt,
how long weve been married and do I like Atlanta so far. I stumble over my answers not
wanting to reveal too much, but also embarrassed over the fact I have no life experience to talk
about being that my life experience consisted of being confined to the house on the hill. Once I
have a couple beers however, I loosen-up and my mind opens-up and I can laugh and make fun
of myself and life in general.
Youre alright; the men tell me afterwards.
Gee, thanks a lot; I respond in mock sarcasm, and though Im grateful to be accepted, it
really doesnt matter what anyone else thinks because I know Kurt loves me and Ill always be
his wife, and thats the only thing that matters right now.

Its been a month and were heading to Florida. The trip is just another exciting adventure to
me since Ive never been to the Sunshine State either. It takes only five hours to get to Tampa
and we settle into a hotel until we can get into an apartment. Kurt expects the project to take
about six months and then well move back to Atlanta for good.
Im not as excited about Tampa as I was about Atlanta. There are no moss covered balconies
and trees, or roses in every corner of every yard, but there is the beach and Palm trees and beach
style living, and thats good. The part of Tampa we find an apartment in only has a few palm
trees and looks a little unkempt, which is bad, but its in walking distance of shops and stores in
case I need something while Kurts at work, and thats good. We arent anywhere near the beach
so I cant spend my days frolicking in the sand and surf, and thats bad, but we do have a
perfectly enjoyable pool at the apartments, and thats good, but I seldom use it since I dont feel
like swimming alone, and thats bad. I decide to join a womens gym to alleviate boredom which
I enjoy immensely, and thats good, but back in the apartment its easy to get bored even though
I clean, cook, read or watch T.V., but its hard to fill-up the hours, and thats bad. Money isnt an
issue, so whatever I feel like doing I do it, and thats good, however, spending Kurts money still
feels weird and I still feel I have to ask him if its okay to buy something or do something, and
thats humiliating. My life is turning into a series of ups and downs, goods and bads, so I decide I
need to get rid of the bad by finding something I love to do, and since Im missing horses so
much I decide to look for a place to ride, which is good.
I find a place about forty-five minutes from where we live and decide to try it out. I call for
directions and Im on my way. Im anxious to get there, I cant wait to ride. The second I arrive,
and as soon as I pull into the driveway I can smell the horses and all the smells horses make, and
I think Ive died and gone to heaven. The stable is small and rundown with only ten stalls, five of
them taken by the rental horses, and I assume the other five horses must be boarders. It isnt a
large operation, probably just someone trying to make a little extra money on the side, but I dont
care, I just want to ride. Besides, I only chose this stable because theyre allowing me to ride
alone. Theres no way I would ever want to follow behind someone poking along at a snails
pace, but I suppose following a snail would be better than not riding at all.
The property is backed-up against a reserve and there are miles and miles of open
countryside and riding trails. I look over the horses to be sure none are lame and are well taken
care of because I dont care how desperate I am to ride, Ill never ride a horse with even the
slightest hint of lameness. Ill also make sure the owners know about the problem so the horse
can be taken out of service; not that it always works, but at least I try.
The man who comes out to meet me shakes my hand and asks if Im the person he spoke to
on the phone.
Penelope?
Yes, hi.
Hi there. My names Mike. He hands me a release form to sign just in case Im not as
experienced as I say I am, which a lot of people do and then get hurt because of lying about their
horse-riding experience, or just in case of an accident.
Accidents happen you know, especially around horses; Mike says.
Yep, I know; I agree.
So, what kind of horse do you want? He asks as we walk to the stalls.
A fun one; I say.
Okaywhy dont we give ol Maven a try? Hes a twelve-year-old Bay gelding and I think
youll like him just fine. I look him over and he appears strong and healthy.
Okie dokie, Ill give him a shot. I saddle-up and walk toward a gate Mike points to as the
way off the property and into the reserve, then ol Maven and I are on our way.
Our ride ends-up being less than exhilarating since Maven and I have different ideas of what
exhilarating means. My idea of exhilarating is running down the grassy roads and hills feeling
the power of my steed between my legs, with the wind whipping through my hair while rolling
along with the tapestry of the landscape and flapping my arms in the air as if Im flyingjust as
Alec did on the Black Stallion. We never get that far; in fact, we dont even get to the wind
whipping through my hair part of my fantasy due to the fact Maven only breaks out of his trot
twice, and only for a couple of strides throughout the entire hour were gone. I decide its
acceptable for the first time. At least I got to ride, and I did have fun. Next time though, I think
Ill leave Maven for someone else to ride.
The next time comes in two days. Why sit around the apartment waiting for Kurt to come
home when I can be out riding. When Mike asks if I want Maven again, I tell him no, do you
have one a little perkier? He looks at me like hes sizing me up.
Well, I do have Lacy. Shes a six-year-old Chestnut mare whos a little too much for most
people to handle.
Ill take her! I say almost before the words are out of his mouth. When he brings Lacy out
of her stall I know right away were gonna get along just fine. Lacy is about fifteen hands, lean
and muscular, looking more thoroughbred than QH, so I ask Mike what breed she is even though
Im sure I already know.
Shes an Appendix QH. I knew it! Half thoroughbred/half QH, this is going to be fun.
Now be careful, she can really move; Mike warns me.
Okay, thank-you! Then off through the gate Lacy and I go. I walk her out for a while to
warm her up then move into a trot. I can feel shes ready to fly. I look ahead to be sure the
grounds even, as well as to be sure there wont be any horse-eating branches, rocks or rabbits
jumping out to spook Lacy as were galloping bythen I let her go. She bolts forward with such
power Im glad I have a hold of the horn on the saddle. She would have gone full-on the whole
time if I let her, but there wasnt any reason to go any faster than we already were since I can
already feel the power of my steed between my legs in addition to the wind whipping through
my hair. I now feel as if Im flying without having to flap my arms as Alec does on the Black
Stallion. Oh, Yeah! This is the horse for me, and the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Kurt comes home from work and I gush about Lacy, telling him that he just has to go riding
with me. Theres a perfect horse for you to ride, and I promise itll be fun; please, please, please!
We go on a Saturday and Lacy and I are running circles around Kurt and Maven, literally.
Maven eventually breaks into a canter and finally a gallop now that Lacy is running beside him.
Im overjoyed that at last Kurt can feel the power of his steed between his legs, and the wind
whipping through his hair, that is, until were coming up on the end of the road. Ive already
learned that I need to start the stopping process early since Lacy doesnt like the stopping part of
a good gallop, but when Kurt starts trying to stop he starts getting bounced around in the saddle.
Out of desperation, he starts pulling the reins back and forth and out to his sides, using them as
leverage to keep from falling off and in doing so, over-steers Maven toward the incline on the
side of the road where he finally loses his struggle with his balance and falls with a thud off his
powerful steed. I quickly turn around and ask him if hes alright.
Yesss; he says miserably. Now that I know hes alright, I start laughing hysterically when
suddenly, my hysterical laughter is interrupted by Kurt jumping-up and slapping at himself. Hes
jigging and slapping, and slapping and jigging like a man on fire.
Im being bit!! He shrieks.
By what?! I scream, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth we both realize, at the
same time, that Kurt has landed on a Fire Ant hill! The pissed-off Fire Ants are now advancing
on him with military precision and garnering an attack on the Gulliver who dared destroy their
Fire Ant mound. They appear determined to teach whoever or whatever has destroyed their home
a lesson on thinking twice before wreaking havoc on their tiny world again. I jump off Lacy to
help slap at the ants which are trying their hardest to bring down the anthill-destroying fiend, but
it still takes about ten minutes to get them all. Kurt is a good sport about the entire state of
affairs, so we continue our ride until our time is up. The only hitch is that now he no longer
wants to feel the power of a steed between his legs or the wind in his hair, and when we get back
to the barn we see hes covered with red itchy welts and I cant help but laugh my head off at his
misfortune.
A few days later, Im again feeling the power of my steed as I gallop Lacy through a forest
of Australian Pine, Birch and Melaleuca trees, and where every now and then I get an
unavoidable spider-web in my face given that theyre stretched throughout the trees. I try looking
ahead so that maybe Ill be able to see the webs beforehand and avoid them, but the webs are
hard to see when youre riding like the wind and whipping past trees on a powerful steed, until
that is, the last split second and then its too late. I wave my hand in front of me, if and when I
see a web, which isnt the case the day I think I see something suspended between two pines. Its
too late to figure out what it is I think I saw, so, I not only dont have time to wave, I have no
time to duck let alone decipher what it is I saw against the blurred background of trees, leaves,
shadows and sunlight. Suddenly and unexpectedly, Im hit in the face by not only a web, which
wraps around my head like Spidermans mask, but a giant spider sitting right smack-dab in the
middle.
Now, when youre riding like the wind, and the steed youre riding doesnt like the stopping
part of a good gallop, and you get hit in the face with a giant spider, and making matters worse
youre afraid of spidersespecially spiders that are the diameter of your face, theres only one
thing you can do, and that is, try not to fall off as your nerves take-over and you start screaming,
and twisting, and slapping, and clawing at your head, and shoulders, and body hoping you knock
the thing off that just smacked you in the face. When I tell Kurt about my misfortune, he laughs
his head-off and I think to myself, touch.


Chapter 27
The Devil has put a penalty on all things we enjoy in life.
Either we suffer in health or we suffer in soul or we get fat.
~Albert Einstein


Im quickly learning that being a homemaker is a lot like living at home except for one key
difference. At home, I had to do my chores, and then I was punished if they werentor were
done correctly? But here in my new home, I think Im supposed to want to do chores and do
them happily. Who knows? At least here I have the freedom to do my chores whenever and
however I want as long as said chores get done. Its the same, yet different. I suppose having
these freedoms is far better than having some Nazi going around checking my work in addition
to constantly reminding me of what a failure I am and do it over or else; therefore, I keep an
extremely clean home since its the only way I know how. However, cleaning anything,
including a one bedroom apartment is monotonous now that I know what Ive been missing out
on, and I count the minutes until Kurt comes home so we can go out and get some more of what I
missed out on while home doing chores. I love hearing the door open letting me know Kurts
home and the boring part of the day is over, and we can go out dancing, or watch basketball
games over burgers, wings, and pitchers of beer. One of our favorite haunts is a new place that
just opened-up specializing in hot wings, beer and boobs called Hooters. Its become the new hot
spot even though its mostly frequented by the men folk for the skimpy outfits and big hooters
the servers wear and partially expose.
Sex is also a daily occurrence. Nois not in my husbands vocabulary, and now my body is
protesting with frequent yeast and urinary tract infections which puts me in a not-so much-in-the-
mood frame of mind. Its different for Kurt. The minute he sees me, he wants it, since it still
feels good to him. He doesnt seem to care that to me, it feels as if hes wrapping himself in
sandpaper and tearing me to shreds.

I arrive at the Doctors office for the third time this month.
Bad news. My doctor announces. Your on-going yeast infection has caused a urinary
tract infection that has traveled into your bladder, and now you have a bladder infection. Oh, and
your bladder infection has traveled to your kidneys, and now you have a kidney infection.
What? I look confused since its already been a couple of months since I started working
on this health dilemma.
Why wont my yeast infection clear-up? I ask in a too whiney of a voice.
Im not sure. Well put you on some antibiotics for the kidney infection, and continue using
the Monistat for the yeast infection and see what happens. Come back in two weeks, and, No
Sex.
Thank God. Now Kurt will have to stay away from me, doctors orders, not that doctors
orders have ever stopped him before. Two weeks go by and the infection still hasnt cleared-up.
The burning is almost unbearable. I visit Doctor Incompetent for the fourth time in a month and a
half.
Are you having sex? The doctor asks me first thing, looking rather annoyed as he does.
Its as if he wishes his sex life could be so reckless that someone might be annoyed at him for
doing it when he shouldnt be doing it.
A couple of times; I admit. It was actually more than a couple of times, but I dont want to
say that my insatiable husband disregarded doctors advice.
Well, you arent going to get better unless you stop having sex altogether. Now I just
think hes jealous.
Yes, okay, Ill tell my husband.
Continue using the medication I prescribed last time and come back in two weeks. This is
ridiculous. Ive been using the medication he prescribed for the last couple of months and it
hasnt worked, so why should I continue doing what I know isnt working? I look for another
doctor and make an appointment. In the meantime, I have to cry just so Kurt understands how
badly I hurt, and hopefully, hell leave me alone.
My new doctor is a woman, Dr. Sawyer. I think since shes a woman shell better
understand what Im going through and will be able to fix me.
How can I help you today? Dr. Sawyer asks me not knowing the can of worms she just
opened.
WellIve had infection after infection and the infection I started with is still going strong
and causing other infections and I just want all the infection to stopand the doctor Ive been
seeing put me on some kind of antibiotic and some kind of cream that arent doing what theyre
supposed to be doing but seem to be doing what theyre not supposed to be doing which is
making everything worse. So, needless to say, Im hoping you might be able to do what Doctor
Incompetent cant do and fix whats wrong down there.
Wow, okay, Ill see what I can do. Dr. Sawyer immediately changes the medication Id
been using for the last couple of months to a different brand, and surprisingly, it works and I feel
immediate relief. Im completely well within a week. She tells me that I was allergic to the
cream I had been using which is why my symptoms kept getting worse. Mental note Seek a
second opinion, preferably a woman, if the first opinion doesnt work within a reasonable
amount of time, and the doctor seems annoyed and jealous of your sex life. Creepy.
I honestly believe God is punishing me for wanting a sex-life more than I wanted the second
coming. This will teach me to ask God to hold off on His return just so I can do the dirty deed.
Now I get it even when I dont want it, and to top it off, I cant stay well down there for longer
than a week but still get it. Every month I have to see the doctor because of some kind of itching,
burning, or pain, and every time I go to the doctor, the itching, burning and pain ends-up being
something different. It seems I have a different STD every month. When Im diagnosed with
HPV, the doctor asks me if Im sleeping with anyone besides my husband.
Absolutely not! Ive never been with anyone but my husband.
Do you think your husband might be cheating on you?
No way! Theres no way he can be cheating on me. He cant leave me alone for a second,
so how could he? Could he? Later that day I tell Kurt what the doctor asked me, but he just looks
at me like I just asked the dumbest question in the world.
Im not cheating, soooo he responds.
Sowhat? You think Im cheating? After all the pain I go through for you and you think
Id go out and cheat? I cant believe you would actually think that! Then nonchalantly I add,
They also said the virus could have been dormant for months, even years, and since youre the
only one who wasnt a virgin in this relationship We leave it at that.

Effects on Relationships
Fearful of closeness, the adult abused as a child keeps people at arms length. In relationships,
he isolates, withdraws, is emotionally unavailable, doesnt express his feelings, and may be
suspicious and blaming of loved ones. Ever fearful of betrayal, he does not trust. Low self-
esteem, fear of ridicule and a need to please override authentic expression that may be
interpreted as passivity and manipulation. (By Martin B. Rivers, eHow Contributor)
Kurt finally finishes the job here in Florida so we head back to Atlanta. The only thing Ill
miss here in Tampa is Lacy, riding Lacy and the wind in my hair while riding Lacy. I definitely
wont miss the Fire Ants, Banana Spiders or webs wrapping around my head.
We arrive in Atlanta and within days, Kurt goes back to work in the home office on one of
the Peachtree Streets or Peachtree Avenues. I desperately want a horse now, so we look for
property where one can be kept or kept nearby. We rent a cabin in the woods an hour outside of
Atlanta. I still have the dream of living in the mountains with Pine trees and fresh air, and this is
obviously closer to my dream than living in the city.
The house we rent has a screened-in porch we love, as its perfect for those summer
evenings when mosquitoes are out looking for a meal, and we just want to enjoy the cool night
air without becoming a Scooby snack for a bunch of menacing mosquitoes. It also has a fireplace
for the cold winter nights and where I imagine us snuggled-up in a blanket in front of a roaring
fire sipping hot cocoa or enjoying a lovely bottle of wine. Of course, it has everything else we
need to live and be comfortable, and after unpacking and making our new home homey, were
set. Now all we need is a dog, and our lives will be just like what I always imagined, perfect,
unlike my family back home. Im gonna show my parents what a perfect all-American family
actually is and that includes a perfect dog so off to the pound we go where we find the perfect
addition to our now perfect familya big, yeller type dog we name Buba.
By the time Im finished unpacking and decorating, Im bored. So what do I do in the
middle of nowhere by myself when Im bored? Explore, meet the neighbors, play fetch with a
dog that wont fetch, teach the dog to play fetch, explore some more, bake, clean or watch TV. I
find watching Soap Operas quite addicting, and start planning my days around the Abbots and
the Newmans from The Young and the Restless. My schedule isnt hard to maintain since
playing fetch with a dog that wont fetch and cleaning a house that mostly stays clean arent
exactly pressing matters.
What drama-filled, exciting lives people on television lead, and I constantly wonder if real
people in the real world actually lead lives like those on the soaps. I wonder what it would be
like to be rich and beautiful, or have to choose between two or three gorgeous, filthy-rich men
who are fighting for my affection or my hand in marriage which leads to me wondering if I could
ever have an affair. The soaps make it look so easy, normal and exciting. Besides that, Ive never
been with anyone but Kurt and I may need to see what Im missing out on with some rich
handsome stranger. I start feeling guilty for my thoughts and wonder if fantasizing is wrong.
Theyre just thoughts and feelings and theyre mine, so how could they be wrong? Its not as if
Im acting out my fantasies, so its all good.
Its always dark when you live in a cabin underneath a canopy of pines. It always feels cold
in a dark cabin underneath a canopy of pines. When its dark and cold, I feel sad. I feel sad
because Im bored, and Im bored because Im alone in a dark, cold cabin, and that makes me
feel sad, bored and lonely. When autumn comes around, everywhere I look I see a kaleidoscope
of brilliant oranges, reds and yellows in hues Ive never seen except in calendars, and even
though autumn is my favorite season, Im still sad and just cant shake this vast cloud of gloom
hovering over me. I remember the dreams I used to dream while sitting out on the hill
overlooking our perfect All-American town and wonder what happened to them. Maybe theres
still time to recapture my ambition and start doing what I promised I would do just a couple of
short years ago. I start thinking I should get a job, or go to school and get out of this dark, cold
cabin in the woods with only a dog that wont fetch as company.

Kurt comes home that evening and I have dinner ready for him as usual. We enjoy some
wine as we sit out on the porch and comment on how pleasant it is to sit outside in the evening
without being bothered by the hordes of mosquitoes buzzing around.
Im bored and I want to get a job, I unexpectedly announce.
I didnt marry you so you can work, I want a wife.
Ok, how about school? I always wanted to go to college.
Why do you want to go to college? What do you want to study?
I dont know yet. Ill have to think about that.
I dont think so. Why dont you come into town tomorrow and well have lunch together.
I look at him like, is that it? My future is settled? Except, he doesnt care and thats that.
Okay; maybe Ill go in early and walk around the mall a little first.
Yeah, then just meet me at the food court at noon.
Okay, that sounds goodand much more fun than getting a job or going to college. Gosh,
what would I do without you? That takes care of tomorrow, but what about the next day, and the
next and the ones after that?
As the weeks wear on, I feel as if Im disappearing. Kurt is only home in the evenings and
Buba still wont fetch. I dont have any friends or family I can or want to talk to, so I start
drinking when I start dinner. The buzz I get is the only form of relief I have from my loneliness. I
turn on the radio, start dinner and a bottle of wine, and while cooking and drinking, I start
dancing, and only then do I start feeling better. Kurt comes home, we eat, and I forget about the
boredom and the sadness for an evening. On the weekends, going out to the many clubs around
downtown Atlanta, dancing and drinking, helps me once again forget about being bored and
lonely in the dark, cold cabinuntil I wake-up on Monday morning just as Kurt leaves for work,
and then the long, dreary week begins again. It always begins again.


Chapter 28
O Jealousy! Thou magnifier of trifles.
~Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller


When Kurt visited Atlanta for his interview a year earlier, he met a woman; a cute, blond,
curvaceous and confident woman who just so happens to work in the exact same office in which
Kurt is now employed. I found the greeting card about a week after he got home from his trip.
He left the card lying out on the dresser and since I could tell it was from a woman, because of
the cute white bunny on the front holding a flower and looking as if fluttering unnaturally long
eyelashes, I was curious. I opened the card and immediately saw that the card was signed by a
Jody, and because it was from a woman I didnt know, as well as said woman allegorically
fluttering eyelashes at my boyfriend, I decided to read what was written since Id never heard
about this here Jody from Kurt. What can it hurt? I thought to myself. If shes just a friend, he
wont even know I read it, and if its something I should worry about, at least Ill know. The
letter went like this:

Dear Kurt,
It was so nice to meet you! I had a wonderful time, especially the kiss! Cant wait to pick-up
where we left off.

~Jody

Needless to say, the words threw me for a loop so I tried to talk myself through it. Okay, let
me read that again. Especially the kiss? I started thinking back to the last time I saw Kurt before
his trip. Did he break-up with me? No, we were still together and we decided I needed to tell my
parents about us so we wouldnt have to sneak around anymore. Yes, thats how we left it. Then
why is he kissing Jody from Atlanta? No wonder he seemed different when he came home and
found me living in his room.
I start trembling with the thought of him kissing someone else. I tried to get a hold of myself
so when Kurt got home from work that night Id be calm enough to ask him about the kissing of
Jody from Atlanta. When he finally arrived, our conversation went something like this:
Sooooo, I found the card from Jody today. It fell on the floor while I was straightening-up
and when I picked it up I saw it was signed by a Jody so I read it.
It fell on the floor, huh? He looked at me as if he didnt believe me; but why would he
suspect me of lying? Ive never lied to him befoream I that transparent? Weird.
Yes, yes, it didand of course, I noticed it said she especially enjoyed the kiss.
Yeah, we kissed, but only because I thought I was going to come home and stop seeing you
because of the parent thing. I wonder how he could be so relaxed about the situation.
I told you I was going to take care of that; I reminded him.
Yeah, but you said that before and then you broke-up with me, and I just really didnt like
the sneaking around.
Where did you meet her?
She works with my brother.
Why would you kiss her when you just met her?
One night after everyone got off work, we all went out for some beers and one thing led to
another and we kissed.
But she said she cant wait until you get back to pick-up where you left off. What is that
supposed to mean?
She only said that because I was planning on breaking-up with you and if I ended-up
getting the job Id be moving there and she was hoping we could get-together. But Im with you
now so theres nothing for you to worry about.
Was it good? Did you like kissing her? I just had to know.
Oh, come on
No, tell me, I want to know. Kurt is looking at me not sure if he should answer but then
goes ahead and tells me.
Fine. The one thing I noticed was that her lips were extremely soft because she plays the
clarinet. That was the only thing good about it. Oh my gosh! He likes her lips more than
mine!
So theyre softer than mine??
Yes, but thats not the point! The point isI love you and you dont have anything to
worry about.
I couldnt stop thinking about Jody and her soft lips kissing Kurt for a long time afterward
even though we never spoke of Jody and her soft lips againuntil I meet her. Then
You never told me she was cute!
You never asked. Hes acting so nonchalant about the whole thingCant he see Im
feeling insecure here?
Well, I dont think she accepts the fact youre married; I insist.
Thats her problem.
I know shes still interested in you!
It doesnt matter, I love you. Im married to you. I look at him suspiciously because he
doesnt deny Jody is still interested in him and because somehow I know that a woman has
threatened my marriage whether Kurt realizes it or not. Another thing Kurt doesnt realize is that
Im the one who gets the mocking looks from Jody as if she thinks Im too young to hang onto a
man like Kurt. However, what Jody doesnt know is that I know about the kiss which she
probably thinks is her and Kurts spicy little secret, and that Ill be watching to be sure Jody from
Atlanta keeps her grubby paws and soft lips off my husband.
Insecurity
Confidence is something that must be cultivated within the home. If a child is or was constantly
berated or criticized, this can result in severe insecurity. Adults who are psychologically abused
by their partners can also suffer from insecurity which leads to other consequences such as
failing to form healthy relationships or choosing relationships that are troubled and involve
more emotional abuse. (By Ella Miller, eHow Contributor)
The problem with being twenty and looking fifteen is nobody takes me seriously as an adult
or a wife. If were going out after work with the guysand Jody, and they want to go
somewhere new, theres a chance Ill be carded and be unable to get into the bar. Ill then see,
one by one, the vexed looks glanced my way because of me not getting-in, and now keeping
everyone else from going-in. Kurts friends dont want to exclude him so they all act as if they
actually didnt want to go to that particular bar anyway and well just go somewhere else. Its so
humiliating from my perspective, but Kurt doesnt even blink. Its as if he realizes it was his
decision to rob the cradle and this is just part of the deal. I appreciate his support, however, Jody
keeps looking at me with her mocking eyes as if saying, Ahhh, too bad youre too young to go
where the adults want to go! She looks at me as if looking into my innermost being as well as
the most vulnerable part of my nature, which in turn, leaves me feeling like a little girl playing
grown-up and I hate her for it.
Meeting Kurt for lunch is a good way to break-up the days. I enjoy walking around the mall
and being out among the living for a change, and I decide planning on having lunch with Kurt at
least once a week to get out of the house is a good idea. I start going into town and seeing movies
as well, or exploring different areas of Downtown, Underground or the various malls and
shopping centers. I ride the Marta to the city, and sometimes, Ill just ride the train to every stop
then back again which takes up a good hour of my day; besides, riding the train is relaxing. In
time, however, seeing movies alone or riding the train just to kill time makes me feel lonelier
than if I had just stayed home in my dark, cold cabin. I see people laughing and talking together
and I envy their friendships. Im embarrassed when I go to the movies alone, and I feel as if
everyone is staring at me and talking about me behind my back. I imagine them saying, things
like; Ahhh, look at that poor girl, she doesnt have any friends, and the sad truth of the matter
is, its true! I not only dont have any friends, but I dont know where to meet people so I can
make friends, and even if I did, I dont know how to make friends with strangers, or women, or
strange women. Ive never had a reason to trust one woman in my life. Ive had mostly male
friends growing-up, but they were from school and work and since I dont go to either school or
work anymore, I cant use those places as a friend outlet. I know as well that I wont see any of
the people I see out on my excursions more than once, so all the people I see laughing and
talking together will always be strangers and that means well never be friends. Eventually, I
start going home after a wasted day in town lonelier than before, but at least Im able to get out
of the houseso Im not as bored as I am lonely.
From the first day on since moving to Atlanta, Kurt has had lunch with Jody and her soft
lips, but because Im an hour away from Atlanta and tucked away in the dark, cold cabin, which
I specifically asked for, I dont have any idea. The first time I see them together is at the Lenox
Mall. Im there passing the time when I look down onto the food court from the second level and
see Kurt and Jody Softlips walking toward the food court restaurants together. Some of the other
guys from the office are behind them and are heading in for lunch as well. I do a double take and
start panicking. Oh, my gosh! What should I do? Should I go down and say hello? I dont know
if I should appear calm and confident, going down to join them, or stay-put and wait to see if Ill
catch Kurt doing something with Jody Softlips that he shouldnt be doing. My mind is going a
mile a minute as I watch them all sit down, Jody right by Kurts side. I feel sick and dizzy and
want to scream, but decide I dont want to look like a jealous, spying wife, and I high-tail it out
of there as fast as I can. Why are they together? Do they always have lunch together? What else
do they do together? Does he even love me? The questions are flooding my mind and now Im
choking on the tears Im holding back. I certainly dont want to be a sniveling spectacle for
everyone on the train to talk about. I can almost hear them now Ahhh, poor girl. Shes all
alone, she has no friends and her husband is having lunch, or maybe more, with a woman with
soft-lips!
Kurt pulls into the driveway, parks the car and I watch him walk toward the house. Im
halfway through a bottle of wine and in no mood to pull any punches. He walks through the door
and I attack immediately.
I saw you at the mall today having lunch withJody.
Really? Why didnt you join us? As if!
Why were you with Jody?
I wasnt just with Jody, a bunch of guys were there.
Yeah, but they were all sitting together and you and Jody were sitting together off to the
side. Do you have lunch with her every day?
No, and even if I did, other people from the office are there as well. Would you stop, shes
just a friend.
How would you feel if I were out having lunch with some guy friend who I just so
happened to have kissed, and who was still interested in me? Not to mention, we work together,
and I spend more hours in the day with him than you, and again, I have lunch with him every day
and I didnt tell you?!
Id trust you.
Oh, come on! Maybe you would trust me, but would you trust him?
Kurts annoyed, Im mad, and because he refuses to acknowledge or care how this
relationship makes me feel, Kurt continues to hang out with Jody Softlips under the guise of co-
worker and friend. I beat myself up for being insecure, but then one day I see him and Jody
having lunch alone, something he promised he never did which sends me into another bout of
raging insecurity. Kurt just doesnt care.
Im not doing anything wrong! He keeps insisting. Shes just a friend!
But I dont like it! And I dont like her! Dont you care how this makes me feel?
Shes a co-worker, and sometimes we are going to have lunch together, so just get used to
the idea.
I guess thats that. Its my problem and my insecurity so I can deal with it, and now the
darkness which I hadnt felt since before moving in with my husband, starts creeping back into
my soul to haunt me, and now when I look at Kurt, I feel nothing, after everything is said and
done, all I feel is sadness and hopelessness. Hopelessness because of how Kurt treats me, and
sadness because never feeling completely loved in all of my stupid life. The effect Kurts actions
have on my psyche are just the beginning of a downward spiral for our marriage, for my future
relationships and for my life. The darkness Im being consumed by is the first negative impact
that rears its ugly head as a direct result of how I was raised. The feeling of rejection from the
one who should love me, by him not caring about my feelings just as my family didnt, has put
me in line to climb-on board, for the first time in my life, the life-altering roller-coaster ride that
becomes my existence. Yee-ha!


Chapter 29
Marriage is like a 5000 piece jigsaw puzzleall sky. ~Cathy Ladman


Matt is Kurts identical twin brother except for the fact Matt is about fifty pounds heavier
than Kurt. Both of them are laid back and easy-going, though Kurt has more inclination to play
sports, whereas Matt prefers twelve-ounce curls. Not that Kurt cant compete with Matt as far as
the golden god is concerned, but while Kurt is out playing basketball, or racquetball, or some
other sweat producing activity, youll find Matt sitting on a barstool, kitchen stool or any other
sort of stool drinking Coors Light. By the time Kurt joins him, Matt will be a six-pack up on him.
Both men work for the same company doing similar jobs, but Kurt works just a little bit harder,
and in turn, advances faster and now makes more money. Matts sense of humor is better than
Kurts with Matt having everyone rolling by his second beer. Which attribute is better? Cant
say.
Sandy is Matts wife and is my first friend since leaving home. Shes pretty, slender and
about 54 with thin, medium length, mousy-brown hair. She has a little weight around her
middle from having two kids and like her husband, her love of Coors Light. She always seems to
be tan, and is never too self-conscience to wear a bikini on her thirty-four-year old body, stretch
marks, beer-gut and all. We get along like sisters, or not like sisters, or what I think a sister-
relationship would be, in other words, we get along swimmingly.
Sandy works as a receptionist at a doctors office so when the weekends roll around, Matt,
Kurt, Sandy and I get together to BBQ or go out dancing. Drinking has become a way of life; its
just what the four of us do together. Theres no right or wrong about it, and I feel nothing about
getting thoroughly wasted and passing out, at least then I dont have to be aware of what my
husband will do to me once we go to bed since sex never stops. Not that I want it to, I just want it
to stop with Kurt. I start fantasizing about a faceless stranger whenever Kurt and I do it which
makes the deed bearable, unless of course, I have some infection that still rears its ugly head
every now and then and then I hate sex, and I hate Kurt for making me have sex because its so
painful.
I envy Sandys freedom to come and go whenever she pleases and the fact she lives like a
single woman. Whether Matt knows what Sandy does while shes out or not, he never says, and I
think maybe he doesnt care. Getting to know Sandy makes me realize and finally decide that I
dont have to live such a humdrum life, and Im now determined to have more fun, without Kurt,
of course. There are many more fish in the sea Im finding out, and its getting increasingly
difficult to keep my eyes and feelings from wandering.

My jealousy simmers inside me like I have a gut full of white-hot coals. Every office get-
together or after work romp to the bars brings Jody Softlips and I together. I decide to attempt to
befriend her thinking that if were friends shell leave my husband alone. Being friends with an
enemy is harder than it sounds, however, and it takes a considerable effort on my part to keep up
the charade. I suspect she must know what Im doing because even though she plays along, Ill
sometimes catch a look from her from across the room, a mocking look, like Im the brunt of her
jokes, just like I was for my evil-step-mother. Its as if she cant help but laugh at the little
insecure girl trying to play grown-up. Even so, I just cant figure out why Im so jealous of Kurt
and Jodys friendship, or relationship, or whatever it is. Most of the time I dont want to be
anywhere near Kurt, so I wonder why the situation makes me so crazy? I just want it to stop, all
of it. I want the whole situation to disappear. Jody Softlips, the jealousy, the discontent, the
loneliness, the envy, the darkness, my husband?
My prayers are answered when Kurt receives a job offer in Washington State, and I feel a
glimmer of hope for my life and marriage for the first time in a long time. It might be the answer
to the Jody problem, the jealousy and maybe even my discontent. Kurts ex-wifes sisters
husband, who works at a Piping Design Company in Bellingham, has put in a good word for my
hard-working husband at his company. If Kurt accepts the job hell make more money. Im
always up for him making more money as well as for a move, especially someplace Ive never
been with the biggest plus being, itll be Jody-free. So we pack up our little cabin, find Buba a
good home and were on our way. Sayonara, Jody.

The drive, once we reach Washington is magnificent. Its so unbelievably beautiful I can
hardly fathom the majesty. How could anyone ever want to be anywhere else other than right
here in these glorious surroundings? I scan the scenery in awe and it reminds me of God and
heaven, but I cant think about Him right now after the way Ive been living since I cant
imagine He wants anything to do with me.
I look around and take in the breathtaking splendor. The sky is as blue, with as much luster
and richness as the hue of a Topaz gemstone. There are enormous Cumulus clouds as white as
snow, looking like dollops of whipped cream floating around in the sea of sky above our heads.
The mountains that surround us are majestic and imposing as they reach-up toward the heavens,
as if wishing to join the clouds floating overhead, but sadly, are forever bound to the ground. The
trees, in multiple shades of green, shimmer in the sunlight and stand like giant sentinels
welcoming us to the forest. Beneath their immense outstretched arms grow various plants of
different shapes and sizes and when seen all together put on such an impressive show, they could
illuminate the hillsides even if there hadnt been any sun. I see waterfalls as well, splashing down
the gleaming sides of rocky, moss-covered walls, with the sparkling water disappearing under
the highway like a million shooting stars appearing then disappearing, but their beauty still
lingering in your mind. I gaze in wonder and snap pictures as the road continues winding its way
through the forest splendor when Im suddenly conscious of the fact, I feel happy.
Tom is married to my ex-wifes sister, Angie; Kurt says to me during the drive.
Is Tom the one who got you the job?
Yeah.
He does the same thing as you and Matt?
Yep. Kurts answer makes me wonder how so many men in one family can be doing the
same thing for a living.
Ive known Tom and Angie for years. I started dating my wife when Angie was a teenager.
She had the biggest crush on me. Kurt mentions casually.
Excuse me? Did he just say Angie likes him? Isnt that what I just had to deal withwith
Jody Softlips?!? Why do women like my husband so much? This is just great. Here we are
heading toward another woman who had or has the hots for KurtmanI cant catch a break!
My heart is racing now and my stomachs doing flip-flops even though were hours from
arriving. I just know were heading for trouble. Ok, breathe; I tell myself. Maybe it wont be so
bad and maybe that was a pig I just saw fly over the treetops.
Tom and Angie have offered to let us stay with them until we can find our own place;
Kurt informs me.
Really? Not good...I think to myself. So what does Angie think of you bringing me
around?
Shes fine with it; shes really sweet. She understands why her sister and I split. Shes
excited to meet you; Kurt insists. But I have my reservations for the reason that I dont think
shell be too excited to meet the new woman in her sisters ex-husbands life. Just sayin.
What does Angie do?
Im pretty sure shes a stay-at-home mom.
Ah, your favorite kind Are you sure she wont mind me hanging around all day while
youre at work?
Of course not; youll probably become good friends.
I guess I can hope for the best. Yeah, like that ever worked out for me before
I do feel better now that were out of Georgia and away from Jody and the dark, cold cabin.
Maybe well buy a house and I can finally get a horse. Kurt wont be working at an office with a
woman hes kissed, hell come home to me every night now that hes away from the temptations
of the city, and well be in love again and live happily ever afterI hope.
Tom and Angie open their door upon hearing our knock. Tom is tall, Angie is my height.
Tom is welcoming, Angie cant keep her hands and eyes off Kurt.
Kurt! Hi! Oh my gosh! Its been so long! Angie practically squeals. Tom shakes Kurts
hand as he says hello.
This is my wife, Penelope; Kurt manages to squeeze in between Toms and Angies hellos
and hugs and wow, you look so goods. I shake hands with both of our new best friends, but
Angie can barely pull her eyes away from Kurt. She finally manages to look at me saying as she
does; Oh, hi, sorry, I just havent seen Kurt in such a long time! Which causes both of us to
laugh a fake laugh at her comment.
Come in, come inside! Tom interjects.
I watch as Angie hangs on Kurt, and his every word.
Um, hello? Tom? Are you seeing what Im seeing? Can you please control your wife? After
taking a tour of the house, Tom tells us to make ourselves comfortable, are you thirsty? Hungry?
Can I get you anything? A beer?
Yeah, a baseball bat Yes thank-you, a beer sounds good. I try to sit down by Kurt but
Angie beats me to it, practically climbing onto his lap while I stand staring at Kurt in the eye
where we have a silent conversation about whats happening.
What the? Excuse me, what is she doing? My eyes say to his eyes.
I cant help it, shes excited to see me; Kurts eyes answer back. I turn on my heel and sit
in a recliner across from the sofa when I realize he isnt going to put a stop to the fondling hes
receiving. Tom and Angie are both asking Kurt questions about the last few years as I sit and
listen like a good little girl when Angie quickly glances over at me with her laughing eyes, and
while running her fingers around the back of Kurts neck. Shes giggling like a little school girl,
but I manage to smile back even though Im growling at her on the inside. Go ahead and have
your fun now, because this is the last time youll touch my husband! Every minute that goes by
my blood gets hotter and soon, intense hate of this woman, whom I dont even know, oozes from
every pore.
The next morning after having coffee and a small breakfast, Tom and Kurt leave for work
and Im suddenly alone with Angie at the kitchen table when she abruptly puts her cup down,
stands-up and leaves the kitchen. I sit there for a few minutes thinking shell come back; I mean,
who gets up from a kitchen table without saying anything to the guest who is left sitting at the
table alone? After a while, I realize she may not come back, so I get-up and start clearing the
table, and cleaning the kitchen from breakfast. Its the least I can do since theyre putting us up.
Afterward, I decide to read while Angie buzzes around the house as if Im not there.
Do you need help with anything? I ask her.
No, Im fine; is her only reply. We barely speak all day, but as soon as the men come
home from work she comes alive as if someone lit a firecracker under her butt. I dont know
whos happier to see Kurt, she or I. Again, Angie, the not-so-little schoolgirl, is all over Kurt,
rubbing his arm, putting her arm around his waist, resting her head on his chest, even trying to
egg him into a wrestling match, and he isnt doing a thing to stop her. Then there is Tom; quiet,
mild-mannered Tom. I probably could have taken him into another room and ripped his clothes
off, and I doubt Kurt, Angie or Tom would blink an eye. Angie continues giggling, laughing and
looking over at me as if waiting for a reaction. Look at me! Look at me all over your manand
hes not stopping meand theres nothing you can do about it or youll just look like a jealous
little girl trying to play grown-up! Her eyes say to me. What a witch! All I want to do is go over
and pull her up by her hair, throw her to the floor and kick the living daylights out of her.
Instead, I stand-up, give Kurt the youre in so much trouble look, then go to our room and wait
for him to follow.
Thats it! I say as soon as were alone in our room. I try to explain to Kurt how Angie is
making me feel.
Angie is trying to make me jealous and you arent doing anything to stop it! You need to
do something about that little ho crawling all over you or else! Of course, Kurt tells me Im
blowing everything out of proportion, and that Angie has always been like a little sister to him,
and whatever it is I think shes doingis perfectly innocent. But, if it bothers you that much,
Ill be careful to watch it from now on and try to discourage so much contact. Geez, dont go
outta your way or anything
Besides having to deal with Angie the school-ho having the hots for my husband, I have to
deal with Angie the school-hos little brats. First off, Im allergic to children, and secondly, I just
dont like them especially spoiled, bratty ones, and hers are spoiled and bratty. I try my best not
to look as if I totally despise the little monsters, I mean, I certainly dont want to offend anyone.
But its become quite difficult after the little devils scribble in an expensive book I have with me
even after I ask Angie to tell them not to touch my things after they scribbled on the cover. She
couldnt care less when I tell her about the damage theyve done; she doesnt even apologize.
Thats it! Im frustrated to say, since I thought the last time was it, but I guess this time is
the real it. I tell Kurt I cant take Angie and her little brats anymore. Between Angie always all
over him and him seeming not to mind, and now her bratty little kids destroying my things, we
have to get out of her house right now! Its only been four days, but within these four days
theyve driven me to wishing for multiple head explosions. Mine, but better yet, all of theirs! The
next day we move out and into a motel until we can find an apartment.


Chapter 30
I think Ive discovered the secret of life
just hang around until you get used to it.
~Charles M. Schulz


Bellingham, Washington is located in Whatcom County, the last major city before the
Washington coastline meets the Canadian border, ninety miles north of Seattle and an hour south
of Vancouver, British Columbia. The location and natural beauty of the area has much to offer to
young and old alike. Many of the people I meet here are imports from other areas and states, but
end-up staying for many reasons, one being the small town feel. Its especially popular for
outdoor enthusiasts with its many recreation opportunities. From its ocean waterfront and lakes,
fishing and water sports, parks with miles and miles of shady trails for hiking or biking, golf
courses, the nearby North Cascade Mountains and the ski slopes of Mt. Baker.
One-half of the residents who hang-out in downtown Bellingham are a laid-back, grungy,
nature-loving sort with most sporting dreadlocks, and more often than not, wearing dull khaki or
olive green colored clothes with the only color being from knit hats or scarves. I also notice these
same grungy locals wearing sandals or flip-flops whether its sunny and warm, or drizzling and
cold, which it seems to be as a rule here. I find myself wondering if thats why so many people
have dreadlocks. I guess dreads are easier to deal with than dealing with humidity-induced frizz
every day. The other residents I notice seem to be a well-to-do crowd, and mostly wear business
suits or trendy sports attire while pushing their two and a half kids in fancy baby strollers. Kurt
and I fit in somewhere in-between, but we love it just the same. We find a lovely apartment
nearby, and move in as soon as we can. I finally feel I can get started living my perfect dream.
Kurt leaves for work and Im alone again, so I go for a drive, not knowing where Im going
but not caring. I know Ill eventually find my way back home. I drive around Whatcom Lake and
turn-up Pine-lined streets. I marvel at the stunning properties, all with gorgeous homes and
outbuildings. Dazzling gardens burst forth with brightly-colored flowers growing along the edges
of immaculate emerald lawns, which glisten with an eternal dew. Patches of sunlight pierce
through the leaves of the innumerable trees giving the impression of diamonds in the grass.
Everywhere I look, its green. Its the greenest place Ive ever been and I cant wait until we buy
our own beautiful house with gardens and trees galore. Im so happy here, I cant imagine ever
wanting to leave this amazing place where the mountains meet the sea; its the best of both
worlds.
When Kurt comes home after work, we go to dinner or I cook, then we go for a swim or
watch TV. On the weekends, well either go hiking on one of the countless trails, or take a walk
around downtown Bellingham or Fairhaven, a lovely, quaint neighboring town. I get to know
Kurts co-workers by joining them for lunch at local restaurants as well as seeing them at
company functions. The company Kurt works for has frequent picnics and parties which gives
me a sense of community along with a feeling of home; its a delightful change of pace.

William and Nancy are from Cuba. They have a daughter in college, one in high school, and
two young boys, one six and one eight-years of age. They came to America twenty years earlier,
yet you wouldnt have known it from hearing William speak, if he ever does. He mostly
mumbles and I cant tell if hes mumbling in English, Spanish or Chinese, Im never quite sure.
Hes a Fidel Castro look-alike and if it werent for Nancy, I would think she and her dictator-
looking husband just stepped off the boat yesterday. I never see William smile, and people who
dont smile make me nervous, so I avoid him for the most part even though hes Kurts boss
which is how we come to know Mr. and Mrs. William in the first place.
Nancy is a different story all together with the Mrs. William being exceedingly outgoing. I
assume one of the reasons her husband doesnt say much is because Nancy talks enough for the
both of them. Nancy never runs out of things to talk about, and if you arent hanging onto your
earlobes, shell talk your ears right off and then youll need new ears. Shes a robust woman, and
a mother to all as well as always being full of smart advice and good information. She loves the
fact shes in control of her household with William sitting back, happily letting her have all the
control of the house and their four children. Its just like the way my dad let Alice have control
of everything, except Nancy isnt a monster. I visit her often and usually end-up spending all day
discussing everything under the sun.
Kurt and I have dinner with our new friends often and love when were invited to stay
knowing well be sitting down to some incredible Cuban meal like red beans and rice with salad,
warm crusty bread, red wine and a delicious homemade dessert. Shes the epitome of the perfect
homemaker and mother and takes absolute pride in her role in life.
William and Nancy live in a large two-story house they built themselves. They have a large
German shepherd dog and two horses which is why I start spending so much time with Nancy in
the first place. William asks Kurt to ask me if Id be interested in training their two-year-old QH
filly, Sally. I quickly agree, and that leads to me visiting their home four or more days a week,
which leads to having my ears talked-off, which is just fine with me since Nancy is my only
friend in Washington.

Life is good for the most part. The darkness, which had started to fill my heart, has
dissipated and I feel happy and content for a change until I show-up at Kurts office one day
while delivering his lunch and find Angie, the little school-ho sitting on the edge of Kurts desk
happily chatting and giggling away. Angie and Kurt both see me walking toward them at the
same time and I notice Angie slowly sliding off of Kurts desk. My mouth and eyes smile as I
say hi, but behind my smiling eyes theres venom and hatred. It takes everything I have not to rip
Angie and Kurt to pieces, and though I somewhat keep control on the outside, on the inside Im
being strangled by jealousy. I go home and decide to ignore my feelings, knowing from
experience that telling Kurt how I feel wont do any good. Besides, he already told me just as
Im leaving his office, that Angie was only there because she was dropping off Toms lunch as
well, which I suppose was meant to make me feel better, but instead, just brings the thought
thatI just dropped off your lunch and Im not draped over Toms desk right nowto the
forefront of my mind. I guess Ill just focus on Sally and talk to Nancy about Angie, the little
school-ho.

I have some news. News Im anxious to tell, yet hesitant to mention. If I say the words out
loud, or if I tell my secret to someone it might make them true. Do I want them to be true? Im
not sure. Once Kurt comes home from work, Ill know if the timing is right to tell what I need to
tell, and if it isIll tell him. Once I hear the words out loud, Ill then be able to decide how I
feel about my news as well.
Kurt comes in the door around six o clock as usual. Im just about finished making dinner
when he comes in, puts his arms around me and gives me a squeeze as I cringe behind his back,
trying to push him away sooner than he wants. Believe it or not, I still feel completely
uncomfortable with basic physical affection, in particular, hugging. He gives me a peck on the
lips then goes to the frig, grabs a Coors Light and sits down at the table; same thing different
day. He appreciates dinner being ready as soon as he walks in the door and since I hate to
disappoint, I have dinner ready when he walks in the door to avoid disappointing him. He sits
down and asks the same questions he asked yesterday, and the day before, and the day before
that and as far back as I can remember.
How was your day? What did you do? Where did you go? And so on and so forth.
I answer, fine; not much; nowhere, and so on and so forth. Then I ask him the same
question Ive asked him every day since the day we met. How was your day?
Good; he says, he isnt much of a talker.
I have some news; I say matter-of-factly.
Oh, yeah? What?
Well, you know how I havent been feeling good lately? You know, right? I told you that
my stomach has been upset and Im feeling tired? Hes nodding and chewing so he must be
following, good. Well, I went and bought a pregnancy test today, andits positive! Im
studying his face as he chews whats in his mouth, waiting for him to respond.
Really? Wow, thats great. How far along are you? He reaches for the green beans. It
certainly isnt the reaction I was expecting. I thought when I told him about his soon-to-be child
that he would jump-up ahootin and ahollerin and spinning me around in his arms as he starts
wondering out loud about the future and whether its a boy or a girl andandI guess its only
like that in the movies. I wonder why life cant be like the movies. I thought I would be made to
feel special and fragile, and he would pamper me, spoil me and love me more than ever for
carrying his child, but all I get is a wowthats great. Just once, cant my life be more like a
romantic movie?
All I can think about now is the fact Im pregnant and Kurt and I have only been together a
year, married only half of said year and Im only twenty-years old. After I tell my news, instead
of being happy and excited, Im disappointed and discouraged. In the short year Kurt and I have
been together, weve already lived in California, Florida, Georgia and now Washington so I have
no true friends and I feel the darkness trying to return. Ive only spoken to my family once in the
past year, barely thinking of them for weeks and would have ignored them longer still if I
werent so afraid of the consequences of not calling. The one time I did call home, mama made
sure to be as cold and icy as possible, basically giving me ahuhs and yeps as I told her about
my life and the many adventures Ive had since moving-out. Not that Ive had that many
adventures, but I want her to think I have so shell see that even though she knocked me down,
she has never knocked me out because here I am, living-out adventures and where is she? Shes
still in an unhappy marriage and living an unhappy life. Needless to say, that one phone call was
enough for me. I dont need her hatefulness in my life! I tell myself after I hang-up the phone
until now. Oh my darn it! Whats this hold she has over me? For some reason, I want to tell her
about my pregnancy. I must be nuts! A glutton for punishment for sure! Shes never been happy
for me before so why start now? These warnings never stopped me before, and they dont stop
me now, so I pick-up the phone.
Hello? Alice answers on the second ring.
Mama? Its Penny. We go through the normal casual conversation you do when you
havent spoken to someone in a while and surprisingly, she isnt as cold as usual. Her warmness
disarms me and I tell her my news.
Guess what? Im pregnant! Im holding my breath.
What? Oh Penny! Youre kidding!
Okay, now Im confused. She seems genuinely excited, and now Im genuinely bewildered
and wondering if I dialed the wrong number. Im also wondering if what Im hearing is truly
what Im hearing since Ive never heard such a happy resonance directed at me from her before.
Even so, there it is, clear as day, the sound of my mother actually sounding happy for me. Weird.
A lot isnt said about the pregnancy itself. We dont go into details of whether I want a boy or a
girl or what names Im thinking of, or how Im feeling about the whole pregnancy thing
especially since its the one thing I never, ever wanted given that being pregnant more often than
not, ends-up in a having a baby which I never, ever wanted because of kids ending-up either as
spoiled brats or disappointments. However, there is a genuine interest on mamas part, and I try
my best not to assume that what Im hearing isnt real seeing as shes never given me a reason to
trust her before now. Could this be the beginning of a new relationship between the evil-step-
mother and her step-middle-child? Who knows?
Soon after I break the news I hoped would make me feel happy and excited, but instead just
ends-up making me feel sick and tired, Kurt receives a call from his previous employer in
Georgia and is promised a raise if he goes back to work for them, all moving expenses paid, of
course. I begin packing and off we go, back to Atlanta, Georgia. Adios, Angie.


Chapter 31
Until you become a parent, you cant begin to discover
your capacity for strength, love, and fatigue.
~Peter Gallagher


I feel something wet. I sleepily roll onto my side and realize Im lying in a puddle. My water
broke and its two in the morning, were at the hospital by three, and by three-thirty Im tucked
snug into my hospital bed awaiting the arrival of our new baby boy. By five am, our little bundle
of joy still hasnt arrived, so the anesthesiologist comes in and administers an epidural. Thats
fun; as fun as sticking my finger in a light socket. Six-thirty rolls around and Im still not dilated
enough to start pushing. Oh well; Im having a good ol time snoozing on and off, watching TV,
loving all the attention, and I cant feel a cotton-pickin thing. I laugh, remembering how worried
I was about going through labor. Shoot, this is a piece of cake.
Around seven-thirty we hear a change in the beeps coming from one of the machines; its
the monitor registering the babys heart rate. The beep-rate is lower than Im told it should be, so
I ring the nurse to come in and check it out. She had mentioned earlier its possible for the wires
to come loose and cause a change in the beeps, but that they just needed to be wiggled a little and
everything would be fine. When the nurse comes in to see what I want, I tell her that I wiggled
the wires but the monitor is still beeping too slowly. Now she starts wiggling the wires and yet,
the beeps remain the same if not even slower. Suddenly, the nurse rushes from the room without
saying a word then comes back within a minute with about five other people, including my
doctor. Everyone is rushing around yelling stat! and trying to move me and all of my wires and
IVs onto a rolling bed. At the same time, my doctor is trying to explain to me that Im going
into surgery to have an emergency caesarean section because the baby isnt getting enough
oxygen, and he needs to be born right now, and just calm down, just breath.
Um, wait one minute. Did he just say hes going to be cutting me open? I think thats what
I heard, but I cant be sure with everyone yelling stat as well as trying to lift and move wires, IVs
and me. Put me out! Put me out! I scream repeatedly. Put me out! Stat! I cant breathe! Huh-
ha-huh-ha, my breaths are coming too fast and now Im the one without enough oxygen. Knock
me out! Theres no way Im going to be awake when they pull a slimy, wrinkly creature from
my gut, uh-uh! No way. Im panicking and hyperventilating as doctors and nurses try to
convince me to calm down as they slip the happy-gas mask over my face.
The next thing I know, an extremely obnoxious nurse is waking me up, but who I later
discover is actually a sweet and friendly woman. At the moment of waking me from the deepest
and best sleep Ive ever had she seemed like the biggest monster known to man.
Penelope, Pennytime to wake-up. Come on honey, wake-up.
What, huh? Where am I? I dont want to wake-up and cant remember where I am until
the nurse tells me that Ive had a healthy baby boy. Whoa! Reality check! Baby? What baby? I
have a baby? OhhhYeah! I have a baby. Already? Wow, that was fast. I feel as if Im spinning
a Rolodex of memories trying to get my bearings. Its as if Ive only been out a couple of
minutes when its actually been a few hours.
Do you want to see your baby? The nurse asks me as I continue blinking, hoping to clear
my head.
Yes; I say. Yes I do!
When Jacob is brought to me for the first time, I cry when I see him. I cant believe Ive
been given such a gift. Every other worry and thought flies from my mind as the overwhelming
sense of true love comes over me for the first time in my life. Ive never experienced anything
like it before or since. No one and nothing else matters or exists for me at this moment, and oh,
how I wish I could capture the feeling Im feeling right now and hang onto it forever.

A mother? Who me? Oh my gosh! Why did I wait so long? How heavenly it is to hold this
tiny miracle who depends wholly on me for everything he needs to live. Who loves me
unconditionally no matter how I look or what Ive done. This little person loves me and I love
him so much it overwhelms me. My life now has meaning, Im too happy for words, I could die
right now satisfied and content.
A mother? Who me? Oh my gosh! Why did I do this? I dont want to hold him another
minute! How do I shut him up? Oh, please leave me alone! Im going to throw him out the
window if he keeps crying! My breasts are raw and sore, and Im tired beyond words. Somebody
kill me now!
Life with a new baby has its ups and downs, but for the most part, I think Ive finally found
my place in life, in other words, Jacob completes me. We go for daily walks, meet Sandy and her
kids at the park for picnics and overall, were living a perfect life. Jacob is born on Easter
morning in 1989 and is, by all means, my little Easter Angel.
After Jacob comes into our lives, Kurt and I get along better than we have in a long time as
we focus all of our attention on Jacob. Not that we have any reason not to get along, in fact, we
never fight or talk for that matter, about anything that doesnt revolve around Jacob. Is Jacob
hungry? Is he dirty? Is he tired? Is he happy? Why is he crying? Its your turn to feed the baby.
Its your turn to change the baby. Does Jacob like this? Does Jacob like that? Is he hurt? Is he
safe? Is Jacob having fun? Look at how cute he is! Guess what Jacob did today? Jacob smiled!
Jacob said mama! Jacob said dada! Jacob sat up! Jacob took a step! Get the camera! Take a
picture! Shhhh! Dont wake the baby! Wake-up Jacob from his nap or well never sleep tonight!
I soon realize I dont need Kurt emotionally anymore and I feel as if he no longer exists for
me. Of course, hes here literally and physically which I can never forget and have to deal with
on a daily basis. He reminds me every night since there is nothing stopping him from climbing
on top of me once we go to bed. Ever since I became pregnant, all infections ceased to exist until
that is, I go back on the birth control pill and they flare-up immediately. Now I know; its been
the pill the whole time. Once I stop taking it, everything clears-up again. Its such a physical
relief, but mentally, Ive become numb to our sex life and drift away to a happy place while Kurt
does what he needs to do. I guess he thinks jumping my bones every night shows how much he
cares.
I no longer have to think about whether or not I love Kurt because the love I feel for Jacob
has taken over my whole heart and soul and mind. This love is so real its made me realize Ive
never known this kind of love with Kurt ever and most likely never will. I do, however, think
about how I would feel if Kurt and I separated, wishing at times we could go our separate ways.
Hes a good father compared to what I think a good father should be as well as trying to be what
he thinks a good husband should be, except, something is lacking and Im constantly wondering
what it can be. What do I want? I have nothing to base it on coming from the dysfunctional
family I came from, but I feel Kurt has become more like a brother or a roommate with whom I
have to sleep with, and I dont know how to change this feelingso, so much for being in love,
if I ever was.
Besides Nancy in Washington and Sandy here in Georgia, I still have no friends. I dont
know how to find friends or how to make friends since I find most women intolerable with their
cattiness and gossip, or their sickly sweet momminess, so except for seeing Kurt for an hour in
the morning and when he comes home after work, Im alone, alone with Jacob ten hours a day,
five days a week unless we visit with Sandy on her day off. Im not sure how Im supposed to
feel about spending every minute of my life with just my son and husband, but if Im supposed
to be content and happy, Im failing miserably. I start envying Sandys wild lifestyle once again
and soon realize its easier than I think to start my own wild ways. Im twenty-one years old.
Emotional Repression
In the act of repression we simply learn to consciously forget our feelings. This ego process is
often a defense learnt in childhood either at home or at school, where we have to deny a true and
authentic part of ourselves. When we deny the existence of our feelings we prevent ourselves
being able to energetically embrace the fullness of our being and set ourselves up for suffering
both in the mind and in our bodies via illness. We do not as humans possess in the ego a
discriminator of feeling suppression. When you choose the path of repression of bad feelings
then all feelings get suppressed, not just the bad ones. The cost of the suppression of our
bad feelings is the loss of being able to feel our love and joyous feelings (Lowen: 2004). The
act of following the sanitized form of romantic love where life is just an attempt at all
valentines, romance and light, is the loss of love and the loss of feelings in that relationship.
From this place, passion and eros die and the couple become like brother and sister. So many
couples boast saying theyve never ever had a fight their entire marriage, but what they are
unconsciously admitting to is they also have never felt loves passion. Such couples often have a
productive and functional relationship that is more like a contract, and there is often an
energetic dullness and routine to such people. In therapy such persons or couples reject the
notion they are angry, harbor anger, or that anger is needed to be expressed as part of clearing
emotional blocks to their relationship, physical health, or way of deepening their love. The
idealized notions of romantic love and society in general, as Wilhelm Reich(1976) had pointed
out, has forced them to create a false self and disown vital energies and parts of themselves into
their unconscious self. (Rihard Boyd, Body Mind Psychotherapist.)

Chapter 32
When you invite trouble,
its usually quick to accept.


Oh, its ladies night and the feelings right, oh, what a night! Oh, how Sandy and I know that
feeling well, and since we women are always busy being wives and mothers and all, and never
seem to have a moment to ourselves, we decide that we deserve to have some fun on our own
which is exactly what we tell our husbands as we walk out the door to the meat-market of our
choice. Our favorite is a night club called the Gold Room, where the Champagne is $.75 for the
ladies on Tuesday nights which not only brings out the ladies, but the men hungry for the ladies
getting wasted on the $.75 champagne.

(Champagne based on Tequila by Rogue Original)
Do you have feelings of inadequacy? Do you suffer from shyness? Do you wish you were
more confident? If you answered yes to any of these questions, ask your bartender about
Champagne!
Champagne is the safe, natural way to feel better and more confident about your actions.
Champagne should help assist you out of your shyness and let the world know youre ready and
willing to do just about anything. You will notice the difference almost immediately, and with a
regimen of standard doses, you can overcome any obstacle keeping you from living the life
youve always wanted. Shyness and awkwardness will be a thing of the past, and youll discover
many talents you never knew you had. Stop hiding and start living withChampagne!
Side effects may include: Dizziness, nausea, vomiting, incarceration, erotic lustfulness, loss
of motor control, loss of clothing, loss of money, loss of virginity, delusions of grandeur, table
dancing, headache, dehydration, dry mouth, and a desire to sing karaoke and play all night
rounds of strip poker, truth or dare and naked twister.
Warning: Champagne may not be appropriate for everyone. Women who are nursing or
pregnant shouldnt use Champagne. However, we encourage women who wouldnt mind nursing
or becoming pregnant to try it. Drinking Champagne may make you think you are whispering
when youre not, its a key factor in dancing like a dork, may cause you to tell your friends
repeatedly that youre in love with them, and may cause you to think that you can sing.
Champagne may also cause you to think ex-lovers are dying for you to phone them at four in the
morning, as well as make you think you can logically converse with members of the opposite sex
without spitting, along with creating the allusion you are tougher, smarter, faster and better-
looking than most people. It may also cause you to believe people are laughing with you and not
at you. Alcohol may cause pregnancy and may be a significant factor in getting your butt kicked.
So what are you waiting for? Stop hiding and start living withChampagne!

In order to loosen-up, Sandy and I get to the club early to get in some drinking. As the club
starts filling-up, the dancing and the flirting begins, and its then when our drinks start freely
flowing from the many men who spend the whopping $.75 in hopes hell be the one who gets
more than a dance. Sandy and I check in with one another and after finding each other safe and
sound, we again go our separate ways. The only time we stick together is when we dont care
about the men clamoring for our attention and instead just want to hang out and talk, but not
tonight, not on ladies night. Tuesday night is the night to find that one special person; special
enough to dance with, touch, allow him to touch you, kiss and allow him to kiss you. Sometimes
I wonder if Matt and Kurt follow us and see us dancing, touching and kissing these men, but if
they do they never say, though Im so inebriated with Champagne and desire, I wouldnt have
cared. As our night wears on, Sandy and I eventually eliminate the undesirables from our dances,
one by one, until we make a connection with one fortunate guy. The lucky chap gets our full
attention until the lights come on at two in the morning, letting us know its time to find a room.
But in the meantime, I kiss and grind all over my chosen fellow as if were having sex on the
dance floor. The feeling I have while dancing along with the high of the Champagne is one of
complete ecstasy. The feeling of a mans hands running up and down my body makes me feel as
if Im on fire and melting all over the floor. My inhibitions are gone, not that anyone cares,
seeing as how everyone else is doing the same thing to one degree or another, and isnt that what
meat markets are for?
Sadly, the night must come to an end so Sandy and I find each other once again, say no, we
gotta go to the one left breathless from the last dance and walk out the door. We make sure to
throw out all the phone numbers we receive throughout the night, and then drunk as two skunks,
we head home and back to the daily life of being wives and mothers as we compare our night
and laugh our heads-off from the excitement.
Did you have fun? Its the first thing I hear when I climb into bed.
Oh, yeah, it was fun. We just danced and talked all night and had lots of Champagne, of
course.
Meet anybody?
Yeah right. I roll my eyes to hammer in my point.
Soon, Sandy and I dont think Tuesdays are enough anymore so we continue the fun on
Fridays and/or Saturday nights. In order to get out without our husbands tagging along, however,
we must plan carefully, normally using thelack of a babysitterexcuse or just waiting until
Kurt and Matt want to watch a basketball game on TV. Were out to meet men and let loose so
husbands arent allowed. The next day we just pick-up where we left off, cooking and cleaning
and any other wifely chore were expected to perform with chores being the easy part. Its the
nighttime task thats the nightmare, but besides that, I like my life right now. Kurt is gone five
days a week and my days are spent doing whatever I want. Jacob is an absolute joy, Sandy is like
the sister I never had, and the getting away from it all one to two nights a week has relieved any
gloomy, bored, lonely feelings I was experiencing. I must say, I havent a care in the world. Yay
me!

Guess what? Kurt says one day after work.
What?
I was asked to move down to Alabama for about six to eight months to be one of the on-site
designers to finish a job there; Im speechless. Ill make almost double what Im making now,
plus living expenses; Im dumbstruck. Well be able to save a bunch of money and when the
job is over we can buy a house; Im still speechless. It wont be that bad. Itll probably only
take six months. Once I come out of the coma Im suddenly in I can finally respond.
Fine, as long as we actually do buy a house when we get back; I say. That seals it. The
partys over, for a while anyway, but maybe thats a good thing.
We pack and head for God knows where in the great state of Alabamy. As we pull into what
is to be the town were going to call home, I think we mustve taken a wrong turn and ended-up
on the dark side of the moon. There isnt a tree for miles, let alone a bush or anything green for
that matter, but wait! I think I see a bush along the sidewalk in front of the motel we just pulled
into, or is that a trashcan? I cant tell through the blowing dust. All I know for sure is that theres
trash clinging to it.
As the wind blows, the dust goes flying past us and around us and into our eyes and mouths.
The blowing gusts eventually form mini-tornadoes or dust devils which carry along with it the
tumblin tumbleweeds just tumbling round and round wherever the wind takes them, and like
everywhere else in the south, its hot and humid. This is going to be a looong six months.
We buy a newspaper and look for the cheapest apartment we can find.
If theres going to be any money saved then we cant blow it on a decent place to live,
come on, were slummin it, I sarcastically say to Kurt as he scans the paper for anything cheap.
We decide on a $450 a month two-bedroom hole-in-the-wall.
Cant get much cheaper than that, Kurt says.
You can say that again, I say skeptically.
I soon begin thinking that picking the cheapest place to live in the middle of nowhere wasnt
the smartest move on our part. There isnt anything to do here besides grocery shopping so Im
bored to tears. Im once again alone twelve hours a day with a one-year-old, without even a girls
night-out to help relieve the cooped-up feeling. Were living in the boonies of Alabama in what
might as well be a white-trash trailer park with weeds and garbage everywhere I look, and to
make matters worse, when I look out the window of our new apartment all I see are a bunch of
dirty kids running around in saggy diapers, playing on a dried-up lawn or whats supposed to be
a lawn as their twenty-something mothers looking tired and broken stand around with another
baby straddling their hips. They stare out into space as they chat and take long drags from their
cigarettes. Day after day I see them wearing the same ratty tank tops and faded pairs of shorts,
with their over-dyed hair banded in messy buns on top of their heads, just smokin and starin
and chatting while their kids play on the dried-up grass. But hey, its the cheapest place we could
find and thats what we wanted.
I wont leave the apartment if any of the twenty-something, cigarette-smoking mothers are
outside since I have no desire to converse with the likes of the people who live here. The laundry
room is across the complex which isnt far being there are so few apartments, but the laundry can
wait until I see the gang of kids and their mamas go in for lunch, or naps, or whatever else
twenty-something mothers and their dirty diaper-clad kids go inside to do in the middle of the
afternooncome to think of it, its probably the same thing I do since Im a twenty-something
with a diaper clad baby as well. Anyway, while I wait, or just because I have nothing to do, Ill
pace the apartment with Jacob. While hes awake I feel okay because of his smiling face and
happy heart along with the love I have for him and him for me. However, as soon as hes down
for his nap I feel dark and dreary, antsy, and anxious so I call Sandy and reminisce about the fun
we had on all those hot, sexy nights. Sandy suggests that I come up to Atlanta for the weekend,
and you can stay through Tuesday and we can go out dancing! You know its ladies night and the
feelings right, oh, what a night! We finish singing the lyrics together.
Oh, yeah! I say excitedly. Its the best suggestion Ive heard in a long time, and since its
only four or five hours from this Godforsaken place to Atlanta, the drive wont be a problem.
Kurt can stay and do his job, and I can get outta this hellhole and have some fun before I lose my
mind. Kurt agrees, though hes not thrilled. I tell him that I need to get away or Ill go crazy
and I mean every word.
The weeks turn into months and Im becoming more and more irritable as well as eager to
be out of Alabama. I hate living here and I hate feeling anxious and lonely. Besides, Im in the
prime of my life to be out meeting guys and having fun, but noooo, Im holed-up in this stupid
apartment. If that isnt bad enough, Im bored to death with Kurt and Im hating myself for
rushing into marriage. I didnt realize there were so many young gorgeous men out there ready to
party with, and now I just want to be free so I can go out and play with them! Jacob is a joy and
totally separate in my mind from the monotony of life with Kurt. I always enjoy having my son
around but hes just not filling the void I feel I need to fill. If only I can do what I want, with
nobody telling me what to do or how to do it. I hate that Im being controlled again and I wonder
why my life has always had one person or another telling me what to do? Is that normal? I know
thats why Im so unhappy. I dont want to be controlled by anyone including my husband! Cant
he just leave me alone? I dont want to live in Alabama! I dont want to clean the apartment or
do his laundry, I dont want to sit here like a good little girl waiting on my husband to come
home and I especially dont want to be made to have sexif I dont feel like it!!! Freedom is the
key to happiness I just know it! I feel the darkness coming back now along with a strong dislike
of my boring, sex-addicted husband so something has got to change.
Bi-Polar Disorder
Bipolar disorder is primarily a biological disorder that occurs in a specific area of the brain and
is due to the dysfunction of certain neurotransmitters, or chemical messengers in the brain.
These chemicals may involve neurotransmitters like nor-epinephrine, serotonin and probably
many others. As a biological disorder, it may lie dormant and be activated on its own or it may
be triggered by external factors such as psychological stress and social circumstances. (The
Causes of Bipolar Disorder (Manic Depression) By Steve Bressert, PH.D.)
If I dont call my parents for a month or so, I get the third degree about the lack of calling on
my part and I have to wonder if their phones dial-out since I dont receive any calls from them. I
always think theyll be happy to hear from me after whatever length of time its been not to give
me a hard time, but of course, Im still the step-middle-child and they have to give me a hard
time about something. I cant win with them and I figure, even if I call more often Ill probably
get the third degree about calling too much, so I just call when I feel like it. Anyhow, since Ive
been talking to my parents periodically, I now believe its emotionally safe enough for me to see
them in person and decide visiting my parents on their side of the moon will be better than sitting
here and going crazy. I also speak to them enough to know that now that Im an adult of twenty-
one and a mother, mama should treat me with some sort of respect; I hope. So, I pack a few
clothes and load-up Jacob, then hop on a plane and land in sunny Palm Springs.
The trip out to California is uneventful as well as an immense relief. I get along with mama
better than I ever have in my entire life, but Im not quite sure if its because were drinking the
entire time or because Im an adult or a mother or all three. We go shopping and out to dinner
together but we dont talk about the past, its as if there never were a past. I mostly just ask her
about her life at the Sea and she mostly just talks about her dogs. She has a new and strange
fascination with oversized, scary, vicious dogs, Rottweilers to be exact, and I cant help but
wonder why. My dad has already been bitten in which mama takes considerable pride in sharing,
and I wonder if that was her plan from the beginning. It wouldnt surprise me.
Getting along with my parents isnt hard for the most part since theyre too busy not getting
along with each other to bother with me, though I cant determine if they like or hate each other
more now than before I left home. What I do know is, I cant stand being around the arguing and
biting remarks my parents make toward each other. I cringe whenever mama uses a certain tone
while speaking to my dad, or me come to think of it as well as making her infamous look of
revulsion I know so well. Its then that the memories and feelings from my past come flooding
back and any confidence I feel shrivels up. I am then once again, the scared, small, step-middle-
child she despises. I fall headfirst back into the boiling fear I grew-up with and start drinking a
little heavier to cover up my tension. I refuse to let her know shes getting to me with her better-
than-thou attitude, but on the inside my mind is screaming at me to run and get as far away from
her as I can and never look back. I need to escape this hold she has on me, except, I dont do that,
instead, I sit and take it just as I did as a child. The only difference between now and then is that
now I can drown my feelings with alcohol. Alcohol helps convince me that the past doesnt
matter, neither does the life and husband I despise on my side of the moon. Nothing else matters
but right now and right now is a lot easier to deal with than the past.
Interference in Development of Affect Regulation/Tolerance skills.
An impact of severe childhood maltreatment appears to be that of insufficiently-developed affect
regulation (Pearlman, 1998). This concept refers to the individuals capacity to control and
tolerate strong (especially negative) affect, without resorting to avoidance strategies such as
dissociation, substance abuse, or external tension-reducing behavior (Briere, 1992). This
capacity is thought to develop in the early years of life (Bowlby, 1988), although it usually
continues to develop thereafter. As a result of inadequate opportunities to develop affect
regulation skills, the formerly abused adult may be subject to affective instability, problems in
inhibiting the expression of strong affect, and may have difficulty terminating dysphoric states
without externalization or avoidance strategies. (Briere, 1992; Briere & Gil, 1998; McCann &
Pearlman, 1990).
I go clubbing with my brother Peter and his on-again, off-again tweaker girlfriend Molly,
but I dont have much fun seeing as though Im with my brother and I figure I should behave in
case he looks up to me or something. Im glad when its time to go home but nervous about
being pulled-over with Molly the speed freak driving. We make it home alive without being
pulled over, but its the last time Im hanging out with Peter since he and Molly are joined at the
hip and she seems a little crazy if you ask me. Other than that, I just hang around the house,
lounge out on the deck, or swim, while Jacob plays with the hose and a little plastic pool my dad
brought home just for him.
My dad and mom babysit while I go into town since Im already bored with hanging out
around the house. I do that enough at home and certainly dont want to waste my vacation doing
it here. I tell them that Im leaving and will be back in a few hours as I kiss Jacob goodbye. Im
used to being alone and the constant company is getting on my nerves. I go to the mall then to a
bar, and have a beer and a conversation with a stranger.
My escapeI meanvacation is over and Kurt picks me up from the airport. Im not happy
to see him, and now that Im back in Alabama there isnt a thing I can do about it. Within a
couple of weeks of being home, I tell Kurt that Im going to visit Sandy and there isnt anything
he can do about it.
You just got home; he declares with surprise.
I know, but Im bored outta my mind and why should I have to sit around here doing
nothing?
What about me? Kurt whines.
What about you? Youre never home; I snap back.
But I like having my family here when I get home; he asserts.
So we have to sit here alone for fourteen hours a day so you can spend a couple hours with
us? He looks frustrated at not being able to come back with something that doesnt sound
entirely selfish. Hes irritatedIm not, since Im the one going to have some fun. Hehehe.
Fine; when will you be home?
Ill probably stay a week or so.
A week?!
Again, theres nothing to rush back for I reiterate.
Fine; Kurt retorts knowing Ive made up my mind.
Its Tuesday night and Sandy and I head out for Ladies Night at our favorite club, and as
usual, we stay and dance until the lights come on to indicate the closing of the bar.
Penelope, its time to go. I hear Sandys voice but I cant answer her given that Im
attached at the lips with the guy Ive been dancing with for the last few hours.
Penny. Im feeling a tugging on my arm now but between the champagne, the dancing and
the kissing, Sandys voice and tugging seem a million miles away.
Penny! Come on. We have to leave! Im finally able to separate my lips from my partner
long enough to say fineIm coming. I say goodbye to my boy-toy as I kiss him one more time
and promise to call when he hands me his number, then Sandy and I head for the door where the
crumpled-up number goes into the trash and thats when I decide. I decide my lips dont like
being interrupted from a perfectly good lip-lock. I decide the next time Im lip-locked with some
delicious boy-toy dance partner, the only thing thats going to interrupt our lips is making our
way to some secluded spot where we can do more than kiss. The next time its Ladies night, itll
be my night, and it wont end until I do it with someone, anyone. Ive never been with anyone
but Kurt, and I want to see what its like.
Are you sure? Sandy asks me for the third time.
Yes; my minds made-up. I need to do it or Ill never stop wondering about it.
I understand, but are you really sure?
Absolutely. Im determined now. Im going to have sex with someone other than my
husband the next time we go out. All Sandy can say is okay.


Chapter 33
All sins are attempts to fill voids. ~Simone Wei


My dad, oops, I mean my husband wont let me return to Atlanta for almost four weeks.
Hes upset and seems to think I dont want to be around him because I keep wanting to run-off
and leave him all by his lonesome.
I miss you; Kurt whines.
I dont care; I sayto myself. Im on a mission. I plan to accomplish what Ive set out to
do and Im not going to let some whiney husband get in the way. I call Sandy, and we talk for
hours like a couple of schoolgirls about all the yummy boys weve met, and about all the yummy
things we do with all the yummy boys, and how we can hardly wait till we can do more yummy
things with more yummy boys. We also go over our plan of action for my naughty night, like
how Ill get into the house without Matt hearing and wondering why Im arriving home later than
his wife when I should be with her. Dont want to have to try to explain that one.

We start getting ready hours early. Im particularly excited and anxious about my plans for
the night, and I want to look extra sexy. I put on a tight, short, black dress. I do my make-up just
right along with my hair. I dont eat all day just to be sure I have a perfectly flat stomach. Sandy
and I start drinking as we start getting ready and on an empty stomach, the alcohol goes straight
to my head, but thats fine with me. I feel possessed with a spirit of recklessness. I feel wild,
brazen and just a little wicked and it feels good. All we need is to get the party started and when
it finally does, Im more than ready. The musics pounding, my heads floating, my body has a
mind of its own, and theres nobody telling me what to do but me. Sandy and I go over the plans
once more on the ride to the club.
If you find someone you want to hook-up with Ill give you the extra house key I brought.
Oh good, you remembered it.
Of course I did, how could I forget? Anyhow, Ill go home at the usual time so Matt
doesnt get to wondering where we are.
What happens if hes up?
I doubt he will be, but if he is then Ill say youre out getting some fresh air because of
feeling sick.
Okay...that should work.
The guy youre with will have to take you home, but have him stop a few doors down so
theres no noise that might wake-up Matt.
If he wont bring me home Ill just take a cab.
Yeah; then just sneak into the house as quietly as you can and go to bed. No one will be the
wiser.
Wow; it actually sounds as if itll work.
It should go off like clockwork unless Matt wakes-up. We stop talking then, both lost in
our own thoughts.
Am I actually going to do this? I ask Sandy half-hoping shell talk me out of this idiocy.
Only if you want to; she says in a way that confirms its completely my decision to risk
my marriage, my health, my life.
I do, I really do, I assure her, and myself.
Are you sure youre sure?
Yes, Im sure!
Alright, then lets do this! We open our car doors, step out into the night and never look
back.
The yummy, boy-toy, dance partner I choose is a military man, Army, I think, and who can
resist a man in uniform? I find out hes staying at a hotel across from the club, not across the
street, but across the parking lothow convenient is that? I start getting apprehensive but tell
myself to calm-down, I need to do this or Ill always wonder, and nothing is worse than always
wondering. I know this because I wonder all the time about other things and where has that
gotten me? Just more wondering. Somewhere the wondering about this has to stop and I plan to
put an end to the never-ending wondering about this one thing tonight. Besides, its not normal to
be with only one man your entire life, is it? I mean, I know they used to do that but not
nowadays. Its practically impossible with all the choices out there, besides, how do you not get
bored with someone after so many years? Ive been married what? Almost two years
alreadynow I cant stop wondering what I loved about Kurt in the first place.
Do you want to go back to my hotel room? Im suddenly brought out of the conversation
with myself by the voice of, whats your name again?
Jim.
Sorry, I couldnt hear you earlier; I lie. I actually heard him clearly the first time, I just
forgot his name two seconds after he told me which Im too embarrassed to admit.
I think soJust let me go talk to my ride. Stay here, Ill be right back. Then off I go to
find Sandy.
SandySandy!
Hey! Sandy waves at me.
Hey! Mimicking her greeting I hurry towards her where shes waiting for me by the door.
Well, Im going to do it!
So youre still sure?
Yes! Hes in the Army and hes really sweet, and cute, and I feel safe with himandhis
hotel room is right across the parking lot! You know, the one we always see.
Thats convenient!
Thats what I thought! Hahaha. We go over the plan one more time as she hands me the
house key then tells me that shell wait to find out if Jim will take me home. I hurry off to find
out.
Jim! Hey, do you think you might be able to take me home later?
Oh yeah, I think so, it shouldnt be a problem.
Okay, good. There is one other thing though.
Whats that?
I just want you to knowIm married. Is that going to be a problem?
Not for me. Do you still want to? He asks me with his voice full of concern. Thats so
sweet! I think to myself; I sure picked a good one.
Yes! I still want to! I think Im slurring my words, how embarrassing! Hahaha!
The rest of the night is a nightmare I cant wake-up from although it serves me right. The
sexy, willing woman Jim danced with all night has disappeared and all thats left is an awkward,
embarrassed, stupid girl. I dont know what to say, or talk about, or even if I should talk. I dont
know what to do so I sit on the edge of the bed waiting for Jim to do something, but he has to use
the bathroom first. I sit, wondering if I should get undressed, or if I should let him undress me.
Do I try to undress him or wait for him to undress himself, or maybe we stand on opposite sides
of the bed and undress at the same time as we make lusty eyes at each other. I dont have the
foggiest idea about how to have stranger-sex since Ive never done it before now in addition to
feeling extremely uncomfortable. Im trying to seem sexy and sure of myself while at the same
time trying to remember how Ive seen this done on television. I cant seem to remember
anything however, because of my head being so foggy from all the alcohol I consumed, and
besides all that, the only thing Im able to think about is how much I love Kurt and how much I
wish I wasnt here.
We go ahead and do the deed even through the complete awkwardness. The whole time Im
analyzing everything about my boy-toy, who isnt much of a toy but more of a boy, and I feel
embarrassed for the both of us. It isnt anything like what Ive seen on The Young and the
Restless, nor is it like anything Ive seen in the movies. How do you have sex with a perfect
stranger when you dont know anything about him? How can you have sex with someone when
there are no feelings involved? I feel my body being used which not only makes me feel
demoralized, but unappreciated as a human being. Jim can tell Im uncomfortable and is as nice
as can be, but the whole time I can feel that he knows this was a mistake as well. What am I
doing? Why am I so stupid? I just want to go home. I just want to see Kurt, my love, my Kurt.
Now I know I love my husband! The next morning I tell Sandy about the fiasco and she tells me
that she understands, the reaction Im having is normal. I tell her that Im going back to Alabama
today, and I cant wait to see Kurt so I can show him how much I love him. Funny what guilt can
do; something new to wonder aboutand you know how much I love to wonder.
I believe things are going to be better now that I got off my chest what I needed to get off. I
believe things are going to be better now that Ive purged whatever it was I had in my system,
out of my system. However, my purging actually only changes things for one week. Within days,
Im on the phone trying to get a hold of Jim. Even though the experience was off the charts bad, I
have a desperate hope of reaching him and reminiscing about our adulterous night of
embarrassment. Im not sure about the rules of a one-night-stand since this is my first, but he
gave me his number so that must mean its okay to call. He wouldnt just give it to me out of
courtesy, would he? I try calling him four times, just in case he doesnt already know Im an
insecure freak, but each time I get the answering machine.
Um, hi, this is Penelope. Im just calling to say hello and see how you are and to apologize
for freezing-up on you the other night. Well, call me. Thanks. I hang-up and try the next day.
Hello? Its me again, Penelope. Ive never done this before, so I dont know if I should even be
calling, maybe I shouldnt be, but I just want to talk to you for a minute. Please call me, thanks.
When Jim doesnt call me back by the time Kurt is on his way home from work, Im panicking.
Please callplease callI keep chanting to myself. By six oclock I know I have to wait until
the next day since I mentioned to Jim on one of my messages not to call after six unless he wants
to talk to my husband. Hahaha.
I call the next morning, then again in the late afternoon. Im shaking as I dial his number this
time being that Im so afraid he doesnt want to talk to me, and even though I stop leaving
messages, Im sure the hang-ups on his answering machine give away the fact that Im still
calling. Im out-of-my-mind with the thought he doesnt like me because I was awful and ugly
that night in his hotel room. I cant bear the thought of being thought of that way so I call Sandy.
We go over the entire night again and again, trying to find some clue as to why he wont call me
back. It feels like a life or death situation to me, Im totally out of control. If I dont get ahold of
him or he doesnt call me back, I might as well shoot myself right now. After Sandy and I both
decide that theres no reason for him to be avoiding me, I try one more time and he finally
answers.
Hello? He doesnt sound happy.
Hi, Jim? Its Penelope.
Oh, hi. Sorry I havent gotten back to you but Ive been really busy. (Code for: I dont
want to talk to you)
Its okay. I just wanted to say hi and I kind of wanted to explain what happened the other
night.
Its okay, you dont have too, I understand.
I know, but I then explain why I did it with him in the first place along with apologizing
once more for using him. All he says is that he understands, making it clear through his
evasiveness that Im bothering him and he wont be repeating the same mistake twice, with me at
least. At the end of the call he politely asks me to stop calling. I have to accept it. Wheres Kurt?
I need Kurt! Now I know I love Kurt.
Sandy and I speak everyday dissecting every word and tone of the conversation Jim and I
had, trying to find some hidden meaning in it, or find the one thing I mightve done wrong that
turned him against me. No matter that the whole night was a bust; no matter that I hated every
minute of it; no matter that it was awkward and embarrassing for both of us, and no matter that I
hardly know him from Adam. All I care about is whether he likes me or not. I just need his
approval that our night of adulterous sex wasnt too horrible. My insecurity is off the charts.
Social Difficulties
Children who experience neglect are more likely to develop antisocial traits as they grow up.
Parental neglect is associated with borderline personality disorders, attachment issues or
affectionate behaviors with unknown/little-known people, inappropriate modeling of adult
behavior, and aggression (Perry, 2012; Child Welfare Information Gateway.)
Two weeks have gone by now since my night of getting out of my system what I needed to
get out, and the stopping of the wondering what I had been wondering about, and now I dont
feel well. I have a familiar feeling in my gut and start to panic. I drive to the closest drug store,
buy a pregnancy test and hurry home for the answer to my question. I feel weak and shaky, Ive
never been in such a precarious position before. Positive! Oh my gosh! I immediately think of
Jim and wonder, can it be? I remember not using protection that night because of asking him if
he had taken an Aids test recently, and him telling me that he had. The Army had him take a test
about six months prior to our night of sin and it came back negative. Oh good, then I completely
trust youa perfect strangerand having unprotected sex with said perfect stranger is perfectly
safe. What the? I never even thought of the pregnancy part! Gee, Penny, have another drink! Im
such an idiot! Im a married woman who had sex with someone other than her husband and I
didnt protect myself? Im a married woman and I dont know whose baby Im carrying! The
fear is overwhelming so I grab the phone and call Sandy and we analyze dates and times to see if
the dates of my cycle match up to sex with Jim or Kurt. I then call a local gynecologist, make an
appointment for a pregnancy test, and hope and pray the baby is my husbands. Kurt shows about
as much excitement about the news of this pregnancy as he had about the first one, but this time I
expect his lackluster response so it doesnt bother me as much. Hes just not much for showing
emotion I keep reminding myself, besides, I know he must be happy about it since all hes ever
wanted is me barefoot and pregnant with a house full of kids.
Im not happy about the pregnancy, obviously. I mean, how can I be happy without knowing
who the baby will look like. I stop worrying about it though, nothin I can do about the outcome
anyhow. My test results ease my mind a bit after hearing the approximate age of the fetus. Im
pretty sure its Kurts. Im not going to tell him about my infidelity though, seeing as how what
he doesnt know wont hurt him. Besides, I want to be married now, now that Ive tasted the
grass on the other side of the fence and learned its not any sweeter. In fact, its down-right
bitter, and who knows, maybe having another baby will fix whatevers broken in our lives. Im
twenty-two years old.

The job in Alabama is finally over and we move back to beautiful Atlanta and buy a pretty,
three-bedroom, two-bath townhouse that reminds me of the old-fashioned townhouse rows you
see in New York. Our new home needs a lot of work, and I get busy painting and wallpapering
starting with Jacobs room, then the babys room. A few months in and were just finishing-up
the rest of the house when Kurt gets a call from Washington, a-gain, with more promises, more
income, more moving.
Really? What about the house? We just got settled.
Ill make more money.
Im four and a half months pregnant.
Therell not only be more money, and theyll take care of the packing and moving expenses
as well.
I like Atlanta.
More mon-ey and I know you like Washington just as much.
This is it, after this move, I wont move again; I say with finality.
This will be the last time; Kurt responds. Although, I cant help but remember the last
time Kurt said this is the last time, but this timethis time will be the real last time, honest. No
more moving across the country, I promise; he assures me. More promises, more money, more
moving, really? A month later were on our way to what I think will be home sweet home. Ive
given-up on when and where Ill be happy since our when and where keeps changing; so instead,
I just take each day as it comes and try my best to be content.
Kurt and I rent a duplex close to his office until we find a place to buy. Emily is born in July
1991, and I cant be happier to have a beautiful baby girl who looks like Kurt. Im now twenty-
three-years old with two children and a hard-working husband. We buy a house in the country on
five acres, and even while Im still pregnant Im finally able to buy a horse. However, for some
reason or another, I feel as though Im living a life I never wanted and yet, women I meet seem
envious of me which makes me feel guilty for being ungrateful. Even with everything I have I
continually feel bored with daily life being monotonous. The only happiness I have in my life are
the kids and my horse, but eventually, even they dont bring me joy except for small bits I
manage to capture here and there. On the outside, I seem okay, but no one besides myself knows
that on the inside Im struggling to hang onto my sanity.
I visit Nancy on a regular basis, she being the only relief from the tedium of my life. After
Emily is born, I start hanging out with Nancys teenaged-daughter, Karen, and her friends. I
think Nancy thinks Ill be a good influence, but in actuality, I just want a young, fun friend and
have no intentions of being a role model for anybody. Karen is eighteen and a typical rebellious
teenager who doesnt listen to a thing her parents say, and wont take advice from anyone. Shes
a rebel without a clue and I like her style, nonetheless; I dont fit in with her or her friends with
them being young, defiant types, and me being a wife and mother trying to act young and
defiant. We frequent dance clubs where Karens fake I.D. comes in handy, or head across the
border into Canada where the legal drinking age is eighteen. Karen eventually ends-up pregnant
which brings an end to the partying and unhealthy decision-making on my part. I suppose Im
glad in a way since Im honestly not having any fun, and I feel silly hanging out with a bunch of
immature, know-it-all kids. I just wished I fit in with the young, fun crowd again. I always feel
so old and I hoped hanging out with Karen would bring back the young, fun Penny; it didnt. Im
twenty-three.
Social Issues
Abused daughters are also more likely to develop various social issues, many of which stem from
psychological disorders. Abuse often leads daughters to develop a sense of inadequate self-
image. This leads to social anxiety and detachment in some extreme cases. In other cases, the
opposite effect occurs: abused daughters seek validation through social interaction to
compensate for the lowered sense of image. This creates unhealthy social relationships on which
the daughter is dependent for her sense of self-worth. (By Alexander Eliot, eHow Contributor)

Chapter 34
Im doing the time, of my life.
~George Bluth of Arrested Development


The home Kurt and I buy this time is a three-bedroom, two-bath, doublewide manufactured
home about thirty minutes outside Bellingham. Its pretty on the inside, but clearly looks like a
manufactured home on the outside. Its in good shape so I dont mind since it sits on a piece of
land that is flat and grassy and rock-free; perfect for horses. Kurt does whatever I cant around
the property, which isnt much since I still love landscaping and hard work, so when I want a
barn, he builds it; when I want the pasture fenced, he fences it; when I want to have a serious
conversationahhI dont think so, this is Kurt were talking about, and since you cant teach
an old dog new tricks I must constantly remind myself that he isnt much of a talker. At least I
have my kids, my horse and now a couple of dogs from the local pound, and I settle in for a long,
lonely, boring life.

Dissociative Disorders
Victims of verbal abuse may experience dissociative disorders, which can involve the memory,
behavior, personality, or a combination of all three. With dissociative disorders, the victim
blocks painful and hurtful events as a coping mechanism and is capable of experiencing selective
amnesia. Typically, individuals that have symptoms of dissociative disorders as a result of verbal
abuse, develop this trait in an attempt to escape feelings. A dissociative disorder can be viewed
as a way the brain protects itself. (By Patricia Hill, eHow Contributor)
It starts one night while watching a movie; something I see triggers itflashbacks. Things
Ive forgotten are suddenly emerging from the depths of my brain. What the heck? Wow! I
forgot about that, and that as well. Whoa!? Painful memories from the mental and emotional
abuse of my childhood flood back into my mind. All the hateful words spoken to me and about
me from the ones who were supposed to love me; being set-up to fail, and consequentially,
failing, then being belittled and punished, the hours spent trying to do something perfectly that
could never be perfect then having disparaging words screamed at me as Im made to keep trying
for unattainable perfection. The love and support I saw freely given to my brother and sister, the
same love and support Im never shown. Dreams dashed, fear always present, wanting my head
to explode.
I soon realize that even though I thought I was done with the past, the past wasnt done with
me as everything I went through comes rushing back over a four month period. I sit and cry and
tell Kurt all about it as he quietly listens just as a therapist would, except without the psycho-
analysis and while watching basketball and drinking a beer. All these years I think its over and
here it is again, finally coming out.
Getting the pesky past out ends-up being a relief as Im actually feeling better. Now I
understand why people go see therapists. It certainly helps to talk about your feelings and
problems, and Im doing a lot of talking. I feel like a different person. Im no longer an insecure
little girl pretending to be a grown-up, now I truly am a grown-up! I feel as if I can do
anythingHalleluiah!
Implicit/sensory memories
Frequently, memories of especially traumatic events, including severe child abuse are re-
experienced later in life on a sensory level, for example as flashbacks. This is thought to be
due, in part, to the fact that those brain and psychological systems responsible for directing the
encoding and early organization and processing of explicit, narrative memory material may be
flooded (or at least bypassed) by overwhelming emotional input during severe abuse or
traumaresulting in less integrated, primarily sensory recollections upon exposure to trauma-
reminiscent stimuli. (Metcalfe & Jacobs, 1996; Siegel, 1999; Vander Kolk, McFarlane, &
Weisaeth, 1996) (John Briere, Ph.D.)
Im all better, and now I need something to do. Being a housewife just isnt enough for my
growing need to be somebody. Maybe now I can go to school and get a degree and if I cant do
that, maybe Ill get a job I love and make a little extra money. I, therefore, mention the school
and job thing to Kurt for the second time in our three and a half year marriage.
No; I dont want you to get a job or go to school. Kurt is quick to respond. I want you
home. He doesnt want me to get a job or go to school so I guess thats that. What a good little
girl I am. I still take orders well.
Im trapped. I feel as if Im locked in a cage and cant get out. Its as if Im in prison serving
a life sentence for falling in love, or what Im pretty sure now was actually just lust and an
escape, escape from you-know-who. I dont have any friends except for Nancy. I rarely talk with
Sandy anymore, outta sight, outta mind. Thats another thing; I notice that unless someone is
physically present in my life I dont feel the need to keep in contact. I feel no connection. I dont
have anything to talk about anyway because I dont do anything and besides that, when Im
home everybody else is at work. I do try to be happy as well as try to appreciate all the things I
have that other people seem to envy, but trying doesnt always work. I have moments where Im
on top of the world, but to me, that only means I have further to fall. Within an instant, I can go
from happy as can be to a raging fury, afterwards collapsing into a heap of sobbing human flesh.
Half the day, after getting-up in the morning, taking care of Jacob and Emily, then finding them
something that will keep them busy for a looong time, Im curled-up on the couch in a fetal
position thinking about death. I wish I would die and then I wouldnt have to think or try to feel
anything anymore.
I should kill myself; yeah, thats it. I need to rid the world of such a disappointment. I
couldnt make my own mother happy and now I cant even make myself happy. Im twenty-three
and still not living-out even one of the dreams I used to dream for my life, so what does that
make me? A waste of time and spacebut what would the kids do without me? Then again, they
might be better off.
Oh, I wish I could stop thinking like this, but I cant help it. Im tormented daily by images
of happy, fun-loving people in TV commercials doing everything from river rafting to enjoying
sunset cocktails on the decks of high-rise apartment buildings over-looking twinkling city lights.
It may sound silly, but those people are doing everything I believe I should be doingbut no.
Im married to the most uninteresting man in the world who expects me to live a dull, solitary
life while I sit and wait for him to come home to do, nothing. I lay on the couch most of the day
only able to muster enough willpower to get-up and change the dirty Huggies on my hungry
children and make them some lunch. After the kids eat, I lay them down for a nap and assume
my position back on the couch; some mother I am.

Suicidal Ideation
Suicidal ideation is generally associated with depression; however, it seems to have associations
with many other psychiatric disorders, life events, and family events, all of which may increase
the risk of suicidal ideation. Recurrent suicidal behavior and suicidal ideation is a hallmark of
borderline personality disorder. (Soloff, M.D., Paul H.; Kevin G. Lynch, Ph.D.; Thomas M.
Kelly, Ph.D.; Kevin M. Malone, M.D.; J. John Mann, M.D (1 April 2000)
I dont tell anyone how I feel, Im too embarrassed. Ill just have a drink since alcohol
always makes me feel better. I still have my daily habit of opening a bottle of wine and having
my first glass as I start preparing dinner just as I did when Kurt and I lived in the dark, cold cabin
in the Georgia woods. By the time Kurt comes home from work, I have a good buzz-on which is
the only way I can tolerate the robotic hello, hug and kiss hes given me every evening for the
last three, almost four looong years. Its always the same.
1. Walk in the door. 2. Hug the kids. 3. Say hello to the wife while reaching for wife. 4. Hug
wife and hold-on despite her resistance to being hugged. 5. Give her peck on the lips. 6. Ask the
wife how her day was. 7. Get a cold beer from the frig and act as if I care how her day was. 8.
Turn on the game.
I dont know why his arrival-home-hello bothers me so much, its not like theres anything
else he can do. Still, I dread Kurt coming home and every day I must ready myself for the ritual
that never fails to happen over and over and over again. If I make it through those two minutes,
which unfortunately, I always do, Ill then give all responsibility for the kids to Kurt just so I can
shut down and not think.
Theyre all yours. Ive had it. Im done with them for the rest of the night. No matter that
hes just had a long day at the office. Nope; I dont care one bit because nothing can be as
difficult as staying home all day with a six-month-old and a two-year-old no matter how sweet
and cute and good they are. I just cant handle the responsibility and attention two little kids
need. I feel as if Ill go crazy waiting for the day to end due to the fact I feel intolerably old, and
tired anddead. Every person in my life is older than me seeing as how Kurt is eleven years
older, and now his friends are my friends. I feel thirty-five instead of twenty-three and yet, I
remember not too long ago when I wished I was olderhow things change.
Making matters worse, what I thought I was free of keeps coming back to haunt me,
wrapping itself around me like a starving Anaconda. Starting at my feet, the snake of emptiness
and depression winds its way up and around my body, squeezing harder as each day comes and
goes. Eventually, I feel my throat closing as the purposelessness of my life constricts tighter and
tighter until I cant breathe, I cant scream, and I cant cry as the pressure continues choking the
life out of me. Except, I dont die even as the pressure continues building and buildinguntil
one day, I explode all over my poor little Jacob. Hes playing in the yard when I decide we need
to go to town.
Jacob! Come on in sweetie, we need to go bye-bye. Theres no response; did he hear me?
I wonder, then decide he mustve heard me. Jacob! Come in now, we need to go. He looks at
me then back at what hes doing, downright ignoring my command and continuing to play. Its
then when it happens. The feeling of an eruption so sudden and intense I have no time to stop it. I
stomp out to where my son is playing and grab his arm. Jacob starts screaming; No! I dont
want to! No! as Im dragging him into the house. This only fuels my fire and I growl at him
through clenched teeth, one word per step. You-will-come-when-I-call-you! When he hears my
voice, he stops screaming and goes silent, and then something like fear comes over his face. I
yank him into his room and spank his little bare butt as I scream at him that the next time you
had better listen when I tell you to do somethingor else! I only use my hand, but I spank him
too long and too hard. When its over, I know. I know something is wrong with me. I couldnt
control my fury over a two-year-olds simple disobedience. Ive never lost it with my kids before
this no matter what theyve done and even though theyve been disciplined before. Discipline in
our house is always a calm, controlled learning experience the kids can understand and learn
from, but this time I want to hurt the defiant little creature who dared defy me, and to make
matters worse, I sound like my mother! I instantly call Jacob to me and apologize as we hug and
cry and I apologize once more, all the while thinking to myself; this will never happen again. I
decide right then that I need to go. The cycle of abuse will stop here.
Okay, thinkI just need a break. I need more than that, but I tell myself that if I just take a
break, everything will be fine. I need a break from the nagging question as to why I dont love
my husband any longer. I mean, I love him, Im just not in love with him. No, I dont love him at
all. I feel nothing for him. If he dropped off the face of the earth today, Id feel nothing. Is this
normal? Maybe this is why I was taught never to marry without your parents blessing. The
marriage is sure to fail without the consent of the father. That must be whats happening to my
marriage. I broke the rules and now Im paying with my sanity. Yep, I need a break and then Ill
come home refreshed and ready for the rest of my long, unhappy life. I got myself into this mess,
now its up to me to get over it.
Kurt, I need a break. Im not happy. I want to go visit my parents. Kurt is staring at me
with a faraway look in his eyes. Hello? Are you listening?
Yes; I just dont understand why you feel the need to keep leaving, and why would you
want to see your parents after everything youve told me?
Well, its not like that anymore. And, its the only place I can go that wont cost too much,
I mean, like compared to going to Atlanta and visiting Sandy. Besides, they havent seen Emily
yet.
Thats the clincher. I pack myself and the kids, board a plane and head back down to the
California desert. Its been over a year since Ive seen my family and strangely, Im sort of
looking forward to it.

My dad picks me up from the airport. He looks the same except for a few more grey hairs
which he hates and tries to hide with Haircolor for Men. I walk toward him with Emily on one
hip, a bag over my shoulder and holding onto Jacobs hand. We say hello at the same time, then I
let go of Jacobs hand in order to half-hug my father which I do purely out of politeness, and the
fact that some sort of physical affection is expected upon a greetingwhich I despise. Im still
completely uncomfortable with hugging, especially the hugging of my dad as the thought of
physical contact with him refreshes the thoughts of his physical contact with my sister. The
memory makes me extremely uncomfortable about touching him, let alone hugging him.
Hi Jacob, its grampa; how are you? Youve gotten so big! Hasnt he gotten big?
Yes, yes he has; I agree with the visibly obvious. Jacob just stares at his grampa,
wondering who the strange man is who keeps getting in his space and asking him questions he
cant possibly answer.
This must be Emily! Hi Emily! Youre so cute! He presses his finger into her side to tickle
her as I try not to cringe. Im trying not to think negative thoughts about my dad touching my
baby girl, but its difficult. Emily doesnt mind however, and smiles and giggles at the person
smiling, poking and baby-talking her which helps put me at ease.
We arrive at my parents house by the Salton Sea and as I walk in, I see mama with a couple
of girls who look to be about my age, doing crafts and laughing and acting like the best of
friends. When mama sees me she says a little too enthusiastically, Ah, look! Its Penny! Pennys
here! I again have to perform the social courtesy of hugging even though I feel repulsed by the
contact between my mother and me. I feel a fakeness about her greeting as if shes showing off
for her friends, or maybe over-compensating for saying negative things about me, or making fun
of me which wouldnt surprise me at all, but makes me wonder if my visit was a mistake. I
wonder why I always feel as if I want to see my family and when I finally do, Im always
disappointed when nothing about them has changed. What am I expecting to find when Im
missing them? I know what Im hoping. Im hoping my birth-family have miraculously became
the Ingalls from The Little House on the Prairie. Thats the era when I should have been born,
but somehow got mixed-up with some other baby, being born in this day and age to unfit parents
and a dysfunctional family. Oh well, Im here now so I might as well get settled in and relax.
False Hope
Even when they are treated terribly, children hold onto the hope that they can change things by
altering their own behavior. (Laura Davis, 1992, The courage to Heal). As long as there is the
remotest chance that the abusive parent might change, the abused will remain hopeful.
My brother, who is now nineteen, stops by with his new seventeen-year-old girlfriend whos
much better than the speed-freak I met the last time, but I can tell hes not into this girl as much.
Mama sure likes her though, and again, I get to watch my mother treat someone else better than
she ever treated me. Oh wellIm here now so I might as well try to ignore whatever it is
mamas trying to prove and just relax already even though I have a feeling therell be manyOh
wellson this visit.
Do you want a drink? Thank-you-dad!
Sure; what do you have?
Beer, wine or we can make margaritas.
Ooh, margaritas! Thank God for alcohol.

Narrative/autobiographical memories
Clinical experience suggests that, for those with significant childhood trauma,
autobiographically-encoded memories are distressing primarily for their ability to activate
related implicit memory intrusions, relational schema, and CERs. (Conditioned Emotional
Response) In other words, explicit, verbally-mediated memory material may be most aversive for
its ability to activate associated nonverbal feelings, implicit/sensory memories, and abuse-
related schema. (John Briere, Ph.D.)
Would you mind babysitting so I can drive into town? I ask dad a couple of days later,
desperately needing some time to get away and do my own thing.
Sure; when will you be back?
In a few hours I guess. I dont know.
O-kay; need some money?
Sure, I can always use some money. Hehehe. He hands me forty dollars and off I go.
Palm Desert is beautiful, so manicured, so bright, so green, but in a different way than
Washington. This is fabricated green, unlike the natural green where I live. I open all the
windows, find a pop radio station and turn it up. The wind is whipping through my hair as I drive
along Hwy. 111 toward Palm Springs. Im singing along to my favorite songs and I feel beautiful
once more. I have nowhere to go, but I dont care. I just love being out and about in the perfectly
warm and sunny 80 degree weather. I love smelling the freshly cut and watered lawns from the
golf courses as well as being surrounded by expensive cars and wealthy people. I drive by
beautiful, posh-looking restaurants where the well-to-do are enjoying their lunches and white
wine on umbrella-covered patios. What a life!
Im twenty-four-years old now and its been a long time since Ive felt anywhere near
twenty-four. The idea of being young again feels new and exciting and along with the sun, the
music, and the freedom, I dont know how Ill ever go back to my life with Kurt. I absolutely
love the desert and how I feel when Im here, and now Im worried about what might happen if I
have to go back home to Kurt. I hardly spend any time at my parents house, going to town often
but making sure the kids are okay first. Theyre happy, and I dont sense any resistance from
them toward my parents, and for that reason, I dont feel guilty about leaving them so frequently.
Mama and I are getting along as well as we can, I mean, shes actually being nice to me which I
think is due to her acting more like a girlfriend than a mother. Even so, I dont trust her and Im
always ready for disappointment. While mama is being nice, she and I will run errands together,
go shopping and do lunch which is fine and dandy unless dad comes along, because then our
errand running, shopping and lunching turns into me wishing I was somewhere far, far away
from both of them since he and mama always start arguing abouteverything. It doesnt matter
how minuet or mundane the situation, or look, or comment, or yawn or blink is, everything is an
offense. It all boils down to the twenty something years of fighting, affairs, selfishness and pride
that add-up to one seriously unhappy marriage. Every single word or deed of the other is like
fingernails on a chalkboard or biting down on tin foil.
Where are we going? Mama asks dad.
To the mall; dad says.
Then why did you turn here?
I always turn here.
Why? When you can just go down the main highway?
Because I avoid truck traffic this way.
Except, now youre on a two-lane road and that takes longer.
Are you in a hurry?
Thats not the point.
Whats the point?
Just forget it.
No, Im just trying to understand what the point is.
No, its okay; youre always right.
Okay, Im always right, but whats the point if we arent in a hurry?
I have to pipe-in to stop the argument of the obviously minuet and mundane from escalating
any further.
O-kay, wow, am I hungry. Where shall we go to lunch? Dad looks back at me smiling a
frustrated smile and answers since mama is sulking.
I dont know. What do you want for lunch? Dad and I will then discuss restaurants while
mama stares out the window with a scowl on her face. After we finally decide whats for lunch,
theres a terribly awkward silence that makes me want to throw open the car door at the next
stop, then jump-out and hitchhike. Id rather take my chances with Ted Bundy than have to be
reminded of the anger and tension or looks and tones from my childhood. So yes, most of the
time Im happy if dad doesnt want to go to town with us.
Many times when mama and I are alone and having a relatively good time, I wonder if she
might let her guard down and Ill be able to ask her why she treated me like an unloved,
unwanted, unworthy step-middle-child; however, I always stop myself, deciding instead to try to
forget the favoritism, lack of love and chore abuse and just forgive and forget as if nothing ever
happened. Except, the next time were alone, the same stupid, nagging question that wants to be,
that has to be answered or Ill never have any peace, is again, right there on the tip of my tongue
waiting to sneak past my lips and into her ears. Once again I stop myself, not sure how shell
react and too afraid to find out so instead, I complain about my life and my marriage and how I
dont know what to do about the dire situation Im in because of having an overwhelming feeling
of not being able to go back to my life as Kurts wife.
I know for a fact mama is thinking that all the angst Im going through is what I get for not
listening to her, so I stroke her ego by making it seem as if she was right all along, which
unfortunately, she was, which makes her happy, and when shes happy, Im happy. What Im not
happy about, however, is the fact mama also seems to be taking pleasure in seeing the pain of my
predicament from not taking her advice which further drives in the point of her being right and
that makes her happier still. Oh well, better her happy than not, even if it comes at the cost of my
pride.
Dont go home. Nobody says you have to go; mama says to me during one of our
conversations. I guess husbands opinions dont count; I think to myself. I then consider how
strange it is that a mother is advising her daughter to leave her husband and destroy the lives of
her family without first determining if theres a solution to save the marriage. Its as if were
talking about quitting a job. If youre not happy, just quit and go find a job that makes you
happy. Just like that, easy as pie.
The problem with talking to mama about my misery is the fact that misery loves company,
so my mother is agreeing with every negative thought and comment I have to say about marriage
and husbands in general, seeing as how she feels the same about hers. Another problem is that I
like the fact that shes telling me what I want to hear, and along with the wine were drinking,
our conversation becomes more energized, meaner and funnier, which in a way makes all the
negative thoughts and put-downs more valid. Nevertheless, Ill have to think about the whole
Kurt thing before I make a rash decision, but not right now. Right now I want to think happy
thoughts...please pass the wine!


Chapter 35
A question that sometimes drives me hazy:
Am I or are the others crazy?
~Albert Einstein


Alec is a floor manager at Costco. If he werent a floor manager at Costco he could be a
model if he wanted to be. He has beautiful, wavy brown hair, pearly white teeth, a golden tan
with a body and face that look as if he was chiseled from the likeness of Hercules himself, and he
knows my parents. Mama introduces me one day while returning an item to the store.
Hey, Alec. Can you help me?
Oh, Hi! How are you?
Im good! This is my daughter, Penelope. We shake hands and suddenly were staring into
each others blue eyes. I notice he has the most stunning soft blue eyes Ive ever seen, much
lighter than mine. I feel myself blushing as I pull my gaze away as well as feeling my heart skip
a beat. I dont ever remember being in the presence of such a beautiful man sober before. Once
were done at Costco, I gush over how gorgeous Alec is and ask when can we go back to see
him. Mama laughs.
We can go back tomorrow if you want.
Sounds good to me! I respond with a giddy excitement. A couple of days later we head
back to Costco and find Alec right away. Mama casually mentions that Im here on vacation and
thats all it takes for Alec and I to get to talking while mama busies herself with whatever needed
doing.
Well, I guess I should be going. It was very nice meeting you; I say while staring into his
baby blues.
And you as well; Alex tells me as we shake hands, still gazing into each others eyes.
Again, my heart skips a beat or two and I have to tear myself away from him. I tell mama about
Alecs and my uncanny connection, and thats when she mentions that she can give him a hint to
ask me out if I want her to do so.
Really?
Oh, yeah.
Okay, but it has to seem perfectly natural, not a set-up; I warn.
I know! Ill be casual, dont worry; mama replies.
Is this actually happening? My mother is setting me up on a date and Im married! What the
heck? I know she and dad have never met Kurt, so maybe in her mind he doesnt matter or he
doesnt exist. Whatever the reason, its just fine and dandy with me because Id give anything to
go on a date with the beautiful floor manager, could-be model if he wanted to be, from Costco.
Alec asks me out for drinks the next time I see him without any prompting from mom, and I
wholeheartedly agree to meet him, of course. How can I pass-up an opportunity like this? Its
only the second time in my life Im being asked out on a real date and by the best looking guy
Ive ever met by far. Not only is he handsome, but hes respectful, has manners, has a good job,
his own place as well as being friendly and confident. Oh, and did I mention beautiful?
We make plans to meet at the Red Onion, a Mexican Bar and Grill I found one day while
wondering the mall. I met a bartender there named Joseph with whom I had a conversation as I
ate lunch. When I arrive and see Joseph is working again, I find a couple of seats at his bar and
tell him about my date as I order a drink. Im excited, and gush with anticipation as I start talking
about Alec. I turn to examine the entrance then continue on about how eager I am to see Alec,
(checking the entrance again) and how cute Alec is, (checking the entrance yet again) and oh!
There he is! My heart skips more than a couple of beats.
We hit it off exceptionally well right off the bat. In fact, we have such a delightful
conversation we dont want the date to end. We sit and talk for three hours when last call is
finally announced.
Already? Is it that late already? Im stunned. It feels like we just got here. I say.
Would you like to go back to my place for a Jacuzzi? Alex unexpectedly asks me. I
instantaneously wonder if it means he wants sex.
I dont have a swimsuit; I tell him. He then laughs as if my not having a swimsuit, or the
fact I dont carry a bikini around in my purse in case Im asked out for Jacuzzi is the funniest
thing in the world.
You dont need oneIll give you a tee-shirt! In the next two seconds, a million thoughts
go through my brain. Do I want to have sex with this person? Of course I do, but should I? Of
course I should or I might lose him. I mean, he might not want to see me again especially if he
wants sex and I say no. But theres still the married thingbut he doesnt know about that and
Im certainly not going to tell him. Maybe Ill just go and see what happens. Yeah, thats it!
Well just see what happens.
So, I say sure to the Jacuzzi idea even though Im honestly not sure about the Jacuzzi idea.
Alec and I are sitting in his Jacuzzi when he makes the move I knew was bound to happen. I
knew it! I think to myself as he reaches for me. I let what I knew would happen, happen, but I
dont freeze up like the first time I committed adultery. However, I once again feel as if Im
being used even though I keep trying to push the idea from my mind. Afterward, the connection
we had found is gone. A weirdness settles over the room and I cant wait to leave. Why do I feel
like this? Why do I feel so empty? I just slept with the most beautiful maneverand I should
be on the top of the world knowing such a beautiful man wanted to be with me. I just need to
change my thinking. Think happy thoughts; think good thoughts. I try, but the empty feeling
cannot be filled.
The next day, everything seems like a dream. The memories from the night before seem
much brighter and less dark, so I call Alec to see how he is. I always have an overwhelming
sense of insecurity the morning after sleeping with someone, needing to know how my partner is
feeling about what happened between us the night before. I leave a message but he doesnt call
back, nor does he call the next day or the next. Im sick to my stomach with anxiety, and even
mama is irritated with him for not calling. This helps, since now I can talk about and analyze
what might have gone wrong on my date with Alec with mama, the way I did about Jim with
Sandy.
Im getting mad about his not calling. Was it not Alec who invited me to his bed under the
guise of a Jacuzzi? I dont deserve this kind of treatment. I decide I dont care if he doesnt call
back because, I am going to keep calling him because I dont deserve to be treated like this and
one of these times hell pick up the phone and then Ill demand an answer. Im not some chick he
picked-up in a bar! Im desperate now as I drift in and out of anger, then desperation and anxiety,
then anger again. Its been a week since our date and when he finally gets sick of my phone
stalking.
Hello?
Hi, Alec? Its Penny.
I know; hi, how are you?
Im OK, but how are you? Ive been calling you.
I know, Ive been avoiding you.
Really? I hadnt noticed. Hahaha. Whats wrong? Why havent you called?
Because I feel bad, I mean, I feel guilty; he says miserably.
Guilty about what?
About sleeping with you.
What? Why would you feel guilty about that? Im a big girl, I agreed to it.
I know; I feel guilty because, because Im a Christian and I shouldnt be sleeping with
anyone unless Im married.
You dont have to feel bad about that, Im a Christian too!
Well, then that just makes it worse. Besides, I dont feel right seeing you again if youre the
kind of girl who will sleep with someone on the first date.
What?! Have you forgotten it was you who invited me over for a Jacuzzi? My heart rate is
rising a little quicker nowOKa lot quicker.
No, and I know Im just as much to blame for this but you didnt have to accept my
invitation. Im now wondering if Im actually hearing what Im hearing. I feel anger and
disbelief rising in my chest at the holier-than-thou cussword making me feel like a slutty whore
on my way down to hell and if I ever see him again, Im gonna drag him down along with me.
So you set me up? I failed the test?
No; thats not what I mean.
Then what do you call it? I express my displeasure as calmly as possible over his attitude
and judgment of me, then hang-up on him. Once I hang up the phone, I go on a two-hour
rampage ofwho does he think he is and how-dare-hes. How can such a likeable guy turn into
such a holier-than-thou cussword overnight, and why, why doesnt it work as everyone says it
does? Why did I do it anyway? Why do I always do it? I give a man what he wants, but then he
doesnt want to see me again? I thought that a man genuinely likes me if he wants to have sex
with me. Im seriously confused now as well as angry so I think Ill go out and have a few
drinks, that always helps and its better than sitting around here talking it to death; so off to the
Red Onion I go.

Its time to go home to Kurt, but I dont want to go home. The thought of going back to Kurt
makes me sick to my stomach. Thinking about cooking, cleaning, and suffering through another
four years of his robotic hellos sends shivers up my spine. Then theres the sex. My own husband
rapes me every night, yeah, I said it, he rapes me. Theres no other word for it because thats just
how it feels whether were married or not. When Kurt crawls on top of me, my insides shrivel-
up. When I feel him, I want to scream, but he wont stop unless I cry and tell him that I have
severe pain inside. I lay there screaming on the inside until I can leave my body and find a happy
place just like I did to escape my mothers attacks. Here in America, when a wife says no to her
husband and he doesnt stop, its rape. Ive put-up with my sex-addicted husband for years and
now it has to stop. Thinking about all these things certainly makes the idea of not wanting to go
home more real.
Marital Rape
Marital rape, also known as spousal rape, is non-consensual sex in which the perpetrator is the
victim's spouse. It is a form of partner rape, of domestic violence and of sexual abuse. It can be
equally, or even more emotionally and physically damaging than rape by a stranger. ("Marital
Rape". RAIN. Retrieved 9 May 2013.)
Mama tells me to just call him and tell him that I want to stay longer. Yeah! I have no
reason to rush home; I think aloud. What can he say? Hell be mad, but oh well.
My dad tells me that I should go home. Why? I ask.
I think you need to go home and work things out with your husband.
I dont want to work things out with my husband. I dont want to continue living as Im
living. Kurt makes me feel old and I want to do more than just be a housewife and a mother.
Well then, get a job.
He wont let me get a job or go to school! He just wants me barefoot and pregnant!
Tell him that you want to get a job or else...Hahaha.
I already know hell say no, Ive had this conversation with him twice before; not that it
was much of a conversation. Im just going to call him and tell him that Im going to stay longer
and thats that. An hour later, Im on the phone.
Hello?
Kurtits me.
Hi!
Hey; what would you say if I wanted to stay longer?
Id say come home.
Well, I want to stay longer.
Nooooyoure coming home.
I dont want too yet. Its so warm and beautiful down here, the kids are having fun, and Im
getting along with my parents so I want to stay for another week or two.
Two weeks!? I dont think so. (Noted, and ignored.)
Ive already decided and Im going to stay. Theres silence on the other end, then I hear
him hang-up. Uh-oh, hes mad; I say. Mama says hell get over it, dad says Im making poor
decisions, I say lets have a Margarita! I know I need to think about what Im going to do about
this situation, but not right now; right now I want to think happy thoughts.


Chapter 36
The trouble with trouble is, it starts out as fun.


Im drunk. Im not just drunk, Im friggin drunk. Its two in the morning and Im walking
out of my favorite watering hole, the good ol Red Onion, where I met-up with whats-his-face,
oh yeah, Alec, holier-than-thou cussword! Oh well, who needs him?
The dancing started at nine, and I danced and danced and danced some more. My drinks
were free most of the night, compliments of the courteous gentlemen who shared a dance with
me and who were hoping to get more than a dance from me.
Sorry, Im married. Hello? Ring I point to my ring but most just responded with an
its okay, I dont mind!
Ha! I bet you dont, you bad boy you.
Right now I need to find my keys. I dig and search, then search and dig some more before
Im finally able to fish my keys out of what seems to be a bottomless purse and right before I
head for the parking lot. I want my key in hand and ready to go just in case Im attacked by some
knife-wielding maniac looking for an easy catch like a happy-go-lucky drunk woman wandering
through a mall parking lot by herself at two in the morning. Im sure said maniac will think that
while in my drunken state Ill be thinking all is right with the world and no one could possibly
want to hurt little ol me, however, I may be drunk, but Im fully aware of the dangers of walking
through a parking lot alone at night. I dare someone to try something because Ill just use my
trusty key as a weapon and the bad guy will never see it coming. Hi-yah! More like, uh-yeah. Oh
well, better safe than sorry, I always say.
I poke at the cars door lock a few times before I can get the key into the keyhole, then uh,
finally. I plop in the drivers seat then close and lock the door behind me. I have to poke at the
ignition a few times before the key slides into the unusually slim keyhole. Geez, am I drunk or
what? And why cant they make the darn keyholes bigger? I finally start the car and look around
to make sure there arent any cops around waiting to cart my butt off to jail. Im not too worried
since Im a pretty good drunk driver if I do say so myselfSo there! Dad told me that I should
be careful about drinking and driving since the road I have to travel to get back tothe Saltiest
Sea ever! Haha!is known around the country as The Killer Highway. Dun-dun-dunnn! He
tells me so many people have died driving the narrow two-lane road that it deserved a scary
nickname. The fact Hwy 86 is a major trucking route doesnt help matters any, and then there are
all the traffic light-less side streets where youre taking your own life into your hands when
crossing to the other side. And here I am, drunk as a skunk at two-thirty in the morning with
lousy night vision to boot, driving the hour long trek back to the middle of nowhere in pitch
blackness as I try to follow all the stinkin lines in the road. There werent this many earlier were
there?

Effects of Abuse
Women who were psychologically abused but not physically abused are five times more likely to
misuse alcohol than women who have not experienced abuse. (http://www.thisiswar.com)
The first time I meet him I dont pay him too much attention, just your basic small talk while
having lunch and a beer. I walk-up to his section of the bar for the third time.
Hey there; I say to Joseph the bartender as if were old friends
Hi, how are you?
Im good, thank-you.
Whatll you have?
A Coors Light, please.
Oh, yeah, I remember now. You were here on a date. Right?
Yep.
So wheres your friend?
It didnt work out. Im going to be leaving soon anyhow. I live in Washington, Im just
here on vacation. Joseph puts my beer in front of me, and after a short conversation, he goes to
wait on another customer. What a friendly guy; I think to myself. He remembers me and the fact
I was on a date. The thought makes me feel good. The hours and the beers pass and soon the
friendly bartender seems even friendlier. I stay at the bar most of the night and leave about an
hour before closing time. I like the bartender and will definitely be back to see him before I have
to go home. Joseph; I think about him the whole drive home.
I hurry the next day as I get ready to go out. My parents are still willing to babysit and they
havent said a thing about me going out again. Come to think about it, they havent said a thing
about how many times Ive come home at three in the morning stinkin drunk either. I dont
mind, but at the same time, find it extremely weird. Do they know how drunk I actually am while
driving the Killer Highway in the wee hours of the morning, in their car to boot? Do they even
care? Have they ever worried about my safety, or me for that matter, ever? I know if my child
were driving drunk Id offer to pick him or her up, then take the car keys away before Id let him
or her continue risking their life, but thats just me, and this is them, and right now Im having
too much fun to care. Ill think about this some other time, because right now Im in a happy
place.
Traffic into town on this particular night is slow going, so Im getting frustrated and
impatient, bordering on panic. Im anxious to get to the Red Onion to see if Joseph is working,
and Im afraid I might miss him if I dont get thereright now. It takes me an hour and fifteen
minutes to get to town, but I finally arrive. I walk into the bar area of the restaurant and scan the
bartenders for his face. I spot him, and relief and excitement wash over me. I make my way over
to him and when Joseph sees me, a big smile lights up his face and he has a Coors Light in front
of me before I even sit down. We talk as he works, and later, he asks if I can stay until he gets off
work around eleven.
Of course, no problem; I happily tell him. I already planned on it.
Joseph is a bad boy. Hes the complete opposite of Kurt, and the differing attributes awake
something in me that I didnt even know was there, andit doesnt hurt that hes a Bruce Willis
doppelganger save for a less substantial nose. Joseph is my height, five eight, but built like a
boxcar, stout, solid and muscular from lifting weights. Hes a German-Italian cross which gives
him, in his own words, his hot temper and his romantic side, but while wearing my beer-colored
glasses all I hear is that hes romantic. GoodI love romance! And since were now on the same
page in the romance department, I start taking notes on other characteristics of the affable and
charming bartender. Joseph smokes Camel cigarettes, which make him look tough and sexy. He
smokes marijuana, but that just makes him cool. He tells me that he was just released from
prison after three years for selling drugs, but who am I to judge? Hes an incredible dancer and
we hit it off on the dance floor in a way that makes people stop and stare, moving together as if
weve known each other our whole lives. We end-up seeing each other every night until I have to
go back to Washington with our nights filled with drunken dancing and sex, and I love every
minute of it.
Kurt; what am I going to do about Kurt? I almost forgot I have a husband waiting for me to
come home. I wonder how Im going to break the news, and how should I let him know that I
cant possibly spend one more second of my life as his wife? Should I just call him on the phone
or wait until I get home? I think it might be a little rude to tell him that I want a divorce over the
phone. In any case, I may need to speak to a lawyer first because I know the subject of the
children is going to be rough. Hell never let me take them without a fight even though Im the
one raising them while hes at work. Come on, besides bringing home a paycheck, what has he
ever done for them, really? Hes hardly ever home, and he barely pays them any attention when
he is. He might see them about fifty-eight of the hundred and sixty-eight hours in a week, so
whos the judge gonna side withhuh? (Its amazing what lies you can convince yourself of
when trying to justify insane actions.) Then again, what will I do with two little kids when I have
to start working, and then Im never home? Leaving them here with my parents is about the only
choice I have. No; no way; Ill never leave them with my mother or my father, period. Darn it, I
cant think about this right now; right now I need to think about happier things.
What are you thinking?! My dad says Im crazy and tells me to stop being so impulsive
and just go home and talk things over with Kurt and maybe you can work things out. My mom
thinks Im crazy to stay with Kurt and tells me that I should just call him up right now and tell
him that I want a divorce. Go ahead, just get it over withI hear her words like a devil on my
shoulder encouraging me tojust do it, do it now! Call him! Destroy your family! Its all about
your happiness! Dad rolls his eyes, throws up his arms in surrender and walks out.
Ahhh! I grab my head; Im so confused! I need a drink, Ill call after I have a drink.
Mama joins me and we sit drinking and slamming our husbands, and husbands in general along
with laughing at how stupid the opposite sex can be.
Hello? Kurt says with a hint of anticipation in his voice as if he were hoping it were me,
but worried about what I might say.
Hi, its me.
Hey! When are you coming home? I mouth the words along with him as he said them;
hes so predictable.
Well, thats why Im calling. I Kurt interrupts me.
Uh, you are coming home.
I know. Im coming home soon, but I need to talk to you about something first.
What do you want to talk about? He sounds so...like Kurt. As usual, he sounds dull and
mundane. He doesnt sound concerned about anything which strikes me the wrong way when
here I am, contemplating the whole rest of my life. I begin by reminding him about how unhappy
Ive been, and how old I feel, and if I go back to my hum-drum life I might kill myself and the
only way I can see to fix me is toI just blurt it outto leave you. I want a divorce. Theres a
moment of silence.
What did you just say? He asks coolly, so I repeat myself.
I want a divorce.
Just like that? Did he justI think he just chuckled. I dont think he believes me.
Im not kidding; I tell him.
Come home. Hes now talking to me with a tone to his voice as if I havent got a clue
what Im talking about, or like a father whos demanding a wayward teen to come home from a
night of partying.
Im serious. Im not kidding; I say again.
Come home now and then well talk about it.
Ill be home in a couple of days, okay? We hang-up without saying goodbye.

I arrive at the Seattle/Tacoma airport in the early afternoon. I told Joseph goodbye the day
before and promised him Id be back soon. I dont think he believed me. I see Kurt waiting for us
and notice I feel absolutely nothing for him even after a month apart. He spots us, then comes
right-up and grabs the kids without saying a word to me. We head over to retrieve our luggage
and as the suitcases come around the turnstile, I point out our bags, but Kurt doesnt move.
I know, he says; as in, go get the bags yourself. Its then that I know he isnt going to lift a
finger to help me. I cant blame him really, but I do think hes being a little childish.
I struggle to the car and get the bags in the trunk as he puts Jacob and Emily in their car
seats. My stomach is turning the way it always did when I was growing-up, and it reminds me of
how I always thought Id have an ulcer by the time I was eighteen. Luckily, it never happened.
On the drive home, whenever I open my mouth to say something, Kurt cuts me off and
mumbles not in front of the kids. Him not allowing me to talk gives me an hour and a half to
think about what Im going to say, but mostly, I just think about Joseph and how much I like
him. I tell myself that I need to remain focused or Ill chicken out and end-up staying with Kurt,
but staying focused and determined is harder in person then when Im with the devil, oops, I
mean my mother egging me on, especially since Im not being allowed to speak as if Im a little
kid.
When we arrive home and get the kids settled in, I go to my room to start putting away the
contents of my suitcase. Suddenly Kurt comes in, closes and locks the door, and I think to myself
here it comes, he wants to talk.
Where are the kids? I ask.
Theyre fine; he says matter-of-factly, then pushes me back on the bed as I look at him as
if hes crazy.
Youve got to be kidding! I say in disbelief.
Not at all; he retorts.
Stop! I dont want to do this right now! I have a yeast infection! Illness is still my go-to
excuse for avoiding sex.
Oh, really? Howd you get a yeast infection? Did you sleep with somebody? He says back
in a disgusted tone. Now, when someone asks a question like the one Kurt just asked me, and
you know youre guilty as heck which I know I darned-well am, its hard to find a good come-
back line. So, like an idiot all I say is, No! Its from swimming! I lie.
Ah-ha, sure; he says as he glares at me and pulls-off my pants. Theres nothing I can do
about what hes about to do because I know hes angry. Besides, he probably knows Im lying.
Why else would I just suddenly want a divorce? It couldnt possibly have anything to do with my
mute, insensitive, sex-addicted husbandnow could it?
Kurts being rough. Hes angry and being rough and trying to make a point and all I can do
is find a happy place to escape to while he rapes me once more. I deserve it, I cheated and this is
what I get. Of course, Ill never admit I cheated, and Kurt may think he knows, but it will always
just be an assumption on his part. Nevertheless, hes still angry and still being rough, and Im
hurting and disgusted and all I can do is think of the day when all of this will be over.
Its over in two weeks. In the two weeks from the day I get home to the day I leave, I see a
lawyer, a therapist and my only friend, Nancy. I go to a lawyer to see about getting the kids, and
he tells me that I will get the kids, plus child support and alimony; good. Next stop, Nancy. I go
and tell her that Im leaving and shes sad and sorry for Kurt and the kids, and seems a little
irritated with me, but I plead my case. She tells me that she understands, butI dont care if
shes upset with me. I have to do this. Next, I go see a psychiatrist at Kurts request. He seems to
think it might help so I humor him by going. I give the therapist a readers digest version of my
childhood and shes astonished Im following in my birth mothers footsteps. No, no Im not,
and dont compare me to her! I want my kids! My mother didnt want anything to do with me! I
dont go back to see that woman again.
The day I plan on leaving is fast approaching, and now Im having second thoughts about
taking the kids for a number of reasons. For one thing, I dont even know where Im going to
live and when I do, who will watch them while I work? Second, how can I give them a good,
happy life when I feel so messed-up? If they stay with Kurt theyll have familiar surroundings,
their pets and bedrooms and toys, plus a good, responsible dad with a good job. Thirdly, do I
want to hurt Kurt that much? Im not leaving him because I want to hurt him; it is after all, just
about me. If I take the kids from him it will devastate him. I cant do that, I just cant hurt him
that much so I guess that means Ive made up my mind. Ill leave the kids with Kurt. Theyll be
better off with him, and better off without me. I have to wonder about my birth mom though, and
if this is how she felt when she left me. Who cares, I say, Im not like her. Im going to have a
relationship with my kids. She never even wanted to know me; nope, Im not like her at all.
Once I make-up my mind, Kurt and I sit and talk and I tell him my plans. I see on his face
hes completely relieved whether he wants to admit it or not. He tells me that he was fairly
certain he could have stopped me from taking the kids because he had already spoken to his own
lawyer.
I guess it doesnt matter now, does it? I say to him. However, I now have to try to explain
to a two and a half-year-old and an eight-month-old that their mommy is leaving and not coming
back. I know they dont understand the reality of the situation, but I cant just leave without
trying to help them understand, even though a voice in the back of my mind keeps telling me
thattheyll survive. Its the first time Ive ever heard that particular voice so clearly, but I listen
to it wholeheartedly. Sometimes I wonder what demon is controlling me. I dont know how Im
doing what Im doing. How can I walk away from my innocent, vulnerable children? Especially
Jacob; Jacob is my heart. How can I hurt him this way? And Emily? Ive hardly had a chance to
get to know her. Ive been too busy being selfish to love her the way a mother should love her
daughter or any child for that matter. My baby girl; how can I walk out on a beautiful eight-
month-old baby girl?
The day I leave starts like any other; a beautiful spring day; the sun is shining, the flowers
are blooming, and its April 1992, Mothers day of all days. My car is packed and ready for the
long drive, and Im anxious to get going. I feel perfectly okay with what Im doing. Im blind to
the pain Im causing, a trauma that will last the rest of all of our lives. I should know.
Kurts mom, Sherry is here to help Kurt take care of the kids. She even put her house up for
sale in Missouri just so she can move to Washington to take my place, anything to help make
things easier on my family. She continues to be kind to me, and says she still loves me and that
shell try to understand what Im doing and why Im doing it. She tells me that she loves her
grandchildren and will help raise them as long as Kurt needs her, and for that reason, I love her
dearly and will be forever grateful.
When Im ready to leave, I go up to the kids and kneel down in front of them and let them
know that Im leaving for a long time, but Ill come back for a visit, I promise. I tell them how
much I love them, then hug them for what seems like an hour and while I do, I convince myself
theres no going back, not nownow I have to go. Jacob and Emily say goodbye to me as if Im
just running to the store, Kurt is out working in the field as if he too is pretending Im just
running to the store, but the worst thing of all is that I head out to my car as if I just might
berunning to the store.
I disappear. I just get into my car and drive away from my life, leaving behind devastating
heartache in my wake. This marriage was an escape and thats all it was. This whole disaster
happened between the ages of nineteen through twenty-four, but again, mentally I was much
younger. All I know for sure is that when I married Kurt, I didnt know who I was, what I was
doing or what I wanted. Its hard to believe that in a few short years a person can hurt so many.
Im so sorry for all I did to my family as well as any innocent bystanders and hope they can or
have forgiven me. If only I could take it all backI would in a second. Im twenty-four-years
old.


Chapter 37
If youre headed in the wrong direction, God allows U-turns.
But its up to us to turn the wheel. ~I didnt.


Crossroads; we all come across these defining moments at least once in our lives. Its where
were given a chance to make decisions that will make or break us. We can choose right, wrong,
good, evil, kindness or selfishness. We can choose to accept Gods peace or leave its security.
Buddha says it is mans own mind, not his enemy or foe that lures him to evil ways and its for
this exact reason I chose the immoral, wicked, selfish path even though my choices hurt the ones
I loved. Romans 1:21-22 sums it up nicely. Although they knew God, they did not glorify Him
as God, nor were they thankful, but became futile (frivolous, vain, excessively proud) in their
thoughts, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Professing to be wise, they became fools.
I thought I was so smart. I thought I knew exactly what I wanted and what I needed and no
one was going to get in the way of my getting what I wanted. But what I didnt know is that I
was flying by the seat of my emotions and these same emotions were about to destroy me.
Romans 1:28 and Titus 1:16 describes this attitude perfectly; Furthermore, since they did not
think it worthwhile to retain the knowledge of God, he gave them over to a depraved mind, to do
what ought not to be done. They have become filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed
and depravity. They profess to know God, but in works they deny Him, being abominable,
disobedient, and disqualified for every good work.
The point in my life Im about to delve into is what I consider a turning point for me.
Although living a Christian life was the farthest thing from my mind, I believe this is where God
started His work in me. I was still His daughter, all be it, a prodigal daughter who first had to
suffer in order to understand how much I needed my heavenly Father as the Lord of my life once
again. God does not want His children to suffer, though He will allow it if suffering is the only
way to get through to us. Because I refused to see the error of my ways, I suffered a looong time.
Getting to the dark side is unbelievably easy, we all do it at one time or another. We dont
always realize though, that where the wide, smooth and easy road leads is dark and
dangerousuntil we get there that is. Once we arrive at our darkened destination, we will find
that the alleged fun-side is filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed and depravity one
can imagine, but its just as God promises it will be. I had to experience this darkness in order to
find the light as God tried to teach me some difficult lessons no matter how long it took and no
matter the cost. The direction my life takes is a long, wide-ranging, complicated trudge, which at
times is truly frightening and one I wouldnt wish on my worst enemy. When I look back at
myself, I cringe at how prideful and selfish I was, and the scariest thing about it is that I didnt
even know it! Yes, I was dealing with mental issues I had no idea were there, but I choose to
abandon my faith, striking out on my own without the guidance of Gods Word. Taking care of
my emotional self by myself was how I survived my entire life and I didnt believe I needed
anyone to continue to do so.
The Bible tells us in Proverbs 16:18, Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit
before a fall. And boy, did I fall as a direct result of my selfishness. First, I fell into lust, then I
jumped into a sick form of love which lead to seven years of torment and to top it all off, an
outrage that lead to rebellion against God even though all I experienced was my own fault. Only
after escaping the evil by the skin of my teeth did I finally decide to return to Gods saving
grace; however, the consequences from my life of sin had already taken its toll on my mental and
physical health which I must now deal with on a daily basis.
Do we know what pride isexactly? Does one ever think about it? I know I never did, so
here is the definition for all of those who do not know what it is to be prideful. The dictionarys
definition of pride is: Feeling or showing self-importance as well as contempt or disregard for
others. (Wow, how many of us can say that we have never been prideful now?) I believe pride is
the root of all evil as well as being one of Gods most hated sins. Proverbs 6:16-19 lists the sins
God hates the most; These six things does the Lord hate; yes, seven are an abomination to Him:
a proud look, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans,
feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaks lies and he that sows discord
among brothers.
Through the years, Ive learned that pride is as cunning as a fox and as subtle as a butterfly.
Most people are not even aware of its presence in their lives, or how many ways pride can
disguise itself. Pride is changeable, revealing itself differently in everyone in addition to being
purely disingenuous. Pride will hide itself from the person it has infected, but shine brightly in
others making it easy to blame them for your own mistakes which is exactly what happened to
me. I was blind to my own sin, but could not only clearly see, but could also feel the effects of
other peoples sin on my life which made playing the blame game remarkably easy. The
attributes and characteristics of pride may be surprising, but knowing the different traits of this
deadly sin is the first step in working to eliminate it from your life. Ive included a list for
knowledge and referral of all the sneaky ways we may be prideful and not even know it.

Arrogantthinking you are always right; not seeing your weaknesses or mistakes
Boasting and Braggingbuilding yourself up in a selfish way
ConceitedThinking you are better than other people
Covetingwanting for yourself what someone else has
Criticalfinding fault in everything and anything, anyone and everyone
Defensivehates correction and challenge, paranoid
Exaggerationlying to build yourself up and draw attention to yourself
Faithlessdoesnt trust God; trusts only self
Hates Disciplinehates correction because it makes you look bad
Hedonismself-indulgent, pleasure loving for selfish reasons
Immodestcalling attention to yourself by dress or action
Impatientwanting your own way now; self-focused
Independentnot wanting to get close to people; self-reliant
Insensitivetoo caught-up with self to notice others
Loving Conveniencehates to be inconvenienced or put-out
Moodylets moods swing wildly without concern for others
Nervousunable to relax and be yourself in trying to keep up some image
Over-inflated Importancethinking you are more important than you are
Physically Abusiveattacking someone because of it inflating your ego
Praise-lovingseeking praise from others just to feel better about yourself
Rebelliouswont cooperate
Un-submissiveself-focused, not group focused
Stagnantdoesnt like change; likes to be comfortable
Selfishwanting your own way, close-minded
Selfish ambitionwanting to achieve for selfish reasons
Shyself-centered, self-focused, not focused on others
Smugnessbeing pleased with other peoples problems or trouble
Touchy and Over-sensitivetaking offense easily, concerned about self
Unemotionalafraid to look silly or weak, wanting to appear tough or hard
Verbally abusiveputting others down because it makes you feel better about yourself
Refusing to accept responsibilityshifts blame away from self and onto others
Wont Initiatelikes being comfortable; sits back and lets others be giving and helpful
Wont let others helpself-reliant, dont want to owe anyone
Wont praise othersdoesnt like seeing others built-up, competitive in a selfish way

As you can see, pride comes in a multitude of outward appearances. Some are subtle and
some blatant, but never fear, knowledge is power and it has the power to overcome the sin that so
easily entangles. I was fully consumed by my arrogance until the end, and as you read, you might
want to resort back to this list in order to see where I went wrong and ended-up suffering for my
choices. It may also be an eye-opener for the ones who are ready to open their eyes and see the
light.
How sad it must make our Father, who loves us more than we can fathom, when we
arrogantly decide we dont need His help or guidance and attempt to control our own lives.
Nevertheless, God wont force us to do right or to love Him, and when we make wrong or sinful
choices, we must live with said choices and the regret they inevitably bring.
I have a twenty-four hour drive to think about what Im doing and change my mind. The
only problem is, Im being driven-on by a force so strong I couldnt have stopped myself even if
putting a stop to this madness was something I wanted to do. Im being driven by the anticipation
and excitement of living for myself. Its about me and only me now, a voice keeps whispering in
my ear. Little do I know Im heading for destruction, barreling along headfirst into a life full of
sin and despair which will leave me broken and battered and all of my dreams dead and gone.

I drive straight to the Red Onion, and as I walk-up to Joseph, he cant hide the look of
surprise on his face.
What are you doing here? I thought you went back to Washington?
I did! But I left my husband and now Im here!
For good?
For good!
Joseph and I jump right into an intense relationship, though we dont call each other
boyfriend and girlfriend yet, in fact, thats the last thing on my mind. I have some living to
make-up for, and I dont need or want to be tied down as someones other half. I move into my
sisters house in Moreno Valley where she lives with her husband, who was once the
neighborhood loser and drunken playboy according to my parents, but whos no longer either of
those things and is actually a nice, decent, hardworking man who loves my sister. Time has
caused many of the negative feelings Ive had toward Rachel to fade, but deep down nothing has
actually changed. On the outside, she and I get along just fine, but on the inside, I feel nothing
for her or her family. My insides are numb and as cold as ice, however, its my frozen little
secret and no ones the wiser, and what they dont know wont hurt them.
Psychological Issues
Daughters who are abused are more likely to develop numerous psychological conditions and
disorders. Due to a sense of inferiority stemming from abuse, daughters experience a diminished
or misguided sense of self-esteem. A lowered self-esteem may develop into chronic anxiety
disorder. In some cases, daughters maintain this lowered sense of self-esteem and attempt to
pacify it with sexual gratification, which can lead to sexual disorders. Other common
psychological issues experienced by abused daughters include depression and dissociative
identity disorders. In extreme cases of motherly abuse, daughters may experience post-traumatic
stress disorder later in life. (By Alexander Eliot, eHow Contributor)
I need to find a job even though Im never sober, and now that Im free of a husband telling
me what I can or cannot do, Im free to make the dreams I dreamt in my youth come true. I need
to find a job with room for advancement, start at the bottom and work my way up. Might be
boring as heck, but hey, at least Ill know Im accomplishing at least one of the goals I set for
myself as well as getting me closer to my other dreams. Im hired as a telemarketer for Desert
Gas and Oil in Palm Desert where I spend eight hours a day on the phone calling other gas and
oil companies trying to convince them to purchase gas and oil from our business instead of
someone elses. The only problem is, our gas and oil prices are so much higher than anyone
elses gas and oil prices. I cant comprehend why anyone would ever consider buying gas and oil
from us no matter how good I make it sound, which is exactly what my job entails and what I
should be doing.
Hello there. My name is PenelopeI work for Palm Desert Gas and Oil and Im giving
you a call today to find out if youre happy purchasing your gas and oil from your current gas
company. No? Really? Well then, I just want you to know that, for such and such a price, we can
have that same amount of oil ready and delivered to you by Monday. Really? Were that much
more expensive than the company you currently purchase your oil from? Well, I understand why
you wouldnt want to spend more for your oil sir, but were local and can deliver right away
which is a plus, dont you think? Yes, I understand, and to be honest, I wouldnt purchase from
us either. HahahaI knowI know! Well then, thanks for your time and have a lovely day.
Hundreds of calls, hundreds of, hahahano thank-yous. The dumb thing is, is that I have to
call the same companies every week, talk to the same people and once again try to convince
them to purchase our over-priced oil, but once again and over and over, theyll just laugh and say
no thank-you. For the most part, I just end-up making phone friends with all the salesmen I talk
to each week, and instead of selling them our over-priced oil, well just sit on the phone and talk
about all the reasons why they wont buy our over-priced oil then move right into hows your
week going and whatd you do last night....that iswhen Im awake and alert enough to make
my phone calls and actually have a conversation. Im having the hardest time staying awake
while sitting at a desk all day, not to mention the fact Im only getting a few hours of sleep a
night because of leaving the bars at two every morning. Come quitting time though, I get my
second wind, ready to tackle the night ahead yet again.
The only person who notices how tired I am is Molly, the only other employee working in
the company office besides the boss. She only notices because shes just as tired as I am since
weve started going out together after work. The boss never seems to notice how tired I am
which is a good thing since he has a cranky side and will shout if the situation calls for it. He
intimidates me because of his rich and powerful status in addition to treating me as if I dont
have a brain in my head and coming from my background, his superiority makes me nervous
about making mistakes. I know he doesnt respect me since he rarely looks at my face when he
speaks to me, if he speaks to me, however, I do know he looks at me as Im leaving his office
since I usually catch his eyes traveling down my body as I turn to leave the room. Now, being
hes my boss, I dont want, or appreciate that kind of attention, and his wandering eyes make me
lose respect for his rich and powerful status. I sometimes wonder if Molly likes his kind of
attention because she and he seem a little closer than what seems normal for a boss and a cute,
young, female employee. Oh well, to each their own.
Eventually, I realize sitting at a desk all day hung-over and making phone calls to middle-
aged salesmen, as well as working for an employer whos more interested in my body than my
mind, isnt my cup o tea. As a result, I know theres no way Ill ever enjoy this job so I quit
after only two months, even though theres room for advancement as I want to advance because
of my mind, not my body.
April and May are a blur. I wake in the morning, drag myself out of bed, shower and prepare
for work, or as of now, job hunting. I make myself up not only for job hunting, but also for going
out dancing afterwards. Im no longer the girl who looks like a boy, but a 58 tall woman with
a hard, slender body and firm, muscular legs that still go on for dayswhatever that means, in
addition to mid-length blond hair. Hey, blonds have more fun, right? I wear whatever I want
now, and no longer think skimpy outfits are all that bad as I did when I was young, and when I
had to watch Rachel parade around the house half-dressed which made my dad act weird. Now I
love wearing clothes that show-off my figure even though, ironically, I feel uncomfortable,
embarrassed and slutty when men or women look at me for any longer than a quick glance,
unless of course, Im drunk. If the looking at me is longer than a fleeting glimpse, I instantly feel
judged knowing that the women are thinking, who does she think she is dressed like that? As
well as being sure that the men are looking at me as if Im easy. I suppose in actuality, I dont
like wearing revealing clothes even though the insecure little girl in me insists its the only way
people will like me, even if they dont? Its terribly confusing. Ive never had curves like
Rachel, so if I wear tank tops and shorts I look more like an athlete than anything else, but
healthy and strong is always sexy. Im pretty sure being sexy makes me happywhen it isnt
making me feel uncomfortable, embarrassed or slutty. I also believe drinking and dancing make
me happy, and if thats truly the case, I must be in high spirits most of the time since Im doing a
lot of both.
Every now and then and more often than not, a twinge of regret about leaving my children
will try coming to the surface but I quickly drown it away with booze. Thats what I love about
alcohol, it keeps me from thinking or feeling anything but what I want to think and feel, and
what I want to think about and feel these days is being wanted by the opposite sex. As soon as I
finish job-hunting I head straight to the Red Onion where I can start man-hunting and find the
men who want me. I start drinking the minute I walk in the door and dont stop until closing
time. I drink beer and down shots of tequila until I feel totally loose, and its then when I start
acting totally loose. I dont care what anybody thinks. I dont care what strangers think, what
Joseph thinks, nor do I care what God above thinks about my behavior. I need the affirmation
Im worthy of someones attention and I let any good-looking guy I meet know it. One-by-one,
over the next month, I head for the parking lot and a strangers car for what I think will fill the
empty and hollow spaces inside my head and heart. Sometimes I go home with Joseph,
sometimes I dont. Sometimes, Joseph will see me leave the bar with different men then come
back in a few minutes later, but he never says a thing. He doesnt mention anything about my
promiscuousness since Ive told him that Im not his or anybodys, and thats how I want to keep
it. On the other hand, I want him to be jealous, but thats just another dirty little secret of mine
and what he doesnt know wont hurt him.
Im with a man in his car. Im twenty-four and hes twenty-three so I think hes considered a
guy, not a man. He doesnt seem like a man, but more like a boy as do all of the guys Ive been
with so I think Im actually with a manly-boy or a boyish-man in his car. I watch the guys face
and think how idiotic he looks as he tries to look like a man who has done it in his car a hundred
times before, but I wonder if hes ever done it at all before now. When he asks me if it feels
good, I want to sound as if Im enjoying myself so I say, Oh yeah, even though it actually feels
like nothing, just like everything else Ive been doing lately. The drinking, the dancing, the guys,
it all feels like nothing. I miss my kids, I need another shot. Hurt me, damn it, lose control! What
is it with these inexperienced boys? I like their attention because it makes me feel young and
pretty again, but cant just one of these stupid guys acknowledge the fact they have a perfectly
wasted, experienced female alone in his car, willing and able, and wanting them to do something
about itlike, take advantage, do something that might hurt me, anything for their pleasure and
my pain. When Im drunk, I dont give a darn what happens to me, I just wish something would.
(Oh, yeah! Now Im livin the dream) I want to be used, but unbeknownst to me at the time, I
feel I deserve to be punished for the crimes Ive committed. I despised Kurt when he forced me
or hurt me, but a stranger is different, I wonder why? The voice in my head answers my
question.
I dont know, it just is.
Wow, thats deep. Thanks for that.
No problemIm here to help.

On nights I dont go home with Joseph, I drive back to my sisters house by Braille. She
lives an hour away in the opposite direction from the hour it takes me to go to my parents house
in the other direction. However, instead of The Killer Highway, I now have a narrow, curvy,
steep four-lane mountain road to contend with. Making matters worse, it has a solid cement
dividing wall separating the two lanes of traffic heading in my direction, from the two lanes of
traffic in which Im traveling. The wall between us is just six inches from the yellow line of the
inside lane which is scary, being that the wall is way too close for comfort. I have to concentrate
hard on trying to avoid hitting the barrier, but its especially difficult when everythings blurry.
In order to clear things up a bit and stay in my lane, I drive with one eye closed. This highway is
a gauntlet of death and if you ask me, its much worse than the Killer Highway ever was, but
what can I do? I ask myself then answer myself; I have to go home sometimes.


Chapter 38
Love is like a brick. You can build a house
or sink a dead body. ~Lady Gaga


Joseph and I grow closer even with all my immoral behavior. By the end of my month long,
drunken sex fest, he asks me to stop seeing other guys and just be with him. I agree, only because
what Im doing isnt filling in those empty spots anymore, and I decide a relationship is what I
need. Not a barefoot and pregnant kind of relationship, but a fun, adventurous, partying kind of
relationship where Im nobodys slaveespecially a barefoot and pregnant one.
My new boyfriend and I move-in together right away. Why drive the gauntlet of death every
night and risk an accident or worse, when I can crash in a posh bedroom at Josephs mothers
house in a cushy desert Country Club? Joseph is living in luxury while his mom, Marian is
working in St. Martin in the Caribbean so the condominium is all ours. Besides not risking my
life every night, it also feels good having someone to love again as well as having someone to
love me. The single life is for the birds; no more looking for love in all the wrong places. Ive
found my true love with Joseph, or some form of love, and thinking Im in love keeps my
feelings occupied so I can convince myself that I dont miss Jacob and Emily so much.
I get a job waiting tables at a Hamburger Hamlet in Palm Desert and I love every second of
it. I think Ive found my calling. Waitressing may not be the most glamorous job, but hey, being
able to move, socialize and joke around with customers while putting a big smile on their hungry
faces definitely helps lift the spirit. Hearing thank-you very much and other favorable comments
several times a day is much more enjoyable than sitting at a desk for eight hours trying to sell
over-priced oil to a bunch of middle-aged salesmen whose only response is hahahano thank-
youwhatd you do last night.
Working with the public is easy as well as lucrative even if I am hung-over most of the time.
When I get off work, I head for whatever local restaurant/bar Joseph is working at the time, and
dance and socialize while I wait for him to finish his shift. On our days off, we go to some of the
best restaurants in the desert to eat the best food and drink the best wine, or just stay home and
cook gourmet meals. Being in the restaurant business and being able to see and experience
incredible cuisine awakens a love of cooking in me that I didnt know existed. Im now fully
embracing this new passion along with Joseph, who is a food fanatic as well. Our favorite,
homemade Bruschetta appetizer, Caprasi salad with Bleu Cheese crumble, Veal Parmesan, pasta
tossed in butter and cheese together with steamed broccoli with garlic butter is much better than
what most restaurants serve. Of course, we always have a beautiful loaf of crusty bread and a
couple bottles of red wine to wash it all down. We love dining outside on Marians courtyard
overlooking the golf course as we enjoy the warm evening breezes, and incredible peach and
pink colored sunsets. After dinner, we either go swimming or stay-in watching movies, and if
you could have asked me right at that moment how I thought the rest of my life would turn out, I
would have told you that it looks as if Im in for a wonderful existence. Were living a carefree
lifestyle; something I think will be easy to manage for a long time.
While Im living it up, Kurt goes ahead with the divorce, and Im served the papers one
morning before work. I read that the case will be fairly straightforward since I havent asked for
anything and given that hes getting the kids, the house and everything in the house, he wont be
asking for child support either. Excuse me? How in the world could the idea that I might be
required to pay child support even cross his mind? The whole suggestion sounds ludicrous and
makes me angry at the thought of him actually thinking it.

Marian is Josephs mother. Shes a small, blond Italian firecracker who works for one of the
leading resort hotels selling timeshares here in the desert. She moved to the Caribbean with her
husband to work for a while but will be moving home soon. Soon is in the late summer of 1992,
when Marian and Tom come home for a visit and I meet them both for the first time. Im
embarrassed being the live-in girlfriend, especially since its Marians house and it wasnt she
who invited me to stay. She doesnt seem to mind, though she does have a look about her that
reminds me of my mothers look and I feel self-conscience and awkward around her. Marian is
an extremely strong, confident, successful, opinionated woman and even though shes only
410, she scares the heck out of me. I sometimes wonder what would happen if she and mama
were ever to meet. The battle that would ensue would be one for the history books, and I imagine
it being similar to a meeting between Alien vs. Predator or Freddy vs. Jason. Theyre both
strong, prideful, opinionated control freaks, resenting anyone who disagrees with them. So, to
prevent some unexpected negative reaction toward me, I try my best to be extremely helpful and
serve Marian in any way I can to make certain she takes a liking to me, and in doing so, avoid
getting the look I know shes perfectly capable of flashing toward anyone who irritates her.
Now, I know Im good at what Im trying to accomplish because of learning ever since I
was a child to be a giver not a taker; therefore, Im not too worried. I know that taking care of
someone elses needs provides a positive fulfillment in both myselfthe giver, with a sense of
acceptance and self-worth, and the person Im servingthe taker, with the egotistical
satisfaction of being served. Ive always encouraged other peoples dependence on me,
emotionally, physically, sexually and even financially if need be, because feeling needed
strengthens my non-existent self-esteem as well as easing my fear of rejection. Who couldnt
love someone who waits on them hand and foot in any of the afore mentioned ways? I know as
well that if Joseph sees how much his own mother likes me, the mother he needs acceptance and
approval from as much as I do, hell soon recognize that Im the one for him. Ill be the one he
needs as well as the one he cant live without. Therefore, I will win Marians acceptance and
approval, and then shell love me no matter what. Ill do what it takes, and if making someone
love me means kissing-butt, Im all in. I gotta do what I gotta do to survive, right?
Passive Behavior Problems
Passive behavior patterns are defined as patterns of behavior that respond to the false
assumption of the verbally abused child, or later adult, that the same imbalance of power he or
she experienced as a child with abusive others, continues to exist in relationships later in life.
Such assumptions produce patterns of allowing abuse or insult from others to continue in spite of
the negative consequences involved. (By Valerie Belew, eHow Contributor)
Marians husband, Tom is a genuine sweetheart, no butt-kissing needed here. Hes easy-
going, funny, accepting and kind, and Im quite comfortable around him especially since hes of
the male gender and not a mom. Hes a lot like my dad in the way he makes everyone feel at ease
except Tom isnt insecure with himself as my dad is, or seems to be to me. Overall, I like both
Marian and Tom and they like me, and dont mind me being the live-in girlfriend and sharing a
room in their home with Joseph.

Three months have gone by, and the reality of what Ive done hits me right between the eyes
like a baseball traveling at a hundred miles an hour. I miss my kids more than I can put into
words with the anguish Im experiencing feeling as if my insides are being ripped from my body
one by one. My heart is the exception, whereas it continues beating through the unbearable pain
just as a medieval torturer continues his persecution of a captive, not allowing death or relief
even through his anguished cries. Through it all, Im suffering as well from a wrenching,
piercing ache as my grief grabs hold of my mind, pulling and twisting without killing so that I
suffer eternally with the hurt as it goes on and onuntil suddenly Im lifeless, yet alive; numb,
but feeling everything. I cannot stop the dread and panic that have encased my heart because of
what Ive done to my children. I move about like a zombie, crying all the time like an undead,
blubbering baby. If I drive past a Target store I feel nauseous and break out in sobs remembering
the times I shopped there with Jacob and Emily. Target was our store. It feels as though the pain
Im going through is going to kill me so I decide I need to get back home. I tell Joseph Im
leaving the next day. Im going back home to my sweet, innocent angels.
Im sorry, but if I dont go I think I might die, I explain to Joseph matter-of factly. Hes
shocked at what hes hearing then reminds me that I said I was here for good, and how can you
do this to me?
I didnt know I would feel this way; I reply. His anger grows as he pleads with me but it
doesnt deter me. Im leaving. I have to see my kids.
I pack my things and head back up to Bellingham. Once again, I have twenty-four hours to
think about how Ill be able to live with Kurt again. Ill just have to suffer, thats all there is to it.
I have to be with my kids and who cares if Im miserable. I gotta do what I gotta do. I think
about the time, a month or two after I arrived in the desert, when Kurt had called me at Rachels
house wanting to know when I was coming home. I laughed, and told him that I wasnt going
home, that I wasnt kidding about wanting a divorce, and that the whole thing is real whether he
wants to believe it is or not. Now, here I am, running home with my tail between my legs,
desperate to be back with my children and my role as their motherbut as Kurts wife, not so
much. I can just imagine the humiliation hell put me through as well as the distrust hell have,
but I dont care, my kids are worth it.
I stop at a rest area for part of the night, and then resume my trek early the next morning.
Im nervous and anxious and cant this car go any faster? I arrive near noon. I see Kurt out in the
field working as I drive up the driveway. He sees and recognizes my car, but doesnt come in to
greet me which is unnerving to say the leastbut why would he? It must be shocking for him to
see me since I never told him that I was coming. The kids are playing near the house where I
park the car and as Im hurrying toward them, I realize they dont recognize me but I scoop them
up in my arms nonetheless. I hug and kiss them but they dont respond, and now I cant
determine if its because they dont know me, or if its because they didnt miss me. I wonder if
theyre old enough to be angry at me. Its certainly not the homecoming I imagined. I expected
some animosity from Kurt, but always pictured the kids running into my arms screaming
mommy! followed by kissing and hugging and none of us wanting to let go; however, that is far
from the case.
Then theres the house. I walk in and instantly feel trepidation and panic come over me as
well as feeling as if the walls are closing in around me. I try to ignore the crushing sensation and
concentrate on listening to what Jacob is saying to me, but as I look around at what used to be
my home, I start breathing more rapidly as the sense of being thrown back into a steel cage
overwhelms me. Then, in walks Kurt and we look at each other for the first time in months.
What are you doing here? He asks coldly. Just seeing him causes me to recall the
hundreds of robotic hellos, the unwanted sex, the lack of emotion and communication from him
and combined with the coldness of his voice, plus the lack of recognition and excitement from
the kidsit all hits me like a sledgehammer. After an hour of trying to overcome all of these
negative feelings and failing miserably, I jump back in my car and drive away as fast as I can.
Kurt is standing in stunned silence, first, that I was even there, and second, because hes now
watching me drive away with hardly an explanation for either. And for the second time in a few
short months, my family has to watch me walk out of their lives yet again. Whats wrong with
me?
Joseph is working when I arrive back in the desert so I head straight to the bar to surprise
him. I do, though he has to act all hurt and angry that Id just up and leave him as I didwhich
should have been a sign of things to comebut how was I to know.
In the twenty-four hours I had to reflect on my way back down the west coast of the United
States for the second time, I think about what I should do and where I should go. The only
choices I have are my parents, my sister or back with Joseph. I decide it has to be Joseph
because, if truth be told, I dont want to go back to my sisters house, mostly because of not
liking her all that much, and I dont want to go to my parents house for obvious reasons, so
Joseph it is. I like him, or love him well enough, and sharing rent as well as always having
company, with benefits, seems the easiest and most fun option. I think for a whole minute about
living on my own, but since Ive never been alone in my life, I honestly dont have any idea how
to go about attempting it. In addition, if I live with Joseph, I might be able to settle down and get
off the emotional rollercoaster Im riding, except; unbeknownst to my young, emotionally
damaged heart, therell be no stopping this ride any time soon.


Chapter 39
In the early years you fight because you dont understand each other.
In later years, you fight because you do. ~Joan Didion


The first time it happens, Im so thoroughly shocked I just grab my things and storm out of
the house with Joseph at my heels begging me to stay. He apologizes profusely to the point of
tears as he grabs hold of my hand, but I scream at him to let me go.
Its over! Were over! I tell him. I wont be one of those womenthe kind that just sits
back and takes it...no way, not me! Im way too strong for thatbut, there are the tears. A man is
actually crying for me not to leave him as well as promising it will never happen again. I stop, I
listen, I stay. However, just to make it clear, I tell him if he ever puts his hands around my throat
again its overfor real!

Passive Aggressive Behavior
The verbally abused child develops into an adult with expectations that verbal abuse will take
place, and that he or she will be powerless to stop it. In most instances the individual is more
likely to allow bullying by other children, and possibly physical abuse, later in life. (By Valerie
Belew, eHow Contributor) Many of these people are what used to be termed as passive
aggressive. They dont like what a person says or does, or how others treat them, yet they accept
it. They never learned as a child to be assertive because everything they did was criticized,
ignored, or devalued in some way. (Carol Roach, Psychologist)
Im broken. My emotional foundation is damaged and everyone knows you cant build a
house on a damaged foundation, nor can you create emotional stability in your life if the very
center of your soul is broken. Foundational trauma impacts every aspect of our existence, but
mostly our self-worth as it influences what we think of ourselves and our role in each and every
relationship. My damaged foundation makes me a needy adult with my neediness being
insatiable, and in the end, painful. Insatiable because of feeling desperate for love but never
getting enough love to satisfy my need or make me feel that I deserve to be loved, and painful,
because of never getting the need for true love filled. I, therefore, stay in abusive situations and
unhealthy relationships just to hang onto the illusion of love.
Im ashamed of myself for being so desperate for confirmation of my self-worth. If only I
had even a shred of self-esteem I wouldnt need others to make me feel worthy ofanything. I
fear that if Joseph realizes how needy I actually am, he wont be able to handle this particular
weakness in me since he seems worse off in the needs department than I do. Furthermore,
because of him being as needy as me, his neediness makes me even more determined to act as if
Im strong and independentthus, ignoring my own needs. I mean, who would want to be with a
needy person if you, yourself are a needy person? So, if I can meet the needy persons needs, I
then believe this person will never leave me, the secretly needy person, and in turn, I feel a sense
of security which convinces me that at least a fragment of my own needs are being met. The
problem is, I feel so completely satisfied with whatever fragment I believe Im getting, I dont
realize Im receiving nothing from the other person. Does that make sense? Anyhow, I just want
to be looked at as a normal person, yet, Ive never met a normal person who is as emotionally
needy as I am even though being normal and fitting-in is all Ive ever wanted.
Codependency
The term codependency has been around for almost four decades. Although it originally applied
to spouses of alcoholics, first called co-alcoholics, researchers revealed that the characteristics
of codependents were much more prevalent in the general population than had been imagined.
In fact, they found that if you were raised in a dysfunctional family or had an ill parent, youre
likely codependent. (By Darlene Lancer JD, MFT, Lancer, D. (2012).
I soon learn living with an alcoholic/drug addict is not fun, but being its still early in our
relationship, things are still enjoyable most of the time. Were still learning things about each
other, and isnt that how its supposed to be? I still feel comatose with the agony of missing my
kids, but I must continue to live and function, and having Joseph helpshalf the time. Hes
usually funny and charming and proud to have me as his girlfriend. He has an arrogant
confidence about him thats strangely appealing and makes me feel safe. The other half of our
time together, however, he acts intolerably immature in an almost infantile way.
But its only when hes high, I keep telling myself; but it still makes my skin crawl.
Joseph acting like a baby is such a turn-off I figure I had better say something about his baby-
like behavior just in case he doesnt realize he has this babyish alter ego. Its for his own good
since Ill be doing him, and me, not to mention our relationship a favor. I decide Ill tell him in
the morning since morning is the best time for talking because of us both being sober. I proceed
to tell him one bright, sunny morning before anyone starts drinking, or lights a joint for the first
hit of the day, and theres no chance hell get annoyed because of thinking that Im picking on
him.
Um, Joseph?
Yeah?
I was just wonderingdo you realize that you act like a baby when youre high? Its a
complete turn-off for me, soooo, I was hoping youd stop acting that way or youre never gonna
get any I make a joke to keep the conversation light-hearted.
I do? Really? Okay sweetie, Ill try to stop. What a relief; I think to myself, except the
next time he gets high the baby is back, and the only thing I can do is watch TV, ignore him and
look annoyedbecause I am.
Josephs temper is one for the record books. Its hair-trigger fast, extremely violent and
extremely LOUD. Alcohol is the demon that brings it out, with him being a classic Dr. Jekyll and
Mr. Hyde. Give Joseph a drink and the transformation happens right before my disbelieving eyes
just like the storm that arose whenever mama had a drink. I believe its only when hes drunk,
but I notice one day, after stopping by a little biker bar for a beer, that it only takes one drink to
change my happy-go-lucky boyfriend into a monster, and then I find myself doing a double-take
to see if Im sitting next to the same person.
The day I figure this out we decide to stop for a beer after a lovely day of seeing the sights
around the desert, thinking one beer wont hurt my sightseeing companion. But by the time we
finish our one beer, everything I say becomes an attack on him, to him and about him. When
were halfway through our second one beer, Ive already been called a couple of particularly
nasty names in which I reply back with some nasty names of my own like you pathetic,
worthless drunk; I cant take you anywhere. We walk into the bar all smiles, and out of the bar in
a rage. Sometimes I get so frustrated Ill start mumbling to myself, things like: We were having
such a lovely day and then you have to go and ruin it, you blankety-blank-blankexcept, Joseph
always hears me and then Ill get even more names thrown at me that Im too embarrassed to
repeat.
Its surprising to me how quickly alcohol changes him as I sit thinking of mama and her
martinis, and to make matters worse, once Joseph has a drink he also needs to get high no matter
where we are or what were doing. I now hate the high Joseph, compared to when I first met him
and thought it made him look cool, so now I get angry and start complaining whenever he
smokes. Hes started the habit of lying about his habit because of my new reaction, but its one
of the dumbest ideas hes ever had. Its nearly impossible to hide the fact he just took some hits
off a joint because of his red, squinty eyes and his stupid smile, and along with the skunky smell
drifting off of him, you would have to be dead not to notice.
When Joseph returns to the bar, or to the table, or to the movie, or to whatever were doing
at the time, and I look at him and see his squinty eyes or hear his baby voice, I know, and then I
have to make it known that I know.
Youve been smoking; I always seem to say it as if Im surprised, yet Im not, not
anymore.
Hahaha, no I wasnt; he says with a big stupid grin plastered across his face.
Yes, you were.
No, I was not.
Whatever; you must think Im stupid.
You must think Im stupid to smoke here.
But you did smoke here.
No, I didnt!
Then why are your eyes all red and squinty?
Theyre not.
And you stink. Why would I smell marijuana if you didnt just smoke marijuana?
I dont know, maybe someone else just smoked and you smell it on them.
Youre such a cussword. I cant believe you can just sit here and argue about the fact of
whether or not youve smoked when you know you did. You know Im right!
Yeah, youre always right. He then starts to mutter under his breath; grrrrrr-grumm-grrrr-
blankety-blankwhich means hes getting pissed.
What did you just say? I have to ask.
Nothing.
Yes, you did! You just called me a blankety-blank.
Well, thats because you are a blankety-blank! I cant even enjoy a nice smoke without you
freaking-out and cussing at me!
Well, maybe its because you act like an idiot when youre high! Its embarrassing! I then
storm out from wherever we are and now I wont talk to him which makes him even angrier. I
get even irate when I think about how he thinks Im so stupid that I dont know he just smoked,
and then having the audacity to lie about it. Cussing cussword!
Im going to Bobs; Joseph announces.
Oh great, run to your boyfriend Bob so you can get really cussed-up.
Thats right! Im gonna get so high I wont be able to stand!
Whatever! You Cussword!
Im gonna leave your blankety-blank! He shouts at me.
Fine!
Fine!

Lying
When a person frequently denies or flat out lies about things that he has said previously,
insisting that you are the one who is wrong and misunderstood what was said, this is an
indicator of verbal abuse. (By Cindi Pearce, eHow Contributor)
Bob is Josephs longtime friend. When Joseph attended Bartending School after leaving
prison, Bob was his instructor. Bob is in his fifties and has been smoking pot his whole life.
Joseph is twenty-nine and has been smoking since he was thirteen. Once Bob and Joseph found
each other, and found out they both loved getting high more than anything else in the world, it
was love at first drag. Theyve been smoking buddies from then on, and Ill never be able to
compete though I continue to try without success. Bob is a constant thorn in my side even though
Ive always liked Bob as an individual. Many times in the beginning when I didnt mind Joseph
smoking, we would go over to the school and hang-out with our good ol buddy Bob, and every
now and then I would even join them in a smoke. However, as the days, months and years pass, I
start resenting Bob for the attention he receives from Joseph which far outweighs the attention
Im ever shown by the boyfriend whos supposed to love me.

Joseph and I are having a romantic dinner alone; candles, wine, music, the night is perfect.
We open the wine while were cooking and were on our second bottle by the time we sit to eat.
Then the phone rings; its Bob. Joseph answers, and is happy to hear from his buddy as is
expected. My heart sinks as a blazing heat rises up to the surface of my skin while I wonder what
his decision will be. Will he stay, or will he go and leave me sitting here at the table alone? I
already know the answer.
Well, hello Bob; Joseph says into the phone. How are you? Im good as well, thank-you
very much for asking. Oh, Im just about finished having a lovely dinner with Penny. Really? Oh
really? Well Bob, Id love to join you for a smoke. Yes; okay. Ill see you in about twenty
minutes. Okay, you too. I will. See you soon.
Whenever Joseph speaks to Bob about getting high, he speaks as if hes the Duke of
Edinburgh or some other refined, well-mannered, gentlemanly-type person, and when Im not
mad, its sexy and funny. But right now I think its stupid and irritating and it makes me wonder
if he thinks speaking in an elegant and well-mannered voice when talking about getting high,
makes leaving his girlfriend in the middle of a romantic dinner to smoke pot, seem less self-
centered and rude.
Im seething when I look at him.
Bob says hello; Joseph says as casually as if he were about to sit back down with me
instead of getting ready to leave.
Are you kidding me? Uh-ah, no way. Joseph knows what I mean.
Ill only be gone a half an hour.
No, this is our night. Weve just had a romantic dinner and were having such a good time,
do you seriously want to ruin it?
It will only be for a few minutes.
Yeah, right. Dont you care about me? Cant you even spend one whole night with me
without Bob?! Do you even love me?
This has nothing to do with you! If you didnt have to be such a cussword about me leaving
for a few minutes, I could be there and back by now and we could still be having a good time.
Youre such a b@#$%!
Of course, now its my fault! I snap. And now Im a b@#$%? You cussing cussword!
You are a b@#$%!! I dont even know what Im doing here! Joseph yells.
I dont either since you obviously love Bob more than me! Why dont you just cuss him? I
scream.
Joseph storms out and he doesnt return for four hours, drunk and high as a kite. Im glaring
at the television when he walks in, pretending I dont notice him as he pretends he doesnt notice
the look on my face after saying hello as if nothings happened. Ive been left brewing in my
anger for the last four hours, and as soon as he opens his mouth I lay into him. Its the same
fight, different day. Our fights range from the silent treatment, to yelling, to breaking things, to
him pushing, choking or threatening to hit me. Im actually surprised he has enough self-control
to keep from hitting me since Im usually provoking him to do so, being Im as angry at him as
he is at me. Except, if he ever does make the mistake of hitting me, the fight wont end until I
make darn sure hes missing an eyeball or can no longer use his peniswhich Im all too eager
and capable of carrying out.
Psychological Abuse
Domestic psychological or emotional abuse may happen behind closed doors where no one else
is around to see. Emotional abuse is sometimes hard to recognize. Friends and loved ones of an
emotionally abused victim may not be aware of the situation unless the victim talks about it,
however, there may be some differences in the victims behavior. Domestic psychological abuse
can have long-term consequences especially when the victim does not seek counseling. (By Ella
Miller, eHow Contributor)
Having an occasional brawl is one thing, but to me, its nowhere near as damaging as when
Joseph calls me names, or tells me that I make things up, or that Im the one lying. He twists my
comments around and shoots back at me what I say about him, which doesnt make sense and is
maddening as all getup since he seems to believe everything hes saying. Once I realize what
hes doing and before I lose it and go off the deep end, Ill just shut my mouth and bite my
tongue until hes out of ammunition.
Youre sick! Ill say to him when hes finished, but then hell just throws that back in my
face and say Im the one whos sick. He just has to have the last word, so Ill just exit stage left,
still seething and full of hate. I go to my room, Joseph sleeps on the couch, and the next morning
when the sun is shining and the birds are singing and the smell of fresh coffee fills the house, the
night before doesnt seem so bad.
Codependency
Codependents need other people to like them to feel okay about themselves. Theyre afraid of
being rejected or abandoned even if they can function on their own. Others need always to be in
a relationship, because they feel depressed or lonely when theyre by themselves for too long.
This trait makes it hard for them to end a relationship, even when the relationship is painful or
abusive. They end-up feeling trapped. (By Darlene Lancer, JD, MFT, Lancer, D. 2012).

Chapter 40
Sometimes people in love mistake
a pimple for a dimple.


Im confused; I love Joseph but also feel as if I hate him at the same time. I finally
understand the meaning of the phrase, Theres a fine line between Love and Hate from first-
hand experience now that Im living with Dr. Jekyll and his crazy alter ego, Mr. Hyde. One
moment I can love him so much it hurts, then Mr. Hyde shows-up and the next thing I know, I
hate him so much it hurts, but then one day he goes and reveals something to me I wish wasnt
true, but which makes me feel tremendous compassion for him no matter how much I hate him at
any given moment. He tells me about his childhood and Im all ears, feeling its good for him to
open-up and talk about his past. I should know since Ive been in this exact position before
where opening up and talking helped me.
Joseph starts by telling me that he grew-up in New York with his three older brothers, his
mother, and his physically abusive father who he said used his mom as a punching bag. When
Marian had enough of her husbands abuse, she divorced him, then jumped right into a new
marriage to not only another wife beater, but unbeknownst to her, a sexual predator of young
boys as well. When Joseph turns eight, daddy dearest turns his attention toward him with the
sexual abuse lasting until hes fifteen-years old. He explains to me how being sexually abused as
an adolescent boy made him suffer, about the threats made if he told anyone, and how he dealt
with the unending visits from his step-father to his bedroom. The molestation ends only after
Joseph builds up the courage to tell Marian, who not only doesnt believe him, but who, on the
same night after hearing his story, sleeps in the same bed with the man whos molesting her
youngest son. These facts devastate Joseph, and he runs away to start life on his own.
How could she do that to her own son? How could she do that to me? Joseph cries out in
pain. I start crying with him seeing the pain hes in, and then swear Ill always be here for him
because I truly understand what hes going through. Honestly, who better to turn to for support
than someone who has been through similar circumstances? The doorway in which the pain
enters may be different, but its all the same feelings of worthlessness, self-hate and anger.
I love you so much and I never want to hurt you again; Joseph says to me in complete
sincerity. I will never hurt you again.
I know, I know youve never meant to hurt me; I insist, truly believing he doesnt want to
hurt me.
Ill also try to stop getting high; Joseph promises.
Really? That would be wonderful and the best thing forus. I just want us to work out.
Me too; I love you.
I love you too; I reply wholeheartedly. I know now that I need to be more understanding
and forgiving of this poor, troubled soul.

Poor Boundaries
Caretaking, an effect of poor boundaries, is that if someone else has a problem, you want to help
them to the point that you give up yourself. Its natural to feel empathy and sympathy for
someone, but codependents start putting other people ahead of themselves. In fact, they need to
help and might feel rejected if another person doesnt want help. Moreover, they keep trying to
help and fix the other person, even when that person clearly isnt taking their advice. (By
Darlene Lancer, JD, MFT, Lancer, D. (2012).
The next month rolls-on as if our conversation never happened as far as the not wanting to
hurt me part, or the trying to quit getting high part goes. I wonder if hes forgotten about not
wanting to hurt me anymore. Maybe he just meant physical harm, with emotions being another
issue all together. Yeah, that must be it. Joseph continues running to Bobs house or office
everyday no matter how I feel or what I say about his leaving. I try ignoring the fact hes going
back on his word to see if hell realize it himself, or see if maybe, maybe I can manage to live
with him the way he isbut to no avail. I just cant stand who Joseph becomes when hes high,
and the fact he cant make it through one minute of the day without a hit, is to me, an enormous
weakness that I cannot respect. Im now feeling emotionally beat-up. The combination of
Josephs behavior, his disregard for my feelings, and the stress and sadness from missing my
kids is leaving me mentally exhausted.
One night, Im feeling particularly down but after having dinner and a few glasses of wine, I
start feeling better. Joseph and I relax in our room to watch some television after an enjoyable,
uneventful evening and Im hoping it doesnt end. However, when the phone rings and Joseph
answers it, I know its Bob because of Josephs well-mannered and courteous manner of
speaking.
Good evening Robert, how are you? Oh, Id love too. My heart starts pumping faster as
fear and anger at the thought of him leaving starts simmering below the surface. It doesnt matter
that Im feeling bad or sad or both, it doesnt matter that were having a quiet evening at home,
nothing matters but his buddy Bob and getting high.
Are you going to go? I ask him when he comes back into the room, hoping beyond hope,
hell find it in his heart to stay though I already know that his answer will be yes.
Dont worry, Ill be back in a few minutes.
I dont care if youre gone a few minutes or a few hours, thats not the problem! The
problem is you going in the first place!
Well, you know what? I dont care if you dont like it because Im going whether you like
it or not. Im not doing anything wrong!
I stay in my seat and respond with venom-filled words, which in turn, get me cussed out, but
sitting saves me from his hands around my throat which Im now fully aware can occur at a
moments notice. He storms out the door and doesnt return for hours. Its then when I have an
epiphany. I realize men, or at least the two men Ive had in my life so far, dont think theyre in
the wrong no matter who is hurt by their actions, and by whom I mean me, just as long as they
believe what theyre doing isnt wrong. I start wondering if all men are like this and if they are, I
dont think Ill ever be happy since all they seem to care about is whether or not theyre happy.
Whenever I accuse Joseph of being selfish and uncaring, he adamantly denies it with furious
outrage. So, if its not him whos being selfish and uncaring, maybe its me. Maybe I should just
shut my mouth and let him be happy with whatever hes doing becauseisnt it my decision to
stay with him? I find it ironic that someone so selfish is the cause of my pain after all the pain
Ive caused because of my selfishness. I deserve it! I say out loud. I deserve everything I get. I
slide to the floor and cry and fume about Joseph and his pot as well as my life in general. I go to
the kitchen, grab another bottle of wine and start gulping down glassfuls trying to numb the pain.
It doesnt work; it just fuels my out-of-control feelings when all I want is for these out-of-control
feelings to stop. I cant take it anymore; my feelings of worthlessness are killing me. No one has
ever truly loved me in my entire lifeIm just a waste of spacewhy am I even alive?? I cant
even compete with a plant! Granted, its a highly addictive plant, but still!
I sit staring into a broken mirror leaning on the wall, broken during one of Josephs and my
fights. I remove a piece of broken, jagged glass from the frame and flip it around wondering how
to make the best use of it. Either kill Joseph or kill myself. I just need to kill the pain! I think
about how Ive hurt my children, and Kurt, and how the man I now love will never love me as
much as he loves his drugs. It feels as if Im still just as worthless as when a young girl. Am I so
worthless? I start crying harder as I try to cut my wrist. It hurts, but I want it to hurt, I want to
feel the pain, I deserve to feel the pain. I keep running the shard of glass across my wrist but the
best I can do are some scratches. Whats wrong with this thing? I look at the glass and feel the
edge with my finger. It feels sharp, so why wont it cut through my skin? I never realized skin is
so tough and rubbery before, but I guess it makes sense.
Now would you please stop thinking about the toughness of skin and get back to
concentrating on what youre doingGeez. The voice in my head says impatiently.
Oh, forget it! I throw the glass away, realizing as I do that my concentrating on physical
painthe scratches Ive made are burning at leastalong with my silly conversation with
myself about skin texture has made the pain inside subside, and is much easier to handle than my
agonizing emotional pain. Ill have to remember that.
Borderline Personality Disorder
The stigma surrounding borderline personality disorder includes the belief that people with BPD
are prone to violence toward others. While movies and visual media often sensationalize people
with BPD by portraying them as violent, the majority of researchers agree that people with BPD
are unlikely to physically harm others. Although people with BPD often struggle with
experiences of intense anger, a defining characteristic of BPD is that they direct it inward
toward themselves. People with BPD avoid expressing their anger through violence by causing
physical damage to themselves, such as engaging in non-suicidal self-injury. (Chapman & Gratz
2007)
A few days later, I start feeling sick. I cant eat, I cant drink, but its not all the time. Im
fine all day but then start feeling queasy by late afternoon and on into the evening. I have a baaad
feeling about this. I buy a pregnancy test and rush home to see what my future holds. I pee on the
little white stick and wait even though I already know what information the pretty pink lines will
divulge. Crapola! Two pretty pink lines! Just what I suspected, but stillCRAP! I have mixed
feelings about my situation. On one hand, there is no way I want a child right now after leaving
my first two, but on the other hand, maybe having a baby will help Joseph stop smoking and
bring us together. I mean, having Emily certainly helped Kurt and my relationship; I think
sarcastically.
I tell Joseph that night and he seems genuinely excited. We tell Marian, and she seems
happy as well, but were all a little unsure about the prospect of Joseph and I having a child
together though no one says it out loud. I cant decide how I feel, so I decide to sleep on it for a
couple of weeks. Time marches on, but I dont get much sleep at all and I wonder why when we
say were going to sleep on something, its then when we get the least amount of sleep.
Joseph and I talk about the pros and cons of having a child together a few different times.
Im not happy about being pregnant and Im starting to think I dont want another child, ever. I
also know for certain theres no way I can have another baby so soon after leaving Jacob and
EmilyI mean, how would they feel? I wont do that to them. Its settled then. I tell Joseph Ive
made-up my mind about what Im going to do about the pregnancy, and he seems to understand
until one evening after having too much to drink.
Why dont you want my baby? He blubbers through his tears. If you dont have my baby
youll be taking away my only chance to be loved forever. I just want someone to love me
forever!
What do you mean? I ask a little freaked-out. Ive never seen a grown man cry so hard
before.
I mean, everyone in my life has left me, but my child will always love me no matter what!
Hes bawling and sounding so desperate as he pleads his case, but all I can do is explain my not
wanting a baby has nothing to do with him, although, Im now starting to think part of my reason
does.
I find out that there just so happens to be an abortion clinic in Palm Desert, so I make plans
with my friend, Nicole to go with me so she can drive me home when the deed is done. We
arrive early in the morning and there are already five girls waiting to see the doctor.
Im nervous about the unknown, with the other girls looking just as nervous. I dont know if
this doctor performs regular gynecological procedures along with killing non-babies, so I assume
the other girls are there to absolve themselves of their little dilemma as well. Most of the girls
have their boyfriends with them for support, but they look just as nervous and embarrassed as the
girlfriend hes there supporting. I suppose no one would be proud to be sitting in an abortion
clinic as if getting an abortion is a rite of passage into adulthood, and furthermore; who in their
right mind would volunteer to walk through all those crazy, obsessive picketers outside if they
didnt have to? All those Dudley do-gooders who stand shouting and snarling like dogs on chains
at whomever walks by, snapping at the irresponsible woman or teenager whos about to make a
life-altering decision to go through with the murder of an innocent life and hoping to dissuade
her in the worst, most daunting way possible. They make us feel like criminalsas if we dont
feel guilty enough already? The clinic has bars on the windows for goodness sake! I then wonder
why were being called murderersI mean, I know Im not killing a baby; Im putting a stop to
some cells becoming a baby. Besides, its perfectly legal so Im innocent of literal murder!
My name is called and I follow the nurse to the back. I ask her how many times a day
theyyou knowdo it, and she says at least fifty. Fifty times a day? Thats about two hundred
and fifty times a week.
Thats two hundred and fifty babies; the voice in my head announces as I sit wondering
about this fact. I feel so ashamed and embarrassed now that Im part of the slaughter of hundreds
of innocent babies, but surely, if theres any place I wont be judged, its here. I gotta do what I
gotta do; I say to myself. Besides, Im told whats growing inside of me isnt even a baby yet
since Im only six weeks along, so just shut-up and leave me alone.
The nurse moves robotically as she takes my vitals. She doesnt talk to me like most vital-
takers so I feel as if shes judging me for sure. I try to convince her that I dont have any idea
how this could have happened. I mean, I know how this happened, I just dont how I could have
become pregnant. I mean, Im on the pill, so this shouldnt have happened. I must sound pathetic
trying to defend myself to the robotic, vital-taking nurse as she listens to my babbling out of
politeness Im sure, and because shes stuck in the room with me as part of her job. She probably
hears the same story at least fifty times a day. The nurse finally nods as if she understands, then
tells me to try to relax. Easy for her to say.
Does it hurt? I ask her just trying to get some kind of information about what Im in for.
You will feel something, mostly tugging, but the pain isnt that unpleasant. It doesnt
actually hurt; she says in a mechanical voice.
So, there is pain? Once more, she says the pain isnt that bad in a slightly more irritated
tone.
So there is pain. Again, a statement she must respond to at least fifty times a day while
wishing she could just say what she actually wants to say which might be something like;
What do you think? Something is being removed from your body that isnt supposed to be
removed from your body, and if you hadnt been so irresponsible you wouldnt have to worry
about whether or not theres pain! I think Ill just shut-up for now.
When the doctor calls me back to the room, I smile and try to look unconcerned with whats
about to happen. He doesnt ease my fears one bit since hes the scariest looking doctor Ive ever
seen. He reminds me of Dr. Frankenstein getting ready to work on his monster strapped down on
the gurney in front of him. He doesnt smile and barely makes eye contact, and is treating me as
if hes disgusted with all of us girls and/or women getting knocked-up and coming to him to take
care of our little problem. Im not like all of those other girls; I think to myself; Im different.
How exactly am I different? Im not sure, I just am, besides, who is he to judge? Hes just as
guilty as we are, if not more. Hes the one killingoopsI mean, removing the cells from our
wombs! Dr. Frankensteins voice brings me back to the land of the living as he mumbles
something about being sure of my decision, then something else about what Ill feel during the
procedure as well as how long it will take.
As I get on the bed and try to find the stirrups, I cant help but think about all the girls in the
waiting room with their scared-looking boyfriends next to them, then I wonder, where the heck is
Joseph? He doesnt even care about me enough to take the day off to be with me as I terminate
our non-baby. What a jerk! My thoughts about Josephs selfishness are yanked right out of my
head along with what seems to be my guts as the procedure starts, and then my thinking quickly
turns toOh cussword, this hurts! Tugging? Did someone tell me that Id feel tugging? How
about ripping?! Tearing?! Scraping?! No wonder women used to die from abortions. I feel as if
Im going to die before the doctor is half done.
Its almost over; I hear a voice say. We just need to make sure we clean you out
completely. Just relax and breathe. Again, easy for them to say! Tears start running down the
sides of my face.
Ok, were done. It wasnt too bad was it? Are you kidding? Im just wondering if they
make sure it hurts enough so all of us irresponsible girls wont be back for another cleaning any
time soon. Just get me outta here!
Oh my gosh, the cramps! Unbelievable! Cramps so soon?
Oh yes, youll be having cramps and bleeding for the next two weeks; they tell me, along
with some other dos and donts. Im bent over from the pain as I hobble out the back door to the
parking lot like a paroled criminal, and where Nicole is waiting for me.
Its a good idea to shoo us out the back so the girls in the waiting room wont see the pain
were in and change their minds; I joke. Nicole laughs and agrees, then drives me home,
helping me into bed where I stay the rest of the day.
The hassle and stress of being pregnant is over, and Im relieved. Within one day, I feel the
effects of the pregnancy hormones dissipating and I feel like my old self again. Never again. I
will never let that happen again. Ill have to be even more diligent with my pill taking even
though I feel I always have been, but then again, I have two kids and an abortion to show for my
diligent pill-taking now. It must be my fault. I mustve missed a pill one day which has to be
why I keep ending-up pregnant. Fertile Myrtle thats me; I just look at a penis and I get pregnant,
but no more. Im not going through that again. No way, not me, not ever.


Chapter 41
Denial>noun 1. Psychological refusal to acknowledge an unacceptable truth or emotion.


I need to see my kids. Its already been seven months since my last visit and I think if I dont
see them soon Ill go crazy. I actually make plans with Kurt this time, letting him know Im
coming and when Ill be there. He says hes putting restrictions on where I can see Jacob and
Emily and for how long, so I dont mislead them again with my coming then going. I understand
how he feels, but it also sounds as if hes trying to discourage me from coming at all. He tells me
that Im not allowed in the house, but that I can pick the kids up and take them to the park. Oh,
and you only have two hours to spend with them and if you dont like my terms, you dont have
to come. Fine, as long as I get to see them.
I pack some clothes, tell Joseph Ill see him in a few days and off I go. I stop at a hotel this
time instead of driving straight through so Ill be refreshed and ready when its time to spend my
two hours with my babies. I follow the directions to my ex-familys new address and find the
house with no problem. Its a pretty two-story with flower gardens in front and Im suddenly
envious of Kurts new life. He sold the house in the country and moved into town closer to work
since I was the only one who wanted to live in the country. There was no reason for him to stay
there and have to continue to commute forty-five minutes every day.
Its late morning when I pull-up so I know Kurt wont be there. I planned on this from the
beginning since I knew Sherry would be home with the kids as well as being a whole lot easier to
deal with and much to my relief, shes happy to see me.
Kurt told me not to let you in, but I think thats silly; Sherry mentions to me. I dont
think itll hurt anybody if you come in for a minute.
I was hoping you would say that, thank-you; I say with relief. We sit and talk for quite a
while as she catches me up on the kids lives, and how everyone is handling all the changes. It
takes a little while for the kids to remember me, but eventually they warm-up and start calling
me mommy, for which Im extremely grateful. We go to the local park and play on the
playground, and I dont waste any time reminding them of how much I love and miss them. My
visit is only two days long, but it fills a hole in my heart that Ive lived with for so longuntil
its time to say goodbye. I hadnt thought about the saying goodbye part, nor could I foretell how
hard it would be.
The second morning of my stay, I head over to the house once I know Kurt has left for work
and the kids come running up to me squealingmommy! I scoop them up and we hug and kiss
each other like we never want to let go. I wish this was the way it had been on my last fateful
visit, then maybe I wouldve stayed. I sit and talk with my now three-year-old son and fifteen-
month-old daughter as I try to explain my having to leave again. I say my goodbyes while Sherry
holds onto Jacob and Emilys hands. I walk out the front door and head to my car when
suddenly, Emily runs to the window crying and screaming, mommy! I run back in, hold her and
try to explain to her that I must go. Sherry comes over and takes her and puts her on her lap, but
Emily just screams louder as she squirms, trying to get away from her grandmother. I quickly go
through the door as I fight back tears. I can still hear her screaming from inside the house, and as
I turn and look, I see her little face in the oversized picture window with her hands above her
head and flat on the glass while crying her little eyes out. I can hardly force myself into my car.
My heart is breaking, the tears are flowing and I just want to stay and hold her forever. My little
girl; my little girl Ive never known. Oh, how I want her now. I know I need to leave if only to
help her calm down. I can still see her beautiful face in the window, so desperate for me to stay,
so devastated watching me leave. I know her image will never fade from my memory and will
forever haunt me until I can resolve my relationship with my beautiful lost daughter.
I call Joseph as soon as I reach my hotel room for the night. I feel as if Ive been run over by
a truck and want to hear some comforting words. I let the phone ring until the answering
machine turns on.
Hey Joseph, would you mind calling me. Ive had a pretty rough day and want to tell you
about it. Love you, miss you, bye. An hour goes by and I call again, and again the answering
machine picks-up. Um, hi Joseph, its me; just calling to talk. Where are you? Call me, love
you, bye. Another hour goes by. I call again but this time I dont leave a message. I feel panicky
now, not knowing if hes out doing something he shouldnt be doing. I call Bob, but theres no
answer at work or home. I leave a message asking him to have Joseph call me if he sees him. My
mind is racing coming-up with all kinds of disastrous scenarios as to where Joseph would be
without me there to babysit.
My first thought is that hes probably out with Bob getting drunk and high, except, I know
Bob is teaching class tonightunless he took the night off since Joseph was going to be free
with me being out of town. I then think that he might have been pulled over for D.U.I. while
driving drunk and high and hes sitting in a jail cell right now, or he was in an accident because
of driving drunk and high and hes sitting in the hospital right now, or he maybe hes be dead.
He could just be out with co-workers getting drunk and high, but then therell probably be
gorgeous women getting drunk and high with him, and hell love that, and then hell want to be
with them instead of me, the one who gives him a hard time whenever he gets drunk and high!
Darn it! Why do I give him such a hard time all the time? Why cant I just be the girlfriend who
wants to get drunk and high with him?
I call him again. The thought that he made plans the second he knew I was leaving town
infuriates and worries me. Is it normal for a boyfriend to make plans as soon as he knows his
girlfriend is leaving town? Im not sure. Its after midnight when Joseph finally answers the
phone.
Where have you been? I ask as soon as he says hello.
I was with Bob. We went out to eat, then went back to the school and hung-out. Of course,
he sounds drunk, high and just downright wasted.
I called the school over and over! I retort, waiting for him to make up a lie as to why he
and Bob didnt hear the phone.
We mustve been outside smoking.
Every time I called?
I dont knowbut thats where we were.
Ah-ha, sure. Theres nothing else I can say and I certainly dont feel like getting into an
argument right now, besides, hell just defend himself to the death so whats the point. I proceed
to tell him about the painful goodbye between my kids and me, and how awful it had been
watching Emilys little face in the window as I pulled away, but Joseph isnt even listening. He
has nothing to say about anything and when I call him out on his apparent lack of interest, he just
says, Im listening.
No youre not! Youre drunk arent you? You fell asleep!
I had a few beers and I mightve nodded off for just a second but Im listening.
More than a few Id say. I then begin accusing him of being selfish and uncaring because
now Im angry, but it only makes him irritated that Im getting angry and he hangs-up on me. I
slam down the receiver and sit in stunned silence, then start to cry. What am I doing? Im with a
man who doesnt even miss me when Im gone. All he cares about is getting as high and drunk
as a skunk because Im not there to give him a hard time about getting high and drunknot that
me giving him a hard time has ever stopped himbut it cant be true! He cant possibly love
drugs more than me especially when I love him so much! Theres just no way; I say to myself as
I turn on the TV. I gradually fall asleep still thinking about the possibility that Im in a loveless
relationship. Naw.
The next morning the sun is shining, Im on the road again and now the phone call from the
night before seems like a distant memory. Theres such power in the radiance of morning light, a
power to repair and heal, or erase whatever mistake of interpretation or judgment we pass or
provoke during the hours of darkness, and its in these morning hours when I choose to retain or
release whatevers troubling me from the night before. Yes, the sun is shining brightly this
morning and I feel fine. The life of denial Ill live for the next six years has begun despite the
fact a life of denial is no life at all. Something can slap you right in the face, but instead of facing
whatever has slapped you or acknowledging the fact that the slap actually happened, you just
close your eyes and blame your imagination, or, as in my case, try to drink it into oblivion. Its
so much easier to blame the alcohol the next day for the mishaps of the night before, than go to
bed sober and wake the next morning with the cold hard truth staring you in the face.

Josephs and my first apartment is in the Desert Oasis Apartment complex. I remember the
name well since its anything but an oasis, for me at least. It is, however, the most popular place
for twenty to thirty-somethings to live, so Joseph and I fit right into our new environment. In
addition, since its meant to be an oasis, as in a place to escape chaotic lives and take it easy, this
apartment complex is the main hub of party central, so its the most popular place for all the
twenty to thirty-somethings to party-down. Im a twenty-something and like to party-down, but
thats not whats happening. Id be enjoying living here if it werent for the fact Im living with
an alcohol and marijuana-addicted boyfriend. But since I am, instead of taking it easy and having
fun, I spend my time finding ways to keep Joseph from going-out and finding new friends to get
high with which puts a huge dent in my partying-down time. Im also learning, unfortunately,
now that were out of mommy Marians house and out on our own, that I neednt worry about
Joseph making friends with guys his own age, the ones I fear will encourage more drinking and
smoking, because theres Bob, and now, there are boys.
Paying the bills is a crapshoot depending on whether Joseph is working or not. Hes worked
at seven different restaurants during our relationship, the job hes currently at, three that went out
of business, and the other three he was fired from after storming out in a fit of rageand how
does he expect to hold down a job if he keeps storming out in raging fits? His temper is just one
of the many detrimental traits he has no control over which costs him and eventually me, dearly.
Whenever Joseph loses a job, the stress of trying to pay the bills falls onto my shoulders. Every
time he loses a job it never fails to take him a week or more to get motivated enough to get-up
off his stoned butt and go look for new employment. According to Joseph, he first needs to chill-
out after whatever drove him over the edge, drove him over the edge. He does this by hanging-
out with his carefree buddy Bob, playing video games, and of course, getting stoned.
Getting stoned helps me relax! He constantly reiterates, however; the problem with his
stoned video-game playing is the fact that half the boys who live in the apartment complex join
him while in his video-game-playing reprieve from reality. Boys think its cool to hang-out with
a grown man doing whatever they want with no one there to tell them no, or get your butt home
or else! Joseph offers the boys sips of beer or hits of pot to encourage their trust and continued
so-called friendship which is disturbing as well as illegal, but of which I knew nothing about
until much later. I do, however, start getting an exceedingly strange feeling about the fact my
thirty-year-old boyfriend is fond of hanging-out with thirteen-year old boys, and its a feeling I
havent felt since I spent the night in a dirty little hotel room in Tijuana twelve years earlier. Nah,
it cant be.


Chapter 42
Just because everything is different,
doesnt mean anything has changed. ~Irene Peter


Talking with mama now is essentially the same as talking with her when I was with Kurt,
meaning, its just me complaining about all the horrible things Joseph does, and how badly he
treats me as well as she and I agreeing once more, how awful men are in general and when will
we, as in women, ever learn. Its the only thing I have in common with Alice and the only thing I
feel comfortable discussing, although there is one thing I never speak of, and thats the physical
abuse which takes place in Josephs and my relationship. Im pretty humiliated that I, of all
people, who has always taken pride in my physical strength and prowess could fall victim to an
abuser. Its just downright patheticIm pathetic.
Dad still tries to be the voice of reason by defending mankind against our ideas of how
awful men are in general, and how I should stop seeing Joseph instead of just sitting around
complaining. I turn a deaf ear to his advice though, because to me, any man who continues to
live with a woman as mean, heartless and bitter as Alice has no right giving me advice on
relationships, or anything for that matter, and I wish he would just go watch the news or
something. I try not to be totally disrespectful and act as though Im listening, yet I dont hear
what hes saying, and only agree with him in hopes it will encourage him to stop talking and
leave me alone. Dad sounds like a know-it-all, but really, all he is in my mind is a scared,
shadow of a man whos been run-over by his wife one too many times.
Why I even continue trying to have a normal relationship with my family is beyond my
scope of reason, except that being part of a family, dysfunctional or not, loving or not, supportive
or not, is what I think normal people are supposed to do. A normal person would also keep up
the facade that they actually love and care for their dysfunctional, unloving, and unsupportive
family, and no, youve never hurt me so no, theres nothing to forgive and yes, animals can talk.
Besides, I cant just up and walk away from the stepmother who hated me, the father who
neglected me, the brother who took advantage of me, or the sister who couldnt care less about
me no matter how badly theyve treated me. Whats crazy though, is that I thought it was A-OK
to walk away from my own family even when two of them were entirely innocent.
Sometimes I think about disappearing from mom and dads lives forever, then wonder why I
shouldnt or why I dont. I cant come up with one good reason except that Im chicken, and its
not what good daughters do. I guess Ill just keep the dream of disappearing on the back burner
for now, and save it for when I actually need to take my own advice. In the meantime, I struggle
to deal with my false sense of reality and the fact that whenever things between Joseph and I are
at their worst, usually about once a month, desperation sends me scurrying back to the only
reality I know for sure is real. Its then when I call or visit my parents hoping to get some sort of
sympathy and support as I continue to believe there has to be some good somewhere in their
hearts, and eventually, Ill find it if I keep searchingexcept, I havent found it yet.
Mama is excellent support when Im complaining, but our conversation can never go
beyond this point which is frustrating and disappointing, and along with pretending to listen to
my dads advice and putting-up with his put-downs for leaving my kids and staying with an
abusive jerk, Im quickly mentally exhausted. Within an hour of my arrival, I can hardly wait to
get away from them, and away from the hatred which laces every word, and every dirty look
they shoot at each other. Having to deal with their hatred of each other is torture, so I drink, with
drinking being the only thing capable of relieving me of my torture, frustration and mental
exhaustion.
The communication between my brother, sister and I is limited, as I notice my sister
becoming more and more like her mother. Its all I can do to handle just one of them as it is.
Rachel and I are so different from each other, we may as well be from different parents...hahaha.
Im never able to talk openly about anything serious with Rachel because of my most private
thoughts ending-up being the topic of conversation and criticism, or the brunt of jokes between
her and Alice. Rachel couldnt keep a secret if her life depended on it, and even though she ran
off and married the neighborhood playboy against mom and dads will, shes back in tight with
mama and now theyre each others number one confidant. Rachel, and our sister-like
relationship was pretty much non-existent once she moved away, though as adults, I hoped we
could move past the past and become close as sisters once more. However, as soon as I realized
everything we talk about becomes mama-knowledge, I knew our relationship could never be
more than casual.
Rachels career at the Post Office has moved along at a fast clip through the years, and shes
made a good living in addition to her husbands income. They purchase a nice home, have a cute
baby, and live an all-American lifestyle. But just like me, life without turmoil is no life at all and
eventually, Rachel decides to leave her husband and became a single, part-time mom. As Rachel
ages, she hides behind a mask of immaturity and refuses to take anything seriously, or allow
problems to penetrate her faade of carefree fortitude. She grew-up in the same family as I, and
even though she was the princess, the things which took place as well as what happened to her,
changed whom she could have been as it did me, thus killing any chance for her and me to be
real sisters.
My brother on the other hand, still takes advantage of being the baby of the family along
with being taken care of by his mama. Hes a lazy, pot-smoking bum as a teenager, living in our
dead grammas doublewide trailer a few homes down from our parents house at the Salton Sea,
drinking, smoking and doing whatever else he wants with various friends and girlfriends. I cant
understand why its okay for him to act the way he acts, and I can only chalk it up to mama
feeling guilty about what happened back in that Tijuana hotel room as well as dad not willing or
able to stand-up to mama. His love of computers eventually lands him an impressive job, and
now he makes more money than he knows what to do with. He still does whatever, whenever he
wants, but now its okay since its on his own dime. Its hard for me to talk to him, our lives
being like night and day, mine always night and his always day. Trying to grasp his Peter-Pan
outlook is like trying to fit a square block into a round hole. His fantasy of our family living and
loving like the Waltons, the Cosbys or even the Simpsons is just thatfantasy.
The past is the past and if you could just forgive and forget everything would be good, I
hear over and over from my dear brother, along with, the ball is in my court, our familys
relationship status rests on my shoulders and if I would just focus on the good things Ive
received from mom and dad Id be able to get past the past. It takes all I have not to cuss him
out, so instead, I cut him out of my life as I did with my sister because the Never-Never-Land
that Peter lives in as well as Rachels faade of carefree splendor is a million miles away from
the hell where I reside.

Eventually, finally, my parents marriage ends and its about time. The open bitterness, hurt
and anger between them from all the years of unhappiness, betrayal, selfishness and pride, finally
pries apart the super-glued pieces of their lives. They divorce hating each other with Alice
getting the house and property, and my dad heading to therapy.
Dad comes to see me one night to let me in on whats happening in his life as a newly single
man. He also wants to apologize to me for his part in the dysfunction of the family. From the
situation with Rachel, his affair with Susan, how he allowed mom to treat me so badly, and how
he had learned from therapy that most of his shortcomings were Alices fault. What a perfect
example of blaming others! No wonder Im so good at it, and I already know how to blame the
world without paying someone to tell me how! Oh, yeah! I give thattwo snaps up!
Now that I know some people in therapy, Ive learned that if you want or need someone to
agree with you, see a therapist. Its there where you can tell your side of the story, including or
omitting or exaggerating as many truths or lies you can think up, in addition to being confident
youll have someone on your side. You can then move-on with your life feeling justified and
mentally satisfied youre in the right. Youre not paying them the big bucks for nothing, and my
fathers the perfect example. I wonder if theres an interview process available to make sure
youre getting a psychologist who has the same views as you. I didnt interview the therapist
Kurt made me see and look where that got meit got me someone who accused me of being just
like my mother! Boy, was she wrong. Next time, if there ever is a next time, Ill be sure to
interview potential therapists to be sure I get one wholl tell me what my itching ears want to
hear.
Alice and I see or talk with each other every so often, but its only to update her on my
miserable life, and in doing so, Im making sure Rachel and her have something to gossip about
since I still seem to be their favorite subject for a good laugh. At least when the information is
coming from me, I have control of what they hear, and knowing what theyre gossiping about
makes it easier to take. I still hope that someday Ill be able to find that elusive soft spot in
Alices heart toward me and the life Im now living because of what she put me through, thereby
leaving me vulnerable and not knowing any better.
Mama moves from the Salton Sea to the other side of the Valley once she and dad divorce,
but still our relationship is strained. As the years slowly move-on, the fear and anger she
provokes in me continues to get worse instead of better to my dismay. Just the tone of her voice
or the look on her face makes my insides start to shrivel, and I feel desperate to escape from her
presence before my whole being withers and turns inside itself and I become a nothing and
disappear forever. Once I get away from her, I rage on and on about every look, every tone,
every comment, every hidden meaning behind every self-righteous, disparaging word said. She
speaks to me as if Im still the scared little girl whom she treated so cruelly for twelve years of
my young life. Im still the girl who was so afraid of disappointing her and who never stops
searching for some inclination of love. As before, she makes me feel worthless and stupid as well
as reminding me of what a waste of space I am with the worst part being, I have no idea I believe
her. I didnt know that I was storing all of the destructive feelings and ideas in a separate, secret
space in my back of my mind labeled, Who Penny Is. After every visit with mama, I always end-
up adding more to the already over-flowing space of negative images and descriptions of myself.
I cant and wont admit I believe the feelings my mother makes me feel about myself, but
through my actions of rage, drinking, bad relationships and my endless search for love and
happiness, my belief system reveals itself plainly. Moreover, as if that isnt bad enough, Im
being damaged beyond repair by the boulder of guilt strapped to my back from my abandonment
of Jacob and Emily. I can never imagine being free of this weight, at least not until I resolve
things with my children.
Im okay; Im strong. I wont let these things get to me, besides, I always feel better after
getting away and getting drunk, which is just what I need after a visit or a phone call with my
mother. I just wish I could tell her how she makes me feel and put her in her place. Why am I so
afraid of her anyhow? So, she gets angry and mean, whats new? Still, why stir up the pot? If she
wants to be miserable, so what, it doesnt mean I have to be miserable, and eventually her self-
righteous and disparaging words wont bother me at all. Yeah, thats it. Thats my story and Im
sticking to it.
Inferiority Complex & Self-Criticism
Discriminating mothers often cause children to develop inferiority complexes as they go through
adolescence and early adulthood. This is different from a low self-confidence in that an
inferiority complex is more deeply rooted in the mind and is much longer-lasting. (By Peter
Grant, eHow Contributor) An inferiority complex is a lack of self-worth, a doubt and
uncertainty, as well as feelings of not measuring up to societys standards. It is often
subconscious, and is thought to drive afflicted individuals to overcompensate, resulting either in
spectacular achievement or extreme asocial-
behavior.(www.sciencedaily.com/articles/i/inferioritycomplex.htm Moritz, Werner, von Collani.)
Children or adults who have been emotionally abused are often more critical of themselves.
Over time, being emotionally abused can lead an individual, especially an impressionable child,
to believe negative things about herself. (By Ella Miller, eHow Contributor)

Chapter 43
Marijuana>strong smelling, dried leaves
of the hemp plant; smoked or chewed for the
euphoric effect.


Daily life has become a daily battle. Its me against marijuana. Every facet of every day Im
consumed by thoughts of how to help, encourage, persuade or make Joseph stop using the
ambition-stealing green goblin of the drug world. All of our problems could be resolved if only
he could live without getting high. No more lying, no more sneaking, no more wasted money, no
more arguments, and no more running off to Bobs and leaving me all alone. No more baby talk,
and no more having to watch my boyfriend act like a complete and utter idiot. I look for
information on what makes the drug so enticing, and what I learn ends-up explaining a lot about
Joseph and what happens to his personality in written detail. Here is what I learn.

Marijuana is the most commonly abused illicit drug in the United States. A dry, shredded
green/brown mix of flowers, stems, seeds and leaves of the hemp plant Cannabis Sativa. It goes
by countless street terms including pot, herb, weed, grass, widow, Ganja and hash. The main
active chemical in marijuana is THC. The membranes of certain nerve cells in the brain contain
protein receptors that bind to THC. Once securely in place, the THC kicks off a series of cellular
reactions that ultimately lead to the high that users experience.
In 2004, 14.6 million Americans age twelve and older used the drug at least once in the
month prior to being surveyed. About 6000 people a day used for the first time2.1 million
Americans. Of these, 63.8% were under the age of eighteen. In the last half of 2003, marijuana
was the third most commonly abused drug mentioned in drug-related hospital emergency room
visits in the continental United States, at 12.6% following cocaine at 20% and alcohol at 48.7%.
Scientists have learned about how THC acts in the brain to produce its many effects. They
know THC quickly passes from the lungs into the bloodstream, which carries the chemical to
organs throughout the body including the brain. Short-term effects of marijuana can include
problems with memory and learning; distorted perception; (everything is an attack on Joseph
when high) difficulty in thinking and problem solving; as well as loss of coordination and
increased heart rate. Long-term abuse indicates some changes in the brain similar to those seen
after long-term abuse of other dangerous drugs. THC (cannabinoid) withdrawal leads to an
increase in the activation of the stress-response system; (everything in Josephs life is stressful
except hanging out with Bob) including changes in the activity of nerve cells containing
dopamine. Dopamine neurons are involved in the regulation of motivation and reward and are
directly affected by all drugs of abuse.
The health effects of marijuana effect vital organs including the heart and lungs. One study
has indicated an abusers risk of heart attack quadruples in the first hour after smoking the drug
because of the effect on blood pressure, heart rate and reduced oxygen-carrying ability of blood.
A review of 450 individuals found that even infrequent abuse can cause burning and
stinging of the mouth and throat, often accompanied by a heavy, daily cough and phlegm
production, more frequent acute chest illness, a heightened risk of lung infections and a greater
likelihood of obstructed airways. It also increases the likelihood of developing cancer of the head
and neck by double or triples the risk.
Marijuana abuse also has the potential to promote cancer of the lungs by the 50 to 70%
higher carcinogenic hydrocarbons found in the smoke compared to tobacco smoke. It also
induces high levels of an enzyme that converts certain hydrocarbons into their carcinogenic
formlevels that may increase the changes that ultimately produce malignant cells. Puff for
puff, smoking marijuana may be more harmful to the lungs then tobacco.
Research clearly demonstrates that Marijuana has the potential to cause problems in daily
life or make a persons existing problems worse. Depression, anxiety and personality
disturbances have been associated with chronic marijuana use. (The very definition of Joseph)
Because marijuana compromises the ability to learn and retain information, the more a person
uses marijuana the more he or she is likely to fall behind in accumulating intellectual, job or
social skills. (Never wouldve guessed) Moreover, research has shown that the drugs negative
impact on memory and learning can last for days or weeks after the acute effects of the drug
wear off. (No, kidding) Workers who smoke marijuana are more likely than their co-workers
to have problems on the job. Several studies associate employees use with increased absences,
tardiness, accidents, workers compensation claims and job turnover. (Wow! What a
coincidence) In another study, heavy marijuana abusers reported that the drug impaired several
significant measures of life achievement including cognitive abilities, career status, social life
and physical and mental health.
Long-term use can lead to addiction for some people, that is, they abuse the drug
compulsively even though it interferes with family, (do girlfriends count?) school, work, (that
explains a lot) and recreational activities. (Getting stoned is Josephs recreation) Drug craving
and withdrawal symptoms can make it difficult for long-term abusers to stop using the drug. (Try
impossible) People trying to quit report irritability, (to say the least) drowsiness and anxiety.
They also show increased aggression on psychological tests (or on nagging, marijuana-hating
girlfriends) peaking approximately one week after the last use of the drug. (If there ever is a last
use)

The Mistress

He carefully invites his mistress to join him. He sets her down on the table in order to have
an unobstructed view of her as he lovingly gazes upon her beauty. He tenderly caresses the
curves of her being as he breathes in the fragrance of her sensual delights. He can almost taste
her already as he prepares the outfit she will wear this evening. As always, its white and tissue
thin and nearly translucent in its delicacy. He gently helps her into her gown, then wrapping it
around her body, runs his fingers up and down along her sides, making sure it fits just right.
Holding her up, his admiration beams as he brings her to him and embraces her, his mouth
searching and finally finding her. He kisses her long and hard, inhaling her essence, then finally,
being completely and utterly intoxicated by her. Oh, how he loves her. Theres nothing to stop
him from being with her even if he must lie, cheat or steal, for he cant live without his mistress;
Marijuana.

Yes, my boyfriend has a mistress and her name is Marijuana.

Joseph doesnt come home. He doesnt call or come home. Same worries, different day. I do
hope hes all rightI try to convince myself. I hope he hasnt been arrested for D.U.I. and is
now spending the night in jail with a bunch of real criminals, especially since D.U.I. convictions
cost an arm and a leg, not to mention the cost of car insurance going-up, way up, and I dont
want to have to afford higher insurance costs. He could have been in an accident because of his
stoned and drunk driving, but who knows since he doesnt call. I hope not, but on second
thought, I think it would probably be safer for him to be in jail or the hospital or dead, because if
hes out partying without calling to let me know hes out partying so that I dont worry hes in
jail, or in the hospital or dead, his name is mudand what is mud spelled backwards?
Furthermore, if Joseph being in jail or the hospital is the case, Im gonna kill dum myself.
I lie here trying to watch TV, but by one oclock I turn it off and try to sleep. Who am I
kidding? Im too worried to sleep, not to mention I feel sick to my stomach and that alone is
going to keep me awake whether I can sleep or not. Thinking of Joseph not rushing home to see
me immediately after work makes me crazy. I strain my ears for the sound of his car which is
giving me a headache, or is it an earache from all the exercise my ears are getting from all of the
straining. I realize its unusual for ears to get any kind of exercise since ears dont usually move
around so much when straining to hear, however, mine do ever since I can remember from all the
listening for my mom, or for my dad and sister, or for the sounds on the other side of Tijuana
hotel room walls with all of it giving me earaches, which then feels like a headache.
I continue wondering what he could be doing at this exact moment, but my wondering just
causes me to imagine him with sexy female co-workers all over him. On the other hand, I dont
think that scenario can possibly be true because of him acting babyish when hes high, and no
sexy co-worker would be interested in a guy like that. But, women do like him, which brings me
back to what he might be doing right now with his sexy co-workers. I adjust my train of thought.
I know hell call. He loves me, and because of that reason hell call. He doesnt.
He pulls into his parking space at seven in the morning, walks up the steps, comes into the
apartment, walks back to the room, takes off his clothes and then falls into bed. I feel as if Im
holding my breath, but then the fury and the worry Id been holding in all night explodes out of
me.
WHERE THE CUSSWORD HAVE YOU BEEN? I growl as soon as Joseph walks in the
bedroom door. Thats all it takes and the week of fighting, silence, resentment, questions and
doubt begins again.
Joseph and I have been living together in our hypothetical oasis in the desert for about six
months. Living with Josephs emotional difficulties, his problems with work, his drug use, his
lying, his buddy Bob and now with the neighborhood boys hanging-out in our apartment day and
night is wearing on my nerves, so needless to say, Im a heavy drinker. Living with Joseph has
always encouraged my drinking since its the only way I can relax and lighten-up about the
disaster our lives have become. On the other hand, the restaurant workers lifestyle is an
enormous contributor to promoting ones drinking as well. Its especially bad when working
dinner shifts since youre always egged-on by your co-workers to meet over at the bar after work
and have a couple of beers.
Okay, I tell them; I always say yesbut just a couple. The intention is always just a
couple until its two in the morning, and of course, now Im drunk. I now have to worry about
which way will be the safest route to head home in order to avoid getting pulled-over by the land
sharks out patrolling the streets surrounding the bar. The drunk-eaters are always hanging around
outside just waiting for some idiot to decide that theyre okay to drive. Its then when they can
pounce and haul the drunks butt off to jail for attempting to drive afterjust a couple.
Somehow though, I always manage to make it home. I usually wait for most of the bar to clear
out before I attempt to drive home, just so the sharks will be busy with all the other idiots trying
to drive home after one too many, giving me clear sailing ahead.

My life can be summed-up in three little words; anger, suspicion and jealousythats it. I
may seem fine on the outside, but like the saying goes, never judge a book by its cover because
you might just be surprised at what you find on the inside. God warns us about befriending an
angry person in Proverbs 22:24-25, the verse says; Do not make friends with a hot-tempered
man, do not associate with one easily angered or you may learn his ways and get yourself
ensnared. Oh, how true this is, for I feel trapped by not only Josephs anger but mine as well,
and I can see no way out unless, of course, Joseph changesyeah, thats it
Every minute of my life revolves around the fight against weed and that makes me angry.
This crazy battle consumes my life all because I cant accept the fact that my boyfriend loves his
drugs more than he loves me and that makes me sick...in the head and in my heart which just
adds to my already festering anger. I know my anger isnt just normal anger, but a gnash-my-
teeth kind of anger. I hate being angry but it seems to be the only emotion I can conjure up these
days because of my suspicion and jealousy. Im angry about the why, when and where Joseph
smokes, but worst of all and what I hate the most, are Josephs lies about the why, when and
where he smokes, and now I want to rip my hair out every time he opens his mouth.
Suspicion; his lying fuels my suspicions. If Joseph leaves my sight for a second, Im
suspicious. Hell look at me with the most sincere look on his face as he tells me one thing or
another, and in the process, convincing me that theres no way he could be lying and looking like
an angel at the same time. It never fails, however, that whatever he said ends-up being a lie
which only justifies my suspicions. I then get angry because he lied, and because he can lie with
a perfectly sincere look on his face which makes me double-check to see if I actually do have
stupid written across my forehead.
Jealousy; my suspicion fuels my jealousy. What am I jealous of? What am I not jealous of?
Im jealous of anything that takes Josephs attention off of me, and that typically includes
marijuana, Bob, pot, Bob, pot, co-workers who smoke pot, Bob, pot, boys and pot. I now have a
sickening feeling whenever Joseph isnt home now and its not just the thought of him out
getting high with who knows whom, but because Im feeling the feeling I know all too well from
long ago. So now besides the anger, suspicion and jealousy, Im dealing with anxiety and fear.
The old, stomach-turning kind of fear I had while growing-up and which comes crashing back
every time I see Joseph spending time with pre-teen boys, or when hes out and about and I dont
know where and Im wondering if he might be out with pre-teen boys. I cant put my finger on it,
but I know something isnt right. I keep telling myself that Im just imagining what Im
imagining, not wanting to think about going back to one of the darkest, scariest and most
disgusting places my mind has ever had to go. However, Im starting to believe that the darkest,
scariest and most disgusting place Ive ever had to go, and what I hate and fear the most is
starting all over again.


Chapter 44
Its the friends you call up at two
in the morning that matter.
~Marlene Dietrich


I meet Nicole when I start my first waitressing job. Shed been a server at the Hamburger
Hamlet for a year before Im hired, so she knows the ropes and helps me along as I learn my new
job. Nicoles humor is extremely sarcastic and devilishly funny and Im drawn to such an
amusing and easy-going person. Nicole is able to laugh at herself and rarely allows problems to
bring her down, unlike me. Shes a year younger than I am, just twenty-three when we first meet,
but shes never been married or even been in a serious relationship, let alone had any children.
She and I are complete polar opposites, but we become best friends despite our differences
because no matter where Ive been, or what Ive done up until this point in my life, mentally and
emotionally I miss being young and carefree, even though Im still considered young. Nicole is
Websters definition of a young, carefree, single girl trying to make it on her own, with no
worries except making her rent and car payment. Her life is something Im truly impressed with
as well as envious of since Ive never once tried being on my own for longer than the forty-eight
hours it takes me to drive up and back from Washington.
There are only two things in Nicoles life that can bring her down, her weight and her love
life. For one, shes never had a love life because of her weight. Being a little on the short side, I
suppose shes large for her size from a medical and societal standpoint, though I personally never
look at her and see a fat person. Nicole is chunky, but very healthy. She exercises and eats well
for the most part as well as being robust and energetic and beautiful. She has the healthiest and
most beautiful blond hair Ive ever seen in my life and her smile lights up any room shes
inbutshes still single much to her dismay. She has many male friends, but never a
boyfriend, and we spend countless hours talking about this fact. The only reason we can come-up
with is that men are remarkably shallow creatures indeed, preferring toothpicks to paperweights,
no matter how pretty or how amazing the paperweight is.

Nicole! Its Penny! Where are you? Joseph and I just had a bad fight and I cant stay here! I
dont know where Joseph is right now, but I have to get out of here before he gets home! Hes
drunk and I dont know what hell do. Ill start walking. Can you please come get me? I hope
you get this message!
The first time Nicole and I become roommates it isnt planned, but desperation and fear
force me to seek shelter at the only place I feel safewith my very first best friend ever.
On the night I move in with Nicole, Joseph and I go to dinner at Johnny Costas, one of our
favorite Italian restaurants. We visit ol Johnny at least twice a month because, for one thing, its
our favorite restaurant, two, because we know the chef, and three, because we can drink heavily
since half our cocktails before dinner are usually on the house because we know the chef. A few
hours later, we finish our drinks, the meal, the wine and our socializing, then head home around
ten-thirty. By ten-forty-five, an argument ensues about Bob and his smoking weed, which leads
to us arguing about Joseph and his smoking weed, which turns into a full-on fight about Joseph
wanting to go to Bobs house to smoke weed and inevitably, leaving me home alone after a
wonderful date.
This always happens and Im SICK OF IT! You cussing cussword! Now Ive gone and
done it, I quickly think to myself, since Joseph always loses it once I say anything derogatory, or
profane, or in any octave higher than a normal speaking voice. He then proceeds to return my
unconstructive criticism by calling me every name in the book while at the same time stepping
down harder on the accelerator as he becomes angrier, and now Im wondering how much
angrier can he get? The harder he steps on the accelerator, of course, the faster we go, so were
now speeding down Hwy 111 at ninety miles an hour but the alcohol Ive consumed and the rage
I feel keep me from being afraid to die even as Joseph threatens to crash and kill us both to
which I respondI dare you!!
By this point in Josephs and my relationship, I cant control my temper if he sets me off,
especially if or when Ive been drinking, except, there usually isnt an if Im drinking, but always
a when Im drinking. All the emotions I keep buried when were not fighting are vomited up, out
and all over the source of my fury. Resentment, disgust and even hatred come pouring out of me
no matter what the consequences. I feel as if this rage will eventually kill me, so if Joseph wants
to hasten death along, more power to him. Our relationship has always been a nuclear explosion
waiting to happen being were two emotionally damaged individuals trying and expecting to be
able to deal with life together. Two wrongs dont make a right, and if anythings a wrong, its
Joseph and me.
Within minutes, were practically home when suddenly, Joseph slams on the brakes and we
skid to a stop.
Get out! Get out of the car! He yells; except, theres no need to ask, or demand, or
command me to get out of the car because Im already half-way out before the car comes to a
complete stop. I start marching down the street toward the apartment, seething and hissing
cusswords at him while he makes a squealing u-turn and heads the other direction. As Im
walking, I realize somethings different about this fight, and decide Id rather be safe than sorry
so I need to get out of dodge before he gets home.
When I walk in the door, I head straight to the phone and call Nicole. Nicole! Its Penny!
Where are you? Its then when I leave my desperate sounding message, but the scary thing is,
Im really desperate this time. My heart is beating a mile a minute as I stuff what I think Ill need
into a bag. I then hear the roar of Josephs engine as he guns it through the parking lot. I take a
deep breath to keep my heart from exploding out of my chest. I knew it! Something is different
this time and now the little annoying voice in my head doesnt sound so annoying as it warns me
that I need to get out and away from Joseph any way I can. Okay; I say back to myself as I hear
Joseph skid into a parking space, slam his car door shut and run up the stairs. I can tell hes
taking two or three at a time which means hes still furious since Ive never seen him move faster
than a walk before now. Theres nothing to do but hide, so I hide behind our open closet door,
wedged between it and the walls in a corner of our bedroom. I know I need to get out of the
apartment, but the only way my escaping will be possible is if Joseph ends-up leaving. Think,
think! Why is he home? I thought for sure he would go to Bobs house for a smoke! This is so
unlike him since he would normally want to get high after a fight if just to calm down, but hes
obviously, not calmed down. Joseph comes through the front door slamming it behind him as he
yells my name, but then I hear the click of the lock. He just locked the door! Yep, hes still
furious.
PENNY! I KNOW YOURE IN HERE! PENNY! I thank God I didnt turn on the lights
on the off chance he might think I didnt come home so I dont think he actually knows Im here;
I hope. Ive never heard his voice like this beforeI wonder if he would actually hurt me? My
mind is racing a mile a minute along with my heart as I listen to him looking around for me as he
continues yelling my name.
PENNY! WHERE ARE YOU?! When he reaches the bedroom, I feel as if hell hear my
heart pounding for sure since the thumping is absolutely deafening to me. I concentrate on
relaxing while I hold my breath and stand absolutely still, despite the fact I cant help thinking
about all the stupid girls in horror movies who die because of their clumsiness. That wont
happen to me because I wont be accidentally bumping into something or tripping over
nothingwhy are women always trippin over nothin?whereby catching the psychos
attention. Now, if by some chance that does happen, it goes without saying that Ill be standing
here behind my closet door being choked, stabbed or chopped-up into a million pieces or
whatever else Joseph plans on doing to meand that my friends, is not on my to-do list today.
I watch from the crack between the wall and door where I see Joseph actually looking under
the bed; what in the world? After that, he goes over to the bathroom, making sure to look behind
the shower curtain. He whips it back, and since Im not there he quickly turns, and its then when
I see him storm out of the bathroom and head straight toward the closet and me. My heart is
pounding like a sledgehammer as he goes straight into the closet without stopping, Thank God!
Even so, Im thinking Im a goner for sure when he turns on the closet light, but to my relief, he
turns the light back off and never pauses for a second at the open closet door. Apparently, he
doesnt think to look behind the only thing between me and a good choking, but most likely, a
great deal more. Im trembling, but still have my wits about me, and if I can just get past the not-
being-found part, I can wait for the first best time to get out of the apartment. Maybe hell pass
out. Again, Im just hoping.
Joseph goes to the fridge for a beer. I then hear him open the sliding glass door and sit in one
of the plastic chairs on the balcony. He probably figures if Im not inside, I must still be outside
somewhere and from his vantage point on our second floor balcony, hell be able to see me
coming. He didnt turn on any lights in his mad dash to find me, which I know will work to my
advantage, but I also know that in order to get out the front door, Ill have to pass through the
living room where the sliding door to the balcony is and that wont be easy. The sliding door is
still open so hell be able to hear me if I make any kind of noise as well as being able to see me if
he turns around, but I have to try. I should be able to outrun him down the stairs and out to the
street where I think Ill be safe and where I can flag down a car should Joseph get too close.
After thinking everything through, I peek around the closet door and move into the
bedroom. I see my bag on the floor where I tossed it so Joseph wouldnt see it, which he didnt,
so I shove it under the bed. Cant be bothered with a bag right now. I go down the short hallway
toward the living room until I can see around the corner and out to where Joseph is sitting on the
balcony. Slowly, silently I tiptoe toward the front door when a thought hits mehow will I open
the door without him hearing me? The stupid front door makes a long, loud squeak when opened
and closeddarn it! I knew I should have WD-40ed it when I had the chance. This will teach me
to procrastinate. I decide to try and open the door as quietly as possible, if thats even possible,
and if he hears meRun! However, seeing as though our door cant behave just once even when
my life depends on it, and even though I open it as slowly as possible, it screams anywayHey,
here she is! Giving me away as I pull it open enough to run through in one quick motion. I also
hear the chair that Joseph was sitting in fall over from him jumping up so fast, then him spinning
around to come after me.
YOU B@#$%!! He yells angrily. I cant believe this is happening...whats wrong with
him? I take two steps and bound down the stairs so fast it feels as if Im being carried down the
twenty-five steps from our front door to the sidewalk by my trusty guardian angel. I only feel my
toes touch down two or three times and then Im in the parking lot running as fast as I can. All I
can think about is getting away from the raging monster behind me. I hear Joseph stomping
down the stairs after me and see in my peripheral vision, him starting to run but then abruptly
stopping. He turns and starts running toward his car. Cussword! Is he crazy?! I cant believe this!
Ill never outrun a car! I need to hide! Luckily, I have a good head start but which I know Ill
lose pretty fast now that Joseph is in his car. I must think of something quickly so before Im out
of the apartment complex, I run behind a small three-foot high wall near the entrance and duck
down in the shadow it creates. Its pitch black where Im sitting, and I wonder if there are bugs or
spiders crawling around that I cant see. No time to worry about bugs and spiders when my
crazy, drunk boyfriend is hunting me down like an animal so he can do god-knows-what to me.
Within a second, I hear Josephs car roaring by and I listen as he circles back around obviously
looking for me. After he drives back into the complex, then back out and down the road, I
continue hiding. I wont dare stand-up until Im sure hes not coming back. After fifteen minutes
and no sign of him, I wonder if its safe to come out, but with my luck, hell pull up in his car as
soon as I do, so I dont think Ill take the chance. I hear other cars coming and going, but stay
down, too afraid to move. I figure Ill just sit here until Joseph comes back home, at least then,
Ill know exactly where he is and that its safe to get-up and start walking somewhere Josephs
not.
Consequences of Impaired Brain Development
Disrupted neurodevelopment as a result of maltreatment can cause children to adopt a persistent
fear state as well as attributes that are helpful during threatening moments but
counterproductive in the absence of threats, such as hyper-vigilance, anxiety, and behavior
impulsivity (Perry, 2012. Supporting Brain Development in Traumatized Children and Youth:
http://www.childwelfare.gov/pubs/braindevtrauma.pdf)
Ive been sitting behind the wall for almost half an hour when I hear a familiar car. I peek
from behind the shadows, and Im pretty sure I recognize the little blue Nissan. I wait a second
more until the car moves into the light and I can be absolutely sure it is who I think it is, and sure
enough, its my very first best friend, Nicole. Shes with Jim and Ryan, a couple of friends and
co-workers from the Hamburger Hamlet. I immediately stand-up, screaming and waving my
arms, then start running for Nicoles car. The relief I feel is overwhelming, and I couldnt be
happier to be anywhere else in the world than in her little blue Nissan.
Were all talking at once. Them asking questions, and me trying to answer their questions
and explain what happened all at the same time. Nicole makes a u-ie, and as soon as were
headed out the out-side of the driveway, we see Joseph driving in the in-side of the driveway.
Luckily, he doesnt know what Nicoles car looks like so there isnt any danger of him
recognizing us, and even if he did, so what, I have Nicole, Jim and Ryan now. After hearing
what happened between Joseph and me, Nicole starts telling me how lucky I am she even got my
message.
I just happened to listen to my messages when I dropped by home to grab some things. I
tried calling your apartment and when there wasnt an answer, I knew something must be
wrong; she explains.
Yeah, we figured it would be better for all of us to come get you in case there was any
trouble; Jim adds.
Well, Im so glad you did, thank-you! If you hadnt shown-up, I was planning to walk to
your apartment. Mightve taken an hour or two, but I would have made it! Oh, and I have a bag,
but I had to run out of the house so fast I couldnt bring it, so maybe we can pick it up
tomorrow?
Sure, no problem; Nicole says. I sit back and finally allow myself to relax while I think
about how much I love my friends.
Nicole is more than happy to have a roommate, and Im more than happy to oblige. The next
day, after Joseph leaves for work we go to the apartment where I grab my bag and most of my
things, then close the door and say goodbye and good riddance to the madness and the maniac; at
least for a while.

Ive been living with Nicole for only a couple of weeks when I see a notice at work about a
relocation opportunity with the company to Las Vegas. Hamburger Hamlet is opening a new
store on the strip; wow, what an adventure this could be. I have nothing to lose, not even a
boyfriend, so why not? Lifes an adventure, right? Nicole wont mind, I mean, I only told her
that Id be her roommatebut things change; shell be fine.
Are you sure you dont mind? I ask her again.
I already told you I dont mind. Nicole insists.
Yeah, but I just promised Id be here to help with bills and all, and I feel bad.
Its okay, go, Im fine. Now when Nicole says shes fine, I know shes not fine, but since
shes insisting I go, Ill go, because of her insisting my going is okay and that shes fine. Its all
good; I tell myself, even though I know its not all good because of just picking-up and moving
out on my very first best friend ever. Im thinking this move will be good for me even if the only
reason is to get out of the same town as Joseph, and with that Nicole agrees. So its all good.
Ill be riding with my friend Paul, and when he arrives, Nicole and I hug goodbye, then I
jump in the car and head for the bright lights of Vegas. Im twenty-six.


Chapter 45
As a dog returns to his own vomit, so a fool
repeats his folly. ~Proverbs 26:11


Those of us employees making the move to sin city had visited Vegas a few times
beforehand to scope out the town, fill out paperwork and get acquainted with the new store. We
see that the restaurant will be beautiful, far too beautiful for a name like, The Hamburger
Hamlet, which reminds me more of a hole-in-the-wall burger joint than a nice sit-down
restaurant. The menu includes breakfast, lunch and dinner, and has entrees like steaks and
seafood as well as the twenty-three different gourmet hamburgers served. Its more than just a
burger joint to say the least.
Its only a four and a half to five hour drive from Palm Springs to Vegas depending on how
fast you drive, or if you take the shortcut through the desert which we always do. Wed go for
the day then drive back that evening, or wed spend the night then drive back first thing in the
morning. While there, we drive around the parts of Vegas most people dont even know exists,
where regular people with regular lives revolve around regular schools and churches and homes.
Its strange to see that an ordinary city exists beyond the lights, casinos, and sin of the strip.
Its so nice! I didnt know there was anything more to Vegas than what we saw on the
strip!
I know, me neither.
Me neither; every person in the car puts in his or her two-cents about this new-found
world and our soon-to-be new home. We stop at a few apartment complexes, but there isnt an
available apartment to be had. Obviously, this is an incredibly popular world.
What are we going to do? Sarah wails, knowing time is running out before our permanent
move. But worrying about our upcoming homelessness doesnt make it any easier to find a three-
bedroom apartment we can all agree on or afford, so Paul immediately pipes in to try and quell
any doubts.
Dont worry about itwell be all right, this is Vegas, baby! We hope hes right.
Before the big move and training starts and while Im still living with my first best friend
ever, Joseph and I speak on the phone a few times. He apologizes profusely for any wrong-doing
on his part, but then shows-up unexpectedly at my workplacemy heart jumps when I spot him.
Whats wrong with me? Wasnt it Joseph who was hunting me down like an animal just the other
night? Nevertheless, here I am all nervous and excited that hes come by to see me. I must be
sick in the head. I try acting annoyed and aloof so I dont give away my true feelings, knowing
full well that I cant be with such an unstable and volatile person. Nevertheless, something about
him keeps me wanting and needing him even though Ive found life without Joseph soooo much
easier.
I have no intentions of getting back together with you; I tell him straight out.
I understand; I just want you to know how much I miss you, and love you, and that I want
you back. I then hear the needy side of me whisperyou love hearing those words, dont you? I
tell the needy side of me to shut-up and go away, and tell Joseph its too late. Im moving.
What? Where?!
Vegas. Im going to work at the new restaurant opening there.
You cant!
I am. After a few seconds of contemplation, Joseph gets-up and walks-out without saying
goodbye.
Aah, hes upset youre leaving, isnt that sweet? Again, I tell the needy little voice to shut-
up.
The day of the move, and after I hug Nicole goodbye, Paul and I meet-up with the other
employees at a gas station where we get drinks and snacks, and whatever else might be needed
for the drive and we head out in a three-car caravan. The finishing touches on the restaurant are
still being added when we arrive even though we were promised that the restaurant would be
entirely finished by the time we made our move and training started. Oh well, whats a few extra
days with no money-making? Well just be broke, homeless and hungry, but isnt most of the
world?
Since we still havent found an apartment that we can afford, we make some calls to the
local hotels to find out if there are any special rates being offered. We find out that the Excalibur
Hotel has some notable end-of-summer prices that fit the bill and our budget perfectly so at least
we wont be homeless, for now. We find our hotel and check-in at the front desk. There are six
of us in all who made the move, and now there are six of us sharing a double occupancy hotel
room until a more permanent solution is found. Six of us make it affordable, but it also makes it
crowded, on the other hand, being were all twenty-something friends as well as being waiters
and essentially, just a bunch of kids at heart, its fun. No one seems to mind sharing the beds, or
sleeping on the floor, or waiting for the bathroom, unless you cant hold it, but then you can just
jump on the elevator and use the restroom in the lobby. Food is also cheap in Vegas with the
buffets offering the cheapest variety, so thats where we go for most meals on top of sampling
food from the restaurant during training, therefore were not going hungry.
Were at the restaurant training from ten in the morning to three-thirty in the afternoon, so in
the evenings well just sit around the hotel room watching TV. My friend and soon-to-be
roommate, Paul suggests going for a walk down around the casinos, but then Sarah, my other
eventual roommate says were all too broke to go to the casinos.
I dont feel good anyway; I announce. I think I might throw-up. Everyone looks at me
then simultaneously move a little further away from where Im lying. Afterward, Paul suggests
to those who arent sick that they could just go down to the strip and take a look around.
Whats the fun in that? Tim, whos moving in with Derek, retorts. Im gonna wait until I
have some money before I go to the casinos and avoid the temptation to spend the little money I
do have. Besides, we dont even have enough money for the first or last months rent on an
apartment, so its gonna be a long time before I can do any gambling at all.
A few more days and the restaurant will open, and then hopefully, well have some money
to get a place to live; Sarah adds.
Thatll be good; I say, mostly to myself since Im bored out-of-my-mind as well as
growing more homesick with every passing hour, and now, I seriously dont feel good. I figure I
must have caught a flu bug from the cramped sleeping quarters, or its the water, or the new and
different foods weve been eating, or maybe its the stress from moving. In any case, Im sure Ill
feel better in a few days, except, I dont feel better in a few days and now the smell of the hotel
lobby makes me want to vomit. Man, this isnt as much fun as I thought it would be, and it
certainly isnt an adventure, and now Im wondering if maybe its not the flu, and maybe I
should find out where the closest pharmacy is so I can buy a little white pee stick and confirm
what I already believe to be true. Im pretty sure I know for sure that Ill see two pretty pink
linesagain. I hate Vegas! I miss Joseph!
My worst nightmare comes true once more. The pink lines show-up instantly just as I
predicted they would as if they were two pink fingers pointing at me and laughing; ha-ha, youre
PREGNANT! Then my annoying little voice says, ha-ha, youre pregnant! Then I say go
away, I dont need this crap right now and stop laughing at me and whose side are you on
anyway?
I call Joseph to tell him that Im pregnant and that Im coming home. Hes not sure about the
pregnancy, but happy Im coming home, and Im happy Im going home as well as getting out of
this filthy, disgusting city. This city, where there are no affordable apartments in the unknown
communities above the strip, and where the smells of the hotel make me want to vomit, and
where Im so homesick I want to crawl under a rock and die. Im going home to the California
desert where I belong; the California desert and Joseph.
Now when I get an idea in my head, I have absolutely no patience whatsoever. I make rash,
insane decisions without thinking and this time is no different. I make the decision to go home
and now going home is all I can think about and if I dont go now, Ill go crazy. What do I have
to do to get home now? First thing I need to do is let my employers know. Great, another
commitment Im up and leaving. Oh well, getting back to Joseph is more urgent. I go into the
restaurant on Saturday and tell the manager on duty I wont be able to start work because I just
found out Im pregnant, and that I need to go back to California, and oh, this wont impinge on
my being able to go back to work in the Palm Desert store, will it? No? Good.
I go back to the hotel room and pack my bags. I have twenty dollars left to my name, so I
need to find the cheapest transportation outta Vegas I can find. I decide to sleep on it since Im
so exhausted in addition to being horribly nauseous, I just want to throw-up and zonk-out, then
hopefully, Ill feel better tomorrow. Sunday morning I wake-up feeling well enough. My
stomach feels normal for the first time in a long time, therefore I shift into high gear since Im
anxious to get going. I call a bus company and find out there wont be any buses leaving until
Monday morning, which is unacceptable because I need to go now! I try some car rental places,
but the prices are three times what I have, so no go. Im feeling desperate, so I go for a walk
thinking that maybe Ill have an epiphany while Im out wandering the streets. Im alone, since
my friends are out apartment hunting and who now have to find an even cheaper place since I
wont be here to help cover the rent. Just another commitment Im ditching.
When I walk outside its hazy. The wind is blowing and the sand in the air is making it look
overcast, dreary and desolate. Theres hardly a soul on the streets besides me and its the most
deserted Ive ever seen the Vegas strip. I feel lonely, and now fear and worry are washing over
me because of not knowing if Ill be able to find a way home. I decide to go into a casino to get
out of the wind and the haze and the sand in the air, but the stink of the casino with the smoke
and stale beer smell causes my stomach to roll. Luckily, the nausea passes quickly and I try to
relax so I can think. Lets see, I have twenty dollars, but twenty dollars isnt going to do a thing
for me so maybe Ill take my chances and gamble it. I look around and see the penny, the nickel,
the dime and the quarter slots. I keep walking and see the dollar slots and then the five-dollar
slots. I know if I put money in the change slots Ill only win smaller amounts at a time, in which
case, I may lose all my money before I hit something substantial enough to afford a rental car so
I decide on the five-dollar slots instead. I havent gambled more than once the whole week and a
half Ive been in Vegas, not able to afford to waste a penny, but this time is different. I have to
take a chance. If I lose, Ill be in the same boat Im already in so I might as well jump-in
headfirst.
I stick my twenty in the five-dollar machine. I pull the arm and watch the spinning symbols.
One by one they come to a stop; nothing. I pull the arm again; ten dollars gone. I watch
nervously as the symbols spin. Worst case scenario, I wont have money for food. The symbols
slowly begin to stop, coming to rest on the center line. All three symbols are the same, on the
same line! The bells start ringing and the sound of coins hitting the metal tray below make it hard
to hear. I truly cant believe it! The sound finally stops as suddenly as it began; fifty dollars! Oh
my gosh! Unbelievable! Except, I need more, so I move to a different machine, one directly on
the backside of the one I just played. I put in a five-dollar coin. I pull the arm and wait. No
Way! Identical symbols line-up once more while the bells go off and the coins hit the tray for the
second time in a row! Im in shock. I count the coins and find Ive won another fifty bucks! Plus,
I have five left from my original twenty. It has to be fate! Its meant to be! Im meant to go home
to Joseph!!!
I practically run all the way to the car rental office. I can afford a small compact car which is
just fine with me! A moped would have been acceptableI just want to get home! I drive the
shortcut through the desert even though nightfall is upon me and itll be dark before I get home.
Another dumb mistake women in movies make, I remind myself. Driving alone on an unknown
deserted desert road in the dark is probably a little dangerous, especially since Im driving like a
maniac on crack as well as taking a chance of not finding help if something were to go wrong. I
dont care! I just have to get home now! I drive as fast as I can and end-up taking a few turns a
little too fast which get my heart racing, but eventually I make it back to Palm Desert in record
time without killing myself. Three and a half hours; I must be crazy.
The minute I walk in the door after my whirlwind of a day, which included winning fifty
dollarstwice, followed by rushing to rent a car that I push harder than the poor little four-
cylinder Hyundai has probably ever been pushed before, speeding through the winding desert
roads in the dark thereby risking my life to get home to...this? I now wonder why I felt such a
frantic need to hurry. The annoying little voice in my head starts right up as usual.
Oh look, there he is, right where you left him, drunk and stoned out of his mind and with
his little boyfriends to bootand to make matters worse, he knew you and his baby were on your
way homenow isnt that special?
When Joseph hears me come in the door, he looks-up at me from the couch with his glassy,
squinty, red eyes, and smiles his stupid stoned smile.
Youre home! H-i-i-i! He says in his chill-up-my-spine inducing baby voice.
Hi? I say back as the blood drains from my heart. I leave Joseph to his friends and go find
a place to bury my head and go to sleep. I want to pretend the man I rushed home to see is sober,
and just as excited to see me as I was to see him and just dream happy dreams as I wait for the
morning sun to wash away my disappointment.

I go back to work right away and plan to have another abortion which I promised myself Id
never do.
Have you seen Joseph lately? I ask myself. Im having a conversation with the voice again
and wonder if its normal for me to be talking to myself so much.
Well, you dont have anyone else to talk to who doesnt think youre desperate and pathetic
for staying with that moron.
Hes not always a moron; hes okay if hes sober.
If you say so.
At least I know I shouldnt have a baby with him.
It doesnt take a rocket scientist to figure that out.
Oh, shut-up.
Im sitting and watching a movie when I feel something wet. It almost feels as if Ive started
my period which I know is impossible, but I stand-up to check anyhow. What the heck? Im
bleeding. Im having a miscarriage. Thank God! I dodged that bullet, but I seriously need to be
more careful. I go see a gynecologist and she gives me a stronger pill. That should take care of
all those speeding bullets. No more pregnancies!

Things are changing for the better. The lease on our pre-teen-boy-infested apartment
complex has run out, and since living in the Desert Oasis Apartment Complex has been
everything but an oasis, we rent a house in the Palm Desert Country Club.
The Palm Desert Country club is just like any other neighborhood in the U.S. except that the
homes are on a golf course, and theres a clubhouse which I presume qualifies the neighborhood
for Country Club status. There are no fences or gates and its open to the public, but the best part
about it is, there are no kids that Ive seen, which means no more boy-friends over for video
game marathons with my thirty-year-old man-friend.
Right after we move, the nightclub where Joseph works gets shutdown for some shady
dealings, and that means Joseph is out of work again. So after about a week of sitting around
stoned, I finally suggest he bartend at the Hamburger Hamlet.
Itll be fun and well get to spend more time together; I tell him, fully believing what Im
saying. Joseph agrees its a great idea so I talk to my manager and he agrees to hire him. Im
glad, and now that Joseph will be working with us, Im optimistic my friends will see he isnt so
terrible after all. In addition, Ill be able to keep my eye on him as well as keep him out of
trouble; I hope.
Working together is fun for a while just like I thought it would be, plus Joseph is helping
with the bills again just as I expected he would. My friends now like my unpredictable boyfriend
for the most part, butwhy is there always a but? When we start drinking, we fight, which
means we go to bed angry but now we have to go to work together even if were still spittin
hate-words and cant stand the sight of one another. It doesnt seem to matter anymore that the
sun is shining and the birds are singing, were always still mad and when that happens, it makes
my friends hate him and our working together not fun. Our fighting continues almost non-stop
which makes it hard for Joseph to handle work, let alone life. Even on days we arent fighting,
his unpredictable mood swings cause him to lose his temper over the smallest frustrations. Hell
cuss and slam things down in front of customers while I hiss at him under my breath to grow-up
and knock it off which just adds to his aggravation, and then all of a sudden, Joseph will throw
down whatever is in his hands, pull off his apron, and storm out of the restaurant in the middle of
his shift as he has done countless times before at other jobs. The restaurant manager wont take
him backnot that I want him tooso Joseph wont be helping with the bills anymore, and Im
embarrassed in front of my friends and my boss, and now I wont be able to keep my eyes on
him and keep him out of trouble.
Just be grateful hes gone; the voice in my head says.
You can say that again. I agree.
Thank God, hes gone. The voice reiterates, but after all is said and done, my annoying
little voice cant help but start mocking me to the tune of Mary had a little Lamb. I tell the voice
to shut-up, even though the rhyme is catchy, because I dont want the song is stuck in my head,
but of course, I end-up singing it the rest of the day.

Joe is out of work again, work again, work again,
Joe is out of work again hes sitting on his butt.
He drinks and smokes the day away, day away, day away,
He drinks and smokes the day away,
and with the bills Im stuck.

You would think I would have learned by now that getting angry, nagging, yelling, crying
and cursing doesnt help any situation when it comes to Joseph, but I continue on with my
madness until I decide if I cant beat him, join him. Not smoking weed mind you, but accepting
his smoking. My effort lasts about two weeks; I tried, I honestly did, but I just cant accept using
illegal drugs to get through life. In the end, I go back to getting angry, nagging, yelling, crying
and cursing as well as fighting with Joseph about his marijuana use, his buddy Bob, and how he
loves Bob and marijuana more than he loves me. Fighting, fighting, fighting; when will it ever
end?
Never, the voice comments derisively.
Man, cant you ever just say something nice for a change?
Neverhahaha.

I feel an all too familiar feeling in my gut. I know the feeling of tightness, of bloating all too
well. Could it bea muscle cramp? I know before the nausea starts that I, once again, am
pregnant. I cant believe it. What the heck? I must be cursed.
Some women wouldnt think so.
Not you again. Anyhow, Im not just some woman and Im not having it.
I thought you said you wouldnt kill another baby?
Im not killing a baby and I have no choice! Now go away so I can figure this out.
I dont want to tell Joseph about my not-so-special condition. He just started a new job
bartending at the Daily Grill on swanky El Paseo, the Rodeo Drive of Palm Desert, so this isnt
the time to be rocking the boat of his fragile emotions. I set-up a time with Nicole, whos still my
first best friend ever even though I up and left her, to take me to the appointment, then afterward,
drive me home while Im still drugged and incapable of driving myself. She gladly agrees being
the good friend that she is.
Wow, is this embarrassing. Here I am again, sitting in the waiting room looking at another
group of young, nervous girls with their young, nervous boyfriends. They sit next to each other
for the little bit of support they can muster, some holding hands, and all of us looking around the
room as if we dont know why were here. We wait impatiently for our names to be called and
for the unknown to be made known. Except, I already know what the unknown is, all Im really
doing is dreading the moment the silent judgments start. I convince myself that Ill be recognized
as a two-timer, as in two abortions within a few months, because it feels like I was just here
yesterday.
I bet they remember you, you baby killer you, especially since its only been a few
months.
Im not a baby-killer! Im just removing cells.
Which if left alone will become a baby.
But its not a baby yet. Right now, its just an inconvenience, and its been five months,
thank-you very much.
Keep telling yourself that.
I will, because thats my story and Im stickin to it. A magazinewhere are the
magazines? There they are. I pick-up a magazine and start glancing through it in order to silence
the quarrel Im having with myself.
My name is finally called but for some reason, it sounded as if the nurse yelled it loudly
enough for not only me and the other patients to hear, but also for all the picketers picketing
outside as well. Did the nurse do that on purpose so that they, the picketers, will know my name
and can now add it to some hit list for unborn baby killers? I hope not.
I walk back with my head and eyes down hoping to hide my identity in order to avoid being
recognized as a two-timer and shot dirty looks. The same nurse who took my vitals the last time,
takes my vitals this time, looking just as miserable, and being just as quiet as the first time and I
wonder why, if shes so unhappy working here, doesnt she look for another job? Her silence
doesnt stop me from defending myselfonce more, against a nonexistent attack over my
inability to keep myself from becoming pregnant. She forces a smile, but who knows, she might
not even be listening since shes still listening to at least fifty girls a day defending themselves
over why they didnt use birth control, or how they swore they used birth control but it didnt
work, or how they didnt even want to have sex but their boyfriend made them, or how it was
their first time and I didnt know I could even get pregnant the first time, or one of the other
hundred excuses we all have for being here in the first place. The second abortion is as painful as
the first.
You know you deserve all the pain youre in
Whats wrong with me? I ask myself as I lay on Doctor Frankensteins table as he rips my
insides out. Why does this keep happening?
Well, I think this is what happens when you take seriously whats poked at you in fun;
hehehe.
Very funny, now get lost.
Abortions are becoming my secondary birth control. I hate this fact, but its true. Its not as
if Im being irresponsible, Im on the Birth-Control Pill, but yet, I keep getting pregnant. Whats
up with that? No matter how careful I am with taking my pill, using my monthly cycle or even
condoms to avoid pregnancy, I still turn-up pregnant. I think the only way Im going to avoid
unwanted pregnancies is by abstaining from sex...yeah right, like thats ever going to happen.

Im on my way to an abortion clinic in downtown L.A. six months after my last abortion,
and since my hometown clinic has been shut down, and my very first best friend ever, Nicole
had other plans, I look over at the drivers seat and seemy dad. Im thoroughly humiliated
having to ask my dad for help, particularly for a ride to an abortion clinic, and now Im getting
an earful about all the other options that are out there for me to take advantage of, in lew of
killing another innocent baby.
Its not a baby; I remind him, its just cells.
We arrive at the clinic and dad drops me off. Theres no way either of us want him waiting
in the waiting room for me like some doting father, or worse yet, looking as if he might be my
older boyfriend. I walk-in and sign-in and Im immediately taken to a changing room to put on a
blue gown, blue paper slippers, and a blue paper hairnet for my hair. After I change, Im ushered
into a room with about twenty other girls, all dressed in the same sky blue gowns, slippers and
hairnets. A few of the women give me a half smile as everyone in the room watches as I walk-in
and find a seat. After a few minutes and after a few more blue-clad girls come in, were told to
follow a nurse to our respective rooms. Wow, talk about a cattle call. Were being herded around
like a bunch of blue cows on our way to the slaughterhouse and as were herded down the sterile
grey-walled hallway, I let out a quietmoooothen the women closest to me chuckle.
Once we go our separate ways into our separate rooms, the procedure is essentially the
same. I receive an ultrasound so that the doctor can determine the age and location of the fetus,
which is routine, but this time I receive some shocking news.
Did you know you were carrying twins? The doctor asks in a way that makes me think he
couldnt care less about me, or the babies, or that maybe hes just irritated that I would even
consider terminating two babies at the same time.
No, I had no idea; I insist.
So, do you still want to go ahead with the abortion? His question gives me pause. What do
I do now? Now, Im not only killing one baby, but two. Should I go ahead with it? I dont know.
On one hand, Id have twins which would be coolon the other hand, that would mean two
babies instead of one that Joseph could mess-up or hurt. No, I cant do it. I cant have a baby
with Joseph. No way. I then tell the doctor I want to go ahead with the abortion.
This one is bad, emotionally even though I feel numb toward most everything these days,
but still, I cant get the twins images out of my mind. When my dad hears that I was carrying
twins, hes disgusted I went through with the operation. Hes disgusted, Im disgusted, whats
new? Its the story of my life.

Emotional and Psychological Problems
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is a common problem for child abuse survivors,
resulting in feeling emotionally detached or numb. (By Tess Reynolds, eHow Contributor)

Chapter 46
It is what it is, we are who we are;
get over it. ~Penelope Meriwether


The world of Hamburger Hamlet is getting old. Im a seasoned server now so why am I still
working at a restaurant in a mall when I can be working some place where the tips are bigger. I
keep my job until I find something new, then off to the Elephant Bar I go. Now, Im not only
making more money, but Im making more friends and having more fun. The employees are
tried and true Party-Animals with a capital P and a capital A, and I fit right in with them and
their Party-Animal lifestyle.
As soon as we finish our shifts, off to the nightclubs we go after a few discounted, and even
some freebie drinks from our own establishment, of course. It only makes sense; why pay full
price over there, when we can get a good buzz going for half the price, or better yet, for free right
here? Even better are the nights the managers direct the bartenders to close-up shop, and that
means only one thingopen bar! Well then drink as many shots and beers as we can while we
talk and laugh until someone is throwing-up from the drinking of too many shots and beers. I feel
myself growing farther and farther from my addiction of Joseph during these days. I never feel
an ounce of guilt for going out every night since I always call and let him know where I am or
what Im doing, unlike him, who never calls and lets me worry all night about whether or not
hes dead or alive. Sometimes I wish Joseph cared about my excessive partying, and the fact I
stay-out all hours of the night, but if he does he never tells me which just encourages me to
continue staying-out late to party as often as I can.

A peace and calm has come over our home for the first time since meeting Joseph. I try to
embrace the tranquility, but I know its too good to be true. Something isnt right, seeing as how
the man in front of me is quiet, gentle and relaxed, and its creeping me out. I try to appreciate
the new mild-mannered boyfriend with whom I now reside, but again, its freaking me out.
Nothing bothers him. I ask him what hes on, but he just smiles and tells me to stop worrying,
Im not on anything.
Then, whats wrong with you?
Nothing. Im fine.
You are not fine, and I know youre on something.
He just keeps smiling then hugs me and repeats; Im not on anything and Im fine. Okay,
now I know somethings up because the Joseph I know would have gotten angry at my
questioning him about his use of drugs. He also would have flipped his lid because of me not
believing his answerbut since he wont fess-up, Ill give it a few more days and whatever it is
will reveal itself eventually. Eventually comes a few nights later when I start noticing he never
wants to come to bed.
Im not tired, but you go ahead, Ill be in later; he says on a regular basis now.
Okay, now I know what youre doing! I exclaim, thinking I figured out Josephs secret.
Youre doing speed!
No, Im not. Im not on anything. Im just not tired.
Ah-ha, sure; I say as I roll my eyes. A month into living with the new, mellow-yellow, all-
is-right-with-the-world Joseph, I hear him go into the garage around midnight. I get-up to see
what my sneaky, insomniac boyfriend could possibly be doing in the garage in the middle of the
night, and what before my wandering eyes do appear, but three powdery white lines across a
small piece of mirror. When I open the door, Joseph is just about to use what I now know to be
cocaine, but instead, jumps out of his skin, knocking the mirror to the floor. My jaw hits the
ground as I watch him and now theres a gaping hole where my face used to be.
Oh, my gosh! Are you kidding me?
What? Whats wrong? He asks me in the most innocent voice he can muster.
Oh, dont give me that. Do I have stupid written across my forehead? To which he
answers a deflated, no. He then shows me the cocaine. Im starting to think I actually do have
stupid written across my forehead because I stay with the drug-abusing loser. The only reason I
stay is simply because of being sick and tired of moving out, then back in, then back out, then
right back in which by now Ive done at least five times. Each time I leave Joseph, I go running
to Nicoles apartment and cry on her very generous shoulder for as long as it takes for Joseph
and I to calm down and stop hating each other. I hate being such a burden on her. Besides, living
with the happy-go-lucky Joseph is a pleasant change even if it is drug-induced, and as far as him
using, well, thats his business, literally, come to find out when he comes home one day on a
brand-new motorcycle paid in full.
What the?! Where did that come from??
Selling cocaine is much more lucrative than marijuana; Joseph beams. But I plan on
quitting in a month or two so you dont have to say anythingI already know. He defends his
position before I can say anything after seeing the look on my face and knowing hes about to get
an earful.
Theres no waythere is no way this is gonna fly because Im not gonna live with a drug
dealerso you had better stop selling or Im outta here! Period.
Ah-ha; hows that working out for ya?
He says hes going to stop sellingsoon. If he doesnt, then Ill leave.
Ah-ha.
Oh, stop being so negative!

My life is becoming non-existent. I spend all my time trying to avoid and forget, with
memories being something I suppress. I dont take pictures because something always happens I
dont want to remember. Im filing sections of my life under missing person. Oh well, who
cares? Give me another drink and everything will be fine and dandy.

Youre going to be late! I yell to Joseph as he fiddles around in the bathroom. Its hard for
him to get moving in the mornings now that he isnt getting much sleep, and neither am I come
to think of it. I just lie in bed tossing and turning for hours wondering what Joseph is doing when
he cant sleep.
Whose fault is that?
I know whose fault it is.
Just checking.
I always make sure Im on top of things as far as Joseph is concerned likemaking sure he
gets to work on time. This has become my new mission in life even though the fixing and
rescuing of Joseph has been going on from the very beginning. My fixing and rescuing is worse
right now since I cant take any chances on him getting fired for something like, being late, since
hes usually skating on thin ice where his attitude is concerned already, and Ill be damned if I
have to pay the bills on my own again.
Ah, finally, hurry. Out the door, there you go. See you later. But just as I turn to close the
front door I hear...
CUSSWORD!! Josephs voice booms out over the neighborhood. I jump, then pull the
door back open.
WHAT?!?
Someone slashed all my tires! Joseph screams.
What? Are you kidding me?
No! Cuss! I gotta call work! I gotta tell them that Im not coming in today!
Nono no no. Ill drive you, you need to work. You can deal with this later.
Fine.
Whod you piss off? I ask as we get in my car.
I dont know! Joseph yells.
Sure he doesnt; I think to myself; I know it has something to do with the drugs.
I dont know! I dont know! Cussword!
I knew it! I knew those drugs were trouble! My voice announces arrogantly.
Can you just shut-up for five seconds already?
Just sayyin.
If you play with fire youre gonna get burned. Not as bad as it could have been or perhaps
should have been, but burned just as well. My annoying little voice reminds me that I should
have moved-out when I had the chance, and before there was a pissed-off cocaine dealer out
slashing the tires of his most irresponsible and idiotic clients.
You dont have to remind me, how can I forget?
Just saying.
Thats it! Im not going to get hurt because of your stupidity! Look at youyou look
scared and that makes me scared, which makes me think I need to pack my things and get as far
away from you as possible. None of this is my problem and I shouldnt have to deal with it or
you, your lies, your drug dealers or your slashed tires! I tell Joseph in one breath. He got a
lesson on how serious drug dealing can be, and maybe now hell realize liars should never sell
drugs. Theres just too much at stake. Dealers dont take too kindly to liars or cheats who
jeopardize their money or their freedom. You just dont mess with those and apparently, Joseph
did. He wont elaborate on exactly what happened but he took the warning seriously, as did I.
Why? Why does this keep happening? It seems my world is crashing down around me a-gain.
All I can think about all day is what in the world I should do. Should I move out? If I do, where
would I go? I can always go back and take advantage of Nicoles hospitality again knowing she
would more than welcome me back being the good friend that she is. It never fails, she always
takes me back no matter how many times I use her. Im embarrassed to admit what a dreadful
friend I am, but hey, at least Im honest. Come later that night, however, I arrive home from
work and find Joseph busy making plans of his own. Josephs idea of dealing with the trouble
from his drug dealers is to move out of the state; sounds good to me, the queen of denial and an
expert at running away from my own problems.

Beautiful, sunny, Phoenix, Arizona. How did I get here and what am I doing here? Not
Arizona per se, but this point in my crazy life. It seems Im starting another new irrational trip
down another new absurd path, but thankfully, its away from Josephs cocaine deals and slashed
tires and here in beautiful, sunny Phoenix, Arizona. Its a fresh start for him, and I, and things
will be peachy from now on, I just know it.
Were gonna stay with an old prison buddy of mine, Joseph informs me, leaving me
without a say in the matter seeing as though he already has it set-up.
Wow, really?
Yep; is all Joseph says.
Okay then; is all I can think of to say.
We break our lease and arrive in Phoenix a couple of weeks later and here I am, sitting on
the back of Josephs motorcycle with the wind whipping through my hair and the sun beating
down on my face. Were cruising through downtown Phoenix when I ask myself howd I get
here, and what am I doing here, yet feeling wild and free without giving a second thought about
the fact that weve just moved away from everything we know, or that were trying to avoid
someone who might actually be dangerous, or that were sitting on a motorcycle bought with
drug money, or that were living with an ex-con that my ex-con met in prison, and believe it or
not, Im totally in love with Joseph.
Life in Arizona isnt all its cracked up to be, and its mostly because Arizona still pays
tipped employees $2.13 an hour which I had never heard of before now. Both Joseph and I have
trouble finding jobs because it seems as soon as we mention were from California, the interview
is over. Whats up with that? Now seeing that neither of us can get work, its hard to find a place
to live, and on top of that, having to live with more than one ex-con is getting old so we need to
come-up with a new plan, ASAP. Thus, after only two weeks in beautiful, sunny Arizona, were
on the road again.
Dissociative Disorder
Some people with undetected dissociative symptoms can function well at work or school. Only
close friends or family are aware of the persons inner struggles or suffering. The delay in
accurate diagnosis results in difficulty maintaining close relationships, working below ones
potential as well as years of unnecessary suffering. This can result in worsening depression and
continued mood swings and self-destructive behaviors. These five symptoms of dissociation are
often hidden and cause much inner turmoil and suffering. (Marlene Steinberg, M.D.,
http://www.drmsteinberg.com)
The five symptoms of dissociation include:
1) Amnesia or memory problems involving difficulty recalling personal information 2)
Depersonalization or a sense of detachment or disconnection from ones self. A common feeling
associated with depersonalization is feeling like a stranger to ones self. 3) De-realization or a
sense of disconnection from familiar people or ones surroundings 4) Identity confusion or inner
struggle about ones sense of self/identity 5) Identity alteration or a sense of acting like a
different person
Im on my way home, my old home, my kids home. I convince Joseph that Bellingham,
Washington is the place for us. I give many reasons, but the most significant reason is my
children. Ill be able to see them whenever I want as well as believing that now my life will make
sense. Ill now be living and working with the man I love and as close as possible to the other
two most significant reasons for me to live, Jacob and Emily. We sell the motorcycle so well
have enough cash to rent a house, and since he bought the bike with drug money its easy to talk
Joseph into getting rid of it. We both quickly find jobs and settle into our new routines. Im
getting better at ignoring the lies and the pot smoking for the most part, though Im typically on a
low simmer whenever Joseph is high. I usually try avoiding my intoxicated, hothead boyfriend
by either going to work or any other place I can in view of the fact that there is always a
possibility of my low simmer turning into a rapid boil.

I call Kurt and go see the kids. Afterward, we set-up a meeting so we can talk and figure out
how often Ill be able to visit Jacob and Emily now that Ill be living so close. We meet at a
restaurant for lunch. Im excited to talk with Kurt after all this time given that I have no hard
feelings toward him since it was me who wanted and needed to leave. I believe we can finally
put the past behind us and be friends, but of course, Im mistaken.

Naivety: Having or showing an excessively simple and trusting view of the world and of
human nature, often because of youth or inexperience. Naive? Who me? Maybe a little.

I walk into the restaurant, and from the door I can see Kurt at a booth so I smile and wave at
him as I walk to the table. Why shouldnt I smile, Im happy as can be now that Im here in
Washington and about to discuss seeing my kids on a regular basis. Honestly, I figured Kurt
must feel the same; why else would he so quickly agree to see me? He must be prepared to let
the past be the past, let bygones be bygones, bury the hatchet, kiss and make-up, its all going to
be great. I never could have imagined that my jilted husband would still be holding a grudge, and
still be hating little ol me, but he is. I see it the second I walk-up to the table. Kurt looks at me as
if hes looking at a rotting corpse. I acknowledge and ignore the look on his face, continuing to
smile and carry on as if were two old friends. I dont want to get angry and defensive, so Ill just
ignore his attitude and try to win him over with my sparkling personality. I start with why I left. I
dont think he has ever fully understood why I did what I did, so of course, I feel I must remind
him. I start with my childhood and my evil step-mother, then remind him as well of the many
hours he listened to me talk about how badly my evil-step-mother messed me up. I then end my
little speech with the reason I met him for lunch in the first place.
But just so you know, Im good now and so sorry for hurting all of youandI want to
see the kids on a regular basis now that Ill be living so close. Kurt doesnt lighten-up, and it
seems that the longer the conversation goes on, hes actually getting more disgusted with me. (I
only now understand that it was from my acting somewhat oblivious to how bad the pain and
suffering was that he and the kids went through after I left.) We sit in silence for quite a while as
Kurt absorbs what I just doused him with, when finally, he says to me in typical Kurt fashion,
unemotional and matter-of-fact;
If you want to see the kids, youll have to pay child support. I chuckle at the suggestion
but when I search his face for the punch-line, I realize he is dead serious. Its then when I finally
stop smiling because his suggestion is not amusing at all.
Well, I guess I need to get myself a lawyer; I respond calmly and confidently.
Well, I guess you do; Kurt says just as coolly.
Okay then, I guess thats it.
I guess so.
Well, goodbye, it was nice seeing you; I say with a smile and a kind eye, because even
though hes acting pissy and unfriendly, I cant blame him and I still dont have any hard
feelings toward him. Kurt responds with a smirk on his face and a quick wave of his hand, then
walks away and out of my life for good.
The drive home after Kurts and my little meeting is a different story all together. No longer
am I the happy, nave idiot I was just one short hour before. Im not only becoming more angry
and distraught by the minute, but my little annoying voice, who had of course been listening to
the whole conversation, has quite a bit to say about the meeting.
Did you see how he was looking at you? Whats wrong with him? How could he still be
angry with you for leaving him and the kids when you sat there smiling and looking cute and
holding out a white flag? Its obvious he isnt taking any responsibility for the failure of the
marriageat all. What a jerk! Just think, you paying child support? Is he crazy? What does he
think, after four years of not being allowed to work or go to school, you just went out and got
some high paying job so that you should be the one to have to pay child support? Whatever! Just
wait, when you get a lawyer, hell be the one paying. Yep, youll show him just what youre
capable of!
Yeah! I agree with the voice. What a cussword. Those are my kids and I will see them.
You go girl.
I will. Im dead serious about this one.
I know you are.
Yeah, I am.
Im all talk, but I talk a pretty good game, or believe I talk a good game, Im not sure. But
one thing I am sure about is that I have plenty of emotional oomph to fuel every one of my
professed intentions. Being that Im a professional procrastinator as well as an avoider of all
things confrontational, I can always manage to find something else to do than confront what
needs to be confronted, and that something else usually has something to do with Joseph.
The struggle of dealing with Joseph and his issues is still all consuming. There is always one
thing or another causing my volatile and unpredictable boyfriend to act out in ways that lead to
some sort of trouble. Therefore, Im constantly on my guard to counteract any problems that
arise because of his acting out. The constant turmoil has become my comfort zone as well as an
excuse on avoiding the fundamental aspects of my life. Whats wrong with me? Why cant I live
without him? I cant lose him...I could never find anyone better than my Joseph. Whenever we
break-up, every good thing we ever had together comes rushing back to me, flooding my mind
with memories of love and causing me to miss him so badly I can hardly functionuntil I go
running back into his arms. It always feels as if all the bad is behind us as I convince myself that
Joseph and I have surely learned from the experience. So, off I go yet again, diving headfirst into
the raging sea of discord.
Dont do it! Youre crazy if you go back. I hear it all the time, even from people who
barely know me. Do I listen? Never. Im too afraid to get off this crazy rollercoaster of co-
dependency and emotional turmoil Im riding. Im a twenty-seven-year old rollercoaster junkie.
Low Self-Esteem
Simply being in a relationshipeven one thats not idealmay be comforting. A lot of times,
people have low self-esteem and say, Im no good, no one would want me, and therefore I have
to put up with this. These negative thoughts are very common, and they have a big impact on why
people stay in relationships that may not be good for them. (Scott Wetzler, author of Is It You or
Is It Me? How We Turn Our Feelings Inside Out and Blame Each Other)

Chapter 47
Love is patient, love is kind,
love is slowly losing your mind.
~Jacob-27 dresses


The house Joseph and I rent was once a medium-sized, single-family home with an equally
large basement that the owners converted into an apartment to rent out as well. We rent the main
floor upstairs because the basement is already occupied by two young, good-looking guys whose
names are Mike and Tim. Theyre both in their early-twenties and both attend college and work
part-time. Mike is single and enjoys designing and building furniture with metal. Tim has an out-
of-town girlfriend who he rarely sees because of them living in different states, and other than
that, both Mike and Tim are quiet, confident and kind young men.
I feel shy around our new neighbors mostly due to the fact that Im ashamed of Joseph and
embarrassed that Im with himeven though I love him? Mike and Tim are both around my
age, yet both are mature, smart, hardworking, sober and have the whole world going for them,
while Im still struggling to find my way in life in addition to living with a man whos as mature
as a ten-year-old, and who cant stay employed or sober to save his life, with the worst part being
that I can tell the guys dislike Joseph from the get-go.
What are you doing with that guy? Mike and Tim ask me after getting to know Joseph and
his explosive personality. I have no answers, just excuses. Im humiliated by Joseph and by his
marijuana use as well as what happens to his personality whenever he drinks or uses marijuana. I
hate Josephs temper and the way he treats me, but the fact he couldnt care less who knows
about these things makes it all the worse. Still, I stay, feeling too insecure to leave. Its as if I am
being held by invisible chains.
Obsessions
Codependents have a tendency to spend their time thinking about other people or relationships.
This is caused by their dependency and anxieties and fears. They can also become obsessed
when they think theyve made or might make a mistake. Sometimes you can lapse into fantasy
about how youd like things to be or about someone you love as a way to avoid the pain of the
present. This is one way to stay in denial, but it keeps you from living your life. (By Darlene
Lancer, JD. MFT. Lancer, D. 2012).
Joseph is hired at Bullies, a bar and grill Kurt and I used to frequent in a small town right
next door to Bellingham, called Fairhaven. Bullies is known for their vast array of beers and
gourmet burgers as well as being a privately owned establishment run by the owner herself.
Kathy is in her forties, blonde and full-bodied if you know what I mean. Shes the perfect type to
own a bar being that shes attractive, smart, flirty and full of life. Shes a single mother of two
teenaged boys whom she adores, and when Joseph shows-up, she finds not only a new employee,
but a confidant and drinking-buddy as well. Its something Im not too happy about but now
have to deal with on a daily basis. Kathy becomes the vain of my existence in addition to Joseph
now that many arguments and fights begin and end with Kathys name. Bullies has become
another beginning of another end.
Joseph loves his new job, and loves sampling each and every beer, each and every day.
Eventually, the hour he comes home from work gets later, and later, and later. My little annoying
voice has plenty to say about the late hours, and as always, has to pipe-up and remind me of
whats going on.
Hes cheating on you with Kathy. I know it and you know it.
Stop it, he is not.
Oh, really? Then why isnt he home with you right now? The restaurant closed three hours
ago, and he hasnt called either. I look at the clock and when I see how long its been since the
restaurant closed, and the fact it actually has been three hours, my stomach starts spinning and
now I feel sick.
Oh great, now I feel sick. See what you did. Thanks for reminding me. I tell the voice.
Dont blame me, blame the cussword. Hes the one whos not home. Just then I hear
Joseph squealing into the driveway. No matter that our downstairs neighbors are sleeping
because of having to get up early for work and school, and not to mention its one oclock in the
morning. Nope, its all about Joseph and he couldnt care less who hes bothering which means
hes drunk and high so I brace myself for the fight that will ensue. I hate the fact my drunken
boyfriends yelling and cursing disturb Mike and Tim, but Im helpless to stop it. Mike told me
that they practically hear every word we say, even when were just talking. Ever since then, I
cringe whenever Joseph is loud. Their feelings toward Joseph definitely took a nosedive once he
settled into his new job and since becoming Kathys boy-toy and drinking buddy, and especially
now that hes coming home later and drunker every night.
Joseph stomps up the front steps, opens, then pushes the door shut behind him. He stomps
into the bedroom where I start to shush him to which he responds with an irritated, whatever.
You know the guys are sleeping and have to get-up early.
So what; why should I care? I live here and I can do what I want!
Shhhh!!
Oh, shut-up! He barks.
Where were you and why are you so late? I ask my usual questions.
I was at work, where else would I be? And Im late because Kathy and I were sampling
some new beers that just came in and we needed to see which ones were good enough to add to
the menu.
Oh, really? I say sarcastically, but Joseph knows exactly what Im implying. After that,
the fight begins. Whenever I mention Kathys name, Joseph is quick to remind me what an
insecure and jealous little cussword I am, which then causes me to give him a hundred reasons
why I feel insecure and jealousall in hissing whispers, thank you very much. Joseph goes
ahead and yells as loud as wants as well as trying to use every cussword in the book. (Is there
really a book of cusswords?) He continues on with his bellowing until we hear the banging on
the walls and floor, and the guys yelling for us to shut-up. Sometimes their banging works,
sometimes not, depending on Josephs attitude about Mike and Tims attitude about the noise. If
Joseph is in a more confrontational mood, hell continue stomping back and forth all the while
yelling sarcastic comments about me, about them, about himself and life in general and usually,
making no sense at all and its then when well hear the knock at our door. If Joseph still wont
shut-up, or if our fights escalate and it sounds as if I may get hurt, Mike and Tim will come
upstairs to confront Joseph on him being such a cussword. Once they put him in his place and are
certain things will simmer down, only then will they head back to bed.
We arent afraid of him; they say with disgust. How can he talk like that and why do you
stay with him? Still, I have no answer and now I can see as well as feel the lack of respect Mike
has for me for staying with a man who treats me so badly. Tim just cares for my well-being. He
feels bad that I have to deal with what I deal with so I find it easier to talk to him knowing hes
more sensitive to my situation than Mike. I feel terrible for them having neighbors like us who
have totally disrupted their quiet, peaceful lives. If only there was a way for Joseph to kick the
drug habit, and if there is, I wonder what it could be. He continues to buy and smoke marijuana
and I continue to hate it. I feel if he genuinely loved me, he would quit his destructive habits and
then wed be fine. He feels if I truly loved him, Id accept him the way he is and then wed be
fine. What a conundrum were living in.
Making Excuses
Making excuses for your partners behavior when he is acting out and verbally abusing you in
front of others is another indicator that your relationship has become toxic and abusive. (By
Cindi Pearce, eHow Contributor)
The drinking starts while Joseph is still working, it seems as if he and Kathy just cant help
themselves. Whats good for the goose is good for the gander I suppose. Not that Joseph could
have waited until after work to start drinking anyhow being the alcoholic that he is. Many times
after working a lunch shift, Ill stop by Bullies to visit him and have a beer. When I arrive, Ill
usually find him and Kathy behind the bar, laughing it up, acting like a couple of goofy
teenagers, and at least halfway to Margaritaville already.
Penny! Joseph spits out between laughing breaths, saying my name as if he hasnt seen me
for a month.
Hi?
Then Kathys likeHi Penny! Hahaha!
Then Im likeHi Kathy.
Then the two goofy teenagers stop acting goofy until the party pooper has a beer or two and
stops looking as if she cares that her boyfriend seems to have tons more fun when shes not
around. By the time Im ready to leave, Kathy and I are acting like a couple of old friends even
though I dont trust her as far as I can throw her. Im just gonna keep my enemy closer as the
saying goes.
If I had only known there was more to Josephs reasons for wanting to spend so much time
at Bullies, I could have been busy packing my things instead of wasting time worrying about
Kathy and Josephs relationship. I later realize the reasons go much further than work, or Kathy,
or even free beer and booze; if only I had known, but instead Im living in a hurricane of discord
and denial that continues ripping, tearing and blowing away anything that could be good in my
life. I try imagining that Home is where they love you, or Home is where your heart is, or
that theres such a thing as Home Sweet Home, but none of these sayings has ever been true
for me, not way back when and not now. I see Joseph less and less, and when he does come
home hes always angry. I just dont get it. I wonder what could be happening to create such
rage. I wonder if its me. Is he angry he has to come home to me? Is he just plain tired of me? I
try talking to Joseph about why hes so unhappy, but he wont give me an answer that makes
sense. There isnt anything I can do to make things better so I remain in a whirlwind of negative
emotions. However, when I get tired of being angry, frustrated, hurt, anxious, scared, jealous,
insecure and disgusted, I pretend to be happy. I convince myself that Im happy because I have a
home, a job and friends in addition to a lying, cheating, no-good, angry, alcoholic, drug-using
man. Who wouldnt be happy?

A few months after we settle in, my dad comes for a short visit.
How are you? He asks.
Well, lets see. Not good; I say dejectedly. I then give my father the readers digest
version of my life as of late. I begin withJoseph and I arent getting along and end withKurt
says I cant see my kids unless I pay child-support! And since I dont do confrontation well, I
keep putting off getting a lawyer to fight him on the child support thing because that will cause
conflict, which I dont do well, except with Joseph of course. Have any advice?
I dont understand. Why do you stay with him? My father asks this like hes sick of
hearing about the same old problemsbecause he is. Why dont you just leave him?
Because for some reason, I still love him and he insists, he still loves me.
Sometimes love isnt enough and how can you honestly love him after everything hes
done and is doing? Furthermore, my dad continues; as far as the Kurt thing goes, just find a
lawyer and take care of the situation. No lawyer is going to make you pay him child support.
I know, its just that he already hates me, and if I go and get a lawyerughhell be my
mortal enemy. This is all because of that darned car; I add. My Dad looks at me, confused.
What car?
You know. When I let my Mitsubishi get repossessed.
I didnt know about that; my dad says looking confused.
Well, when I first left Kurt, I obviously needed one of the cars so Kurt told me that I could
have the Mitsubishi if I take over the payments. I agreed, and drove it down to California, got a
job and took over the payments. The payment was three hundred dollars a month and given that I
wasnt making much money when I first arrived, I was barely able to afford it. I then met Joseph,
and since he had a car, I felt I didnt need my car anymore. So, I called Kurt and asked if he
wanted the car back and of course he says no. I then tell him that I wasnt going to keep making
the payments and the car would be repossessed and it would be his credit that would be affected,
but still he refused to take the car backso I let it be re-poed. Then, the next time I call him, he
tells me that hes going to pursue child support if I ever want to see the kids again, which he so
reminded me the last time we spoke. I never thought he was serious, but he is, and now I cant
see the kids even though theyre right across town!
Theres nothing my dad can tell me that I havent already gone over with my little annoying
voice a hundred times before but saying it all out loud helps me decide on what to do about the
Kurt and kids situation. I decide not to pursue a lawyer, and just take one on the chin for the sake
of keeping the peace, what microscopic amount there might be. Ill just keep in contact with
Jacob and Emily through cards, letters and gifts, and hope they understand some day why I did
what I did, or do what I do, or have done what Ive done, and as for Joseph, I guess Ill just
continue to sit home waiting for him to show-up and while I do, Ill pray he comes home in a
good mood.
Co-Dependent Love
Men and women in abusive relationships often love the abuser so much that they believe the
good overrides the bad, as they hope each episode of abuse is the last. (By April Fox, eHow
Contributor)

Chapter 48
He, who fears to suffer, suffers from fear.
~French Proverb


Its happening again; that really bad feeling I get. The feeling Ive had twice while growing-
up, and now twice with Joseph. Something is very wrong, again. Its near midnight and Im
trying to concentrate on a TV show but all Im actually concentrating on is the clock, and the fact
its getting later and later and Joseph isnt home yet. Im getting sicker to my stomach by the
minute because the really bad thoughts and the really bad fear hit me like a punch in the gut.
You do know whats going on, dont you? Youve been through it before.
No, I dont know whats going on.
Oh, stop kidding yourself and just think about it. It all adds up. You know it all makes
sense. I start thinking about the different situations throughout Josephs and my relationship
where Ive questioned myself about him. His years of sexual abuse, his acting gay so well, his
preferring to hang-out with boys. I think about my brother and what happened to him, and how
normal his abuser had been; much more normal than Joseph. NO! No way! Joseph loves women,
theres no denying that. Why am I thinking like this anyhow? He hasnt been hanging around
any boys at all. The youngest person he knows is a busboy at Bullies.
So?
Soooothe busboy isnt even a boy; hes young, but not a kid.
So?
Would you stop already! I dont want to think about this right now. I get-up, turn off the
television and go to bed.
I cant sleep; Im too nervous. I strain my ears listening for the sound of Josephs car roaring
up the street. Im afraid Ill hear it and afraid I wont. Im afraid of his drunkenness, his attitude
and his sarcasm when hes drunk. Im also afraid of the fight that will result because of him
being drunk and stoned and sarcastic. On the other hand, Im afraid hes been arrested for drunk
driving or been in an accident because of drunk driving, but Im also afraid he hasnt been
arrested because part of me feels its what he deserves. Theres also part of me who hopes hes
dead because then Ill be free to get off of this sickening emotional roller-coaster Im riding. Its
all too much to handle right now. I just want to sleep so I can stop thinking, but I cant, and so I
continue to think the hours away until I finally doze off from sheer exhaustion. By three in the
morning, Im jolted awake by a terrible fear and I know I have to go find my missing boyfriend.
First, I call Bullies; no answer. I then call Kathy and wake her up. She answers the phone
and says hello in a groggy voice.
Hi, Kathy? This is Penny. Im looking for Joseph and I was wondering if hes with you or
if you know where he is.
Noooo. He was closing the restaurant the last I saw him; she says sleepily and without
thinking and I can tell shes telling the truth.
I tried calling over there, but theres no answer. Do you have any idea where he might be?
No, sorry.
Okay, sorry for waking you. I hang-up the phone and decide I have to try tracking him
down.
I pull up to Bullies at three-forty in the morning where I can see through the front windows
that theres a light coming from the back of the store, most likely from the kitchen area. Its a
good sign that someone might still be in the restaurant, so I park the car. The darkened streets in
the typically bustling little town are, of course, deserted, with the street lamps casting an eerie
yellow glow through a light mist. Its enough light to see by, but not enough to make someone
feel at ease, especially a girlfriend with a really bad feeling. I cant think about that right now
though, because right now all Im thinking about is following the impulse that propels me
onward even if towards an outcome I dare not imagine.
I go up to the front door and try the handle to see if its locked.
Of course it is, dont be stupid.
Ok, thats enough from the peanut gallery, but its nice to know I can always count on
my little annoying voice for company even on dark, deserted streets in the middle of the night.
After checking the door, I quietly knock on the glass to see if I can get anyones attention if
anyone is even in there, but the anyone doesnt respond. I head around back and Im suddenly
disappointed, yet relieved to see Josephs car still parked in its spot as if its the middle of the
day not the middle of the night. I stare at it with a deepening suspicion that abruptly turns to fear,
gripping my body and mind and sending a shiver scurrying up my back. I almost feel too scared
to proceed, worried what I might be walking into but knowing I need to do what I came to do. I
need to face whatever may lie beyond the door. Ive been through the back door many times, so
Im not concerned about not knowing my way around in case its too dark to see. I stand for a
second, then take a deep breath as I reach for the handle, turn and pull. The door opens, which
only elevates my fright since I now know Joseph is here for sure. I silently step through the door
where the shadowy stillness causes more chills than the cold night air.
Joseph? I quietly call Josephs name as I make my way toward the bar. What better place
to start than at the bar? I think to myself, especially since I want to avoid the kitchen area since
its there where I have a feeling hell be doing God knows what. I quietly call his name a second
time. Joseph? I dont find him at the bar so I hesitantly start toward the kitchen when suddenly,
Joseph appears before me like an apparition and before I can even comprehend where he just
came from, hes in my face shouting questions at me, breaking the icy silence.
What the hell are you doing here? Why did you come here? How dare you come looking
for me?!
I cant get a word in edgewise as he continues his onslaught of profanities and threats and
accusations as I stand in front of him trying to explain why, and what Im doing there. Its then
when I see a figure come around from the kitchen area, and I recognize him as the young busboy
I had seen working here on many occasions. He looks scared, embarrassed and confused, and as
soon as I see him, he ducks back into the shadows. Once I see the busboy, I quit listening to
Joseph, but when he notices Im looking behind him and not at him, he turns to see what Im
looking at as I start stammering
What is he doing here? Why are both of you here at three-thirty in the morning? Why??
What are you doing? As I pause and try to comprehend what is going on, I start backing away
from Joseph while he growls something about
Cleaning! We were cleaning! Not that its any of your business anywayand. but I
dont hear anything he says after that. My head is spinning as dark, disgusting thoughts start
forming in my mind as I maneuver my way around the dark maze of tables, finally finding the
door and my way out of hell. I can hear myself crying, cussing and screaming now as I run to my
car and on the drive home as well. I just cant stop screaming.
Now I know! Oh my gosh! Disgusting thoughts of Joseph and the busboy keep flashing
through my head like an x-rated movie, making me more furious with each picture I see in my
minds eye. I dont know who Im angrier at, Joseph, for what he might have been doing, or
myself, for not leaving him at my first suspicion. As I pull into our driveway, my little annoying
voice, who isnt so annoying at the moment, tells me that I need to get out of the house before
Joseph gets home. I take the warning seriously knowing from past experience that when my little
annoying voice says to avoid Joseph at all costsI should. I know how furious hell be because
of being found out, so once I arrive home, I go straight to the downstairs apartment and knock on
the door not caring about the time, or the fact Im waking up my long-suffering neighbors once
more.
Ive gotten to know Mike and Tim through the months and they understand how volatile
Josephs and my relationship is, so when Tim opens the door, he doesnt look surprised to see
me. He peers around the door as if hes expecting someone else to be there with me, but I
quickly tell him that its just me and can I come in before Joseph shows-up? As soon as he closes
the door, I start explaining the situation.
Can I please stay here tonightJoseph is on his way home and hes really angry and I
dont know what hell do! Im crying and trembling as I try to convince them how serious I am.
Mike finally cant stand listening to the Joseph situation anymore, and crankily gets out of bed
since sleep is no longer an option. He starts complaining about how impossible it is to get any
sleep around the place, and what a cussing cussword Joseph is, and he thinks its time to kick his
A.S.S! As soon as the words are out of his mouth, we all hear a car engine roaring toward the
property, tires skidding to slow down enough to make the turn into the driveway, the engine
gunned toward the house then the car skidding to a stop; Josephs home.
Its as if were all holding our breath as we listen to him slam his car door shut, run up the
front steps, open the front door and roar my name as the door slams closed. To say Joseph is
angry is a colossal understatement as we listen to him storm around the house looking for me.
After a minute or two, we listen as he opens the front door for a second time and goes bounding
down the front steps.
Is he leaving? I whisper, but again, before the words are even out of my mouth, we hear
him stomping down the stairs to the basement apartment and right up to the door Im standing
against. Joseph starts pounding on the door as he yells my name, but all I can do is stand there
thinking what nerve he has to be so rude and inconsiderate just because hes angry. Geez! Hes
unbelievable!
What do you want? Mike yells through the door in an irritated voice.
I know Pennys in there and shed better get out here right now or Ill come in and get her!
I wish I had thought to hide my car then this might not be happening. Mike and Tim keep yelling
back at Joseph to go home, sleep it off, leave us alone, dont make us come out there and kick
your butt along with other random comments meant to dissuade him from continuing his
pounding on their door but it doesnt do a bit of good. Joseph continues yelling for me to come
out until Mike has had enough. Pushing past Tim, he opens the door and goes straight-up to
Joseph, giving him a good shove. Joseph stumbles back on the steps, but quickly gets-up and
shoves Mike back. The thing is though, Mike doesnt stumble, so the shoving match only goes
on for a few more seconds until Joseph decides he doesnt like picking on someone his own size
and stomps home still full of spit and vinegar, but knowing theres nothing he can do about it.
I know Im safe, but now that the drama is over, Im embarrassed and uncomfortable. Mike
is still worked-up, and makes sure we all know how irritated he is about the fact that he has to be
up for work in a few hours and if he doesnt get some sleep hes gonna be pissed.
You mean, more pissed, my very annoying voice adds.
Being that there arent any bedrooms in the basement apartment, Tim and Mike sleep on
futons in the living room area. Mike stomps over to his bed and flops down while Tim thinks
about where I can sleep.
Ill just sleep on the floor, really, I dont want to be any trouble; I tell him.
No. Come here and lie down with me; Tim tells me as he motions for me to join him.
NooooReally? I feel weird, but go to him nonetheless; maybe he thinks I need
comforting. We lay there for a while, not able to sleep, when I feel him put his arm over my
waist. I wonder if he wants something? No, he has a girlfriend. No way, hes not going to tryis
he? I keep asking myself questions I cant answer until I feel him wanting to turn me towards
him. Uh-oh, here it comes. It makes me wonder why such a smart, hard-working, sober,
handsome guy who has the whole world going for him, would want me. Except he does, and
even if it is only for sex, I dont mind one bit, and even though Mike is right there across the
room, hopefully asleep, I cant say no, needing this affirmation of worth. The next morning I
dont feel an ounce of guilt, but I am embarrassed and pretend as if what happened was
completely normal. Wow, can my moral fabric possibly get any more holes in it?

Im packed and ready to go, but first Im going to head to Bullies and break the news to
Joseph. I want to see the look of pain and hurt on his face when he realizes hes losing me.
Oh, give me a break.
What? What do you want?
You know youre only going because you want him to beg you to stay and because this is
your favorite part of the fight.
Fine, I admit I love seeing the pathetic look on his face as he listens to my profanities and
threats and accusations for a change as well as making him feel guilty for everything hes done.
And?
And I like hearing him beg for my forgiveness as he tells me how much he needs me and
wants mebut Im still leaving for good this time. I wont live with someone who may or may
not be a molester of pre-teen, and now, teen boys.
I walk defiantly into Bullies and see Joseph behind the bar. I flash him a look that could
make the devil run for cover while he looks back at me with the sad, defeated look Ive seen a
hundred times before after a drunken, rage-filled night and I secretly gloat inside.
I just wanted to let you know Im leaving. Im going back to California. He nods sadly as
if he already knew this was coming. You can deal with the house and the lease. Im just taking
my things and going and I dont want anything else to do with you! Again, the sad nod, but he
says nothing.
Whats wrong with him? The voice in my head asks me. I glare at him giving him a
chance to respond, but still nothing.
Dont you even care?! I need a reaction from him, a fight, something! I need him to beg
for forgiveness and admit his fault! Im so sick in the head!
Hey! Watch who youre talking about, missy!
Oh, go away. This isnt about you and I cant hear with you yammering away.
Of course, I care; Joseph finally responds, but I understand if you want to go; he says
softly and calmly, too calmly. Im confused. The look on his face and in his eyes is saying what I
want to hear, but his voice sounds different.
You dont sound as if you care! You want me to go, dont you? I cant help but start
crying from his lack of reaction, which feels like rejection to my needy soul. I can hardly stand it
anymore. I feel as if Im about to burst from my feelings of desperation and rage, desperate for
him to beg me to stay, and angry that hes not.
It may not mean anything to you, but I am sorry; he finally mumbles
Youre right! It doesnt mean anything! You disgust me! I turn and storm out the door,
running, crying and cussing to my car just as I had the night before, when I hear the voice in my
head again.
Wait, Im confused.
Oh great, here it comes. Cant you ever just leave me alone?
No, listen. Does he disgust you because of what he mightve been doing last night, or
because he didnt beg you to stay? Not to mention, not even suggesting you stay.
Ugh, both I guess. But Ill show him, Ill show him that I dont need him because Im never
coming backever! Im done! Now leave me alone, I dont feel like talking. I need the twenty-
four hour drive back to California to convince myself that I dont need the no-good, drug-
addicted, alcoholic, abusive jerk. I can take care of myself. I dont need Joseph and I still dont
need my family. I dont need anyoneexcept, my friend with the apartment.


Chapter 49
Youve got a lot of choices. If getting out of bed in the morning is
a chore and youre not smiling on a regular basis, try another choice.
~Stephan D. Woodhull, 1976


When I arrive in Palm Desert, I call Monica on her cell phone and let her know Ive arrived
so I can pick-up the key to her apartment. Luckily, my former co-worker from the Elephant Bar
answers the phone when I call to ask if she still has her apartment, and if I can stay there until
Im on my feet. She rents a beautiful apartment she seldom uses since meeting her boyfriend
because of staying at his place most of the time. Ill just take over the rent and bills for as long as
needed or until I rent my own place and get on with my life; I announce to Monica, and myself.
I dial the phone, listen to it ring, and ring, and ring some more, then I leave a message. Im
sure shell get back to me soon; she knows Im coming. An hour goes by and now its three in
the afternoon. I call again, and again, and again all afternoon and evening, and now Im hungry
and have to pee but I dont dare leave the apartment in case she shows-up and I miss her. Ill just
have to hold it.
Yeah, hold it and hope she gets here before you pee your pantshehehe.
Very funny, but so true; I say to myself.
By 9 pm Im starving, and now if I dont pee I actually will pee my pants. I take a chance
and drive down the street a few blocks to the am/pm, grab a cold burrito, use their bathroom then
hurry back and park outside the apartment for the second time.
Lets hope this time wont be as long.
Yeah, lets hope. After an hour goes by with still no sign of Monica, I suspect she isnt
coming but continue to call her phone until after eleven pm. Im still hoping Ill reach her before
she goes to bed, but after another hour I know its hopeless. I dont have enough money to stay
in a motel if I want to eat at all in the next few days, so I make myself as comfortable as possible
and try to sleep on the backseat of my little Nissan Sentra. My life has to get better from here on
in; I think to myself as I gaze up at the stars through the backseat window. Come on, what else
can go wrong?
Number one priorityfind a job. Number two priorityfind an apartment of my own. I do
both quickly once Monica finally shows-up and rescues me from my homeless dilemma. She
drives up to her apartment the next morning after my night of cramped calling, waiting and
sleeping, thinking its today that Ill be arriving. Her confusion doesnt surprise me at all now
that I think of it, remembering what an airhead and ditz she was while working together, but we
were friends and back then her ditziness was cute. This time though, her empty-headedness is
annoying, but after listening to a hundred apologies along with a hundred different excuses for
the mix-up, I move the little I have with me into my new temporary home and try to get used to
being alone.
For the first time, I might add.
I didnt ask you.
Kinda uncomfortable if you ask me.
Again, I didnt ask you.
Boring too. Dont you feel just a little uneasy being here all by your lonesome?
Maybe a littleokay, a lot!
Maybe you should call someone, maybe you should callJoseph.
NO! I can do this!
Come-on, you know you want too
No I dont! I never want to talk to him again! Ill just go get some dinner and then Ill feel
better.
Eating dinner alone? How much lonelier can it get?
I can see that Im gonna need a bottle of wine as well just to shut you up, arent I?
What? Thats not niceIm just trying to help.
Yeah, some help you are.

Getting work is easy. I get a job at the Kaiser Grille in the evenings, then get a second job
waiting tables during the day at the La Quinta Cliffhouse as well. I know I need to work my butt
off in order to pay off my credit card bills which Joseph and I accrued together, even though I
left all the furniture and such with him, and he left all the bills and such for me since its all on
my credit. No sense sitting around waiting to go to work when I can be making money and if I
had the time, Id work three jobs. As far as a place to live goes as luck would have it, Nicole, my
very first best friend ever, whom I have upped and left twice now, says she would be glad to
have me move in with her once more.
I was just thinking about getting a roommate and then you called, so the timing couldnt be
any more perfect! She cheerfully informs me. I move-in within a few days. Life is finally
getting back on track; yay me!
Im working like a dog, then wonder how many dogs I actually see working. Not many, if
any at all, I think. I guess I wont use that statement anymore since it doesnt make sense, and I
hate saying things that dont make sense or I dont know the meaning of, and I just wish I knew
where sayings like these came from in the first place. Anyhow, besides working like a slave, all I
know is, Im drowning myself in work. I work seven days a week with at least five double shifts
during each week. During the intermittent moments when Im not working, I never miss an
opportunity to go hiking at the Living Desert, a nature preserve of sorts, but which is, bit-by-bit,
becoming a full-fledged zoo. Its situated among the foothills leading into the Santa Rosa
Mountains and has some excellent hiking trails. I run the five mile loop through the mountainous
desert terrain, pushing myself the way I used to physically push myself as a teenager. Being
alone in the mountains while challenging my strength and stamina is my therapy. Nature is my
refuge, its heaven on earth and perfect for my rehabilitation into existence without Joseph. The
nights Im not working I try to keep busy so Nicole and I hangout quite a bit. We go shopping, to
dinner, to movies, in addition to lots of dancing, all of which are time consuming and fun.
However, the part of me that usually gets me into trouble is once again, trying to take over as
well as trying to find some trouble for me to get into. You know what they say, idle hands are the
devils playground, or is it idle minds? My hands seem busy enough, so it must be my little
annoying voice whos looking for trouble; who knows?

I have a crush on a guy named Rick from work, except, hes infatuated with Kelly the
hostess, but since she has a boyfriend and no interest in him, she keeps encouraging Rick to go
out with me seeing as though Im the one who likes him. At the same time, another co-worker,
Joey likes me, but hes weird and lives in a cabin out in the middle of nowhere and spends most
of his time listening to the band Rush, day and night, depending on whether hes working or not.
He tells everyone that when hes high and tripping out on acid, hell stare up at the sky and
receive messages from the stars, or Rush, according to him. I hate the band Rush as much as I
hate ex-boyfriends who may or may not be having sexual relations with young male co-workers,
and I tell him so. Joey then tells me that he dreams of him and I together forever, and now I feel
on edge whenever Im around him. I feel as if hes stalking me, not to mention feeling as if he
can see right through me which is extremely creepy, yet in some ways, tantalizingI must be
crazy.
In the meantime, Rick finally asks me out. We go shoot pool and have a good time, even
though all those first date jitters are jittering around in my stomach. Nevertheless, Im being
super careful to be cool and fun and sexy, and I guess my effort is paying off because once were
in Ricks car, he starts kissing me and giving me the cues that let me know he wants to do it, but
only if I want to, of course. Here I go again, wondering if I should do it or not with only
moments to decide. I dont want him to think Im a prude because then he might not ask me out
again, but then again, if I say OK, he might think Im a slutty whore on my way down to hell. So,
after some quick contemplation on my part, I decide that since Rick and I work together, he
wouldnt sleep with me unless he really liked me because of the chance things might be
uncomfortable at work if it happens that hes just using me, so I say okay. Im thinking he must
like me if he wants to do it on the first date, although a few years ago, I remember one Costco
manager by the name of Alex who wanted to do it on the first date, with that ending in a week of
evasion and a phone call where he essentially accused me of being a slutty whore on my way
down to hell. Nevertheless, my wicked side eggs me on and I cant believe its finally happening
after so many months of liking Rick, and surprisingly, a few nights later, he asks me out again.
Whew! What a relief. Doing it on the first date actually worked this time.
We, once again, go play pool then afterwards go to his house and listen to the punk rock
music that Rick loves so much but that Ive never heard before, nonetheless; I metamophosize
into someone who loves punk rock music because I need to love his music as much as he does if
just so hell like me even more than I think he already does. Eventually, Rick makes his move as
I expected he would, even as the little annoying voice in my head is trying to convince me that I
actually dont want to do it. I refuse to listen and get busy doing iton Ricks bed this
timeand while listening to my new favorite band, The Cure.
What are you doing?
What do you mean what am I doing? You know darn well what Im doing.
I know what youre doing, I just want to know why?
You know why as well ...because this is just what one is supposed to do when asked out on
a date.
It is?
Yes, yes it is, especially if you want to be asked out on another one.
Then why are you having this discussion with me if doing it is so great? Are you trying to
convince yourself that doing it is what you want?
It is what I want.
Ohhh, OK; then dont let me stop you.
Oh, go away if you cant be supportive; I tell the annoying voice, ending our annoying
conversation. But, the voice is right. I dont feel good about what Im doing, because for some
reason, doing it right now seems more uncomfortable than when Rick and I first did it in his
cramped car. When its finally over, I feel empty and awkward and hate myself for ignoring the
voice in my head and doing it anyhow.
Dont say I didnt warn ya.
Gee, thanks a lot.

After that night, Rick and I never hang out again. I wonder why sometimes, but overall, Im
not too disappointed and I think I must be maturing given that this is the second guy Ive slept
with where it went nowhere and I didnt care. Im also learning that sex doesnt get me what I
want; in fact, the first time I ever had sex was the only time I ever got what I wanted, and that
was to stay with Kurt and not have to move-out and live on my own. Since then, whatever I think
Im going to accomplish by sleeping with a guy I like, ends-up doing the complete opposite of
what I intended. So much for thinking sex will get me what I want, and so much for the way of
the world.
When Joey finds out I went out with Rick, he starts coming up behind me at work and
whispering weird things in my ear. I can tell hes upset by the whole situation since he seems
agitated with me as if I cheated on him or something. A few weeks later, Joey comes to work and
hands me a poem he wrote for me, telling me that well be together forever someday and
sounding dead serious as he does.
Sure Joey; I say as I roll my eyes, but then I read his poem. Chills run-up and down my
spine as I read how he and I will eventually be together forever in life, and if not in life, than in
death. I consider calling the police, though I never do. The poem was creepy, but I really didnt
think his thoughts and/or stalking could possibly be serious and give me a breakits just a
poem and things like this just dont happen to people like me which thankfully, ends-up being
true.
Rick decides to go back to his girlfriend, Kelly is happy with her boyfriend, Joey stops
stalking me and I just keep working my butt off since I only have one more credit card to pay
off.


Chapter 50
Those who turn to God for comfort may find comfort,
but I do not think they will find God.
~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotics Notebook, 1960


Something is missing. Life is moving along at a leisurely pace and nothings wrong, but I
just dont feel any real happiness. I feel empty inside, and nothing I try fills the hollowness
within my soul. I think about a time when I was young and feeling lost and unloved but then
remember the love and warmth I felt whenever I went to church. Gods word kept me full of
hope and strength to handle whatever came my way. Thats it! Thats what I need. I need to go
back to church!
Sunday morning I walk through the doors of the Desert Chapel Church in Palm Springs and
find a seat near the back. I feel terribly uncomfortable since its been about ten years since Ive
even considered going to church, not to mention the fact Im drowning in condemnation. Im
tempted to leave, but know I should stay, knowing somewhere in this place is what I need. The
service starts with singing and worship.
Nope. Dont feel anything yet.
Geez...give it a chance, would ya?
All right, all right. Next, some announcements. This sounds familiar.
Just be patient, I tell my annoying voice whos being very un-patient. More singing, than a
prayer. Nothing yet; Im starting to think that maybe this isnt going to work after all but then the
message starts, the subject: Gods love. As I listen, I start feeling a warmth deep inside. Is God
speaking to me?
Maybe youre just hungry.
Im not hungry; I respond to myself. I continue listening to the pastors words and tears
well-up in my eyes as I reflect on how badly I need Gods love in my empty, empty life. After
eight years of sin-filled living, God is letting me know that he still loves me! Wow God, youre
amazing! I now know that this is what Ive been missing. Halleluiah! Thank-you Jesus!
I go back to church the next Sunday and again feel incredibly refreshed. The week in-
between and after my Sunday refreshing feels bright, shiny and new, and I actually, for the first
time in a long time, feel happy to be alive. In fact, I feel so good, I dont feel I need another
refreshing on the third Sunday; in fact, everything is so fantastic at the moment, I think Ill just
wait until I need another refresher before I attend another servicePerfect! I convince myself
that church is like Gods filling station, kind of like a gas station but instead of gas its a love
station. Gods filling station of love.

Are you feeling run-down?
Are you running on empty?
Then come on in to Gods Love Station!
Fill-up, then feel refreshed and full of joy for the entire week ahead.
Its Gods filling station of love.
Where love and joy are free!

Wow! Thank-you God! Praise Jesus! I think to myself; except, there seems to be a pattern
here. Unbeknownst to me, Ive decided to use God in the same way I use family, friends and
men. I get what I need from them, then take off and live life on my own until I need them again.
Isnt life about making it on your own? Besides, whats so wrong with turning to someone when
I need a little help? At least I dont expect anyone to take care of meand I know God wont
mind since God is love as Ive been so reminded. God will always love me, and now, I know the
location of His filling station.

The message is on the table next to the phone when I come home from work one day. Nicole
lets me know about it as soon as I walk in the door.
Hey, she says in her normally cheerful voice.
Hey you! I say back.
UmmJoseph called.
What?! My stomach jumps into my throat at the mention of his name. We havent spoken
in months. What did he want?
I dont know. He just said hello, asked how you were and left a number if you want to
call.
Youre kidding...weird. Im speaking calmly, but I feel my blood start rushing through my
body at a million miles a second. Ive resisted calling him all this time, having finally moved on
with my life and things are good. I feel happy for the first time in a long time. Im working hard,
I have a fantastic roommate, lots of friends and now he has to go and ruin it by calling? Darn
him!
He hasnt ruined anything yet, and he wont unless you let himbutt, this means he misses
youso just call him back and see what he wants; what can it hurt? My little annoying voice
suggests.
No, I cant do it. I hate the fact that he can still get to me. Why does he still get to me?
Oh, come on, you know youre happy he called. It means he still cares and that he cant
live without you!
Oh my gosh! Youre rightJoseph still loves me!
My poor, poor friend Nicole, shes an incredible friend, but I dont deserve her friendship
and I wonder if shell ever learn. Shes always right here when I need her, taking me in when I
have no place else to go, always supporting me whenever I break-up with Joseph as well as never
judging my stupidity. This time is no different, and as Ive done too many times before, I
convince her that Im done with Joseph, and that Im here for her as her roommate and best
friend and she can count on me. However, listening to me is her biggest downfall because
depending on someone as selfish, impetuous, and insecure as I, is like gambling with your heart.
You can put your money down and hope to win, but nine times out of ten, you will lose. All I
care about is what I want and it doesnt matter whose feelings I run over to get it. Im an expert
at justifying my actions by telling myself that the one Im stomping on will get over itjust like
I always do. I feel terrible when I break the news to Nicole that Ill be moving to Seattle for a
summer job, especially since its only a partial truth.
The season is coming to a close here and since the summer season is the busy season in
Seattle, now would be a good time to make a go of it; I tell her. My explanation of course, isnt
the whole truth. The whole truth includes Joseph, who still lives in Bellingham, and whether hes
an angel or a demon, I need to see him. The phone call a month earlier was my downfall. When I
heard him say that he missed me and still loved me, I melted at his words and havent stopped
thinking of him since. I convince myself that our relationship will be different this time, because
I wont live with him or even be in the same town. We can take things slow, and Ill be able to
leave more easily if things dont work out. Besides, I love Seattle and its closer to my kids than
Palm Desert, and even if I cant see them, at least Ill feel closer to them and thats all that
matters.
Ive made up my mind. No matter that Im happy and working hard, or that I have great
friends and a great life, my addiction is calling and its hopeless to try to stop me from getting
my fix. Im now twenty-eight and still doing the same exact thing I was doing when I was
twenty-five. Insanity!


Chapter 51
Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again,
and expecting different results. ~Albert Einstein


I speed directly to where Joseph is now living which is with Kathys oldest son James,
whos nineteen, and one of James friends who is seventeen. Young guys who think its cool
living with a thirty-two-year-old man who can provide drugs and alcohol to their underage
hearts content. Their new residence is a large, old, two-story house within walking distance of
downtown Bellingham, and I have no problem finding it. When I arrive, I hear loud music
coming from the house and I end-up walking into a full-fledged party. I see mostly guys and a
couple of girls ranging in age from fourteen to about twenty with Joseph being the oldest at
thirty-two-years of age. I make my way through the house, choking from the heavy layer of
smoke in the air from all the cigarettes and joints being puffed-on, and as I do, I see the sofa and
loveseat Joseph and I had purchased together but which now sits in his house entirely paid off
thanks to my hard work. Joseph and his friends are enjoying the fruits of my labor with the
thought giving me a quick twinge of resentment as I walk past. Whatever, its over and done
with now.
I eventually find the kitchen where I find Joseph sitting on the counter surrounded by a
bunch of guys and one pretty girl all holding drinks and passing around a joint. When Joseph
sees me, he cant keep the look of surprise from his face as if he had no idea I was coming. He
jumps down, greeting me with a hug and a kiss thats as passionate as if we had just seen each
other the day before.
Did you forget I was coming? I ask him in his ear.
Noooo! He says as convincingly as he can, except, I know hes lying because of the deer
in the headlights look I saw on his face when he first spotted me. Hes drunk and stoned as is
everyone else, so to him my question is the funniest thing Ive ever said and he keeps laughing,
but Im not laughing. The excitement I felt driving here and at seeing him, has once again
vaporized into the smoky air. As soon as I see the stupid stoned look on Josephs face it all
comes rushing back, and now I cant believe its been six months of separation because it feels as
if Ive never left. Hes still the same. Everythings still the same. What am I even doing here?
Yeah, thats a good question. What are you doing here?
Oh, dont give me a hard time, its just a party. It wont always be like this. Besides I
thought you saidoh, never mind.
Keep telling yourself that. He didnt even remember you were coming.
Oh shut-up, Im getting a beer.
I refuse to think about whats going on around me, the smoke-filled house, the free-flowing
booze as well as the ages of the people here indulging in drugs and alcohol. I also ignore the fact
Joseph is again surrounding himself with people of the male gender who are quite a bit younger
than he. Hes just insecure with himself, thats why he doesnt have adult friends; I tell myself.
Besides, Ive never seen anything with my own two eyes so it could all be chalked up to an over-
active imagination on my partbut I dont want to think about that right now. Right now, I need
a drink and to relax after my long drive, then later, I find myself moving right into Josephs bed
as if we had never been apart.
I drive down to Seattle the next day to find myself a job and a place to call my own. Im
actually doing it; I affirm to myself.
Yes, yes you are.
Its easier than I thought it would be, Im pleasantly surprised to find out. I find a one-room
studio apartment and a job nine blocks away at the Ivars restaurant on the Wharf. Im so excited
about my accomplishments, a song comes into my head with the tune of You did it from the
movie, My Fair Lady.

I did it, I did it, I knew that I could do it.
I found myself a studio,
a new job serving food you know,
and all without-you know who!
I did it!

I walk into my new studio apartment and feel an immediate sense of anxiety. The room
looks old with off-white colored walls, beige carpet and an old dingy bathroom. The studio has a
tiny sink and a small stove in a hollowed-out alcove that acts as a kitchen. The room is empty
and void of any charm or furnishings and through the dirty, barred windows I see the sidewalk
and the legs of people walking by since Im in thebelow the main floor apartment. I have to
pay for parking which is absurd to me since I live here, and why in the world should I have to
pay to park at my own home? Thats the big city for ya. There are a couple of free parking spots
along the sidewalk outside my window, and if Im lucky enough to get one I dont dare move my
car until the weekend, and thats only if Im driving to Bellingham to see Joseph. I may not be
lucky enough to get the spot again and then Ill have to pay, which I cant and dont want to
afford.
I walk the nine blocks to work which is easy since its all downhill, but as I slowly trudge
the nine blocks back home, I notice that the street is a lot steeper than I had realized when
walking down the hill the first time. I dont mind given that the exercise is good for me and
Seattle is beautiful. Its summertime so it hardly ever rains. The sky is a brilliant blue and the air
crisp and clean, and when Im not working I love to go walking all over the city. Im learning the
streets as well as finding cute little shops Id love to shop in someday if I ever have enough
money and can remember to do so. I never do. I never have enough money to shop frivolously,
though I do enjoy the window shopping and honestly dont care if I dont go back to shop at the
shops that I tried to remember.
Im trying my best not to go and see Joseph on every day off I have, but its getting harder
and harder to resist because Im lonely. My one room studio feels like a jail cell since the only
things I moved into my little hole-in-the-wall are a mattress and a television set. I try hanging-
out with people from work but I never feel as if Im having fun and in fact, find my time
wandering the city alone more inviting. I wonder constantly about Joseph; what hes doing,
whom hes with, does he miss me as much as I miss him, why doesnt he call more often and
wishing I could just move-in with him and live and work in Bellingham. I dont understand why
I feel this way since Im usually irritated whenever Im with him because of the pot situation and
even though Im making an effort to ignore his constant drug use. Maybe Im just not cool
enough for Joseph, I tell myself. I then think that maybe, just maybe if I ignore the smoking
weed thing I might be seen as the cool girlfriend for a change and things will be better. I start to
notice though, that whenever I start thinking like this, a dark cloud appears and starts following
me wherever I go. It completely sucks the life out of me along with any shred of happiness I
might have had. The compromises I struggle to make in order to keep the peace are exhausting.
If only I could just get over it, accept it, try it youll like itnope, already did that and hated it.
Thus, I continue to beat myself up about being a better girlfriend and then maybe, just maybe,
Joseph and I will get along and live happily ever after.
Its my day off and Im excited about going to see my on-again, off-again boyfriend. I call to
let him know Im coming so there wont be any surprises when I arrive this timebut there
always is. Theres another party going on and once again, Im surprised. How stupid can I be?
He has never cared enough to just let it be us before, and yet, Im still surprised! Joseph is like a
drug, or maybe its the challenge, the challenge to change him. I know I can change him, its just
going to take a little more time, but love will prevail. Somewhere inside that selfish, thoughtless
creature is a sad, broken heart that just needs someone to stick around and love it
unconditionally, then hell change into the man of my dreams.
Good luck with that.
Oh, shut-up!
Denial
One of the problems people face in getting help for codependency is that theyre in denial about
it, meaning that they dont face their problem. Usually they think the problem is someone else or
the situation. They either keep complaining or trying to fix the other person, or go from one
relationship or job to another and never own up the fact that they have a problem. Codependents
also deny their feelings and needs. Often, they dont know what theyre feeling and are instead
focused on what others are feeling. The same thing goes for their needs. They pay attention to
other peoples needs and not their own. They might be in denial of their need for space and
independence. Although some codependents seem needy, others act like theyre self-sufficient
when it comes to needing help. They wont reach out and have trouble receiving. They are in
denial of their vulnerability and need for love and intimacy. (By Darlene Lancer, JD, MFT,
Lancer, D. (2012). Symptoms of Codependency. Psych Central. Retrieved on January 23, 2014)

Chapter 52
A wise man can see more from a bottom of a well,
than a foolish man from a mountain top. ~Author Unknown
I am a fool...


I wake in the middle of the night, rollover and realize Im alone. I look at the clock and
squint at its illuminated red numbers and see two oclock on the face. The window is open and a
light breeze is moving the curtains. The house is quiet so the party must finally be over and
everyone gone, or most likely passed-out around the house in the case of being too intoxicated to
drive home. Except, wheres Joseph? Its my first night back in two weeks and I would think he
would want to be in bed beside me. I came upstairs around eleven, being tired of the party and
just plain tired, so its beenthree hours. I had let him know I was going to bedhint, hint,
Joseph, Im heading upstairs; Im tired; wink, wink.
Oh, you are? Okay, Ill be up soon. I dont think anyone will hangout much longer.
Okay, goodnight.
Goodnight. Its the last thing we said to each other, but of course, he isnt here. He
mustve fallen asleep downstairs so I guess Ill go down and get him. I feel apprehensive about
wandering around in the middle of the night looking for him since I still havent stopped thinking
about the last time I had to wander around in the middle of the night searching for him, and Im
worried I might again see something that will give me nightmares for the rest of my life. My
annoying little voice is wide-awake and pipes in its two-cents as I expected it would.
Oh, dont be silly, you didnt see anything. You cant be sure anyhow, besides, he isnt in a
dark, secluded place like when he was at the restaurant, so you dont need to worry.
Lets hope; I respond. I gather-up my courage for who knows what, though I know what
Im hoping its not, and quietly tiptoe toward the dark hallway and start down the stairs. I then
consider how strange it is that even at this precarious moment of descent into what feels like a
plunge into the unfamiliar recesses of my darkest nightmares, Im calm and confident as I hope
for the best even while expecting the worst. There arent any lights on anywhere in the house so
it must mean anyone who might still be here is sleeping. Thankfully, the moon is bright tonight I
notice, because of the fact Im able to see down into the living room without straining. I can
easily make out the outline of the couch and loveseat along with a couple of recliners from the
bluish glow of the moonlight shining through a large picture window. On one of the chairs facing
the window I see the darkened shape of a person splayed out sideways over the seat and armrests
sound asleep. I continue down the stairs as quietly as I can, not wanting to wake anyone up even
though waking someone from a drunken stupor is almost impossible, however; I dont want to
take any chances. Thankfully, the stairs are squeak-free and I think how unusual a squeakless
staircase is for such an old house. I imagine the house must have been built well, but then I think
what a weird thing to be thinking about at such a precarious moment. Here I am, wondering
around in the middle of the night looking for a boyfriend who may or may not be doing
something that will give me nightmares for the rest of my life, and Im thinking about how well
built some old house isgo figure.
Im halfway down the stairs now and my eyes have adjusted as best they can, but its dark
on the staircase since the moonlight doesnt extend past the living room, and is actually causing
the darkness on the stairs to seem even darker. Im concentrating on feeling my way down each
step when I hear a faint rustling near the couch. I stop dead in my tracks and listen intently. I
close my eyes, hoping beyond hope the sound I heard was just my imagination. I take a deep
breath then start down the stairs once more, moving as slowly and as quietly as I can while at the
same time, keeping my eyes focused in the direction of the couch. As I move forward, the
moonlight gives away the outline of someone standing in front of a sitting figure and my heart
stops. In almost the same instance, Im seen or heard and the standing figure makes some quick
adjustments, backing away from the sitting person without hesitation, then quickly leaving the
room. I blink and blink while trying to see more clearly, but as hard as I try, it still ends-up being
Joseph who is sitting there.
The next day is a blur. I dont know what to believe now that the sun is shining, the birds are
singing, and the breeze is still gently blowing the curtains sending in a beautiful flowery,
sunshiny scent. I just cant trust what my eyes think they saw in the shadowy glow of the moon
and in the already tainted and murky alcoves of my mind. Did my eyes actually see what my
brain is telling my eyes they saw? I dont know, it was terribly dark. It was also past two in the
morning and I was exhausted, not to mention, I had already been asleep, which when woken-up
from said sleep, I may have been groggy which could have compromised my comprehension.
Even so, I cannot get the image out of my mind; the darkness, the moonlight or the movements I
think I saw. I decide its easier to doubt myself than to accept reality even though I know that the
moonlit scene I think I saw will be filed away forever in the back of my mind and deep inside
along with all the other dark and scary images and sounds Ive seen or heard throughout my
lifetime and where Im hoping theyll stay. Why, oh why does this keep happening? These evil,
disgusting things done in the darkness and shadows, but always with just enough light to make
out the lewd and sickening acts taking place. Ill never be free from them. Ill always remember
the time, the place and the circumstances of each nightmarish act, no matter how hard I try to
forget.
The rest of the summer I feel like a walking corpse living in Zombieland. Co-workers try to
help by inviting me out, but hanging out in bars just isnt doing the trick anymore. Is that all
anyone my age knows how to do? Hang out in bars and drink? I aint knocking it by no means,
obviously, Ive done my fair share of bar hanging and drinking, but isnt there something else to
do like go to a museum or even a zoo? Maybe miniature golf or even real golf? How about a
board game or a game of cards?
No matter what I do, nothing matters. Even my walks around the city dont cheer me up. I
sometimes go down to a patch of grass the city of Seattle calls a park, a small area of grass down
by the piers, and have lunch by myself then lay in the sun and doze which I enjoy, but then its
back to my jail cell once again, alone. Im terribly lonely, yet Id rather be by myself. I cant bear
the thought of company except under the complete understanding of my present state of mind,
which would be rare, if even possible to find. Even so, it would be foolish of me to expect such
thoughtfulness of anyone but the closest of friends of which I have none. Therefore, I dont seek
company nor do I visit others, so I am left lacking in the friends department which seems to be
the story of my life. If I ever do hangout with anyone, I find it dull and monotonous, same
conversation, different person. I have little or no desire to phone anyone, not that I have many
choices from which to choose...there are my parents or Nicole. My not wanting to converse with
any of them is mostly due to not having anything positive to talk about. I certainly cant
complain about Joseph, or the fact that Im lonely because Ive gotten exactly what I asked for. I
know better than to set myself up for criticism and judgment by complaining about the trouble
that has accompanied my insane desires, so yep, its better to just keep to myself and if anyone
asks, things are just fine.
I continue seeing Joseph every two or three weeks, after convincing myself the night on the
stairs was all a giant misunderstanding, or a dream, or a nightmare, or something other than what
it was. Its so much easier to deal with the uncertainty this way, furthermore; Joseph and I seem
to like each other better the less we see of each other which I take as a sign of our future
compatibility. (Im rolling my eyes right now as Im sure you are as well) Joseph actually seems
to miss me when were apart now, which in turn, makes me feel love for him once again, or is it
pity or empathy, or is it just my never-ending need to try to change him and prove to myself I
can make him love me above everything else. Who knows? I have no idea what I feel anymore.


Chapter 53
The difference between stupidity and genius
is that genius has its limits. ~Albert Einstein
My stupidity has no limits


Lets get married, I suggest casually. It seems, at the time, the most logical thing to do
since we seem to be destined to be together no matter how miserable things get. The summer is
drawing to a close so the tourist season is ending here in Washington, however, the winter tourist
season is just starting down in the desert and I want to be where the money is.
I sure dont want to be here another winter, Joseph agrees; and thats when I suggest we
get married. It could help our relationship since we wont be able to just break-up when things
become horrible, and maybe it will bring about a feeling of security, which in turn, will alleviate
any stress we might feel about one or the other leaving which will then help prevent the anger
from the stress, and the fighting from the anger. It makes perfect sense! Think about it1. We
do feel like we still love each other; 2. We always get back together after a break-upno matter
what; 3. If were married, maybe we can get past all the little things and just concentrate on the
significant things; and 4. We seem to be doomed to be miserableoops, I mean meant to be
together. We can stop drinking and go to church, and then we might have a chance of being
happy this time; I say to Joseph in the true lovers fashion of perfect hope and faith. WOW!
Was that easy or what? In a matter of an hour, we seem to have changed our entire future and
relationship. I knew I could make us work! We hug, and agree to everything we discussed and
now were quite excited about our future together. Im twenty-seven going on insane.

Scotty and his wife, Kathy are old friends and co-workers from the various restaurants we
have worked at together. They are the only people we can think of who still like Joseph and are
willing to put us up until we find a place to rent. People just arent standing in line to help a
couple like us. Scotty and Kathy are also the only couple we know who are as dysfunctional as
Joseph and I. Theyve been dating off and on for years, mostly due to the fact that Kathy is a
full-blown, hide Vodka in a water bottle and bury it in the freezer, alcoholic. When she drinks,
she has a sharp tongue and an even sharper temper to boot. Scotty drinks, but enjoys getting high
more, hence the friendship with Joseph. Early in their relationship, Kathy ends-up pregnant, so
Scotty marries her and they have a cute baby girl whos now spoiled rotten because of the guilt
both her parents feel about her having to live through their dysfunctional relationship.
Nevertheless, Scotty is a good daddy and Kathy is a first-rate drunk.
Choosing an impaired household to live in probably isnt the wisest choice in places to stay,
but hey, beggars cant be choosers. In any case, our stay is over quickly, a week to be exact,
since Scotty tells us that he and Kathy dont like their daughter hearing the nightly yelling and
cussing coming from anybody but themI meanfrom our room. However, the straw that
breaks the camels back, forcing them to ask us to leave is when Joseph and I emerge from our
room one morning, me with bruises around my neck from Joseph trying to strangle me, and
Joseph with claw marks down his face where I tried to rip his face off. They tell us our fighting
is too much; thus, by the afternoon were packed and a few hours later were moving on, straight
back to mommy Marians house which is the only other option we have. How humiliating.

Time marches-on and the wedding is in two days, but I feel sick. Except, this is unlike any
sickness Ive ever felt before with the pain in my gut being excruciatingly painful. I dont
understand where this pain came from or why its happening right now, but the pain is real and
feels like razor blades being forced through my intestines. Everything in me, including this pain,
is telling me that Im about to make the biggest mistake of my life. The thousand subtle
suspicions running through my head about Joseph now grin at me like so many demons Ive tried
to ignore. The nearer the day of the wedding comes, the more I know its just plain wrong. I
dont want to marry Joseph, I cant marry him, butMarian allows us to move back into our old
room until after the wedding on top of paying for and sending out all the invitations. She has
rented and paid for the use of the ballroom at her country club for the reception as well, and also
booked and paid for the non-refundable tickets to Kauai for our honeymoon.
The wedding is tomorrow, but right now Im sitting in front of her bathroom mirror getting
my hair done by my mother-in-law-to-be at this very moment, and the fear of telling her how I
feel is killing me. I hate to admit this, but Im afraid of Marian. She can be scary, dare I
sayeven scarier than my own mother. No, but close. Marian is fiercely protective of her family
and anyone threatening to hurt any of them should be afraid, very afraid, so I weigh my options
carefully. On one hand, I can hurt Joseph by refusing to marry him, look like an idiot and incur
the wrath of Marian for wasting her time and money; or, I hurt myself by ruining my life. Now,
if this isnt a conundrum, I dont know what is.
Marian, I need to talk to you about something; I say semi-confidently as I try my best to
hide the quiver in my voice.
About what? She says in a light-hearted tone, not knowing Im about to detonate a bomb.
About Joseph.
What about him? I can hear in her voice that Ive caught her attention.
Wellhes been abusing me; I say quietly.
What do you mean hes been abusing you? She says with a sarcastic, disbelieving tone to
her voice to which I am super-sensitive coming from a childhood full of sarcastic, mean tones.
Now Im even more nervous than I already am.
Hes been choking me and slamming me into walls. We fight all the time and Im afraid to
marry him; I dont want to marry him.
Now, one might expect silence and some careful consideration, maybe even some concern
or alarm after a confession like that, but that isnt Marians style. I brace myself as I watch her
reflection in the mirror change. If I could have crawled under the vanity I would have, but
instead, I have to remain sitting as she brushes and pulls and twists my hair into some kind of up-
do which is taking a lot longer now that Marian is no longer concentrating on what shes doing
but on what shes saying. Yay me!
What do you mean you dont want to marry him? Everythings paid for! Everyone is going
to be here tomorrow! Ive already paid for the honeymoon and the tickets are non-refundable!
Ill talk to him. You know, his father was the same way, a real cussword. He used to beat the
cussword outta me right in front of the boys so it doesnt surprise me at all that he takes after
him. Ill talk to him. Dont you worry about a thing.
I dont think just talking to him will help; I say in a not so convincing voice. I cant
believe what Im hearing, of all people, Marian should know just telling an abuser to stop his
abuse will never work! Not even in a million years! What is she thinking? What does she think
shes going to say? Now Joseph, shame on you! Stop being so mean to Penny or she wont marry
you. You dont want to be like your father do you? Maybe shell go as far as giving him a slap
on the wristthat will help for sure! Oh, yeah! High five! Thanks Marian!
After her tirade is over, and after a few minor arguments from me about her talk actually
working, I finally give-up and allow her to believe she has convinced me that she can work
miracles, and agree to go ahead with the wedding. As I do, I feel as if someone just stabbed me
with a double-edged sword and twists.

Joseph and I have the wedding on a Sunday.
Sunday? Who gets married on a Sunday? My annoying voice asks.
I dont know, but for some reason, I thought Sunday was the day people got married. I
couldnt for the life of me remember what day was customary, Saturday or Sunday. So, I made
a mistake, okay? Geezleave me alone. Ive been under ALOT of stress! My annoying little
voice wont stop pointing out everything wrong with the wedding including why Im even going
through with it, and Im having incessant arguments in my head because of it.
Only about twenty of the sixty invitees attend the wedding. The others call and tell me that
they cant make it because of work the next day or some other random excuse for missing my big
day.
Okay, I understand. Yes, I know how you feel, dont want to go to work with a hangover;
youre going out-of-town; its so-and-sos birthday party but I know the truth and the real
reason behind the no-shows. Why go to a wedding between two people who cant stay together
for five minutes. My friends all know Joseph and me too well. In the five years Joseph and I
have been together, weve broken-up about ten times now. I also know that if I had been invited
to our wedding, I would have found something else to do to fill my day in order to avoid having
to buy a gift for a couple wholl probably break-up by the end of the month; just sayin. Besides,
no one genuinely likes Joseph, and furthermore, no one wants to hang around someone who
chooses to be miserable by staying with an abusive partner. My friends have given-up on trying
to help me, and as long as Im with Joseph they avoid me and my misery like the plague. I know
all too well but yet, here I am, marrying the man of my nightmares. Its like were a match made
in hell. Yeah! High-five. High-five again!
When I see the empty chairs on the chapel lawn and realize how many invitees didnt show,
the pain in my gut gets worse as I fight back tears, and now, the growing lump in my throat
threatens to choke me to death which I remember happening frequently as a child, but even more
so these days. Im so hurt. So hurt, and extremely embarrassed. It takes everything I have in me
not to cry. I just had my make-up done by a professional make-up artist, and darn-it, I refuse to
ruin my professionally painted face with tears.
I sit staring at myself in the mirror, looking prettier than I think Ive ever seen myself even
though I have the saddest look in my eyes, a far-away, empty, utterly sad look. Surprisingly, the
sadness softens my face, and along with the pretty curled up-do Marian managed to create even
through her distraction, I actually look better than I thought I would. Next, I observe, then admire
the details of my dress for truly the first time since it was purchased. Its a modern design,
romantic and elegant, made of cream-colored satin because God, and everyone else who knows
me knows Ill never wear, nor will I ever deserve to wear white again. Oh, well. The dress drapes
off the shoulder which I love, as well as having tennis ball-sized fabric roses made from the same
material as the dress sewn all the way around the neckline, adding a beautiful, feminine touch.
The bodice is fitted and accentuates my waist and a full, trailing skirt finishes the costume. A
costume, thats all it is; I may as well be having the wedding on Halloween. Wearing a beautiful
dress doesnt make anything better, nothing about this day matters. Im so full of dread and
despair I could be wearing a burlap bag and not feel any worse. All I want to do right now is run
out the back door and hide, but then I think of all the ramifications my running away would
incur, and decide I cant face them. Im too afraid of making Marian angry after all shes done
for Joseph and me. Imagine how unappreciative I would seem if I just up and leftso nopeno
can do. Running away is out of the question. I have to go through with it but Ill see hell freeze
over before I let anyone know how badly Im hurting inside, physically or emotionally.
As far as the guests are concerned, this is the happiest day of my life. The chapel, the
flowers, my dress, my hair and my make-up are all perfect. Later, the food, the cake and the DJ
will be perfect, and everyone will eat, drink, be merry and dance the night away, and all the
while, and without anyone knowing, Ill be dying inside. The pain in my belly continues getting
worse, which I didnt think was possible, as I think of different scenarios of escaping this
nightmare Im about to walk into, doomed forever to a hell of my own making. Every time I
think about saying I do, the pain Im feeling flares and doubles. Is it a warning? A sign? My
voice of reason? My conscience? God? Again, it doesnt matter. Theres nothing I can do while
Marian holds the non-refundable wedding and honeymoon costs over my head.
I dont remember much of the ceremony but I do remember walking out into the brightness
of the sunlight and being blinded, but even through the interfering glare I see a profusion of
white blossoms climbing-up arbors, walls, and fences. The suns rays are shining through large
glorious white Roses, making it seem as though Im walking among the radiance of hundreds of
glowing spotlights hanging above and all around me. Everything seems to be shimmering. I look
around and its as if Im in a dream with dazzling blurred flowers along with distorted faces I
cant quite make-out, but who I can tell are smiling at me. Everywhere I look there are beautiful
gleaming blossoms and hazy faces but then, amidst the splendor I see, standing out among the
flowers and faces as clearly as weeds in a garden areempty chairs. Rows and rows of empty,
ugly chairs seemingly mocking and laughing and pointing at me as I walk down the aisle,
making me feel lightheaded with sadness, regret and shame. I force myself to look ahead and
theres Joseph, up front on the stage, standing tall and proud, dressed to the max with tears
running down his face. What a nice touch the tears are; I sarcastically think to myself, especially
since hes playing the role of his life; the happy, in-love husband-to-be, certainly his biggest act
to date, maybe even bigger than the sober, responsible son performance he puts on for his mother
whenever shes around. When I see him, my stomach twists with pain. When I see his tears, it
makes me nauseous and I cant remember ever feeling such revulsion in my life. The rest of the
ceremonys a blank.

Misconceptions
Many abusers are quite charming in public. They may treat their partners well in front of others
or seem to be nice enough. In private, however, they are cruel, uncaring or manipulative. Those
outside of the relationship may not realize that the abuser is abusive, which may make it even
more difficult for the partner to see the abuse. (By Jennifer Zimmerman, eHow Contributor)
We arrive at the reception hall after pictures are taken, and most of the twenty who attended
the wedding are already there. I think about how empty the ballroom looks and Im embarrassed
all over again. Some of my closest friends, who can see how Im feeling, give me understanding
and comforting looks much to my dismay because now I know Im not hiding my feelings as
well as I thought. I try to eat but its impossible to enjoy the delicious food we had catered
because of my stomach pain, although, I do enjoy the champagne. The rest of the night I proceed
to get completely obliterated. I drink and dance and drink some more, and then, mysteriously,
my stomach pain disappears, never to return as I pretend to be the happiest bride in the world.
I wake the next morning in the room of a luxurious Marriot timeshare, again, compliments
of Marian. I turn to look at the other side of the bed, and unfortunately, Joseph is there. The
events of the last month hadnt been a horrible nightmare I could wake-up from as I was hoping
it would be. Nope, its all real, and suddenly it dawns on me; Im now a married woman.
A few hours later, the new Mr. and Mrs. are packed and headed for the airport and on to
what I think will be one interesting honeymoon, if we dont kill each other first. Of course, our
dream honeymoon turns into a nightmare as soon as we reach the airport.
Ill be right back. I need to use the restroom; Joseph tells me as soon as we walk through
the automatic sliding doors.
Already?
Yeah, I had all that coffee. Ill be right back. I just shrug and roll my eyes as he walks
away. Our plane leaves in an hour and its been forty-five minutes since Josephs last bathroom
visit.
Ill be right back; he announces again.
Where are you going now?
The bathroom.
Again?
Yeah; he says as he walks away not giving me a chance to say anything else. When he
comes back, I size him up, looking for evidence that he was using in the restroom and though I
cant smell anything, I know something is different about his eyes.
What were you doing? I ask suspiciously.
What? What do you mean?
In the bathroom! I know you did something.
No, I didnt. Come on, dont start; he tells me when he sees the look on my face that
screamsLIAR!
I dont believe you; I inform him, but he doesnt care. Im angry now, and disgusted. Im
angry because were not even on the plane yet and Joseph has already had to get high. Im
disgusted because of how weak-willed he is and the fact that I married such a disgusting weak-
willed person. Im also angry and disgusted because Joseph is lying straight to my face which
makes me feel as if he thinks Im stupid which makes me even angrier. Furthermore, anyone
who wont stop doing drugs even when it hurts someone else, like his new bride, is pathetically
weak and selfish!
Hes always been like this. You knew it when you suggested the marriage thing.
I know, but this is our honeymoon!
Well, theres nothing you can do about it now so just try to ignore him.
Thats going to be hard because now Im embarrassed for people to see me with such an
idiot.
Hey, this is entirely your fault. If you hadnt been such a scaredy-cat you could have told
Marian no and all this would have been avoided.
I should have.
I know.
Shoulda, woulda, coulda!
I know! Thankfully, I have a book with me so I can shut-up my little annoying voice for a
while at least.
We finally board the plane and settle ourselves in for the five-hour flight. The flight
attendant comes around asking if wed like a drink and I tell her, Yes, Id like a diet coke,
please.
Okay, and for you sir? The stewardess asks Joseph.
Ah, yes Maam, Ill have a bloody Mary please and thank-you. Joseph is speaking in his
well-mannered, gentlemanly style he usually reserves for his buddy Bob, but Bob isnt here, so
that means Joseph is already high on one thing or another. Idiot; I say to myself. As soon as he
pays for his drink and the flight attendant moves down the aisle, I express my concern.
I thought we were going to try to stop drinking. Remember?
Yeah, but this is vacation baby! Well start when we get back, I promise.
Id rather you didnt drink since we always end-up fighting when you do.
Well, if you dont say something to piss me off then we wont have anything to fight about,
will we?
Now its on. We bicker back and forth, trying to keep our voices quiet enough to keep the
entire plane from hearing which is easy for me, but Joseph, not so much. He starts getting red in
the face from his rage, and acting like a pent-up bull since he cant yell, tear apart the seat in
front of him, or throw me out of the plane. We ignore each other for almost the whole flight and
by the time were about to land, Joseph has had four drinks. Everything out of his mouth is mean
and spiteful because of his inebriated state, and now making it off the plane without killing each
other is only possible because thered be witnesses.
Its raining. Its cloudy, grey, dreary and rainy the entire week were in paradise. They dont
call Kauai, the Garden Island for nothing. Its beautiful for an Island, and very secluded which
would be fantastic if I was madly in love with my new husband and wanting to feel like we were
the only two people on earth, but Im not, so the seclusion is suffocating. We dont spend much
time together because if Joseph is stoned, I want nothing to do with him, and I tell him so hoping
to encourage him to choose me over marijuana. However, seeing as though Joseph is Joseph, and
Joseph cant go five minutes without getting high, we spend most of our time apart. If I do put in
an effort to spend a little time with my new husband, and I can actually convince him to hang out
with me sober, hell agree, but within half an hour hell think of some excuse to leave, then off
he goes to get high only to come back stoned, yet trying his best to function normally. When I
accuse him of being stoned, he of course denies it which makes me crazy angry, and then our
Mr. and Mrs. time ends with a fight or by me pretending he doesnt exist. The only time we
actually spend any time together is when we meet for dinner, but even that has become a burden
because of Josephs new friends. He met another couple while out on one of his pot-smoking
excursions and now theyre acting like best buddies. I dont understand how this new-found
camaraderie happened until he introduces us and I realize that Josephs new buddies are potheads
too! Yay me! This vacation is getting better by the second.
Im now counting the minutes and maybe even the seconds until we can get off this God-
forsaken land mass and Ill no longer be in seclusion with the one person I no longer want to be
secluded with ever again. Needless to say, I finish reading two long books and count every tiny
flower on our hotel rooms wallpaper before Im able to escape and get back home.
The day before were to leave, Joseph and I meet-up at the hot tubs. Its rainy and misty and
dark, but the spa is hot and bubbly and lit with warm golden light. The non-stop drizzle coming
down out of the steel grey clouds remind me of tears and I wonder why it wont stop cryingI
mean raining, Im the one crying. The clouds and rain are an omen, I just know it. Josephs new
friends had gone back to their room for the evening and he was lounging in the steaming water
when I came by looking for him. I join Joseph in the water and we end-up having an eye-opening
talk. We start with small talk about our day and whatnot followed by my saying point-blank; I
think we made a huge mistake getting married.
I think so as well; Joseph says without hesitation.
What? Really? Im suddenly smiling.
Yeah; it was a mistake, a big mistake. Now he sounds sarcastic so Im not sure if he truly
means what hes saying.
I just honestly dont think Im in-love with you anymore; I mean, I love you, butyou
know; I stop before I say something too hurtful.
Yeah, I agree; he says.
Really? I then think how weird it is that instead of the panic I usually feel at the thought of
life without Joseph, I feel relief, as if a ten-ton weight has been lifted from my shoulders.
Yep; I mean, dont get me wrong, I love you, I just dont think were gonna work; Joseph
reiterates.
Well, good, at least we agree. I was also thinking that maybe we should get an annulment
before its too late, just so we wont have to worry about a divorce.
Yeah, okay; he calmly agrees.
I mean, I just dont know whats going to happen when we get back home, maybe things
will be better. It could happen especially if we stop drinking; I add, if only in the hopes of
softening my rejection of him.
I guess well just have to wait and see, wont we?
I guess so.
We continue to chat like a couple of old friends, like none of what weve been through
together over the years had ever happened. Were sitting in a hot spa on a chilly, drizzly night on
the Island of Kauai, enjoying each others company, and it reminds me of when we first met and
fell in love and talked for hours, having normal conversations with no one getting angry or
leaving to get high, when suddenly I think, and feel and know; I can love this person again, I
know I can. A couple of days later were heading home. We stay together and give it another go
for the time being. A remarkably short time being.


Chapter 54
In Hollywood, a marriage is a success if it outlasts milk. ~Rita Rudner


All within two months, Joseph and I find an apartment, go back to work and then
surprisingly, break-up. The screaming, yelling, name-calling and lying are all just too much and I
move out. I call Nicole and let her know that once more Im out on my own, and wonder if shed
be willing to take in an old friend with no guarantees of me staying for any length of time this
time and just taking it one day at a time. Shes more than happy to oblige, and once again Im
happy to have a safe place to land.
I work full time at the La Quinta Cliffhouse. I love my family of co-workers and feel Im
living a real twenty-somethings life now. The only difference is, I feel more empty and hard on
the inside than ever before, yet vulnerable to the point of not allowing anyone to know the real
me, which puts me forever behind a defensive wall. I feel as though Im kind-hearted, yet deep
inside I know I have a deep distrust and growing hostility toward the human race. I feel confident
knowing Im liked, yet insecure because I dont feel I deserve to be liked, which makes me
prefer to be alone, which leads to feelings of rejection because of being alone. Subsequently, all
these conflicting feelings make me want to drink because at least I know who I am when Im
drinking. Im the outgoing, fearless, funny, confident, sexy Penny. The Penny I like, the Penny I
wish I could be when Im soberbut I know that will never happen. When Im sober, Im
insecure, jealous, wicked, angry, confused Penny, but with any luck, Im the only one who
knows it.
I do laugh a lot, however, that doesnt mean Im happy but basically just existing and
drifting to wherever my emotions take me. If Im not laughing it means Im angry and its better
for everyone if they avoid the angry Penny. When Im angry Im complaining, and when Im
complaining Im not liked since Im complaining about all the inadequacies and faults of at least
half of my co-workers. I cant stand the complete lack of professionalism and lack of
responsibility of getting done what needs getting done, especially what said co-workers are
expected to get done, and what is clearly part of their job description. For some reason or
another, the slackers cant or wont get done what is expected of them, which in turn hinders all
the rest of us and our jobs because now we not only have to do whats expected of us, but the
slackers job as well. Though I dont name names but gripe in a general sort of way, I make it
clear to those whom Im referring toyou know who you are. I think growing-up with such high
expectations placed on me by Alice has caused me to become a hyper-perfectionist. Less than
perfect is unacceptable and when I see others settling for mediocre results, a fury rises in me I
cant seem to control. My outward complaining is the result of my inner anger, but the problem
is, I feel my anger is a pure, complete, justified anger. I just want things done right and whats
wrong with that? Im always either overly happy or overly angry, and I wish I could just be
normal. Normal happy or normal angry, but normal feelings elude me. I pretend to be normal
even though I dont have a clue what normal is, but whatever it is, it must be what everyone else
is, so I try my best to be like them.

I have a new flirting fetish. I dont know where it came from or why it began, but its here,
and I now take pleasure in the wickedness of it. Its a dark side of me, a jealous, hateful, wicked,
hurtful side who now craves the attention of and indulges in the conquering of, GWGs, as in,
guys with girlfriends. Sometimes I conquer and sometimes I dont, but the chase is truly all I
want. Just knowing I can entice a man to turn his attention away from some other woman is
satisfaction enough and less painful if it doesnt work out. Im older now and more experienced
in the good, the bad and the ugly, and no matter how bitchy a woman is, they have no clue how
intimidating I can be if the need arises. I revel in another womans squirming when I flash an
evil eye or a mocking smirk her way and for the first time in my life, Im allowing the anger I
harbor and live with on a daily basis to be released onto anyone who stands between me and my
desire. It makes me feel powerful to be able to hurt another person, and without realizing it, its
helping me focus on something other than any pain or rejection I may feel. I wonder if this was
how Jody from Atlanta, or Angie from Bellingham were feeling while treating me so callously
when I was young and inexperienced all those years ago while I was with my first husband, Kurt.
In any case, Ive learned a valuable lesson in self-preservation as I think to myself; hurt before
being hurt.
Self-Control Issues
Childhood abuse allows for multiple types of problems to take hold of an adult once she is fully
grown. Adults who lack ability to be able to cope with lifes challenges in a healthy way defer to
unhealthy survival tactics. Proper self-control enables individuals to make positive choices on
their own behalves rather than settling for wrong temporary solutions. When a person
continuously makes wrong solutions she inadvertently teaches herself that she deserves for bad
things to happen to her. Exercising self-control is a learned skill that will help develop the
necessary tools to escape an abusive childhood. (By Tiffany Roget, eHow Contributor)

Chapter 55
Just remember, if the world didnt suck, wed all fall off.
~Author Unknown


I feel lonely. Sad and lonely. Empty, sad and lonely, so I think Ill go by a new truck! That
ought a cheer me up because even with work, friends and GWGs, Im lonely. I see on a
television commercial that an auto dealership is boasting about aNot to be missedSale, so I
go to the local Toyota dealer and find the truck of my dreams; a brand-new, shiny white T100
extra-cab 4x4. The salesman assisting me asks me why I need such a large truck and I wonder
why he cares. I thought dealers only care about making the sale, but since he asked, I tell him
about a long-lost dream.
Someday, I tell him; Ill have a horse, and when I finally fulfill my long-lost dream of
horse ownership Ill need a horse trailer to transport my horse, and if I own a horse-trailer Ill
need a truck to haul said horse trailer along with my horse, so thats why I need such a large
truck.
Is your dream going to come true anytime soon? He asks me.
You never know, but this is the first step toward my long-lost dream.
I LOVE my truck. It feels like home. Its big and roomy and comfortable enough to sleep in
if need be. Now Ill always have a place to stay no matter if I have to move-out of my home
because my boyfriend is a drug-addicted hot-head, or my friend doesnt show-up with the keys to
her apartment, or if Im too drunk to drive. Now Ill always have a place I can feel safe. Its just
my truck and me now and now Im super-duper happy.
Winter tourist season is ending with scorching summer temperatures quickly arriving in the
beautiful Coachella Valley and now businesses are slowing down. Once again its time to decide
what to do over the summer, stay here and roast in the 110degree heat, scrounging by on the few
dollars Ill make, or find someplace else to go and make a real living. I find out Sunnyside Lodge
and restaurant in Tahoe City, an affiliate of the Cliffhouse, is hiring for the upcoming summer
season and I quickly volunteer. Its like a dream come true. A gift from the gods. First, my truck
and then the mountains. The real mountainsthe Sierra Nevada Mountains where the Donner
party struggled, starved and died; the kind of mountains I dreamt about while growing-up.
Finally, things are going my way and theres no looking back.
Joseph and I see each other occasionally, but were still over and Im glad. However, we do
visit each other on occasion and on one such visit I show-off my new truck.
Wow! He says; when did you get a new truck and how did you get a new truck, and Im
so jealous and youre so lucky and I beam with pride as if my truck is a new baby and not just a
new truck even though to me it feels like a new baby because of how much I LOVE my truck.
While Im there, I let Joseph know Im leaving for the summer, and he whines, and looks sad
and tells me that hell miss me, and wishes I wasnt going and do you want to come in for a
drink. Sure; I say, but then I stay for more than a drink, and the next morning as I head home I
wonder if things could be different between us now.

I find a room for rent in a house surrounded by towering Ponderosa Pine trees so its always
shady and the house always feels like a refrigerator, especially since Ive just driven 524 miles
from 222 feet above sea level to 6,225 feet above sea level, and from 100degrees to 65degrees in
the middle of the day. It reminds me of the dark, cold cabin I lived in back in Georgia with Buba,
my non-fetching dog and Kurt, my flirt-at-work husband. Im freezing, but Im told it should
warm-up eventually, but hopefully not too much, since 65degrees is the perfect temperature for
hiking, biking and all the other outdoor activities the locals love to do around here.
The only other person living in the house is the owner, a young guy-man in his mid-twenties
whose name is Ted, though we hardly ever see each other seeing as though he works days and I
mostly work nights. Getting to know Ted is the last thing on my mind seeing as how Im no
longer excited about being in the mountains because of always being cold as well as not feeling
happy about anything. Im just not in the mood to be sociable or make friends and I usually keep
to myself, which is why it takes almost the whole five months Im here for us to become more
than just acquaintances. As far as friends go, the only people I know are my co-workers, and of
course, we hang out after work or on days off, but after the initial get-to-know-you pleasantries
are over, I go back to keeping to myself, not interested in the mundane twenty-something
conversations and bar-hopping lifestyles.
I become highly active living in such an outdoorsy kind-of-place which suits me well, and
reminds me of the many hours I spent in the hills surrounding the house on the hill. I start out
walking and jogging the bike trail along the Truckee River and love it so much, I decide to buy
some Rollerblades. I can now go further down the path and back a lot quicker, not that I want to
hurry, but I want to go as far as I can as fast as I can to get the best possible work-out. The entire
length of the trail is 6.8 miles, and Im eventually able to go most of the way before turning
around. The only reason I dont skate the entire path is because I have to stop where the path
takes a downward turn. I learn the hard way that I cant slow down or stop on such a steep
incline unless I hit the ground, which I do, and not so gracefully on my first and last attempt.
I go skating every day, before or after work and always on my days off. I need to go, not
only for the enjoyment and the exercise, but to ward off the encroaching feelings of
homesickness and despair. On cloudy days, gloom and loneliness take me down a rugged path of
misery and fear, fear of being alone and fear of my future, which in turn makes me question my
life. I wonder if Im making the right decision about giving-up on my second marriage, and
whether or not I should stick with it since I obviously miss Joseph desperately and can barely
function without him. Its usually at the end of the day when the sun starts to set, and the
darkness and shadows are upon me, when I struggle the most. The darkening shadows creep into
the house like a black, ghostly gloom, slowly slipping across the floor until they start filling my
head with an anxiety close to panic. Its then when I jump-up and hurry over to my favorite
Chinese restaurant, get an order of Mu Shu to go, then hop over to the local grocery store to grab
a bottle of wine then head back home. By the time I arrive, its completely dark and I feel better.
Its the dusk Ive never been able to handle for some reason. I go inside the house, open the
wine, turn on the TV, and do Mu Shu and a movie. The distraction and drinking take my mind
off my troubles, and Ive found its the only way to stop the darkness and fear from swallowing
me completely. If I dont drink, Ill be anxious and depressed all night, so this has become my
ritualdinner, wine and a movie every night Im not working. Its my private time, where I can
cry over sappy movies or my sappy life, or hide from the world andtalk on the phone with
Joseph without anyone hearing and judging.
The summer in the mountains passes by coldly. I cant get used to the temperatures and I
have a chill in my bones I cant shake. Im lonely as usual, seeing as though Ive made only one
friend and even then, I know as soon as the summer is over, so too will the friendship be over
since servers move on and new ones move in, while new friendships are made and the old ones
fade from memory. Even so, I try to stay busybusy like a beebut its hard even though I
know I need to stay busy for my survival. I have to force myself to find things to do so I dont
drown in the anxiety thats trying to kill me. Being busy is my only relief from the demons that
torment my every thought, convincing me through my misery of how much I miss Joseph, and
how I cant live without him, and theres no one else for me and Ill never do better than him.
Crazy, irrational thoughts file through my head like advertisements on an electronic billboard,
but now, something else is bothering me; my failing at another marriage. It doesnt matter that
our entire relationship is a failure in itself, I just cant stand the fact Im so lousy at marriage. I
know if we just try again, if we just hang-on, we can overcome all obstacles. It hasnt worked in
the past, but I wont dwell on the past. I mean, what has that ever gotten me?
I feel like a little wounded bird, and, unfortunately, because of my feeling wounded, I find
comfort with other wounded creatures which leads to relationship ruin. My choice of mate
involves a subconscious need to choose and remain with someone who is as wounded as myself
as well as someone I think is not likely to leave me for someone more desirable. Consequently,
like a little wounded bird I fly straight back to a cage of my own making. Back to my little
wounded someone where I find safety and security in taking care of their difficulties, and in
doing so, ignoring how hurt and broken I, myself am. Oh, why cant I just fly? Fly far, far away
and be free; free from all this pain and suffering? I remember wishing for this same wish while
staring out over Niceville a long, long time ago; however, the freedom Ive found is in no way
what I thought being free would be, and now I wish I could be free from my freedom.
Joseph and I decide to get back together as well as find a church to attend when I arrive back
home from Tahoe. Hes living in an apartment close to his job and doing well so hes ready for
me to move back in with him as much as Im ready to move back in.
I cant wait to be your wife again; I tell him.
I cant wait for you to be my wife again; he says back.
I just wish I had my ring; I say.
I cant wait for you to wear your ring again; he replies.
I know! Why dont you send it to me? I suggest enthusiastically. I left my wedding ring
with Joseph when we broke-up since I had no need for it, but now I cant bear to live without it
another second.
Okay! Thats a great idea! Joseph agrees.
Im beside myself waiting for my ring to arrive. I check the mail daily when finally an
envelope arrives. A simple, white envelope. No special packaging, not even any tape. Nothing
but an ordinary, white envelope with a perfect slit along the edge and no wedding ring to be had.
Is he? Is he actually that stupid? He must have been stoned when he decided to send my ring in a
simple, white envelope where anyone who wanted could make a perfect slit along the edge of the
SIMPLE, WHITE, PAPER ENVELOPE and steal my ring! WOW! This has to be a sign.
Something always goes wrong when Joseph and I decide to try again! Nevertheless, I somehow,
in my heart and mind, forgive and forget Josephs stupidity, and when the time comes, I move
back to the desert to be his bride.


Chapter 56
Take the first step in faith.
You dont have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step.
~Martin Luther King, Jr.


Walking into the Church of Christ is like walking into the presence of God Himself even
though the service is held in the local movie theater. I must say, meeting in a theater is weird and
new to me since every other church Ive ever attended has always had their own buildings. For
these people to be having church without a church makes them seem fanatical to me.
Joseph and I are invited to attend the Sunday service by a pair of the most joyous and
engaging women Ive ever met. Andrea, a cute, young, bubbly, twenty-something, and Kelly,
whom I later learn is the wife of the lead pastor of the church. They come bouncing up to Joseph
and I as we start walking back home across the parking lot of our neighborhood grocery store.
The strange thing is, is that I had just been prayingif you can call what I was doing praying
since I havent prayed in years and have pretty much forgotten how to prayand asking God to
lead us to a church if He truly wants us to go to church. I also just happened to have been talking
to Joseph over dinner about the church thing as well. The fact that I just discussed this particular
subject on this exact day with both God and Joseph, and then out-of-the-blue decide to walk
across the street for an after dinner treat, which we never do by the way, and then being met by
Kelly and Andrea seems more than a little bizarre. When the women first approach us and
introduce themselves as well as telling us that they are out inviting people to church, I know
immediately we need to listen to what these two happy, vivacious women have to sayif Joseph
and I want to save our marriage, even so, when they first mention the word church, just as
suddenly I think, no thank-you and have a nice day. This adverse reaction makes me wonder
why, whenever Im invited to church, the first feeling I feel is not of wanting to go, but of not
wanting to go even if I had just discussed this particular issue with God and Joseph on that very
day. I just dont understand these mixed feelings I feel, and its difficult not to bid the women
good-day, but I manage to hold my tongue reminding myself that I asked for this, and obviously,
God is giving me what I asked for. Besides, HEL-LO?? This cannot just be a huge coincidence
can it? It has to be God.
Both Kelly and Andrea ask for our names and phone number so they can give us a call later
in the week.
Well just call and give you a friendly little reminder about being at the Sunday service;
okay? Later in the week they make that call, right on time, right when they said they would and
Im shocked when I pick-up the phone.
Hi! Penelope? This is Andrea! As soon as I realize who it is, I feel all the air deflate from
my body because even though I know Joseph and I need God as well as a good church in our
lives, part of me remains stubborn and still doesnt want to go. I feel some hesitancy to get
started down the God path, and honestly, I never expected to get a call back, and since when do
churchy people actually call back? I mean, once happy little angels do their duty by inviting
someone to church, I thought it was up to that someone to get their own butt to the actual
building, except these angels seem determined to make sure Joseph and I show-up on Sunday.
Im now being invited for the second time in as many days, plus, I promised Id attend, and Im
now being held to my word so I know I cant back out. When I hang up the phone, I know for
sure that God is answering my prayer because the answer is real, and now I have a feeling my
life is about to change in a big way and it scares the living daylights outta me.
Sunday morning we walk up to the front of the theater and instantly, a barrage of strangers
bombard Joseph and me as they try to introduce themselves. I have to keep checking to see if
either of us have a bulls eye on our backs because everyone there seems to know were the
newbies, but for some reason, Im not nervous. In fact, Im embracing the feeling of being cared
about, and loving the attention even if it is from perfect strangers. It isnt the same kind of
attention I find in the world; this is soooo different. This has a genuine love and warmth about it,
which Im completely drawn toward. Joseph doesnt seem to be appreciating the attention as
much. I can tell hes a bit uncomfortable even though hes putting on a good impression of
tolerating the presence of so many adult men around him. I understand now, ever since he
opened-up to me about his past, why he has no adult male friends. Hes been hurt by men, his
father and step-father. Im just as uncomfortable around women of authority, especially mothers,
because of being hurt by my mother and step-mother. I get it now and give him comforting
glances when I can.
After the service, the onslaught of strangers begins again, this time to setup dates and times
for Bible studies. Its a little overwhelming being this is the first time weve ever attended this
church, but I can tell there isnt going to be any easing into it. I would have preferred taking my
time, but these people arent going to let us get away that easy. The women, all wanting to be
part of my impending conversion continue to surround me. Ive never seen anything like it. The
same is happening to Joseph. The men keep coming-up to him and shaking his hand, and patting
his back, and the look on Josephs face is close to panic though hes managing to remain calm by
the skin of his teeth. I wouldnt mind studying the Bible though theres still a part of me that
would rather runaway and hide, but in the end, Joseph and I both agree to attend the Bible
studies. We might as well decide now we figure, if only to keep them from calling and bugging
us about it later. We set-up dates and times right then and there, and while were being so
agreeable, were persuaded to be at church on Wednesday night, as well. I think were in for a
wild ride.
The First Principles Bible study excites my soul, reminding me of Gods love by Him
sending His only Son, Jesus Christ to die a horrible death on the cross just to save me from my
sin...and sin is something Im all too familiar with, needless to say. Like an anchor wrapped
around my neck, the transgression-laden life Im living is dragging me down to the depths of hell
itself. However, I can be free of my burden. Free because of what Jesus has done for me as well
as for the entire world. Jesus actually encourages us to give our burdens to Him in Matthew
11:28-30 where He says, Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give
you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you
will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light. Oh, how I need rest for
my weary soul.
The first step needed in order to be free from my burden is to acknowledge Im a sinner as it
says to do in Romans 3:23; For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God as well as
confess my sin to God, and apparently, to all the women in the room with me Im told according
to 1 John 1:9; If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanse us
from all unrighteousness.
Thus, here I am with six women I just barely met, baring my soul as I explain the last nine
years of drunkenness, sexual conquests, abortions, hate, anger and unforgiveness. I feel ashamed,
yet at the same time, it feels so good to be purging the filth out of my system. I continue purging
for a couple of hours, noticing as I do that theyre all nodding and looking as if they understand
me and what Ive been through, but most importantly, they arent judging me. I feel myself
trusting these women, and for me, trust is a giant step for Penny-kind.
The second step I have to take is to understand that I cant save myself which Titus 3:5 tells
us; not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to His mercy He saved
us Ive been trying to save myself since running off and marrying the first man I met. When I
realized Kurt couldnt save me, I jumped onto a wild ride of co-dependency and abuse, desperate
to find some sort of peace and love in my life, but which Ive never found. Its astounding to
finally realize Jesus has been here the entire time, watching and waiting for me to turn to Him so
He could save me from the turmoil in my life. If only Id realized sooner.
Thirdly, I needed to repent of my old life and the sin that has filled it for so long. 2
Cor.7:10-12 tells us; For Godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without
regret, whereas worldly grief produces death To repent means to make a 180-degree
turnaround. I not only need to be sorry for my sin, but I need to hate my sin. I need to turn
completely from the life Im living and not look back, but Im ready. Ready to make the change
as well as beg for Gods forgiveness.
Finally, but most importantly, I need to be reborn, and in those days and in this church, its a
requirement to be baptized in order to be saved. Theres no praying for salvation, or asking
Jesus into your heart. Apparently, Ive been taught incorrectly ever since I first learned about
Jesus and His Salvation along with every other church, pastor and saved-person Ive ever known,
the happy little angels insist.
According to the International Church of Christ, until youre dunked, God doesnt want
nothin to do with you or He wants something to do with you, but wont save you until youre
free from sin and then baptized. So until I stop committing all the sin I need to stop committing,
then and only then will I be allowed to be baptized, and in this case, saved. Afterwards, and once
Ive been liberated from eternal doom, I must then promise that Ill confess to God and the
church whenever I mess-up andsay it isnt sosin. I must also go to all church services and
extra activities, as in Bible studies, parties, BBQs or special services out of town. I must have
quiet times with God every day, pray multiple times every day in addition to serving the church
as well as its members as much as possible. Im then told to take my time deciding because the
decision to follow Christ is a huge commitment, except, I dont need to take my time because I
know what I want, and Im all in and ready to give my life to God. I dont realize how these
commitments are going to affect my life, so excited am I to start pleasing God and my new
church family.
Joseph and I both make it through all the steps to Salvation, and are baptized the following
Sunday after service, at Pastor Steve and Kellys house since hes the only one with a pool. Its
the day I lay my burdens down at the foot of the cross and declare to the world, or at least to
those in the room at the time, that Jesus is now the Lord and Savior of my life. I feel weightless
as I come-up out of the water, and cry tears of pure joy. I can literally feel the weight of my sin,
and all the pain Ive ever known sliding off my shoulders. Whatever was ugly is now beautiful,
whatever was dirty is now clean. Ive never felt anything more real in my life. God is alive and
active and anyone who disputes this has never seriously tried to know Him. I cried out to Jesus
and He heard me and listened to me as he promised in Jeremiah 29:13; that if I seek Him, I
will find Him if I search with all my heart God continues in verse 14; I will be found by you
says the Lord, and I will bring you back from captivity God opened my prison door and
released me from the captivity of bitterness and hate, and I am now beyond a doubtfree! Im
finally done running. I now have a place to turn if things get rough; first, to God in prayer;
second, to the Bible, and third, to my new sisters and brothers in Christ. For the first time in my
life, I truly feel safe.
Its now Josephs turn to be baptized, and as he comes up out of the water, I secretly hope
and pray his experience is as real as mine, and afterwards, theres a BBQ party to celebrate our
baptism and feed all those who showed-up to see the rebirth of their two newest members.
Evasion
Depression and anxiety are prevalent in adults with a history of abuse, often resulting in rage,
paranoia, suicidal ideation or domestic violence. Efforts to control these impulses or avoid
situations imagined or real are seen in workaholics, religiosity, blame, addictions and efforts to
control. (By Martin B. Rivers, eHow Contributor)

Chapter 57
I know God wont give me anything I cant handle.
I just wish he didnt trust me so much.
~Mother Teresa


My life in the ICOC flourishes. Im reading and learning new truths from the Bible Ive
never read or understood before. God has lifted the veil from in front of my eyes and heart,
revealing His true and perfect Word as He promises He will in Luke 24:45; and he opened
their understanding that they might comprehend the Scriptures.
The biggest changes in my life are the absence of guilt, and rage, and my very first best
friend ever, Nicole. Now that God has saved me, Im finally able to let go of the guilt of
abandoning my first two children. Im able to forgive myself for leaving them knowing God has
forgiven me for such a selfish crime. Nevertheless, even though Ive released the guilt, it doesnt
change the fact Im determined to have a relationship with my kids one day. I still want to make
my leaving right with Jacob and Emily, and now that the ten-ton weight of guilt has been lifted
from my shoulders, Ill be free to love them in the right manner, leaving behind the guilt-laden
approach.
The next significant change in my life is that Im able to forgive my mothers, and release the
anger, bitterness and unforgiveness which have been in charge of navigating my life choices for
all nine of my adult years. The first person I forgive is my birth mother for abandoning me,
which I now understand isnt just a cut and dry decision. Im able to forgive her knowing there
are so many variables leading to the decision to leave a child that I now know firsthand. The
biggest relief, however, has come from the release of all the years of anger directed toward my
stepmother. When I think of her now, instead of bitterness and hatred, I feel compassion, which
could have only come from God and His mercy and forgiveness. I can now look past how Alice
treated me and try to understand why she did it. God has opened my heart to understand the
likely abusive nature of my grandmother toward Alice as a young girl, and Im now able to
forgive her mistakes knowing that God has forgiven the many awful mistakes Ive made. There
isnt any way for me to continue resenting Alice, or continue in unforgiveness after the healing
and forgiveness Ive freely received from God even though I in no way deserve it.
Effects of Neglect
Many cases of neglect occur because the parent experiences strong negative feelings toward the
child. At other times, the parent may truly care about the child but lacks the ability or strength to
adequately provide for the childs needs because of being handicapped by depression, drug
abuse, mental illness, or some other problem. (Encyclopedia of Childrens Health
http://www.healthofchildren.com)
I see everything through new eyes as well as seeing for the first time that the choices Ive
made throughout my life have been exactly that, my choices. I know in the beginning my life
was controlled and treated as worthless by the people who were supposed to love me, but once I
was out on my own, I continued to exist as if I were still the same worthless little girl, making
choices which could not only hurt me, but eventually kill me. Im now free. Free from the pain
that controlled me. I no longer have to keep running and searching for someone to love me, or
keep running from the hurt and the pain. I can forgive those who have hurt me and can now take
responsibility for my own destructive choices and allow God to help me make the right ones
from now on.
The church is helping me learn more about my salvation as well as my new life of healthy
choices, however, unbeknownst to me, Im also being hurt by what the church is teaching me as
far as Nicole, my first best friend ever, who has stood by me through thick and thin, and whom
Ive up and left and taken advantage of how many times now, is concerned. She is now someone
Ill no longer be spending time with since, according to the church, she may be a detrimental
influence on my newbie-Christ-like-mind. I do invite Nicole to a Sunday service, which she
happily agrees to attend, except, when shes bombarded by the barrage of Bible-wielding women
hoping to convince her to study the Bible just as Joseph and I were on our first visit, Nicole isnt
so easily persuaded. Its of course because she can think for herself, which I have always
admired about her, but now only see as pure stubbornness. What other reason could there be for
her not wanting to get to know the one and only Lord and Savior?
Ummm, I need to think about the Bible study thing, and no, you cant have my phone
number; Nicole fearlessly announces. My church friends look taken aback that someone, who
just attended one of their church services, is actually refusing to give them something as basic as
a phone number, and now theyre looking at me as if Nicoles salvation lies in my hands. I
embrace my new role with gusto, gushing at the incredible transformation God made in my life
and how she can have it all and more if only she would give her life to Jesus, and the church.
I need to think about it, Nicole reiterates. She continues to attend Sunday services with me
for a few more weeks and as she does, I fall deeper in love with God, and the church, and less
determined to lead my stubborn friend to the foot of the cross. Consequently, and as I grow
closer to everything ICOC, Im also growing farther away from my first best friend ever. I forget
about Nicoles incredible friendship through the years and through all my turmoilbut if she
doesnt want to be a Christianthen I just cant remain friends with her. The roads were
traveling are going in entirely different directions, and how do you remain friends with someone
whos traveling the opposite way? In hindsight, I wish Id known that I was being taught
improperly, or that I wasnt so desperateso desperate for redemption that I abandoned my first
and only best friend. What was I thinking?
Trying to put the past behind me as it says in Philippians 3:13; forgetting those things
which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead is extremely
difficult even with Gods help. Even though Ive forgiven her, my mother still causes me to
struggle hard against what I know God wants of me, and I must constantly fight the anger that
rises in my chest with her words. Thinking about my mother, and actually seeing and talking
with her in person is like being on two different planets. Thankfully, with prayer and a quick
phone call to one of my sisters for some spiritual encouragement, I manage to get through the
battle within which Im sorry to say is the best I can do for now. Though Im still nervous around
her especially since Im no longer drinking, I can for the most part ignore the looks, the tone of
voice, and the degrading words as I try demonstrating the change in me through my newfound
love for God. I know were far from being close, but I try my best to love Alice with Gods love
and take her for who she is.
The friendships with my sisters-in-Christ have blossomed like Morning Glories in the
springtime. Its the first time in my life Im able to make female friendsat least ones who like
me for who I am, and whom I can trust and confide in, besides Nicole of course, and for the first
time in my life I never feel lonely. I receive calls daily reminding me that Im loved and cared
about, and any problems that need dealing with can be dealt with immediatelyespecially one.
The one consistent problem in my lifemy husband, Joseph. As I grow in the knowledge and
love of God, Joseph seems to be growing as wellin the opposite direction. He now seems more
bitter and angry than ever with only occasional bouts of superficial happiness. The fact hes
struggling to stay sober doesnt help, no matter how much he prays, or I pray, or we pray.
Abstaining from alcohol and marijuana is extremely difficult for a marijuana-addicted alcoholic,
Christian or not, as well as the upheaval of his dark past into the forefront of his mind.
The men in the church seem to believe they can help Joseph let go of the pain from the
abuse hes suffered just by talking the subject to death. I suppose in some cases talking may help
if its with a professional, but the men from church are far from professional therapists, so for
Joseph, its just a constant reminder of the pain and anguish he still has wrapped around his
heart. Dealing with this on a weekly basis is particularly difficult to deal with now that he
doesnt have drugs and alcohol to help loosen the grip and allow him a breather. I follow suit,
being the person Joseph sees the most and not wanting his wavering faith to waver any more
than it already is. I try helping by encouraging and praying and studying with him until Im blue-
in-the-face. My helping does seems to work for a day or two, but once the feel good feeling of
my encouragement and prayer and Bible study wears off, hes back to being irritable and snappy
and Im just left with a blue face.

Its a beautiful, sunny afternoon the day Joseph finally decides that the time is right for
revealing to me, for the first time ever, what all his talking has been about. So, in the name of
confessing all sin, he confirms every fear and suspicion Ive ever had about him. That he, the
man Ive kept running back to through the years, the man I married isa child molester, a sexual
predator, a monster. Joseph has been advised to reveal his secret to me by the brothers hes been
studying with and to whom he has already confessed this particular sin. They tell him, in the
name of being entirely honest in our marriage, and being that Im his wife, he must confess this
particular sin to me. Of course, I want to know every detail in order to judge for myself how
serious the situation truly is even if I dont like what I hear. On the other hand, I wonder if its
really such a good idea, seeing as though I might hear things that will make me wish, for the first
time in a long time, that my head would explode. I tell him to go ahead anyhow, I need to know.
First off, he begins; I actually wasnt in prison for selling drugs. The real reason I was in
prison he hesitates, looking worried and embarrassed while at the same time, my heart is
beating a million miles a minute and I think Im holding my breath and turning blue-in-the-face
as I wait for him to continue. Its all I can manage since in essence, Im paralyzed from shock
and fear.
It was for Joseph continues, molesting two neighborhood boys in a swimming
pool. He gives me the details of how it happened and how far it went, and how he didnt plan
for it to happen it just did. Im speechless, and now theres a swirling mass of conflicting
thoughts filling my mind but none I can make out. As Joseph goes on with his confession, he
drags me back into reality.
Theres also the busboy from Bullies up in Bellingham, but he was older and he
consented.
Like that makes it OK? Oh thank goodness! My little annoying voice is here to help me
make sense of this mess.
Where have you been? I ask myself, noticing that the butterflies in my stomach are
fluttering full force; nevertheless, I must ignore the urge to run and continue listening along with
reminding myself not to reveal the disgust Im feeling. I need to be supportive. Joseph is baring
his soul and trusting me not to judge. He who is without sincast the first stone.
Maybe getting hit with a stone will knock some sense into him, or you; I hear the voice in
my head say sarcastically.
I thought you were here to help? If youre not, than go away. You must know Im
struggling right now, I state to the maddening voice. I force myself back to reality once more by
asking Joseph a question.
What about the boys who were partying at your house in Bellingham?
There was one boy, but he was fourteen; he tells me.
Fourteen?! What? Is fourteen the new eighteen? Is he insane? Does he think his acts on a
boy of fourteen makes it better? I feel as if Im in a dream, like what Im hearing cant be real
and if only I could wake-up before I vomit. Two separate instances where I practically caught
Joseph in the act, but refusing to believe what I was seeing and what every instinct told me was
happening, I pushed it all to the back of my brain and continued our relationship like an idiot.
Theres more; Joseph says quietly. Whenever we broke-up, if I met a boy somewhere,
usually at the homes where I was buying drugs, I would molest them if I knew I could get away
with it.
How would you know you could get away with it?
Oh this ought to be good
I can just tell if a boy is the type who wont say anything if something were to happen to
him. I can sense if there might be some kind of abuse in their life, not necessarily sexual, but any
mistreatment that would cause him to look or act beat down and timid, then I know. Joseph tells
me as if its a gift he possesses. Its then when I start to cry at the shock of it all.

There are two different kinds of child predators I learn, situational and preferential.
Situational predators dont seek out children, but will take advantage of a situation if presented
with it. The preferential predators actively target children by age group, hair color, etc., and seek
out jobs or homes that allow them the most access to kids as possible. Joseph is unquestionably
the mixture of both types, but usually preferring a specific age group. Boys around the age of
thirteen, the age Joseph was when he was most affected by his own abuse, the age when the brain
is solidifying and retaining what its being taught, physically and emotionally, good or bad.
I sit listening to him for who knows how long as he discloses secrets about himself, some I
already know, others I dont, but which make me sick all the same. The whole time Joseph is
spewing his sin all over my now fragile constitution, Im going over all the details I can
remember in my minds eye as if playing a black and white film backwards. The images are
quickly flashing by, but slowing down on the times I wondered and doubted and saw. I compare
them to the things hes telling me, while at the same time, trying to appear indifferent about his
crimes. If there is anyone who shouldnt judge, its me. Was it not I who grew-up unloved and
abused then proceeded to ruin my life with life-destroying decisions? Well, heres a man who
was violated as a child in the worst possible way for years, and when he cries out for help to the
one person who should have believed and protected him, she turns her back on him and takes the
molesters side. I understand the rage and sense of betrayal it causes. I understood how clouded
our judgment becomes because of the past, but I also understand God has forgiven Joseph. Now I
need to look past his past and look at him as a new creation, which is what we become when we
become one with Christ. 2Cor.5:17 says; Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation;
old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new. I have become a new
creation, Joseph has become a new creation and now that everything is out in the open, our
relationship will become a new creation. I trust we wont ever have to worry about the bad side
of Joseph again! Whew! Thank God, its over!
For a short time after his big revelation, Joseph and I become connected in a way Ive never
felt before, even closer than when he first shared his deep, dark secret of childhood molestation.
Joseph loves me for not running away after learning about all the deeper, darker things hes
done, and I love him for being honest and open and vulnerable. However, Im also loving him as
my brother in Christ, which makes appreciating his honest openness and vulnerability and what
Ive learned because of it, easier to handle. I dont think about the fact that living with a
convicted child molester, Christian or not, can put a strain on even the best marriage, let alone,
one like ours. Im told I just need to trust God to help Joseph overcome his sinful desires, and
since I know God has worked a miracle in me, I have complete faith, God will fix Joseph too.
Imagined Strength
Codependency, by definition, means making the relationship more important to you than you are
to yourself. Its kind of a weird phrase, and it doesnt sound like it means a one-sided
relationship; but thats what it is. It means youre trying to make the relationship work with
someone else whos not. The partner who is codependent can be the better person, the smarter
person, the person whos recognized as having it all together. They define themselves as strong
enough to deal with it when actually they need to realize that maybe they should be taking care
of themselves instead of proving their strength. (Scott Wetzler, author of Is It You or Is It Me?
How We Turn Our Feelings Inside Out and Blame Each Other)

Chapter 58
When we remember how hard it was
to change ourselves, we begin to understand what
little chance we have of changing others. ~Unknown


I cryand cryand cry some more. Its all I seem to do for the next year. Im filled with a
true joy for the first time in my life, yet filled with such a profound sadness at the same time; my
life has become such an oxymoron. I have a close relationship with God and my friends and they
all love me unconditionally, but at the same time, Im dealing with Josephs renewed and
continuing lies, drugs and temper. Hes grinding away and wearing down the very heart of me.
The stress of being a babysitter to a grown man with such an artificial character and who is as
nasty, as ugly, as detestable and dangerous as a venomous snakeif hes around pre-pubescent
boysis a full time job. I feel as if he opening up about his perverted desires has given him
license to convey who he truly is anytime he wants. He knows Ill take control of him as well as
any inappropriate situation when necessary, which has caused me to live my life with a new
missionto analyze and understand every expression which crosses Josephs face in order to
insure that the monster who lives inside of him remains locked awayin addition to being a
defender of all thingsboy. If I notice anything unusual about the way Joseph is acting, I
question him to see if hes having sinful thoughts or feelings in hopes of keeping him open about
his struggles as the Bible tells us to do in John 3:19-21; Everyone practicing evil hates the
lightBut he who does the truth comes to the light that his deeds may be clearly seen My
new lot in life is so much harder now than before we were Christians, especially with my
confusion as to why Joseph isnt any different than he was before his conversion and why our
marriage is worse than ever. Hes started drinking and smoking again, most likely because of all
the stress and guilt over his depraved desires as well as the effort to stop the desires at which hes
failing miserably. So much for Jesus promise of an easy yoke and light burdens.
I imagine dailyif only. If only I could leave him one more time, or, if only I could live in
complete denial or ignorance about his demons and pretend they dont exist. If only, if only, if
only. I know I cant leavebut if I could, where would he be? So instead, I end-up calling or
running to a friends house after every fight, crying and begging for advice.
Im going to leave him! Can I leave him? Please, say I can leave him! Im crying so hard
now Im spitting and sputtering tears and slobber as I try to get the words out through my
blubbering.
No, Im sorry. I understand how you must feel, but God is against divorcewith the
exception of adultery. Remember, you chose Joseph so there had to have been something you
saw in him that made you love him. Try to focus on that.
I cant even remember what that something is anymore and there certainly isnt anything I
can think of right now!
I know, Im sorry; but were here to support you, you know that. God has forgiven Joseph,
so you have to look at him the way God does.
I know, butbut No matter how I try to describe whats going on in my home, no one
seems to understand how bad it actually is, and if they did, they wouldnt make me staywould
they? Could they? Talking and getting out my feelings eventually makes me feel better and I
hang up the phone or head home, one more time, with a renewed faith in God to change Josephs
heart. It doesnt happen. Im crying more, while he continues coming home every night after
work angrier, louder and more vulgar as his drinking and drug-use increases.
Rage
The abuser often flies into a rage at the slightest provocation. If he perceives that you have
slighted him in any way, or if you have said something disrespectful, he launches into a loud
tirade, filled with cursing, humiliation and insults. (By Yvette Sajem, eHow Contributor)
When I disapprove of Josephs behavior and remind him of what the Bible says about his
drinking and drug-use, he goes on a rampage of vulgarity and name-calling, of course, bellowing
at the top of his lungs. I think the entire apartment complex must hear every word said and the
next day Im embarrassed to walk through my front door or sit on my patio in case Im seen. I
know our fights give the other residents cause to gossip among themselves and my imagination
runs wild with what they might be saying like; Oh look, theres the brainless, insecure woman
who stays with her abusive monster of a husband who cusses her out every nightwhat an
idiot! I just hope that they realize how embarrassed and ashamed I am to be the brainless,
insecure idiot who stays with the abusive monster who cusses me out every night, but because of
feeling trapped by the shackles of forgiveness and of never losing faith, I cant find any way out.

Religion and Abuse
Critics suggest that fundamentalist religious prohibitions against divorce make it more difficult
for religious men or women to leave an abusive marriage: A 1985 survey of Protestant clergy in
the United States by Jim M Alsdurf found that 21% of them agreed that no amount of abuse
would justify a womans leaving her husband, ever, and 26% agreed with the statement that a
wife should submit to her husband and trust that God would honor her action by either stopping
the abuse or giving her the strength to endure it. With these statements, victims may often feel
trapped and helpless, as it is evident in religious institutions (as well as in the media) that
victims of psychological abuse should endure such struggles and either learn to live with it, or
simply find a method of overcoming the obstacle. (Jones, Ann; Schechter, Susan (1993). When
Love Goes Wrong. New York: HarperCollins)
Im told to just try listening to Joseph when he comes home. Dont preach, just support,
encourage and love him, then hell come around. Really? Are you kidding? Its hard enough
holding my tongue as it is, but now I have to support him and encourage him and love him when
he comes home drunk and cussing at me? Well, I know what Im doing right now isnt working
so I go ahead and try supporting, encouraging and loving Joseph and it actually helps a couple of
times. I meet Josephs verbal onslaught with acceptance and agreement, just me trying to help
him calm down just as Im told to dosupport, encourage, lovesupport, encourage, love.
However, I end-up having to run to a friends house a few times just to get away from the
violence which seems far worse now that Im staying calm. So now, when my supporting,
encouraging and loving doesnt work, which seems to be more often than not, Josephs words
are met with bitter sarcasm which makes me feel a whole heck of a lot better even if my sarcasm
is far from encouraging, supportive or loving. Still, no matter what happens, Im always advised
to go back and trust God and dont give-upso I dont give-up. I live by the words of Galatians
6:9 which says; And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season, we shall reap a
harvest if we do not lose heart. I dont lose heart, but it doesnt stop the tears.
Soon after I turn twenty-nine-years old, God blesses me. He blesses me with another
pregnancy, and Im so happy about this happening that the first word I think of isABORTION!
The thought of having a child with Joseph is still the last thing on earth I would ever want, and
for the first time in my life, Im angry with God for what can only be described as a practical
joke or most likely a punishment of some sort. I know as a Christian I cant throw away another
child since I now believe that God is in control of my womb. I wouldnt have become pregnant
unless God wanted me to give birth to the little bundle of joy, so Im stuck going through with
the pregnancy.
Why? Why?!? Why?!? I scream through my sobs; how can You do this to me? I ask
God repeatedly. I stop praying after Gods little prank or, could it be some sort of penalty for
marrying Joseph? Who knows?
Im only going to church out of obligation now, but mostly because if I miss even one
service Im bombarded with phone calls. I want nothing to do with God. Hes hurt me deeply by
allowing me to become pregnant again. The worst thing about it is that Im still on the pill, which
is supposed to prevent pregnancy, but doesnt, and in my case never has, so why does my getting
pregnant surprise me and why am I blaming God? Nevertheless, I still dont know what to do
about my ill-timed condition.
It takes three months for me to reveal my true feelings about my pregnancy to the women in
my life. Once they know the truth, my friends spring into action. Im officially a crisis. My
phone rings off the hook but I dont answer, and for the first time since joining the church, I
couldnt care less if I talk to anyone. Im constantly being encouraged and praised and pampered
as well, but I dont appreciate any of it because of knowing its only because Im pregnantand
I dont want to be pregnant. Some who have been in similar situations keep coming-up to me and
sharing their stories, but I just roll my eyes being way too angry to care and when the God-given
creature moves inside of me, I slap at the movement and growlI hate youto my belly.
How can God possibly want a child to be brought up by a child-molester? I ask my sisters,
but the only thing my crises-handlers can do is remind me that God has a plan for my life. Its
okay to be upset, but I need to trust God and His infinite wisdom. God doesnt make mistakes
nor does He play practical jokes. I take all of this in and try my best to have faith. Then, after two
months of phone calls, encouragement, praise and pampering the message finally sinks-in and
the wall of anger and depression lifts, and now I cant wait for my little blessing to be born.
When I first tell Joseph about the pregnancy, I see a slight hint of hopefulness in his eye, but
it doesnt last long and it certainly doesnt stop his abuse of me. The Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde
syndrome Joseph suffers from still causes him to transform into a raging maniac every time he
has a drop of alcohol. After Joseph and I were baptized we both quit drinking, but our effort only
lasted a short time once we learned drinking is okay in moderation, everything in moderation.
But now, in order to help encourage Joseph not to drink, I stop drinking altogether. After I
become pregnant, Joseph once more tries stopping his use of drugs and alcohol, but his stopping
for his impending fatherhood doesnt last. Even with my belly protruding, Joseph doesnt
hesitate to slam me against walls or push me to the floor. I always fight back however, despite
my condition, since fighting back has been my nature since not being able to fight back against
my mother. I can only take so much and then I lose it even as scriptures soar through my brain as
I try to control my fury, but even so, I usually fail miserably. Im failing because of the fact Im
reacting to the one person who has raked my feelings over the coals for the last six and a half
years and I feel as though I wont be able to endure even one more second of Josephs abuse.
Furthermore, I cant and wont be the timid, submissive woman who just sits back and takes
itChristian or not.
Our apartment is starting to look like a battlefield now that Joseph is smashing things
whenever hes angry these days, as well as every other statement from his mouth being some sort
of sick, twisted lie. He turns every argument around on me which means, everything Im
accusing him of is not what hes doing but what Im doing which never makes any sense and
makes me crazy frustrated, and how do you fight back when the person youre fighting with
twists accusations around on you? The things Joseph says to me are tremendously cruel and
callous, but just when I think hes being as cruel and callous as any human being can possibly be,
he tells me something that leaves me speechless.
You had better pray for a baby girl because if you have a boy, I will molest him. I stand
dumbfounded before his unimaginable threat, only able to turn and leave the room, slamming the
door behind me. His warning is real, and I know he means every word.
Manipulative Behavior
Does your partner use words to manipulate you? Is it impossible to have a normal conversation
with him? Is it impossible to win an argument with him? Twisting your words and managing
to turn things around to use them against you is a ploy of the verbal abuser. Does he indicate
through his choice of words that you are stupid and interrupt you when you are trying to talk?
Does he roll his eyes when you talk or walk away when responding to a question? These are all
signs of abuse. (By Cindi Pearce, eHow Contributor)
The nine months seem to last a decade but finally, in December, the scheduled day arrives.
Im having another C-section, only because Ive already had two others but which is just fine by
me. Id rather be cut open then have to push the baby out, especially since Ive never had to do
any kind of pushing with my other deliveries. However, Im not nearly as concerned about the
impending delivery as I am in trying to make sure Joseph stays at the hospital with me. I
certainly dont want him to be stoned on his daughters birthday. So, on the scheduled day, and
as Im wheeled into the delivery room, I ask him to stick around in my most sweet, pleading, I
need you voice, and he assures me that hell be here when I get out of recoveryand for some
stupid reason, I believe him.
Im jolted awake by the nurse shaking me by my shoulder and telling me that its time to
wake-up, but I dont want to wake-up. The sudden realization of being in the hospital is a shock
to my system. The powerful anesthesia Im under is again, the best sleep I can ever remember
having in my life. I hate that I have to wake-up until I remember that there should be a baby
somewhere in the hospital who I desperately want to see and hold.
Oh yeah, Joseph. Where is he? Have you seen my husband? I ask the nurse.
No, I havent seen him, sorry; she says without concern. I know in my heart and head hes
left the hospital, but still hope against hope hes waiting for me in my room and if he is, I might
just pass out on the spot so I wont hold my breath. I try with everything in me not to worry
whether or not hes here, especially since Im about to see my Christmas gift from God for the
first time.
After Im set-up in my obviously Joseph-less room, the nurses bring me my new daughter to
hold for the first time and my heart melts. Shes the most amazingly beautiful baby Ive ever
seen, with the exception of my first two children, of course. Shes absolutely perfect and I name
her Mandy, but as Im falling in love with my sweet little daughter and even though Im making
every effort not to worry, my mind is preoccupied and my heart sad knowing Joseph left me
alone in the hospital to have major surgery and deliver our baby alone. What if something had
gone wrong? I begin to think, and I, or our baby or both of us could be dead right now at this
exact momentbut does he care? No! How could he? All he can think about is getting high.
What else would he be doing? Where else would he be? Waiting here at the hospital like a
normal, loving husband? Give me a break! I know without a doubt hes with Bob smoking weed.
Two hours later, Joseph comes waltzing in. His eyes are barely slits and he has a big, stupid, Im
stoned outta my gourd look plastered across his face. He tries to give the impression of being
sober as he comes straight over to the bed where I have a hold of our daughter and starts ahhing
at her in a nauseating baby voice, touching her cheek and smelling of pot. Hes holding a small
bouquet of flowers as if they might be some sort of explanation for not being there.
Youre stoned!
No, Im not.
Oh-My-Gosh! Are you seriously going to stand here and deny it? We snap at each other in
hushed voices so the whole maternity ward doesnt hear. Joseph starts pacing the room in his
aggravation, but then walks to the bed again and I can feel myself wanting to keep him from
seeing my baby. I want to protect her from this stoned, insolent person. The person who is
supposed to be her father, her hero, but instead, hes the person who cant even put his newborn
daughter before his drugs.
I stay in the hospital for five days due to this surgery being my third Caesarean. Joseph is
hardly around, in addition to never showing-up when he says he will and seldom do I reach him
on the phone. When he does show-up for a visit, hell stay for an hour or so but then gets restless
and fidgety, and then after making some excuse as to why he cant stay, he exits, stage left. I
make him promise a time to be back and now its starting to feel like a game of cat and mouse,
but I cant help it! Im desperate to make him put his family first; he just has too! He cant be
socold? Soselfish? Soweak? Soaddicted? Can he?
A few days later, Im discharged and I wait all morning for Joseph to come pick Mandy and
me up. I explicitly told him what time Id be ready and sure enough, the hospital has me ready
right on time. The paperwork goes like clockwork and now Im just waiting to go home. Joseph
is hours late. When he finally arrives, after I leave him umpteen messages, he tells me that he
overslept which I actually believe knowing he would have had to take advantage of his last night
of freedom. Im sure Joseph was living it up without me there looking over his shoulder and
accusing him of being stoned and drunk. Sure enough, Joseph is hung-over from last nights
over-indulgence and now hes in a bad mood because of having to get-up early to pick me up
from the hospital. We hardly speak because of me being furious over waiting for him all
morning, and for the fact he got wasted the night before, overslept, plus being hung-over and
already stoned. I also know I wont be able to talk to him without exploding and mentioning all
of these things because that will positively, absolutely, definitely start a fight.
We make it down to the truck by making small talk with the nurse whos pushing my
wheelchair despite the fact its difficult to keep smiling when Im so upset, but I manage. Once
we make it through the grueling six minute trek to the garage, Im helped into the backseat along
with my precious baby girl and oh goody, the first ride of my daughters life will be in the
backseat of a truck with her stoned, hung-over father behind the wheel. I certainly dont want the
nurse knowing how wasted my husband is so early in the day, and making matters worse, hes
wasted on the day hes driving home his new baby, however, Im not about to be humiliated by
refusing to allow my own husband to drive us home. No one needs to know how mortified I am
because of him, besides, it would just cause a scene after Joseph becomes angry at my
embarrassing him by not letting him drive. Im just so ashamed. Ashamed of Joseph and
ashamed of myself for worrying more about being humiliated by an idiotic husband than caring
for my daughters safety. That is all there is to say about that.
When we pull into the apartment complex I realize I need help getting out of the back of the
truck because of it being a significant step down for anyone whos small or fresh out of surgery.
Watch that first step, its a doozy! My voice says to me.
Dont you think I know that?
Obviously. If you know it than I know itdah
Then quit stating the obvious! Im in no mood to be arguing with you right now!
In my current state of being, just five days out from having my belly cut completely through,
with two layers of stitches plus a layer of staples to show for it, I might as well be looking down
the side of the Grand Canyon. There is no way Ill be able to get out on my own without
stretching my incision area; I explain to Joseph as he starts collecting paperwork and
miscellaneous items from the front seat. He gets out of the truck and stares at me with his hands
full, so again I tell him that I need help.
Oh, you do? He says; and I wonder if he even has a brain in that thick skull of his. He
moves toward me then tells me to put my arms around his neck so he can help me down.
Please dont pull, I cant stretch; I quickly mention. Im expecting to be lowered down out
of the truck, but before I know whats happening, Im being pulled forward with nowhere to
step. I scream at Joseph to stop moving but he keeps backing-up, pulling me further over the gap
between us until I have nowhere to go but downand thats when I feel the ripping of the newly
fused skin plus the blazing sensation of the staples stretching and tearing out of my flesh and
newly-formed scabs. Being suspended between Joseph and the truck is agonizing and it seems as
if time is standing still as I stare at the asphalt. I know Ill never be able to reach it without dire
consequences once I make the decision to take that giant first step and now Im wishing I didnt
ask Joseph for help but its too late, because here I am hanging onto him like a monkey from a
tree until I finally have no choice but to take the leap from the truck into a world of hurt. My feet
frantically search for solid footing while I scream from the pain and until Joseph finally sets me
down and even though this all happens in seconds, it feels like it took all day. I double over in
excruciating pain and cry out in disbelief and horror while I clutch my belly and hope my guts
dont fall out.
You okay? Joseph asks casually as I stand in front of him sobbing.
YOU PULLED ME OUT OF THE TRUCK AND I RIPPED OPEN!!
Ohhh, sorry; he says nonchalantly as he moves around me to take the baby seat out of the
truck. I start hobbling toward the apartment with my arms wrapped around my middle, hoping to
avoid any more injury or pain. Joseph passes by me with Mandy, going ahead without any offer
to help. Ive never felt pain like this before and in addition to the worst physical pain Ive ever
felt, Im being hit with an all-consuming emotional pain from the total lack of concern from my
husband. He acts as if my reaction to him pulling me from the truck is exaggerated as if not
realizing or believing he has ripped my stitches or hurt me in any way, and now, between the
physical pain and the contempt I feel toward the man in front of me, I want to vomit.

The next two months go by in a blur of violence, fighting and deepening depression over my
home life and marriage. My friends from church call to check-up on me but Im starting to think
the calls are, in all probability, only to find out why I missed one or more of the various church
services or church activities or special church events Im expected to attend without fail. Ive
started to lose hope and Im turning resentful toward God for not fixing my marriage. My
incision heals eventually, taking longer than usual because of the trauma I incurred, and now,
with the scar being thick and irregular; its an ugly reminder of Josephs callousness. Not that
hell let me forget, but Im reminded every day that it doesnt matter to the new father that
theres a baby in the house. Joseph is still coming home just as drunk and just as stoned as ever;
furthermore, if I make any kind of comment about his continuing drunkenness and drug use, his
response is just as loud and just as angry as ever. I remind him over and over that hell wake the
baby with his yelling, but he just doesnt care. A couple of times Ive had to take Mandy to the
neighbors upstairs apartment to get away from Josephs outbursts when he was being
particularly obnoxious, and other times, Ill just lock myself in Mandys room, sleeping on the
floor next to her crib to make sure some drunken, stoned, insolent monster doesnt come in and
devour my child.
I feel as if Im going crazy with Joseph constantly yelling his sarcastic, wicked words at me,
talking at me as if he thinks hes some kind of word guru, twisting everything I say as he tries to
make me look stupid, or so he can accuse me of being the liar or the one who doesnt care. On
top of that, I have the constant fear of what he may or may not be doing when he isnt home,
weighing heavy on my shoulders. My mind is twisting into a mass of uncertainty and confusion
and Im already halfway to being completely numb to everything that is happening. Ive become
an empty shell. Its as if Ive left my body and Im watching my abuse from the safety of a dark
corner. Thoughts of Joseph lying on the ground bleeding to death from the many ways I envision
killing him, keep drifting through my mind. The ferocity of the contempt I feel for him for not
caring about me, and especially our daughter, makes me realize I could kill him. I want to kill
him. I cant take such cruelty and insolence from him any longer and I plan to do something
about it as soon as I can.
Depression
Many women in physically abusive relationships feel that the emotional abuse is more severely
debilitating than the physical abuse in the relationship. An abused person can feel dead or
detached and experience a group of symptoms that include: Despair/hopelessness, indifference,
loss of interest in pleasurable activities, lethargy, plus social withdrawal. In addition, the person
may feel like he or she is simply an observer of what is going on around him or her. There may
be a sensation of standing behind oneself and watching what happens.

Chapter 59
Why do we stay with these life-sucking vampires? Those soul-sucking monsters that just
drag us through Psychological barbwire day after day, year after year Until were nothing but
an empty shell of hate and fear ~Christopher Titus


The day starts as every other day with me up with the baby, and Joseph sleeping in from his
late night. He leaves for work around two in the afternoon as usual, then the rest of the day is a
blur for me. All my days run together, only separated by Josephs arrival home from work. I take
care of Mandy with a passion, trying desperately to counteract any negative impact the nightly
conflict may be causing to her little mind. As far as the rest of my life goes, I take care of it as
good as an empty shell of a human being can, but its all meaningless. Nothing matters in this
world but Mandy.
Joseph wakes me from a fitful sleep when he calls around 11:00pm. He calls to tell me that
hes going over to his buddy Bobs house to play pool. I automatically voice my normal
complaints about him coming home stoned and drunk with a baby in the house, but he responds
in irritation, then hangs-up. I know hes angry at the fact he cant win with me. He calls to let me
know where hell be so I dont worry as Ive always asked him to do, but then I complain about
him not coming home. I slam the phone down and start sobbing and trembling simultaneously.
Alone again, always alone. Its as if Im a single mother with an angry, abusive roommate.
I dont bother to call my church friends anymore, after two years of hearing the same old
story, Im not about to call and bore them to death, one more time, with the same sad state of
affairs. Besides, theyre out of advice. All they can tell me is to remain strong, have faith, trust
God. Ive already tried staying strong and having faith and trusting God for the last two years,
and now, now Im tired, exhausted actually. I know God promises Hell never leave me, but I
feel as alone as alone can be as I sob and cry out in desperation.
Im thirsty now, after twenty minutes of draining what feels like every drop of fluid from my
body. I feel numb as I walk blindly to the kitchen for a glass of water. I open the refrigerator and
the light illuminates our tiny kitchen. Its then when I see what I actually wanta butcher knife.
I need to end this hurting, but Im not about to leave another child, and since I cant leave
Joseph, Ill just remove the source of the pain. Im going to kill the heartless monster. I may have
three or four hours to wait before he comes home, but Ill wait as long as I have too and this
time, this time will be the last time he walks through our door and wreaks havoc on our lives.
This time Ill kill the monster and then hell no longer be able to hurt another human
beingwoman or childever again. But what about my daughter? What will happen to her? I
dont know. I realize then Id be leaving Mandy if I follow through with my plan. Ill be leaving
her when Im carted off to jail. I dont even know who would take care of her while Im in
prison. I dont even know how long Id be gone, could be years.
Suddenly, I hear a voice, but its not my little, annoying voice. This voice isnt annoying,
but hateful and doing its best to convince me that what Im contemplating is the right thing to do.
This is different, I hear the voice say; than if you were to take the easy way out and kill
yourself or walk away as you did to your other two kids. I feel a pang of guilt. It comes down
to him or you, and killing the monster will prove to Mandy how much you love her. I think
about Joseph, and how this man, this monster will bring Mandy nothing but pain and
disappointment and theres no way Ill allow my daughter to be subjected to that. Hes already
proving shes no more special or relevant than you are you need to save her from that! The
voice growls ferociously. I think about these things as the hours pass and until I finally hear
Joseph, at two-fifteen in the morning, revving the engine of his Harley as he comes roaring down
the street with no regard for the sleeping neighborhood, as usual.
I dont have to think about how to hold a knife. I already have the weapon in my hand, blade
side out, held in a downward position in order to cut and stab and so that Joseph wont be able to
grab my wrist to stop me from slashing the life out of him. I slowly walk to the bedroom door
and hide behind it. I feel calm. I listen to him fiddling around with his bike and helmet, then hear
his footsteps as they fade around the corner of the building. Next, the key in the door, doorknob
turning, the door opening, Joseph stepping inside then pushing the door closed. I have the knife
raised shoulder height, ready to plunge into his body. Why is everything moving in slow motion?
Do it! Do it! He deserves it! I hear the hateful voice snarl. I feel as if Im in a trance
when all of a sudden, I hear a different voice from another part of my mind.
Are you crazy? What are you doing? The two questions are short and simple but are
spoken with such authority they snap me back to reality and out of my dreamlike state. I feel
more clear-headed now, but my clear-headedness doesnt remove my desire to eliminate the
monster from Mandys and my life, so I remain hidden and ready to pounce. I hear Joseph come
in, go to the kitchen table and toss his keys down, then after grabbing a beer he goes into the
living room, plops down on the couch and turns on the television. Darn it! I slowly lower the
knife and lean on the wall and think about what to do. I think about going out to the living room,
but then hell see me coming andI want my attack to be a surprise and in the dark. It has to be
dark, so dark that I cant see what Im doing. The darkness feels sinister and makes me feel
wicked as well as giving me courage to commit what could only be described asmurder. I just
dont think I can do it with the glow of the television in the background. Besides, the light will
zap my confidence and make it too easy to chicken out.
I know Joseph wont be getting up anytime soon, so I move out from behind the door, stick
the knife between the mattresses and quietly climb into bed. Thats that; dumb luck or guardian
angels have spared us both and now Ill have to find another way to end this. I fall asleep without
ever speaking to Joseph, which is just fine with me. Of course, the next morning, life continues
on the way it always does, but my murderous thoughts have somehow passed.

Two months after I give birth, I go back to work at the restaurant in La Quinta. All together
Ive worked here about six years, almost the whole time Ive been with Joseph, except for the
times I left for the summers to work other places. I still dont talk about my problems with my
co-workers since theyve heard it all before and because I also believe theyre already judging
me for being so stupid and even I know not to beat a dead horse. I mostly keep to myself,
keeping busy and keeping my nose to the grindstone. I try avoiding most conversations since as a
Christian, I dont want to get sucked back into the vile, sinful, sexual world of restaurant life, but
even as a Christian, my heart and mind are being torn in at least four different directions. The
first person is my Christian self, the one whos trying to be the Christian I ought to be even while
being tempted by my old life because of hanging around my drinking, partying co-workers.
Turning back to the drinking, partying sex-driven woman I once was would be the second
person. When I go home, I change into the nervous, defensive, angry wife who is the third
person, while at the same time, Im trying to be the joyful mother and protector of my daughters
little ears, mind and life which is the fourth person. I dont know who I am anymore, and worst
of all, I dont know who I want to be.
Losing Your Identity
Verbal and emotional abuse can make you start to second guess who you are. You may start to
doubt whether you can make simple decisions for yourself or your family. Children who are
emotionally and verbally abused often grow up with the notion that they are there for others.
They lack a sense of self. Adults who are emotionally and verbally abused generally sense there
is a problem once they are emotionally involved in the relationship, but they are stripped of their
sense of self as the relationship progresses. It can be extremely difficult to gather the strength to
get out of an emotionally abusive relationship, but it can be done. (By Karen Kleinschmidt,
eHow Contributor)
Late one March night, two months after Mandys birth, Joseph comes home from work
around midnight and for some reason, when I hear him come in, I consider getting up to ask the
reason hes so late. Ive stopped asking him for the most part lately, and just stay in bed to try
and keep the peace for Mandys sake. However, tonight, for some inexplicable reason, I feel the
need to find out. Im not angry, just curious. As I lay in bed contemplating my decision, I hear
Joseph go to the refrigerator for a beer, then go out the sliding glass door to the patio to smoke
and drink as he usually does if or when he comes home after work. I listen for a while, then
finally get up and head down the dark hallway. All the lights are off in the apartment with the
only light being from the bluish illumination from the fluorescent yard lights outside which are
shining through the slats of the blinds, making it so I can see.
What are you doing? My nosy little voice asks me as I move silently over the carpet and
down the hallway. What do you hope to accomplish by doing this?
I dont know, I answer; and as Im having this profound conversation with myself, Joseph
comes inside for another beer and sees me, yet totally ignores me. I stop in the hallway alongside
the back of the sofa that sits to my left facing the living room. Just ahead and to my right is the
dining area and sliding glass door of the apartment. As he turns to head back outside, I ask the
question Ive asked a thousand nights before in our seven-year relationship.
Why are you so late?
Its then when it happens. One of those unbelievable, incredible and implausible moments.
That rare moment of mistrust in what your brain is telling your eyes theyre seeing. I blink,
squint and struggle to see more clearly in the darkness until I finally decide I cant possibly see
any clearer than how clearly Im seeing right at that moment even though my brain is continuing
to oppose what my eyes are unquestionably seeing. Even so, and while telling myself what Im
seeing cant be real, I know its real because its right in front of me. This is one of those
unbelievable, incredible, implausible moments.
As Joseph turns to look at me, and even though the blue glow from the outside lights are
behind him and are making his face and silhouette black, I keep seeing obvious glints of yellow
coming from his eyes. Josephs eyes are dark brown, yet Im seeing a yellow glow. I know there
are no lights behind me that could be reflecting off his eyes to cause this phenomenon and I
quickly look behind me just to make sure. Joseph doesnt move or make a sound, but just stands
where he is, staring at me from the shadows, which is entirely out of character for my overly-
emotional husband. Im too shocked to move a muscle, so Im still standing in the dark hallway
listening to the now deafening silence. Josephs motionless form and the fact he wont say
anything send a chill down my spine. Minutes seem to tick by when all of a sudden, from out of
the darkness, Joseph or whoever he is, starts to speak. The voice I hear isnt Josephs voice;
instead, its an abnormally deep, hollow sound with a vibrating quality about it, almost like a
growl. At first, I dont hear the words he says because of being so confused as to what Im seeing
and now hearing.
What?? I ask as I continue to blink and strain my eyes in the hopes of seeing more clearly
still.
He once again starts to speak, slowly and precisely, and as I listen it becomes clear to me
that what Im seeing are evil yellow eyes, and the voice, I know the voice isnt Josephs voice. I
say his name anyway, with common sense challenging my other senses.
Joseph? I steady myself on the back of the sofa, clutching it in a death grip as I try to
make sense of what I now know Im seeing, yet at the same time, still hoping I can blink it away
and hear some snide remark from him instead. He or it is calling me the most horrifyingly
depraved names Ive ever heard, but its the way he sounds as he says them that is far worse than
I could have ever imagined hearing. As I listen and analyze and try to understand the malevolent
words coming from his mouth, I begin noticing that while hes spitting out his wickedness, he
appears agitated. It seems as if hes being held in place, unable to move. I can clearly see that the
Joseph-demon is furious over this fact and it also seems to me that if he could, he would kill me
without hesitation. I can hear and feel the hate it has for me as well as the fact it wants to kill me.
Joseph? I say again, but he doesnt respond to the name. Whoever or whatever it is stands
perfectly still, staring at me with hateful, yellow eyes; hatred so pure I know its not Joseph. Not
even Joseph, in his angriest state, has ever or could ever sound this evil. In all the years weve
fought, and with all the names hes called me, they were never so sharp, so horrid, so forbidding;
nevertheless, his words dont hurt and Im not afraid. As each minute ticks by, I become more
and more certain that its not Joseph Im looking at or speaking to, but an evil spirit, a demon
speaking through Joseph and yet, I have no fear. This realization almost makes me chuckle with
relief, knowing as a child of God, no demon can hurt me without Gods say-so. I also know God
is here with me and I feel amazingly powerful and its then when I realize Im more afraid of
Joseph than a demon. I understand now where the unimaginable ferocity and hateful words being
directed at me are coming from theyre not coming from a mere human but from Satan, the
father of lies and hatred.
I now feel bold, so I stand and listen as it speaks its sordid words to me. A few times I reply
to something it says as if Im still speaking to Joseph, but before the words are out of my mouth,
it interrupts me with what seems like a chant of hate. I realize then that its foolish to try to
converse with the devil seeing as though he wont even acknowledge Im trying to communicate.
Instead, it continues on with a non-stop ramble of names, lies and accusations without breaking
rhythm. I finally decide Ive listened long enough so I inform the Joseph-demon Im going to
bed now, then turn and walk down the hallway to my daughters room, slowly yet deliberately,
listening for any sound or movement outside of the reverberation of its voice, in case I may need
to defend myself. I dont dare look back and give away my sudden fright at having my back
turned to the menace, and when I reach Mandys room, I close and lock the door and only then
does the evil chanting stop. I realize Im covered in chills, and all the hairs on my body are
standing up as I pray for protection while leaning over Mandys crib, thanking God for my
beautiful daughter and for keeping us both safe. I then lie down on the floor next to the crib and
think about the incredible happenings of the night as I drift off to sleep.
The next day, I dont get-up or come out of the room until after Joseph leaves for work. Hes
working a double shift today, which works perfectly for me to get out of the apartment before he
comes home. The experience from the night before is catching up with me and I cant stop
shaking. I call some guy-friends from work to see if they can help me move and to be here in
case Joseph comes home early, and three co-workers show-up within the hour. I feel safer now,
although Im still a bundle of nerves even with the male company, but were able to get out
without a hitch, and when I close the door this time, I know its for good. I never look back and
never regret my decision. My daughter is now safe from the effects of our dreadfully
dysfunctional relationship and thats more important than anything else I could ever hope for by
far. Im the big 3-0 on my way to a brand new life. Thank God.
Gods ways are mysterious. I now know why God allowed me to become pregnant, my
question has been answered. Mandy saved me not only from Joseph, but from myself as well. It
was Mandy who gave me the resolve to leave the tragedy of the reality I was living. There was
no way I could continue living with a monster when I had a child to raise. Without Mandy, I
dont know what it would have taken to get me to leave Joseph. If only I had known and trusted
that God was in control and trying to give me a way out with all those other pregnancies that I so
cold-heartedly and ignorantly terminated. Who knows, it could have been one of those babies
that helped me leave sooner, thereby avoiding many more years of turmoil. But it was Mandy.
Mandy was meant to be and oh, how thankful I am for her. When we try running our own lives
instead of trusting the One who created all, sees all and knows all, we end-up suffering longer
than necessary. If only I had known.


Chapter 60
Adversity is another way to measure the strength of individuals.
I never had a crisis that didnt make me stronger. ~Lou Holtz


Im ready to be alone. I want to be alone. Im sick of everything and everyone. Im
especially sick of abusive, pot-smoking, alcoholic men. I want nothing to do with them. My
daughter and I are going to make it on our own and well be just fine. I dont need a man to take
care of me and Im clearly sick of taking care of them and as the great Homer Simpson once
said, You tried your best and failed miserably; the lesson is, never try. I have no try left, so Im
done trying.
I rent an apartment right awayby myself. I work and pay the billsby myself, but I do
need Mandys Papa and Mimi to watch her while I work, so I guess I cant do everything by
myself. Mandys grandparents couldnt be more pleased to babysit. Mimi loves her sons
daughter more than life itself while her Papa dotes on her night and day.
Nothing is going to get in my way of making a good life for my daughter, and Ive never
been more determined about anything in my life. The only problem is, its all fueled by anger
and years of disappointment in the human race as well as in myself, so keeping-up appearances
over the long run will be hard. Nevertheless, I need to show the world, and myself that Im not a
failure even though its two marriages down the drain so far, and as far as Im concerned, two
marriages are more than enough. However, in my surge forward into finding my independence, I
start turning back to my old ways and my old friendsSam Adams, Jose Cuervo, and of course,
Mr. Mondovi to distract me from whats happening on the inside. Im still going to church, but
Im not getting a thing out of it. Sunday mornings I sit deaf, dumb and blind, not hearing a word
said because of my mind being a million miles away. Its as if Im in a black hole, where time
and space converge into nothingness. Nobody seems to understand that even the strongest
Christian would be struggling after separating from his or her spouse with a three-month-old
baby in tow, consequently; I feel very alone with no help, encouragement or understanding of
how badly Im hurting. The church is making me feel like Im supposed to be relieved and happy
to have finally gotten out of such a terrible situation and I just need to get over it.
Its my own fault, I suppose, that no one seems to give a hoot about my sad state of affairs.
Ive been painting on a smiling mask for years in order to keep people from knowing how
terrible things actually were, or how I truly felt about all the stupid decisions Ive made as well
as the consequences I now suffer from because of the stupid decisions Ive made. I paint on a
smile to spare friends and family as well as strangers, the gory details of my life. Its became a
habit I do without thinking ever since I learned to hide my feelings as a young girl; just smile, be
happy, Im fine. Even Josephs mom doesnt know how I truly feel or have felt about her son
through the years.
I gradually start missing church services and not returning calls which puts a giant red bulls-
eye on my back. I receive five or six calls a day from church members wanting to know if Im all
right and where Ive been, except, returning those calls is the last thing on my mind. Instead, I
turn back to alcohol more and more to avoid dealing with all of the daunting, not to mention,
painful emotions trying to bubble to the surface. I know what I need to get through this crisis,
and the church and its members are not it since right now, God is on my Im pissed at You list for
the second time in my life.


Chapter 61
Hopeless, head over heels in the moment,
I never thought Id get hit by this Love bug again!
~The Jonas Brothers


Craig started working at the Cliffhouse while I was on maternity leave. I notice him as the
new guy in the restaurant as soon as I get back to work even though hes already been here six
months, which makes him the old-new guy to me. Other than being someone Ill be working
with, I ignore him since hes clearly of the male gender. Were introduced, but I dont really see
him, he tells me his name, but I dont really hear him. I have no interest in meeting or getting to
know new people, especially men. All I want to do is keep my nose to the grindstone and try to
lay low and do my work, besides, Im humiliated and can barely look anyone in the eye as it is.
The day I call my manager, Anita, and let her know Im ready to go back to work after giving
birth to my little miracle, Im told I need to come in and talk with her and Richard, the GM of the
Cliffhouse.
The day of the meeting Im nervous, which probably has to do with having to speak with
Richard, which is out of the ordinary. I tell myself that my being nervous is silly since were like
family here and Ive been part of the family for years now, but the still powerful fear of having
made a mistake, not being perfect, and of authority makes me paranoid. I sit in the office and
wait a few minutes while Richard finishes up a phone call. When hes done, he and Anita come
into the office where Im waiting. Anita sits while Richard leans on a desk, crosses his arms then
proceeds to inform me of the overall displeasure among some of the employees about my return.
What?! Why? I think my jaw just hit the floor, but Im too flabbergasted at what I just
heard to care. He continues on in a serious yetjust giving you the facts maamkind of way,
which makes me feel as if its common knowledge that Im not particularly well-liked. The fact
that Im not well-liked must have been spoken about openly among the employees because
Richard also makes it sound as if I should already know how my co-workers are feeling, when in
actuality, I dont have a clue.
You know you have a habit of voicing your opinion and complaining out loud, and some
people dont appreciate your opinion or complaining and they feel it brings down the moral of
the restaurant; Richard tells me.
Youre kidding? Why didnt anyone say anything?
Most likely because youre super scary when youre mad. Hehehe You know who
answers my question before I even finish thinking it.
That I cant say, but during a shift meeting we all talked about bringing you back and I
must say, not too many were in favor of your return. However, we managers talked it over and
decided we do want you back. Youre a good employee, hard-working and dependable, but itll
be up to you to win over your co-workers and prove to them that youve changed. Tears are
slowly rolling down my cheeks from the shock of being told my so-called family doesnt like
me. Wow, what is it with families and me? What is it with me? In conclusion, Richard warns me
to watch myself and my complaining and just work hard then things will be just fineYeah,
easy for him to say
Okay, I will; I promise.
WOWthat hurt and now Im mad; as if they, my slimy co-workers dont complain! As
iftheyre so perfect! I think of my supposed friends as each of their backstabbing little faces
flash through my mind. How am I ever going to be able to face any of those people again? I hate
them! Okay, I dont hate them, Im just mad at them. Talking behind my back like that. Why
cant anyone just say whats on their mind? How was I supposed to know my complaining was
getting on their nerves? Maybe if they just did their jobs properly, I wouldnt have to complain.
Whatever, Ill just keep to myself and not say a word.
Things are not as awful as I thought they were going to be. I walk into work the first day
guarded, but ready to work and keep to myself. However, all of my old friends and co-workers
keep coming up to me and hugging me and asking how Ive been, and its so nice to see you
again and were glad youre back. I now think it wasnt my co-workers at all, but maybe just the
managers way of letting me know they didnt like my complaining, but just in case, Ill keep my
distance and see what happens. Im a different person now, and more to the point, Im far from
the source of my anger and irritation so I should be fine. If Im not unhappy, I wont have any
reason to complain, will I?
Painful emotions
Abuse creates stress and leads to painful emotions. Shame and low self-esteem create anxiety
and fear about being judged, rejected or abandoned, making mistakes or being a failure.
I dont like the new guy, I mean; the old-new guy. I know hes a tall, strapping man with
dark features, but I also know that he thinks hes hilarious, which he isnt. I still dont know
exactly what he looks like since hes more than a neck and head taller than me and I never look-
up at his face. I mostly just see his chest or shoes as Im trying to exit the kitchen or dining room
or whatever other room Im in whenever he comes around in order to avoid the onslaught of
vulgarities, dirty jokes, and the many other absurd and disturbing things that come pouring out of
his mouth. But God-forbid I should complain about him and whatever is going on in that big
head of his, so his big mouth keeps on aflappin with no one influential enough to make him
stop. Hes just an over-grown class clown, getting-off on peoples reactions to the disgusting
things he says and I refuse to give him a reaction. But that isnt even the worst part. The worst
part ishes a pot smokerSAY WHAT?? You have got to be kidding me?! Is there no one left
in the world who doesnt smoke the stuff? What a loser! Immature and a pothead. Whatever. I
certainly neednt worry about what the village idiot is up to, hes not my problem, thank God. Ill
just keep my distance.
He actually spoke to me. Im busy doing side work and minding my own business when he
comes into the kitchen. Im overly preoccupied with what Im doing so I dont notice and now
Im not able to escape before he speaks to me.
You dont like me too much, do you? He asks.
Uh, no; I answer truthfully.
Can I ask why not? He says in a cute, questioning way with a slightly wily look on his
face.
Because everything out of your mouth is disgusting; I respond. I dont want to hurt his
feelings, but he asked. He then asks me a question I reply to with contempt and disgust with the
hope it will shut him up and persuade him to leave me alone.
Is there anything I can do to change the fact you dont like me?
Yeah, sure, I say; dont ever joke about blood, guts, vomit, bodily fluids, after-birth, sex,
male or female body parts or cuss around me ever again. Thats not too much to ask, is it?
Okay; is all he says with the sweetest, most sincere look on his face Ive ever seen a man
make. It makes me do a double take to be sure I saw what I saw. I did, but it doesnt make me
believe that he can accomplish such an enormous undertaking; besides, who can change the very
nature of themselves in an instant? Furthermore, the two men who professed to love me never
cared about my feelings, so why would he?
How could this happen? At least two weeks have gone by and not one single slip-up? Not
one dirty, nasty, vile, disgusting word has come from Craigs mouth since our talk. The thought
makes me smile. I now feel more relaxed at work, not feeling the need to be ready to run for the
door at a moments notice because of this person coming into the same space as me. In fact, I start
wanting him to be in my space. I also start noticing that this here Craig guy is quite handsome.
Hes 63 and about two-forty in weight. He has dark, almost black hair and dark features. He
has large, strong hands and arms, and whenever Im around him, I feel safe. How enjoyable it
would be to date a real man for a change! A big, strong man to keep me safe and who actually
cares how I feel.
The idea of not wanting a man in my life is fading from my memory, but who is this person
who is causing me to abandon my resolve? Moreover, why does he care how I feel about him?
My female radar hasnt picked-up any flirtation on his part, nor has he shown me any extra
attention as if he might be interested in more than just a working relationship, so why is he being
so considerate? All I know is my stomach starts to flutter whenever Im around him now. Ive
never met anyone like him before.
Our first date starts out with him helping me move a refrigerator into my new apartment.
Later that evening, we go out to dinner with another couple from work, who also happen to be
his roommates. He invites me along as if its just some friends hanging-out, which it is, but to
me, its a date. I might have been reading more into our going out than it was actually cracked up
to be, but the fact he invited me at all must mean something. Im told to meet them at their
apartment and when I show-up, Craig answers the door and Im hit in the face by a wall of
smoke. Mar-i-jua-na smoke. Okie dokiethis is just greeaaat. I smile as I enter and after we all
say our hellos, Im offered a hit but politely decline. I make-up my mind as soon as I see the
glassy slits for eyesI will not date this man. Theres no way in the world Ill ever again get
involved with anyone who does drugs; period. Im now, at this moment, so immensely happy
this isnt a real date.
As soon as we get to the restaurant, Kobe Japanese Steakhouse, my favorite, we sit down at
a table surrounding the cook top, order a few drinks, appetizers and dinner as we watch the chef
wow us with his culinary prowess and utensil flipping genius. The night goes on to be perfect,
even better than perfect. Craig pays for my part of the check, though I insist I can pay for my
own, but he insists harder. He opens every door for me, pulls out my chair all night, and then
walks me to my truck once we get back to the apartments. We chat for a little while, I thank him
for the wonderful evening, we hug goodnight and I leave. I remember thinking how pleasant it is
to be out with a gentleman for a change. Even stoned, hes more respectful than Joseph ever was
sober; nevertheless, Never Again. I say out loud.
The next time I see Craig at work, we end-up in the bar afterwards and start talking about
our lives and our lives with drugs and alcohol. We share stories of drunken escapades and close
calls. He tells me that he thinks his father might have been an alcoholic, and that he may have
inherited his dads love of drinking if alcoholism works that way. He goes on and tells me that he
was born in Germany on an American Air Force Base, but he and his family have lived in many
different places because of his father serving in the military. He mentions the fact that when he
was twelve, his father was killed when the fighter jet he was piloting over Germany, crashed. His
father is considered a hero for staying with the plane and diverting it into a field, thereby, saving
a town from the devastation and death that surely would have ensued if he had ejected to save
himself. Other than that, Craig had a happy childhood, but his fathers death contributed to a
depression that led to, up until this point, a life of drugs and drinking from a young age. He
admits to loving Marijuana, but thats it, he gave-up hard drugs a long time ago.
After listening to Craigs stories, I proceed to give him the Readers Digest version of my
life as of late, including my new daughter, the ending of my marriage and about all the trouble
Ive gone through with my ex-husband because of drugs and alcohol. I then inform him of the
fact that I will NEVER, EVER again be with someone who uses drugs, especially mar-i-jua-na;
he says he understands. An hour or so later, we say goodnight and go our separate ways and I
leave feeling relieved I made my point and proud of myself for staying strong and not
compromising on the pot thing. I enjoyed talking with Craig and getting to know him better, but
I cant see us being friends anywhere but work because of our totally conflicting lifestyles of a
single mother, and a lazy, pothead bachelor.


Chapter 62
The natural man has only two primal passions,
to get and beget. ~ William Osler


My first Mothers Day as a new mother comes on Sunday, May 9, 1999. As soon as I wake-
up in the morning I feel it, a heaviness inside my chest thats suffocating. The sadness is
overwhelming. This isnt how its supposed to be! I should be with a loving husband who would
be celebrating me right now, the woman he loves and who gave birth to his little bundle of joy;
not living alone in a one-bedroom apartment with a newborn next to my bed. Im so lonelyI
feel more alone at this moment than Ive ever felt my entire life. I cant believe Im alone at this
point in my life and that Ive gone through two marriages already. Although, one thing is for
sure, no one can say I didnt try on the last one. I did more than most people would have done or
could have done under the circumstances. This thought makes me feel better since it helps me be
angry at Joseph instead of myself for being a two-time failure at love, so Ill just continue trying
to think about that. Whether I think about Joseph or not, I know the seeds of resentment and
loathing have been planted once again and Im making sure to water them-thar-seeds with a good
dose of pride every day. God had saved me from these sins and the weight they placed on my life
once before, but how quickly I turn from His grace in order to run right back into the arms of the
sin that could eventually kill me. Oh well, Ill just have a drink and then Ill feel better as well as
impeding my negative thought process and the development of any kind of guilt from my jump
back into my previous way of living. Besides, Im probably doomed regardless.
I go to work in the evening, still feeling sad and Im quiet most of the night. I cant complain
about how Im feeling since anyone whos known me for any length of time knows Ive brought
all of my problems on myself and Im embarrassed over the whole situation. Most of my co-
workers wish me happy Mothers Day, which I appreciate, but it isnt until I finish my shift and
go out to the restaurants terrace to join everyone for some food and drinks that I receive the
sweetest surprise of all. Still feeling sad, I walk outside to the table and see a large bouquet of
flowers.
Look! Craig bought you flowers for Mothers Day! My friends announce. Im so stunned I
dont know what to say. The sweetness of this man astounds me. His thoughtfulness is
something thats foreign to me. Tears start rolling down my cheeks as I try to express my
gratitude which causes everyone to sighahhh. Our relationship takes flight from that night on,
starting with going out dancing with our co-workers and staying until closing. I end-up drinking
too much because of my wide-ranging emotions, which, while out with friends I dont think
about as painful, however, Im drinking to stop the pain. On one hand I feel devastatingly sad,
yet on the other, Im drinking because Im crazy happy over of Craigs feelings toward me.
Whatever the reason, I drink too much, so Craig is encouraged to drive me home but we end-up
going to his house instead, where we spend the night together for the first time. Im fully aware
of the sin Im committing, but the odds are stacked against me that Ill be able to stop whats
happening between him and I, so I let whats happening happen and refuse to have any regrets.
Craig and I are serious from day one and start spending as much time together as we can.
Were mostly at my apartment since he has roommates as well as the fact I have to sneak into his
apartment when I visit because of him living next door to some members of my church. Now, if
that isnt a sign, I dont know what is. I feel as if Im back home under the evil, watchful eyes of
Alice, sneaking around, hoping not to get caught doing something or nothing incorrectly, and
then being grounded or spanked or punished in some new and frightening way. Give me a break!
I cant live like this! I just want everyone to leave me alone. Im tired of being a goody-goody, of
trying to be the perfect Christian. I mean, where has that gotten me? More abuse and another
divorce, and now Im even a single-mother! I may as well go ahead and be a baddy-baddy since
my circumstances cant get any worse.
I didnt plan for him and me to happen even though its a good thing, an extremely good
thing. Im confused as to why Craig has been brought into my life since our relationship started
off sinfully. I have to wonder if well last, or will I be punished and end-up suffering in some
emotionally painful way as its been with every other choice Ive made or relationship Ive been
in. To make matters worse, I start sleeping with Craig before my divorce is final which makes
me an adulterer. I might as well be wearing a giant A on my chest along with an I for
immoral and impure. How about an L for living in sin and I may as well throw on an S for
selfishness since Im only thinking of myself and what I want, and then for the icing on a
tremendously large cake, I have plenty of Guilt from being an Immoral and Impure Adulterer,
Selfishly Living in sin with a non-Christian, for crying out loud! The scriptures flood my mind,
every minute of every day Im not with Craig. Im in the midst of a battle between my desires
and what God desires, but my desires are winning this battle because I can actually feel Im
loved by Craig unlike with God, and right now I need to feel loved. I try not to think about my
sin once I justify what Im doing in my mind, I just beg God for forgiveness and promise Him
that Ill be back, and even better than that, Ill bring Craig with me.
Craig and I are living together for the most part within two months. We move from my little
one-bedroom apartment to a two-bedroom apartment and start our little family of three. Craig
steps in as Mandys Dad so seamlessly, its as if she were his from the beginning. We discuss his
pot smoking now that hes going to be a daddy and he promises hell only smoke when hes out
with friends. I agree with the terms until I see his stoned eyes after a night out. His squinty eyes
and stupid smile send me hurtling toward an awful, horrible, dreadful place that I never wanted
to go to again.
I cant do it, I tell him; its either me or the potyou have to choose; I cant handle
living with a drug user again! I feel like Im losing control as I ramble-on, pacing the floor,
practically hyper-ventilating. When I finally shut-up and let Craig speak, his response is short
and sweet;
Its you all the way. Ill just quit.
Just like that? I ask warily.
Just like that; he says matter-of-fact. God has blessed me, but I still cannot help wondering
why.

Kelly, the joyful, vivacious, pastors wife whom I first met in the grocery store parking lot
with Joseph and have since become good friends with, comes to see me a few weeks after my
departure from church attendance. She admits her visit is for one reason and that is to try and talk
me out of doing what Im doing with Craig, going as far as offering to take me to every Church
of Christ in California in order to find me a Christian husband. Dont know how that would have
worked out, but hey, she tried. I attempt to ease her mind by telling her Craig is open to going to
church and studying the Bible.
Great! She says, Then let him do that first and if he becomes a Christian, then you can
date him.
I cant do that; I say, I love him, as does everyone who knows him, which is why Ill never
take a chance of losing him.
If its meant to be, God wont allow you to lose him; Kelly counters.
I know, but if its meant to be, I know hell become a Christian; I respond. Kelly knows
shes not going to change my mind so we leave it at that. I let her know I wont be attending
church while Im living in sin, because adding an H for hypocrite to my growing alphabet of
transgressions is the last thing I want to do.
Craig is amazing, and I love him more than Ive ever loved anyone in my life. His heart is so
patient and kind, he makes me want to be a kinder, more patient person. We even each other out.
What I lack, he has in abundance, and what he lacks, I have in spades. Hes the go-to guy if
someone has a problem and it needs fixing. Hes the shoulder to cry on if someone needs an ear.
Hes a mans man, yet he loves his mom and is at her beckon call. Hell do anything to help
where help is needed and has no qualms with anyone. You can trust him completely and he
always keeps his word which is exactly why Im so excited to introduce him to anyone I can
think of who knows of me and my problem-laden life, including my mother.
I decide, after Craig and I move-in together, that its time for the thorn-in-my-side to meet
the love-of-my-life. My father moved up to Sacramento so I can only tell him about Craig over
the phone for the time being, but Alice still lives close-by so I figure a meeting is in order. She
and I dont speak very often and hardly ever see each other simply because, even though Ive
forgiven her and have tried to have a relationship with her, I refuse to be a doormat for her to
wipe her not-so-nice feet on, hence, the distance. Im happier without my mother in my everyday
life as well as having to contend with the frustration and anger caused by her demeaning words,
looks and tones, but, like the crazy, co-dependent, insecure person I am, I still want and need her
approval, so I give her a call and invite her over for the Come Meet the Love-of-my-Life
Lunch. As soon as I see her, I feel the old need to impress her as well as prove to her that I was
able to land a good one this time, and thankfully, Craig doesnt disappoint. The lunch goes
smoothly with Alice acting as pleasant as she can be, and when its over, Im satisfied that Ive
finally made her proud.

Oh, that old familiar feeling once againI didnt expect this again in a million years since
Craig and I are taking precautions, but then again, did that ever matter? Three months into our
relationship and I know what the feeling Im feeling is; Im pregnantagain! This time my
impending pregnancy isnt shock and awe, but straightforward disappointment. I dont wanna be
pregnant, I want to continue having fun with Craig. We have so much more to learn about each
other, so many more things to do together. Im not worried in the least about how hell feel, not
that I think hell be excited, but I know he wont run out on me with his tail tucked between his
legs either. I hope. I tell him as soon as I see the pretty pink lines on the little white pee-stick.
Craig, umlook! I hold the stick close enough to his face for him to see what I already
saw.
Is that what I think it is? He asks.
What do you think it is? I ask coyly.
A pregnancy test? He says in aI already know the answer to this questionsort of way.
Yep; I respond. The look on his face tells me that he doesnt know how to react. The
father-to-be looks somewhat happy, yet slightly confused, but mostly as if the news of my
pregnancy is just some matter-of-fact information he needed to know and he isnt sure how he
should feel about it. Since weve only been dating three months, I dont expect Craig to be
excited like I expected Kurt to be excited about my pregnancy proclamation as well as learning
never to expect excitement from a man when confronted with the idea of being a father. So in the
hopes of quelling his fear, I tell him that Im not happy about the pregnancy either and so much
for protection, however, he reassures me by saying its all-good and everything will be fine.
Thats all I need to hear.

Because of my growing bump, I have to watch that I dont run into any church members
since being pregnant brings to the forefront that Im doing it. Not that they dont already know
Ive been doing it, the fact Im living with my boyfriend gave that away a long time ago. I just
dont want to advertise my approaching delivery to anyone from church for the simple fact I
dont want to give them reason to struggle with the sin of gossipand maybe, just maybe it
might be because I feel ashamed and guilty by my condition. Plus, I wouldnt want to have to
explain the how and why Im in this condition in the first place if I were to run into my Christian
brothers and sisters in case they dont already know about my decent into degradation.
By my sixth month, my back is starting to ache as it usually does when I reach this point in
my pregnancies. Working becomes an uncomfortable proposition, particularly when running
back and forth between the kitchen and dining room, and the dining room back to the kitchen
with stacks of heavy plates or trays full of cokes and cocktails. Along with the running of plates
and trays, theres the cleaning and side-work I have to do, making it feel as if the baby is going
to fall out of me at any second. I decide I should stop working since Ill hardly be able to do
much of anything before long, and I dont want to take the chance of something falling out of me
that shouldnt be falling out of me while at workespecially before its projected uterine
departure time.
My pregnancy goes smoothly enough despite being high risk from having so much scar
tissue from the last three Caesareans including the epic parting of the stitches after the
unfortunate plunge from my truck. However, theres only one thing on my mind at the moment
besides my growing belly, and the aches and pains from my growing belly, and my wishing my
belly would stop growing and causing me aches and pains, and that is, getting my big, hunk of a
man to marry me. Craig and I have talked about getting married, but he told me that he made
himself a vow to avoid taking the vow unless hes been in a relationship for a year or more. No
matter that we love each other, or that Im pregnant with his child, he wont break the one rule
hes set for himself. So, on the one-year anniversary of being together, and while Craig is sitting
and watching a football game, I walk into the living room and stand right between him and the
television set.
Go get dressed; I tell him, were going to the courthouse to get hitched. Ive never had a
baby outside of wedlock, and Im sure not about to do it now. Im eight and half months
pregnant so were cutting it close as it is! I put on the prettiest maternity blouse I own, Craig
puts on a polo and some jeans, we drive to the courthouse, and with the judge, his secretary and
God as our witness, we tie the knot. A few days later, Craig comes up to me and asks; would
you prefer a ring or a horse for your wedding present?
What?! Really?!
Really, he says; which would you prefer? I look him in the eye and think for a moment
while picturing a shiny new diamond on my hand, or a shiny new horse to love and brush and
ride. Ive wanted and waited for a horse for almost seven years now, and although a diamond is
pretty, I cant ride a diamond. I make-up my mind and reply, a horse of course, then jump into
Craigs arms and ask; howd I get so lucky?
Within two weeks I have a new yearling Quarter Horse filly, and a month after that, Justin is
born. Justin is perfect just as all my babies have been. His papa nicknames him Big J, even
though hes only seven pounds, but hes long and lean and has the potential to grow into a big
man if Craigs size is any indication. I maintain my relationship with Josephs mother and her
husband after marrying Craig, being that theyll always be Mandys Grandparents.
Tom and Marian treat me like a daughter in addition to accepting Craig as a son, although
sometimes, Craig and I do sense some two-faced undertones from Marian, but we ignore them
the best we can for the kids sake. We know how she is about her family, so seeing as though
Craig and I arent blood or even lawful relations of hers, I know we must allow her some
prejudices where were concerned in order to keep the peace. The only problem with the whole
relationship is the fact that she still wants Joseph in Mandys life despite my protests. Even with
the divorce papers stating as well as the court agreeing to supervised visits onlywith my
permissionGramma Marian still sets-up times for, you know who, to visit Mandy whenever
she and Papa Tom babysit for mein other words, shes going behind my back. However, what
Marian doesnt know is that Papa Tom always lets me know whats going-on and what Marian
has planned for Mandys visits. Tom also promises to keep an eye on my daughter for me since
were on the same page as far as Joseph is concerned. We both have an intense loathing and
aversion to Marians son, me; because he was my violent, abusive, lying, child-molesting, drug-
addicted, alcoholic ex-husband, and Tom; because he knows him as a fake, a user, a liar and
worst of all, because Joseph takes advantage of his mother every chance he gets. Even so, Tom
will put-on an act of caring about Joseph for Marians sake since he worships the ground she
walks-on, as well as just wanting to keep the peace just like I try to do. He knows better than
anyone not to rock the boat as far Marian goes.
When Justin comes along, hes just as much their grandchild as Mandy. Tom loves both kids
as if theyre his own children, but the bond between him and Justin grows with each passing day.
Mandy is so in love with her little brother, and the fact theyre only seventeen months apart only
helps in making it easier for them to bond. Craig couldnt have been a better dad if hed been
preparing for this his entire life, and as with his own mom and brother, his love for our children
and me is evident in everything he says and does. Were so very happy, were soul mates. Ive
finally found my true love and the family Ive always wanted.


Chapter 63
Do not join encounter groups; if you enjoy being made
to feel inadequate, call your mother.
~Liz Smith


Sacramento is sunny, flat and green and has grown considerably since the last time I visited.
The rows upon rows of houses we see is mind-boggling when seen from a distance, particularly
since the homes differ by only five different styles with the semblance making it all too easy to
get lost on the winding streets. As we pull-up to my fathers house we see theres a park across
the street, so we use it as a landmark for the rest of our stay to help avoid getting confused in the
maze of a million homes. Its been about a year and a half since we last saw my dad when he
made a trip to the desert right before I became pregnant, and right after mamas Come Meet the
Love-of-my-Life Lunch. Craig was finally able to meet him, but this visit will be the first time
grampa is meeting his new grandson. Im looking forward to seeing dad again, even so, I feel a
twinge of anxiety in the pit of my stomach at the same time, knowing that dad knows how to
push my buttons and the thought of trying to suppress my feelings of frustration for a whole
week makes me nervous.
The first time they met, Craig and my dad hit it off immediately, and now, as the days of our
visit pass, theyre getting along better than my own father and I are. My dad still has the same
annoying quirks that have always rubbed me the wrong way, so as the frustration with him
mounts, I must bite my tongue to keep from being disrespectful, and hypothetically, screaming
my head off, jumping in my car and driving away forever. On the other hand, me acting like a
crazy woman has never solved any of my problems or changed the annoying quirks of frustrating
people ever, so as a rule, Ill just excuse myself to go vent in the bedroom until Craig comes and
convinces me to shake off my annoyances. Im then able to go back out and try to be sociable,
and try not to let daddys quirks get to me.
My father is an instigator. I dont think he ever thinks about the consequences of his words,
or how his revelations might make someone feel, or maybe he does and just gets off on the
dissention he causes. I just dont know. I try unsuccessfully to persuade him to stop telling me
about things said behind my back, mostly by Alice or Rachel, since its usually extremely
upsetting. No matter how hard I try to avoid being cut by the words, they never fail to rip my
feelings to shreds. I also hate with a passion how, with every conversation dad and I have, the
subject eventually comes around to my evil step-mother and how terribly she treated me, which I
already know and dont think I need to be reminded of every time we talk. Reminding me of the
appalling treatment I received only tends to stir-up feelings I dont want to acknowledge, and
usually, just makes me want to scream my head off, jump in my car and drive away forever.
However, dads love of dredging-up ancient history is exactly whats happening when he decides
to inform me of a comment Alice made to him after she met Craig at our Come Meet the Love-
of-my-Life Lunch almost two years earlier.
As a result of my dads insistence on revealing the undoubtedly mean and hateful
information, it becomes a battle between my inner self, who doesnt want to hear any of it, and
my outer self who regularly forgets that curiosity killed the cat. The curious side of me believes I
can force the painful memories aside as well as avoid being hurt by my dads words, so
unfortunately, my curiosity usually gets the better of me.
Soooo, dad begins; and when my dad starts his conversations with a so, I know its gonna
be a doozy.
Sowhat? I say.
What did mom think about Craig? He asks.
She liked him; I mean, she barely spoke to him, but Im pretty sure she liked him. How
could she not? Why?
Now, when I ask why, its only because of knowing that theres always a reason my dad
asks the questions he asks, even though, in fact, Id prefer not knowing the who, why, when, or
what his reasons are for asking the questions in the first place. I hate that my curiosity demands
to know the reason hes asking even if it means pain and suffering for me, which is why, at this
very moment, I cant help but ask whyeven though I may not want to hear the answer.
Im just wondering what she told you because she told me that she liked him a lot; dad
replies to my why. However, the way he said what he said makes me think theres more to his
answer.
And? I say suspiciously.
I just wanted to know if she told you what she thought; he answers.
No, what did she think? What did she say? I respond a little too forcefully since Im
getting worked-up waiting for the punch line.
I dont know if I should tell you; he says warily. Now hes just dangling the carrot in front
of me, enjoying watching me struggle for it.
Why not? Im feeling a little nervous about what he might say, but wonder what she could
have possibly found about Craig that could give her reason to say anything negative, but then
again, it is mom.
I dont want you to get mad; dad informs me.
Why would I get mad? Doesnt she like Craig? Come onI dont care what she thinks.
Im lying, only because I now need to know what she said as well as trying to convince him that
I can handle anything he tells me even though the high-pitch of my voice, my fidgeting, and the
flush on my face tells him differently.
Oh, yeah, surrrrre! He says with a smirk.
I really dont care! Come on, tell me!
Dont get mad now, he warns me. I roll my eyes knowing hes just stringing me along the
path of anticipation. Finally, after a minute or two of contemplation, he quietly, slowly, and
matter-of-factly says to me;
Alice told me that you arent good enough for Craig. But what I hear is; Youuuaaaa-
rrrr-nnnn-tt--gooo-dd eee-nnnnuuuffffforrrrrCraaaiiigg.
What?? I dont think I heard you. But dad hesitates to repeat the words. Come ontell
me, what did you say? Everything I hear and say now sounds as if Im pulling the words
through a bowl of sludge. I feel the room start spinning and everything around us start floating
and spiraling above our heads in super slow-motion and Im reaching for the suspended and
whirling objects, but cant seem to grasp or catch anything. I soon realize Im just imagining
things are floating and whirling and Im reaching yet not catching once dad starts repeating what
he said.
Alice told me Is he whispering? Why is he whispering? Shedoesntthinkyou
aregoodenoughforCraig. I turn to look at Craig seemingly in slow motion, then catch
the sound of the quick, vibrating, Dah-nah-nah-nah-naaaa that plays whenever the bionic man,
or woman, or child, or dogor whatever else the television show decided to turn bionicran or
jumped or used their power in any way because of being half-human and half-machine or half-
canine or whatever else. I see Craig staring at me with a sad look on his face, and when I look
back at my dad, again in slow motion, the bionic vibrating sound goes off in my head once more.
I cant believe whats happening, and I ask myself if what Im hearing is real because I just cant
wrap my mind around Alices words or the freaky bionic vibration sound. Im in a daze and I see
dad more than hear him trying to tell me to forget about what Alice said.
Nothing she says matters anyhow. Except, as soon as the words are out of his mouth I hear
myself repeating his previous comment.
Im not good enough for Craig? Tears well-up in my throat and I recognize the familiar,
aching choking sensation as I once more repeat the words, louder this time. SHE DOESNT
THINK IM GOOD ENOUGH? I start to cry. HOW COULD SHE SAY THAT? WHAT
KIND OF MOTHER SAYS THAT ABOUT HER CHILD? She just met Craig! She doesnt even
know him, yet she thinks Im not good enough for him? HOW COULD SHE SAY THAT?!
WHAT A CUSSWORD! I scream, as anger starts to overpower the hurt. Im choking on my
tears and feeling like I cant breathe, so I go to my room and cry as hard as Ive ever cried in my
life, and its then when I vow never, ever to speak to Alice again. Shes dead to me. No longer
will I ever want her love, no more trying to earn her approval. Ive tried for thirty-two years and
failed. Well, no more! Never again! Im done and good riddance! Arrivederci, Alice.


Chapter 64
I long to accomplish a great and noble task, but it is my chief duty
To accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble.
~Helen Keller


Life is continuing to move along blissfully when I remember the promise I made to God.
Not that I had forgotten my promise to go back to church and renew my relationship with Jesus,
or that I promised to bring Craig along with me, I just put it on the back burner for a little while
after Justin is born so I wouldnt overwhelm Craig. Just imagine: first, I march him to the
courthouse to become a new husband, then a month later he becomes a father for the second time
in twelve months, but then to pounce on him withnow you have to go to church and study the
Bible and consider becoming a Christian which means becoming a different personnot that the
person you are is all that badbut hey, all have sinned and fallen short of the Glory of God,
soooo, you need to get your salvation taken care of right away before its too late! Beeil dich!
Theres no time to waste! Springing all that on him at once could have made the love of my life
run for the hills.
I personally start feeling the need for God in my life again now that Ive gone and lived the
way Ive wanted for more than a year. Ive been blessed beyond my wildest dreams, finding an
incredibly wonderful husband and having two beautiful children, so its time to get grateful, and
that means living for God once again. The many blessings Ive received have helped push the
memories of my previous relationships seven years of pain to the back of my mind, but in no
way can I forget what Joseph is. I avoid dealing with him as much as I can in hopes of evading
the inevitable anger, frustration and fighting having to deal with him inevitably leads to, and
which I try to steer clear of at all costs. Our divorce states hes only allowed to have supervised
visitation with my permission, so he only sees Mandy when she goes to visit Gramma Marian,
which is more than I prefer.
Craig eventually begins his trek down the road to the cross by starting the First Principles
Bible studies with some of the men from church. He ultimately accepts Christ as his Savior and
is saved from eternal death and damnationat his baptismof course. Afterwards, were able to
start living our lives for God together, along with the church and our discipling partners. Well
never be left alone to fend for ourselves as Christians. Were told fighting the good fight on our
own is the surest way of losing our way, so not only will we be spending every extra minute we
have in touch somehow, someway with the church, but well also have our very own mentors,
our disciplers. Discipling is a weekly get-together with a married couple who are older Christians
and who have supposedly already been through a lot of the same struggles we might go through
as recently married, young Christians. In the case that we do go through some of the young
Christian and/or marriage difficulties, well have someone we can turn to for help, whether its
about our jobs, kids, marriage, friends or our relationship with God. The church expects us to
have discipling partners whether we want discipling or not, and if we dont want to follow the
rules or be discipled, it probably means were in some sort of sin and its then when we need
discipling the most. Were matched-up with couples with similar lifestyles so that we can
become real, true friends and confidants even if weve never met before, and even if our
personalities clash and we wouldnt have been friends outside of the church even for a second.
But hey, were all brothers and sisters in Christ now and that should overcome the worst of
personalities, so give it time and pray.
Craig and I become more and more involved with the church, growing closer to our brothers
and sisters in Christ as is expected, having our quiet times, and prayer times, and sharing times,
and giving times, and serving times as well as study times and discipling times. Furthermore, we
attend church Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights, in-town or out-of-town as well as
BBQs, birthday parties, Christmas parties, Halloween parties or whatever other party or get-
together happens to come-up, in sickness or in health, not to mention the cooking, cleaning,
fixing, taxiing, visiting or tending to any other need a member needs met, being met by my
husband or myself or both on top of working five to six nights a week and raising two small
children. Its all worth it to serve the Lord, plus, its whats expected of us if we want to be good
Christians. We love God and if that is what He asks of us, then that is what well do.

The lease on our Indio apartment is ending. Not only is the lease ending, but when and if we
renew the lease, the price is going up to awe might as well be paying a mortgage instead of
flushing our hard earned money down the drainlevel. Therefore, we start searching for the
home of our dreams, our first house, the house well raise our children in, where well grow old
together, as well as a house we can afford. So, the home of our dreams, our first house, the house
well raise our children in and where well grow old together will be small, very small. Oh well,
I dont mind small, small is good. Small is better than flushing our hard earned money down the
drain. We search out the perfect house and find it after only seeing a few homes. Its a gift from
God. The property hadnt even been listed yet, but were taken to see it anyway. The house has
everything we need and want. Its an acre of flat fenced land, a fifteen hundred square foot
house, a stick-built storage shed in addition to an old singlewide trailer painted to match the
house which can be used for extra storage, or a tack room to be more specific. Its more than we
could have ever hoped for at a price we can afford. Craigs mother gives us the down payment as
a gift, and we move in within the month. I immediately get to work landscaping by digging up
cactus and pulling out weeds, moving around rocks, planting flowers, cleaning out the storage
shed and trailer, putting up corrals as well as moving my horse into her new home. While Craig
is at work, Im cleaning, painting and wallpapering inside the house, while at the same time,
were having quiet times, prayer times, sharing times, giving times, serving times, study and
discipling times, attending church Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights as well as everything
else the church asks of us, plus working five to six nights a week and raising two small children.
Life is good. Family is good. Homeownership is good, church is good and God is good, and
we soon discover the reason God leads us to and blesses us with the home of our dreams up in
the hills north of Palm Springs, in a sleepy little town called Morongo Valley. Now, even though
Craig works forty minutes away in La Quinta as well as us attending church thirty minutes away
in Palm Desert, we dont mind the drive because of having everything weve ever wanted in the
home we now enjoy. However, because were now ten minutes away from Yucca Valley, were
approached by the church leaders and asked if wed be willing to join a missionary team there to
help start-up a new International Church of Christ in the upper desert valley in order to reach the
high desert residents. Oh my Gosh! This is amazing! We knew there had to be a reason God
brought us to our new home and this is the reason! Craig and I wholeheartedly accept our new
roles and our new church home with open arms.
It doesnt take long to get established and at first, our little church of six families begins to
grow. Many people come to know Christ and join the church. Fathers, mothers and their freshly
scrubbed children, young married couples and random singles, and even though the location of
the church is in a semi-rural area and the converts are poor, the church thrives.

September 11, 2001. I awake around six-thirty in the morning to make Mandy and Justin
some breakfast. I walk to the kitchen and make coffee, then go to the living room to turn on the
news. I turn on the television and select channel four for my favorite morning show, but as I set
the remote down and turn to go finish getting the kids breakfast ready, I hear an ominous
sounding voice from the reporter. I turn back and see a couple of tall buildings, one with a plume
of smoke coming from the top floors. I back into the chair behind me, then sit and wait to find
out what is going-on and where its happening.
New York City. New York? No way!? I wonder what happened? A plane crash? A plane
crashed into the Twin Towers? Im flooded with a feeling of panic and overwhelming sadness as
I think of the poor people inside the building and who were on the plane when suddenly, Im
seeing a shot of another plane flying toward the second tower and crashing into it. I scream for
Craig.
Craig! Craig! Come here! OHMYGOSH! Planes are crashing into the Twin Towers in New
York City!! Terrorists? What? Craig and I sit and watch the news together between taking care
of the kids even though Ive been bawling since I saw the second plane hit the building and I
cant stop. I watch the news all day and into the night until I go to bed. I never turn off the news,
nor do I stop crying for the next two weeks. Im overwhelmed with grief for the people who lost
their lives and the families left behind, then start wondering what it all means? Life; why are we
even here? Why does the earth exist when all that seems to exist on this planet is evil? Sure,
theres a little good here and there, but whats the point? Evil always seems to prevail.
I work hard at everything I do knowing its all for God, and after everything God has done
for Craig and I, you better believe Ill do anything it takes to express how grateful I am.
However, I cant shake the feeling that Ive been given too much in life, and I constantly feel
guilty for having all that I have. My guilt is especially powerful when I personally see and hear
how members of my own church struggle, and no matter how much time and effort I put toward
the church, its members, and the lost, I never believe its good enough. If I spend time cleaning or
working on our own property, I wonder if God is angry that Im not out helping the needy, and
how can I live so selfishly after everything He has blessed me with in the last two years? For me
to be spending so much time on my own property when I know darn-well there must be a
member from church who needs help with a project of their own, makes me crazy. If they do,
and I havent received a phone call by now, they must have plenty of help; I answer and defend
myself to myself. Besides, if some needy member is still needy by the next time I see them, then
Ill offer to help, okay? Okay; except, its not okay, and now my mind is on a roll and keeps
finding things with which to torment me.
What about your quiet time this morning? I know your heart wasnt in it. What is God
going to think about that?
At least I tried to read; I answer and defend myself against myself again. Andthis
morning was a busy morning, I mean; I know thats not an excuse, so please forgive me God. Ill
make up for my lack of reading this morningtomorrow, I promise. Im starting to have
arguments with a dreadfully condemning voice on a regular basis now, no matter how much I
study, pray or serve. Study, pray, serve; study, pray, serve, and if I dont, Im in sin. Study, pray,
serve or else. Im starting to miss my little annoying voice now and I never thought that would
happen, but compared to this new one, the other voice I hated so much was a sweetie.

Theres a birthday BBQ at the park this evening for Ms. Kathy. Lets all encourage our
sister by showing-up and celebrating with her; all right? Yeah! Okay! The person relaying the
announcement says with too much enthusiasm; even so, my heart drops. I just want to stay home
tonight, darn it. When can we ever just stay home? Craig and I discuss it on the way to lunch
after the morning service.
Do you want to go tonight? I ask.
Not really.
I know, me neither; but if we dont go everyone will wonder why, and we certainly dont
have a good reason not to attend. Oh well, we need to be selfless and giving.
So were going? Craig asks.
I guess so. Did you hear that kids? Even though we dont want to go to the BBQ tonight,
were going to go because we want to be selfless and giving, right?
Right! Mandy and Justin say in unison. Gotta teach them to be good little disciples
whenever we can. Day after day, night after night, we give to the church, to the members, to the
lost, then give right back to the members again. Keep your priorities in order; God, family,
church, and then the lost, but its hard to fit family in where family is supposed to fit when were
kept so busy with the churchs needs. Nevertheless, if this is what God expects, than this is what
well continue to do.
People-Pleasing
Its fine to want to please someone you care about, but codependents usually dont think they
have a choice. Saying No causes them anxiety. Some codependents have a hard time saying
No to anyone. They go out of their way and sacrifice their own needs to accommodate other
people.
Since I figure I dont do enough already, I decide to join the music ministry and help lead
the worship service on Sunday mornings as well as sing some back-up harmony for soloists. At
least with music, I can enjoy myself and not worry about whether what Im doing or not doing is
wrong, but Im mistaken. The music ministry is led by a married couple who were chosen to be
the music ministrys leaders because of being able to play the guitar and sing better than anyone
else can sing or play the guitar. They have also been at the church longer than any of the other
missionary couples, so I guess that qualifies them to be ministry leaders. When I first arrive, I
can barely hold in my excitement, that is, until Im knocked down a few pegs with the pride
speech, which goes something like this:
Were very happy youve decided to join the music ministry, but we just need to let you in
on how we handle things around here in order to avoid any issues with the sin of PRIDE. As you
may already know, singing has a tendency to bring out a prideful beast in a person, by way of
thinking youre better than you are, thinking you should be the one doing solos, thinking you
know more than the leaders, etc. But, as you also know, we are the leaders. You need to be
respectful and submissive of our decisions because we will do what we think is best. If you ever
think weve made a poor decision, we can all sit down after practice and discuss it. Now, since
youre new to the music ministry, you wont be doing any solos and will be in the background for
the most part, at first; okay?
Okay.
You have to earn your place on the front of the stage, again, to avoid any PRIDE issues;
okay?
Okay; I say wholeheartedly, not worried about struggling with pride. I dont care where I
stand, I just want to sing!
Good, and we want you to sing. We were hoping someone would step-up and help us out,
so were glad youre here. They tell me, but as I analyze what I was just told, I wonder what
being in the background means when Im the only other person who will be on stage besides Mr.
and Mrs. Music Leaders. I guess it doesnt matter, Im just happy to be doing something I can
enjoy.

A couple of years go by and Craig and I are still living life through the church. Our little
house of worship and six founding families more than quadruples in size. But then something
strange happens, our fervent gospel-sharing, lost-saving, member-growing baptisms hit a brick
wall. Many of the new converts move away or fall away, and the ones who do stay and who fit
into our little church clique become what I call myself and anyone else whos not a leader, little
worker bees. We buzz around doing all the right things, practicing everything were told,
sacrificing left and right for the good of the church and the church members, yet the leaders
receive all the praise.
When are Craig and I going to become leaders? Weve been here from the very beginning.
Our marriage is as strong or stronger than most of the leaders marriages, which, by the way, is a
requirement according to the Bible to even be considered for leadership. Hel-lo? Our children are
better behaved than most of the leaders children, which, by the way, is also required by God for
leaders and our sacrificial time and money given, overall, equals the leaders sacrifice given and
if we were asked to give more, we would. (1 Tim. 3:1-5) So what gives? What are we doing
wrong? Maybe if we spend more time with the leaders, even though Im already acting as their
right-hand-womanand if I spent any more time with them I might as well be living with
themthen maybe theyll see how much Craig and I do. Maybe then theyll understand how
much we love God and love the church and how much we want to serve, and then they might
consider making Craig and I leaders; maybe.
Difficulty setting boundaries
Many daughters, caught between their need for their mothers attention and its absence, report
that they become pleasers in adult relationships or are unable to set other boundaries which
make for healthy and emotionally sustaining relationships. A number of unloved daughters
report problems with maintaining close female friendships, which are complicated by issues of
trust (How do I know shes really my friend?), not being able to say no (Somehow, I always
end up being a doormat, doing too much, and I get used or disappointed in the end), or wanting
a relationship so intense that the other person backs off. Insecurely attached daughters often end
up creating scenarios that are more like the Goldilocks and Three Bears story than not
never quite right but, somehow, either too hot or too cold. (Psychology Today, by Peg
Streep)
I love singing, but I hate practice. Whenever I sing out in joy, Im shot down, accused of
being prideful. How in the world can joy be confused with arrogance? Someone needs to sing
out since Mrs. Music leader has such a soft voice, and Mr. Music leader drowns us out with his
guitar and his extremely loud, gravelly voice. Then there are the arguments and disagreements
Mr. and Mrs. Music Ministry leaders have, wasting time, patience and energy trying to work
through what needs working through as I stand around waiting for them to resolve what they
need to resolve. As I listen to the ongoing bickering, I want to put in my two cents if only to get
on with practice, but then think better of it and tell myself to bite my tongue. Dont say anything,
just be respectful and submissive. How I want to say something but I better wait until after
practice. Right now, Ill just keep quiet and do what Im told like a good little worker bee.

Guilt and perfectionism often go along with low self-esteem. If everything is perfect, you dont
feel bad about yourself.


Chapter 65
Have no fear of perfection, youll never reach it.
~Salvador Dali


Perfection; if only I do this or that, or that and this, Ill at least be closer to being what I
know in my mind I need to be, and then, maybe then, I wont always feel so guilty and unworthy
of Gods love.
Im thirty-three-years-old, and without even taking drugs, I feel like a racecar, or
Speedracer, whichever is more appropriate. I live life at a hyper, million miles an hour, taking
care of the kids and training them to be good little Christians as it says in Proverbs 22:6; Train
up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it. Therefore,
training is what I do besides all my other mommy duties. I keep our home squeaky clean and
beautiful since seeing a nomadic dust bunny on the floor, or any other incongruities, causes me
considerable distress and throws me into a uncontrollable freak-out session. I mean, what do you
expect? Theres always someone stopping by unannounced, and what would said person think if
the house is out of order? Even so, I do try hard at not freaking-out, mostly because of not
wanting to be a bad example to my children on how to handle lifes dirty little problems, even if
my trying doesnt always work.
My existence is ruled by 1Peter 4:9, which says; Be hospitable to one another without
grumbling. Thus, I invite weekly dinner guests over in the name of hospitality. However, I cant
help but throw lavish dinner parties because of not wanting to serve guests anything but gourmet,
four course meals. I love cooking as well as wanting my guests to feel as if theyre dining at a
posh restaurant which most of our church friends cant afford. I also know that most dont even
know what fancy, gourmet food tastes like, therefore, I want to indulge whoever comes to our
house for dinner as best I can. I also want to serve to the best of my ability as if serving the Lord,
no matter how stressed-out I get in making sure everything is perfect, just as it says in Colossians
3:23; And whatever you do, do it heartily as to the Lord and not to men Sometimes I feel I
give and give, yet never receive. I must constantly remind myself that its better to give than to
receive so that I will continue having weekly get-togethers, cooking and serving in the name of
hospitality. However, I cant help noticing our family is hardly ever invited over to anyone elses
house and served, and its hurting my feelings. Of course, Im being selfish for feeling this way,
so I need to just forget about how I feel and continue to think of others better than myself as we
are taught in Phil. 2:3-4; Let nothing be done through selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in
lowliness of mind, let each esteem others better than himself. Let each of you look out not only
for his own interests, but also for the interests of others. At least my conscience is clear
knowing I dont invite people over for dinner expecting an invitation in return; though, I cant
help but think how enjoyable it would be not to have to cook and clean, but be served for a
change, even if its better to give than to receiveright kids? Right!
Im still singing my heart out at church as well as serving the church at its beckon call. Im
trying my best to be a good friend to the friendless, a good neighbor to the needy, a giving sister
to my church sisters, a patient mother, a loving wife and an all-out Christian. I do it all in high
gear and feel like a basket-case as I do. Craig and I are now discipling younger Christians, or
troubled Christians since were now considered older Christians. Craig is working six nights a
week, but has transitioned to a much better restaurant where he makes twice as much money, and
is now only twenty minutes from home which saves on gas. I have a new job working the scale-
house at a recycling dump five days a week, so now Im up at five in the morning to be at work
by five-forty-five, and then work until six in the evening. I spend the entire twelve hours alone
with only an occasional visit from a co-worker, or the owner of the recycling plant who
repeatedly makes fun of me for being a Christian. Except, I dont mind because in Matthew 5:11-
12, it tells us; Great is my reward in heaven when Im persecuted for Christs sake
Therefore, each attack on his part means another reward for me, so there! Keep em comin is
what I say!
I continue working hard and Im tired, but still, nothing is ever good enough. Im never good
enough even though were still at church on Wednesday nights and Sunday mornings and every
get-together for every reason under the sun. Its all done in the name of sacrifice and
encouragement, but no matter how hard I work at being a Christian, or how many hours I put in
at my job, Im never working hard enough. Im still a little worker bee buzzing around and
helping where I can, serving where I can, joining Bible studies when I can and still, Im no closer
to becoming a leader in the church than the couple were discipling. Again, I battle with wanting
to be more than I am, and even though I know serving the church isnt about moving up the
leader ladder, its hard not to think like this when the leaders are so worshipped and we little
worker bees just keep working, and now Im beginning to feel frustrated, angry and resentful
toward all thingschurch.
Im starting to feel as well that Craig leaves me to deal with everything in our lives, and
since he works at night, Im alone in dealing with the kids even after working all day myself. I
eat dinner alone with Mandy and Justin five nights a week, which to me in essence, is eating
dinner alone, and I feel lonely. Even with all of my friends, neighbors and church activities, and
even though I do spend time with my husband on each of our two days off, I feel lonesome. On
top of that, I feel like Im one, big, constant failure and then I feel guilty for being a failure. All
of these mixed-up feelings cause me to believe that its Craigs fault that Im a failure because of
him leaving me to deal with everything in our livesits a vicious, sanity-eating mind game.
Consequently, Im beginning to hate myself, which makes it difficult for me to love my husband
the way I should love him, and now Im becoming frustrated, angry and resentful toward all
thingsCraig, as well.
I work, I manage the money and pay the bills; I do the shopping, the cooking, the cleaning,
the fixing of anything broken, the raising of our kids as well as being the disciplinarian. I have to
deal with anything and everything that comes up at church, plus, I take it upon myself to make
sure Craig is staying strong in his faith on top of trying to maintain my relationship with Christ. I
feel as if Im failing miserably at both. I work hard to keep our house spotless, and if it isnt
noticed and commented on, I feel unappreciated which makes me feel unloved. I scream at my
kids when they leave their toys lying around, as well as screaming if they dont like their dinner.
I scream at Craig for not helping around the house, and for always making me deal with the kids
and dinner, even though I have a job as well. Im starting to fall apart. I live life at a million
miles an hour then suddenly feel as if Im crashing into a wall. One minute Im sitting down to
eat and seemingly fine, the next minute, CRASH! Im sobbing uncontrollably, and my kids and
husband are staring at me wondering what just happened.
Whats wrong? Craig asks.
I dont know; I sob. I honestly dont know.

Inferiority Complex
Children reared in households who were constantly criticized or did not live up to parents
expectations may develop this. Many times there are warning signs to someone who may be more
prone to developing an inferiority complex. For example, someone who is prone to attention and
approval seeking behaviors may be more susceptible. Classical Adlerian psychology makes a
distinction between primary and secondary inferiority feelings. A primary inferiority feeling is
said to be rooted in the young childs original experience of weakness, helplessness and
dependency. It can then be intensified by comparisons to siblings, romantic partners, and adults.
A secondary inferiority feeling relates to an adults experience of being unable to reach a
subconscious, fictional final goal of subjective security and success to compensate for the
inferiority feelings. The perceived distance from that goal would lead to a negative/depressed
feeling that could then prompt the recall of the original inferiority feeling; this composite of
inferiority feelings could be experienced as overwhelming. The goal invented to relieve the
original, primary feeling of inferiority which actually causes the secondary feeling of inferiority
is the catch-22 of this dilemma. This vicious cycle is common in neurotic lifestyles.
(www.sciencedaily.com/articles/i/inferiority-complex.htm Moritz, Werner, von Collani).

Chapter 66
We grow small trying to be great. ~Joseph Hockney


What is joy and contentment? I know the dictionary meanings, as do most, but knowing the
meanings and living the meanings are two different things altogether. Joy is described as a
feeling of absolute happiness or pleasure especially of an elevated or spiritual nature.
Contentment is a sense of peaceful satisfaction. I know I should be filled with joy and
contentment since I live such a blessed life, but Im not. I have zero joy and I dont think I ever
have, furthermore; I have zero contentment and I dont know why. The Bible tells us that we
should be joyful and content, and in order to be a good Christian I should be doing everything
the Bible tells me to do, but obviously Im not because of my lack of joy and contentment.
Talking and drinking, its all I do these days it seems. I drink at night, and then talk about
why Im drinking the next day. Im unhappy and confused as to why Im unhappy and confused,
and I think drinking or talking to whoever is available to listen to me on any given day will help.
I go over and over my life as I see it at the moment, but get no closer to an answer than if I had
just talked about the evening news and not my pathetic unhappiness. Whoever happens to be
listening to me ramble-on about my misery will usually pipe-in by asking me questions that they
think might help me come-up with answers which might help clear-up the cosmic mystery of my
pathetic and wretched discontent. They attempt to provide me some kind of advice, any kind of
advice I could use, with me not caring what they sayjust say something!
Hows your marriage? The unfortunate listener begins with simple questions.
Fine; I give simple answers.
How are the kids?
Good, except when theyre not.
Have you been reading your Bible?
Most of the time.
Have you been praying?
A little every day.
Maybe your unhappiness is because of your past; how do you deal with your past?
Its not my past.
What about your ex?
Its not my ex.
Maybe its pride.
Arent we all prideful in some way?
I suppose. Maybe its guilt.
I do feel guilty.
About what.
About everything.
Oops, would ya look at the timeIm so sorry, but I have to go.
I dont blame you. Hahaha.

I do try to stay open to suggestions and the little bit of advice I may or may not receive helps
for a little while, but as soon as five oclock rolls around, theres only one thing I want, and only
one thing that helps me shift gears out of hyper-mode, calm down, relax and feel better, and that
is my trusty bottle of wine.
The bummer about drinking to medicate is the fact that its only the first and second glass of
whatever Im drinking that makes me believe I feel better. I drink the second glass because the
first glass makes me feel so good, but its the second glass that actually helps me calm down and
me calming down is a good thing. By the third glass, still believing more is better, the anxiety,
frustration, discontentment and unhappiness seem to fade, but so does the feel good, calming
feeling I had with the first and second glass and now all those feel good feelings are being
replaced with dark, sarcastic, hopeless feelings.
Mandy and Justin, who are five and four now, bicker at each other or complain about eating
their dinner, and then their bickering and complaining lights a fire in me so hot, I go crazy. I
scream at them for being so mean to each other, or for being ungrateful for the food in front of
them and dont they know there are millions of starving children in the world who would be
more than grateful for a bowl of rice, let alone three of the tiers in the food pyramid that is going
unappreciated by my ungrateful little monsters. As I explain this to their uncomprehending little
minds, the flames inside grow bigger and I feel hysterically angry now, but I dont know why
and Im so confused. I grasp my head and hair, bend over and simply scream as loud as I can
until I think Ive released whatever it is thats making me feel this way. Mandy and Justin are
now staring at me with confusion and fear on their faces. They come over to me and we hug and
I apologize, then send them to bed early so I can be alone and not have to think or move or do
anything but go numb. I go to the cabinet in the kitchen where we keep our medications and take
four different pain killers from four different bottles, plus a couple of muscle relaxers to go along
with my fourth glass of wine. I swallow the pills and hope to pass out, thereby stopping the
confusion, frustration, discontentment and unhappiness inside my head and heart, and if I dont
wake-up from the numbness, its just as well.
Craig is wondering where the happy, smiling women he married has gone. He treats me
lovingly no matter how Im acting, but I have no idea how he actually feels until one day in the
car when Tim McGraws song, Angry All The Time comes on the radio. Change a few details
and its our theme song nowadays. As the song plays, Craig looks over at me and I feel resentful
toward the implied accusation and think to myself, if he had my life hed understand why Im not
the same person anymore, why the light in my eyes is gone and why Im angry all the time, but
then I think, how could he? I dont even know why.
Emotional Regulation
Because the formally abused individual is unable to adequately modulate his or her emotions, he
or she may be seen as moody and emotionally hyper-responsive, and as tending to overreact to
negative or stressful events in his or her life. In the absence of sufficient internal affect
regulation skills, the individual may respond to painful affect and activated negative cognitions
with external behaviors that distract, soothe, numb, or otherwise reduce painful internal states,
such as substance abuse, inappropriate or excessive sexual behavior, aggression, bingeing or
purging, or even self-injury. Unfortunately, however, these same defenses, by virtue of their
effectiveness, further preclude the development of more sophisticated regulation capacities.
(John Briere, Ph.D. Department of Psychiatry and the Behavioral Sciences)
I cater a wedding banquet for sixty guests. Its for a couple from our church and its my
wedding gift to them. I do the work for free because, one, its my gift, and two, its what I need
to do in order to feel needed and appreciated. I put in two weeks worth of planning, four
hundred dollars of groceries, a week of preparation as well as twelve hours of cooking. A couple
of women from church help with the prep work, but other than that, I tell them that I can handle
it all. They dont need worry about any of it. I have everything under control and so well
organized it should go off like clockwork. It should, and it does. After everything is set out, and
the guests finally line-up to start helping themselves, an immense darkness comes over me and I
crash once again, emotionally and physically. Everything is delicious and the wedding is a
success, and yet, I feel sad and empty. All I want to do is cry, but I dont know why, as usual.
Event after event, holiday after holiday is the same. I pour my whole heart into accomplishing
something extraordinary, then feel sad and empty and exhausted afterwards.
I take out my frustration, and crazy, excess, unnatural energy on unwanted cactus and
Creosote bushes on our property. I dig, chop and pull at the thick, deep roots of bushes and
cactus taller than me, driving myself toward heat stroke, but not caring about the one hundred
and five degree heat, the hot sand, the blisters, thirst or anything else. All I care about is
removing the unwanted monstrosities. I dont stop until I accomplish what I set out to
accomplish, only to finish, wash-up and start dinner. When I finally sit down to eat and unwind, I
go from a million miles an hour to zero in one split second. The change is so fast. I go from
bringing a forkful of food to my mouth to sobbing with a mouthful of mashed potatoes.
Bipolar Disorder
A 2005 study from the Royal College of Psychiatrists involving 100 patients stated that about
one-half of adults suffering from bipolar disorder displayed a history of extreme child abuse. (By
Jeffrey Norman, eHow Contributor)
Anxiety; what is anxiety exactly? The dictionary says anxiety is nervousness or agitation,
often about something that is going to happen. How bout extreme apprehension, or fear of real
or imagined danger. Say what? Im nervous and agitated and fearful every time I have to go to a
church function, a church service and especially music practice, so I guess it would be fair to say,
Im anxious. I gulp down a beer or a glass of wine before music practice on Wednesday nights
just to be able to deal with Mr. and Mrs. Music Ministry leaders and their bickering and
judgments. At least this way, Ill be able to blow them off and look like Im A-Okay. Ill just lie
if they ask if Ive been drinking. If that makes me a terrible, sinful person, oh well, Im doomed
anyhow. I wish I would just die already, it would be easier than living in this empty shell that
used to be me, thats for sure.
Why is it that Im unable to succeed in making anyone happy? I failed as a daughter, twice. I
failed at being a wife twice and may be on my way to a third. Ive failed at being a mother once
before, and now Im on my way to failing motherhood on my second go-round as well. Im
failing at being the disciple God expects me to be which means Im failing God, and Im
definitely failing at church. I mean, why else wouldnt Craig and I be leaders by now? Why are
we even wasting our time? Whats wrong with me?
Adult Depression
An early sign of mental illness in an adult is the development of prolonged and extreme
depression. This depression includes suicidal thoughts, an inability to cope with everyday
problems, social withdrawal, extreme highs and lows, dramatic changes in sleeping and eating
habits, and excessive anxiety and fear. In some cases, a mentally ill adult experiences
hallucinations or delusions. Other signs of a mental instability include substance abuse, anger,
confusion, denial and multiple unexplained physical ailments. (By Calia Roberts, eHow
Contributor)

Chapter 67
Maybe this world is another planets hell.
~Aldous Huxley


What is discouragement? What exactly is stress? What is depression? Ive been asking
myself a lot of questions lately that Ive never had to ask myself before. We take for granted we
know what these basic words mean without actually knowing what they mean at all. We apply
them to everyday occurrences that tend to disguise themselves as terrible ordeals, but when
something truly terrible happens, you realize everyday occurrences are honestly, just
annoyances. Im discouraged, stressed and depressed and I know, without a doubt, what Im
going through is more than just an annoyance.
Why Im going through what Im going through, I havent the foggiest idea, I still havent
even called it depression yet. I wonder, and question, is it a spiritual weakness or a sin Im not
acknowledging? I always try to overcome any sin Im aware of, so what can it be? Whats wrong
with me? I notice the first changes in the Spring of 2002, when I started losing my temper with
my kids. I cant understand where my anger is coming from all of a sudden. Ive only been this
volatile while living and dealing with my mother or Joseph, but now? I dont know.
Conditioned Response
Pearlman & Saakvitne (1995) suggest that trauma during the early years can result in chronic,
negative expectations and perceptions around issues of safety, trust, esteem, intimacy, and
control. These negative schema, in turn, may be easily activated by interpersonal stimuli in the
current environment. These classically conditioned responses are not encoded as
autobiographical memories, but rather as simple associations between certain stimuli (e.g., the
sudden raising of a hand) and certain responses (e.g., fear, leading to flinching). As a result,
they are not remembered, per se, but rather are evoked or triggered by events that are similar
to the original abuse context including, as it turns out, sensory or autobiographical memories of
that abuse. Later in life, exposure to such abuse-reminiscent stimuli and memories may produce
strong, seemingly inappropriate or out of the blue negative effects that, given the nonverbal
nature of the conditioning, may not even be understandable to the former victim, let alone others
in his or her environment. (Treating adult survivors of severe childhood abuse and neglect:
Further development of an integrative model John Briere, Ph.D. Department of Psychiatry and
the Behavioral Sciences)
I begin to notice that my PMS symptoms are off the charts compared to how my moodiness,
backache and cramps were in the past. Ive been noticing them getting worse every month. Two
weeks out of the month I suffer, but not nearly as bad as my poor family. I tell Craig and the kids
Im being abducted by aliens. The real Penny is being replaced with a mean angry clone until the
little green guys finish doing whatever it is aliens do with abductees and return me to earth.
During my two weeks in space, I might as well be dead since my clone acts mentally,
emotionally and spiritually oblivious toward the world and its inhabitants, and besides that, its
getting harder and harder with each passing month to adjust back to my life as my former self. It
seems to be as soon as Im settled down and I start feeling like my old self again, its two weeks
later and my evil clone is waiting to take my place once again. Damn aliens.
I dread evenings. Im so worn out I can barely function, and because of my exhaustion Im
easily agitated, irritated and angry. I cant handle my kids or husband near me or touching me,
and I drink at least a bottle of wine a night being its the only relief I can get from the feeling of
wanting to explode like an erupting volcano. I have admitted my drinking to my closest friends,
but cant and wont stop what is my only medication forwhat? I dont know. Where I used to
go a million miles an hour, Im now waking-up so tired I must battle myself mentally to keep
going throughout the day only to collapse into bed nearly shaking from exhaustion. I dont
understand whats happening to me, my life is better than its ever been, yet I dont care if I live
or die.
Posttraumatic Stress
The various cognitive, memory, and self-related difficulties can contribute to the development of
posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) in a significant proportion of those with severe child
maltreatment histories. The major symptoms associated with abuse-related posttraumatic stress
are (a) intrusive reliving experiences, such as sensory flashbacks, intrusive thoughts, and
(autobiographical) memories of the abuse, nightmares, and heightened emotional reactions to
events reminiscent of maltreatment stimuli, (b) avoidance and numbing, for example by numbing
ones feelings with drugs, alcohol, or by separating oneself from ones emotional experience
through dissociation, attempts to avoid people, places and situations associated with the abuse
as well as reduced or constricted emotionality, and (c) autonomic hyper-arousal, involving
chronic activation of the sympathetic nervous system with resultant heightened startle responses,
sleep disturbance, muscle tension, irritability, etc. (AmericanPsychiatricAssociation,1994).
Eventually, I stop telling people how Im feeling. Im just so sick of never feeling good, and
talking about how miserable I am is like re-watching The Deer Hunter over and over again.
Right now, I just want my heart rock hard so I wont cry. I want friends to stop asking me;
Whats wrong? Are you Okay? Do you need anything? Can I do something for you? I cant
explain whats wrong, and no one can help me either way, so I dont want to talk about it. My
physical and emotional state is rapidly declining and Im now putting on weight for no reason
which is depressing in itself. It doesnt matter that I work a job, take care of two horses now as
well as the property, house and kids, nor does it matter that we eat a healthy diet. I cant lose a
single pound. My hair is dry, dull, breaking and falling out. My nails are so brittle, they break at
the slightest bump, and my skin, so dry and flaky, yet oily and pimple-ridden, with even the skin
on my hands looking old and wrinkled. I look like an old woman with teenage acne. I develop a
rash on the sides of my face, and my eyes are sunken and dark, I look twenty years older, and as
the holidays of 2003 draw near, Im beginning to wake-up dizzy during the night as well as in
the mornings. I get out of bed and as I walk down the hallway, Im bouncing off the walls as if
Im drunk, or my equilibrium is off. Im also starting to forget things no normal person should
forget. Little things at first, like appointments, or why Ive walked into a room. But then I start
forgetting phone numbers Ive been using and calling for years, or things Ive just done or things
I need to do. Im zoning out as well, not remembering driving home from work, or how I got
from point A to point B. During one disturbing incident, Im so disoriented I drive right by our
house and I cant figure out where I am or which way to turn to get home. For eight months I
ignore all these things, trying to explain them away and pretend Im okay, because sometimes I
am, which is confusing in itself and in turn, causes me to think its all my imagination.
I continue to push myself. Husband, kids, church, and now a new job. Push, push, push to
get everything done. If I just push hard enough, I should be able to push right through whatever
Im going through. I dont even know how long Ill be around with how Im feeling these days
since all I actually want to do is get in my car and drive off one of the many cliffs I pass every
day on my way to work. I feel so alone, and except for Craig, who would actually miss me if I
were gone? Furthermore, Im still trying to be what the church has taught me is the only way to
please God, which of course, is being a servant. Good God, the pressure! I need to do this, I need
to do that. I didnt get it doneIm sorry God, Ill do better tomorrow! Oh my gosh! Whats
wrong with me? Wait! What am I doing? Why did I just do that? I cant remember! I cant
concentrate! I cant focus! I cant think! Im going crazy! I just want to sleep! Im sorry God!
Im just too tired to worry about this right now. Ill try again tomorrow if tomorrow even comes.
Ive stopped praying. I cant concentrate for that long. I still talk to God throughout the day,
saying things like; Hi God, Im still here, or God, please dont forget about me, Ill do better
soon. Sometimes I just beg God for help to make it through another day or just try to be grateful
for giving me one more day to live. It may be a miserable day, but hey, Im alive.
I actually start worrying about my health when the lymph node on the left side of my neck
stays swollen for a couple of months. I later develop a constant pressure at the base of my skull
which radiates around to my eyeballs and makes my brain feel swollen; except, the holidays are
coming! The holidays are coming! I have so much to do! My father, his girlfriend and my
brother are going to be here and we havent seen each other in two years! Craigs mother and
Uncle will be here, and I want them to enjoy themselves as well. I want everyone to enjoy
themselves, so everything has to be perfect! My husband and kids, the house, the property, the
pets, the food, all must be perfectly perfect! The dinner has to be fabulousI feel Ill disappoint
everyone if the food isnt absolutely perfect! Penny the cookPenny is cooking! We know
dinner will be perfect and delicious if Penny is cooking! And it is. Ive decorated the house with
the perfect Thanksgiving Day ambiance. The drinks, the appetizers, the perfectly set table, the
dinner, the dessertsand everyone is happy to be here and to see each other. My Father, his
girlfriend and my brother. Craigs mother and uncle, my husband and kids, three dogs, three
horses, one cat and five chickens, all having a grand ol time!
Im thoroughly exhausted and have a splitting headache, but Ill just take some Tylenol
even though Tylenol hardly puts the tiniest of dents in the pain anymore. I take the painkiller and
put on a happy face. Nothing matters right now except that the coffee is hot, the food is put
away, the dishes done, the animals fed and the house picked-up for the third time today. I keep
an eye on the kids to be sure theyre being polite and courteous and not taking advantage of some
poor, unsuspecting grandparent. Theyre just so intent on spoiling their youngest grandchildren
in the short time they have left on this glorious Thanksgiving day. Im so tired, oh my back, oh
my head, my neck, my feet, oh my God, please help me! Wait! Dessert!
The next day Im numb and sore, and I feel as if Ive been run over by a truck. My dad is
still here, but I barely have enough strength to visit with him and hope he doesnt get bored and
leave. I do nothing all day but rest and sleep.

Im a news junkie. I want to be in the know. I want to stay ahead of the game about the town
I live in, about the state of my state, about my country and about the world. I want to know about
the economy and the weather, what crimes are being committed and the penalty for those crimes.
I want to know the who, when and where of the daily whats, and wouldnt it be selfish of me to
live all safe and cozy in my own little world, avoiding all the pain and suffering the nightly news
informs us of and that is happening all around us? How can we know where we can help if we
dont know whats going on? Right? This is my downfall.
September 11, 2001 is the beginning of my freefall, and I, along with most people never
recover from the shock and pain of that devastating day. Then, in what seems like quick
procession, the man-made and natural disasters take off like a rocket and havent slowed for a
second. In 2001 alone, besides the World Trade Towers disaster, there are 54 global disasters.
There are five earthquakes with seismic strength of 6.8-7.9, which kill 20,190 people and leave
1,920,500 homeless. There are also over 116 tornados, typhoons, and hurricanes resulting in
flooding and destruction that leave 1,828 dead and more than 263,100 homeless with over
20,000 in the U.S. alone. Man-made disasters and accidents kill 4,690, including the 2,992 who
died on Sept. 11. All together roughly, 26,708 people die, not to mention car accidents and
murders, and 2,158,610 human beings become homeless. And here I am, not able to physically
help a single person because of being held prisoner by a house, debt and kids. Im sitting here in
my perfect home, with my perfect family, perfect church and perfect friends, while others
sufferwho do I think I am?
Im a stake and the news stories are the sledgehammer pounding me, with each disaster and
death, further into the ground until Im paralyzed with shock and sorrow and guilt for not being
able to help anyone except with a measly check. I may seem tough on the outside, but inside, my
constitution has the consistency of runny oatmeal. The next year, 2002, is a little better than 2001
with only 50 disasters leading to 15,760 deaths and 786,760 homeless. Then 2003 comes along
with 70 disasters and more than 59,801 dead and 3,766,203 homeless. I literally feel the pain and
suffering of every person I hear about, their misery wrapping around every cell in my body until
I no longer have the strength to deal with it allthe state of the world, the state of my health,
mind or soul until I collapse inside myself and wish I was dead.
Suicidal Tendencies
Many individuals who are experiencing suicide may attempt to do many things at once in order
to stay busy and try to push the thoughts out of their head. You may find a person throwing
themselves into their work, their studies, community projects, and other types of activities in
order to keep their thoughts on other things. While this may actually be a positive thing because
they are trying to overcome the thoughts that they are experiencing, it may still be a good idea to
encourage counseling or even that they talk to a trusted friend. If the person experienced any
down time, or if they keep themselves too busy, they may experience exhaustion, and other
undue stresses on the mind and body. It may even be possible that they get so tired of trying to
push the thoughts out of their head by staying busy that they finally just give in and take their
life. (By braniac on eHow)
Im no longer taking or returning calls, Im just too tired to talk. I quit trying to be all I can
be as a Disciple of Christ because Im now too tired to care about my failing to do what I should
be doing to guarantee my place in heaven. I know I still love God, but I cannot love God
especially now that Ive been taught that love is actually a verbnot a noun. Im having a hard
enough time as it is just trying not to hate my husband, and love (as a verb, not a noun) my kids,
let alone, myself. How in the world can I put forth the energy to love the One I cant see or
touch, when its almost impossible to love the ones right in front of me?
Ive come down with the flu, but I go to work anyway and by the time I get home, I look and
feel as if Im starring in The Walking Dead. I can barely make it inside the house, but somehow
I do, then falling on the bed without the strength to move for the next eighteen hours. I thank
God its only a twenty-four hour flu, but by the time its over I look as if a herd of elephants has
trampled me. Every muscle in my body hurts as if Ive run a cross-country marathon after being
a couch potato months beforehand. Its early 2004, and I finally make an appointment for a
physical.

What can we do for you today? The nurse asks me as I take my seat in the examination
room.
Well, tears start to well-up in my eyes from the thought of someone caring enough to ask
what they can do for me, even if it is just her job. Something is wrong with me and I dont
know what. I go through my list of ailments, conveniently omitting my mental state, still not
understanding there is a correlation between my psychological and physical health. I seriously
dont feel goodmy body aches, my hair is falling out and my nails are brittle. I have a rash on
my face and along with my skin being dry and flaky and wrinkled, Im breaking out like a
teenager. Im gaining weight for no apparent reason, but I cant lose a pound no matter what I
do. My hands ache, my feet ache and my neck hurts. I wake up dizzy, Im always exhausted, Im
forgetting things, the lymph node on the left side of my jaw has been swollen for months, and
now Im starting to have frequent headaches. Oh, and Im being abducted by aliens two weeks
out of every month and its really wreaking havoc on my social life.
Wow, is there anything else? The nurse responds, looking confused as to what to write on
my chart.
Thats all I can think of right now.
Okay then, the doctor will be in to see you in just a moment. The nurse exits the room
after taking my vitals and I sit alone on the exam table. There are many informational posters on
the walls and I start reading them to pass the time since a moment in doctor time is at least a
half-hour in real world time. I look around and see a poster of the human anatomy and one on
Diabetes. Theres another one on different kinds of rashes that have real pictures of real arms,
legs, torsos and faces all with oozing rashes of all kinds that are so disgusting I have to look
away or I might have to add vomiting to my list of ailments. I start looking at a poster about a
womans reproductive cycle, and when my eyes scan to the right, they land on a picture of an
extremely sad woman staring out at me with a look of total hopelessness in her eyes. I recognize
that lookso I start to read.

Signs and symptoms of Depression.

Sadness or an empty mood.
Feeling guilty, worthless, or helpless.
Problems concentrating, remembering or making decisions.

I quickly look away not wanting to read anymore. I feel the symptoms mentioned are hitting
a little too close to home, but my eyes are being drawn back to the words underneath the sad,
hopeless woman so I continue reading.

Feeling hopeless.
Lack of energy or feeling tired or slowed down.
Problems with sleep, trouble getting to sleep or sleeping too much.
Easily angered or irritable.
Wanting to be alone or spending too much time alone.
Loss of interest in hobbies and activities once enjoyed.

I quickly look away again, I look back, then away and then back again. No way; there is no
way Im depressed. How can I be depressed? Im not depressed.
Then why do you have every single one of those symptoms? Huh? The recently silent
voice in my head unexpectedly asks.
I dont know! Its impossible! Not me, no way! And what are you doing here? Its been so
nice not having you around.
Thats not a very nice thing to say if I do say so myself. Hehehe.

Theres a stigma attached with depression in 2004, and Im not going to allow myself to
accept any notion Im depressed and allow myself to become a poster child of despair like the
sad, hopeless woman whos staring out at me from the wall. I dont know anyone whos
depressed and Im certainly not going to be the first.
This is ridiculous! I say to myself. Ive never even read one single article, of the
hundreds of articles in all the womans or fitness magazines Ive ever picked-up, on relieving
stress because Ive never been stressed. So, how can I be depressed if Ive never felt stressed? Or
am I? Dun-dun-dunnnnn.
Dr. Arteberry walks in snapping me back to reality. Hes a small, thin, ancient man and I
have to wonder how hes still practicing medicine when he looks old enough to have been
around before the automobile was invented. Its only been fifteen minutes since the nurse told
me the doctor would be in, so hes actually pretty quick for a dinosaur and now Im hoping his
mind moves just as fast. We say hello and he asks me what the nurse asked me, so I tell him
what I told the nurse except for the alien abduction part. After he hears all I have to tell him, he
begins his examination. Physically, on the outside, I seem fine, so he orders a complete blood
work-up then guesses at Rheumatoid Arthritis.
Since your hands and feet are stiff and sore and your dad suffers from RA., Dr. A. begins;
and you have about eighty-percent of the symptoms, you have a good chance of contracting the
disease. Not so terrible, I think; at least now I know whats wrong with me and dont have to
keep wondering if Im dying of cancer or some other fatal disease. He gives me some Valium to
calm my anxiety and sends me home to wait for my lab results. When my blood work comes
back five days later, its negative for Rheumatoid Arthritis; oh wellNext.
Dr. Arteberry then tells me that I might be suffering from Fibromyalgia. There are no tests
for the disorder so its an easy diagnosis. Fibromyalgia is characterized by widespread
musculoskeletal pain accompanied by fatigue, sleep, memory and mood issues. Sounds just like
what Im suffering from, seeIm not depressed! The only problem with this diagnosis, dear
Watson, is the fact that with Fibromyalgia there should be pain when firm pressure is applied to
specific areas of your body called tender points, and I dont have those tender points so I dont
qualify for Fibro-blahblahblah. Dr. Arteberry quickly crosses it off his list...Next.
Dr. Arteberry now asks me to fill out a questionnaire about my mental state and I wonder if
maybe he should be filling out his own questionnaire since hes having so much trouble figuring
out whats wrong with me. Ive never seen a form like this before, and since I know exactly
nothing about depression, anxiety or stress signs and symptoms, I answer as honestly as I can,
not knowing if my answers are right or wrong, or good or bad. I finish, then turn in the
questionnaire, nervous like a schoolgirl turning in a test. Afterwards, Im told to wait in Doctor
As office and when he finally comes in, he asks me if Ive ever been diagnosed with depression
before seeing him.
No sir; I say confidently.
Well, according to your answers, youre clinically depressed and may be Bipolar, as well.
What? Did he just say I have two personalities? Okay, I may be a little crazy, but Im no
Cybil! Im not sure I understand what the little old man sitting in front of me is saying, or if hes
saying what I think hes saying, and I wonder if he actually knows what hes talking about being
that hes as old as God.
Dont worry, he says; being clinically depressed just means youve been depressed for
longer than six months, and Bipolar means youre experiencing extreme highs and lows in quick
procession. Somewhere in your brain you blew a fuse, so the part of your brain that controls
emotions has stopped working, but its easily remedied with medication.
Oh good. For a minute there, I thought it meant I had a reservation at the loony bin.
No, no, hahaha; lets go over your answers. He starts at the top of the page and works his
way down.

Mania symptoms of Bipolar Depression:

Difficulty concentrating. You checked yes.
Lesser need of sleep. You checked no.
Extreme moodiness and exaggerated confidence. Yes.
Physical and mental activity increasing. Check.
Excessive energy. Check.
Extreme impatience, aggressive behavior, and irritability. Check, check, check.
Racing speech and thoughts. Check, check.
Inflated sense of self-importance. No.
Poor judgment. No.
Irresponsible behavior such as making sudden decisions, erratic driving and spending
excessively. Check, check, no.
He continues on to the next section.
The Depressive symptoms of Bipolar Disorder:
Failure to sleep or too much sleep. You checked yes.
The loss of interest in normal daily activities. Check.
Failure to concentrate. Check.
Overeating or loss of appetite, check.

Im never hungry; I chime in, the information seeming imperative all of a sudden.

Incapability of experiencing enjoyment. Check
Irritable mood or prolonged sadness. Check, check.
Worthlessness or feelings of guilt. Check, check.
Excessive thoughts of death or wanting to commit suicide. Dark double check.
Exhaustion or energy loss. Check, check.
Worry, anxiety, and anger. Check, check, check.

Well, I have to admit, it looks as if Im depressed beyond a doubt. Now to figure out why.
Dr. Arteberry says theres no figuring needed and I dont need to see anyone for my depression
neither.
I think those psy-cho-therapists are a bunch of quacks! They think they can fix everything
just by throwing you on a couch! You need to be placed on medication. Depression is a disease!
Ooo-kaywhatever you say, especially since I have zero reasons to be depressed, so
something is obviously messed up in the ol noggin.
Im put on a regimen of different medications until I find one that agrees with me as well as
it doing the job intended. After what seems like a lifetime, I finally find a medication that doesnt
make me sick, sleepy or numb, and after just four days of taking it, my skin looks clearer and
softer, my joints dont ache and I notice Im not over-reacting to the little things which normally
caused me to blow a fuse. Im still tired by the afternoon, but after a little catnap Im good to go
for the rest of the day. Everything is fine and dandy compared with life before my diagnosis. I
continue with my routine at church and get back to Bible studies, BBQs and being friends with
whomever Im told to be friends with. Im also back to striving to be the best I can be in order to
please God, which in my mind means being a leader, which Im still not and doesnt look as if I
ever will be. I continue working as well as riding my horse, gardening, painting, cooking,
cleaning, raising the kids and dealing with school and homework, and yes, my kindergartener has
homework! Say what? All the while, Craig and I grow close once again and our little family
couldnt be happier.
Another Christmas is around the corner and as usual, the overwhelming feeling of having to
achieve perfection keeps me from enjoying the season. I feel lonely again and Im starting to feel
worthless and fatigued once more. My insides feel as if theyre tied-up in knots and theres a
pressure in my chest that is particularly unnerving. I notice Im clenching my teeth on and off
throughout the day, so I decide to take note of when and what is happening when these
symptoms appear. Lets see:

I wake-up in the morning and start thinking about my day. Teeth clenched.
Get up and do my morning routine. Teeth clenched.
Answering the phone, even though I dont want to answer the phone and having to talk to
someone from church that I dont want to talk to about one more thing I need to do but dont
want to do. Teeth clenched, pressure in the chest.
Go through noon to three. Teeth clenched, stomach in knots.
Craig leaves for work. Pressure in chest.
Four in the afternoon until first glass of wine. Teeth clenched, pressure in chest.
Mornings, afternoons, or evenings I have to go to church or Bible study or discipling time.
Teeth clenched, stomach in knots, and pressure in chest.
So pretty much all the time. Great, but at least now I know.

It wouldnt take a rocket scientist to recognize that my guilt is the problem I struggle with
the most and what is killing me. I start praying specifically about the G.U.I.L.T and ask God
what I can do to get rid of the crippling feeling of always feeling or being guilty. I need to
change; the guilt has to go. I think and pray about it constantly, wondering whats right, whats
wrong, what I should change, what not, or just asking God to make it clear as to why I feel
guilty.
I arrive at work and while waiting for customers, I open my Bible hoping for Gods answer.
When the time is right, He will answer me, He always does and quite clearly, I remind myself.
As I think these things, I flip a chunk of pages once, then twice, and land on Romans 8. I start
reading verse one, then two, and the black cloud of guilt immediately starts lifting! I keep re-
reading the two verses just to make sure I actually just read what I just read and if God has just
answered me so plainly and clearly. Romans 8:1-2 reads; There is, therefore, now no
condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus, who do not walk according to the flesh, but
according to the Spirit. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has made me free from the
law of sin and death. In my instantaneous newfound joy, I thank God for His incredible
goodness and for showing me that I can be saved from drowning in the pit of guilty despair. I
read that once Im saved, Jesus removes any and all sin for which I should feel guilty, and that
Im no longer a condemned sinner but free from all condemnation. In other words, free from
guilt. I then start wondering how I got to this dark place of guiltiness in the first place so that
maybe I can avoid returning here in the future, unfortunately; the answer eludes me.


Chapter 68
We turn to God when our foundations are shaking,
only to learn that it is God who is shaking them.
~Charles C. West


Sssshhhhh. Maybe, if I sit extremely still and dont talk, God wont strike me dead. Im
sitting under the roof of our new patio staring out across our one-acre property. Im watching the
horses snuffle the ground looking for leftover tidbits of hay. I watch the chickens peck the soil
while scratching at the rocks I placed around my plants to protect them from the chickens
destructive little claws. I watch the kids play and climb on the tree limbs and swing on the rope
swing we hung for them. I listen to the birds sing and watch as they flit and flutter from tree to
tree, busy living their busy little lives as I sit here in a coma of depression.
Ive relapsed. The antidepressants arent working at keeping my depression at bay anymore,
but they are good at keeping my mind clear enough to think and analyze, every minute of every
day, about what a failure I am. Were still going to church even though I dont want to, but hope
that maybe Ill find some peace by doing the one thing I know I need to do to keep from being
doomed to hell. My church attendance has another purpose as well, the one reason that still
hangs over my head, and that is to avoid the twenty phone calls a day from all the members who
never miss a service and are always at the ready to correct and rebuke the other church members
who arent following the rules of both God and man.
Where were you Sunday morning? I can hear them now. You know missing church isnt
what you need to be doing right now. We can come over and have a Bible study with you and,
help you remember what the rules are Therefore, I force myself to go to church no matter
how Im feeling physically or mentally. I sit there week after week like a good little Christian,
hearing the same message over and over about what were supposed to be and what were
supposed to be doing and how much sin well be in if we arent accomplishing what it is were
supposed to be accomplishing. Every week without fail, Abraham, Joseph, Samson, Saul, Paul,
Peter and Jesus are used as examples of the right way, or the wrong way of accomplishing what
God expects of us. Same message, different day. I get nothing from the services but the approval
of the leaders and the other members for attending. Aah, legalism; the condemned monkey on
my back.
Today is particularly distressing. I dont think I can do it. I cant go to church today; I tell
Craig as were getting ready.
Why not? He asks gently.
I dont know. I just feel something isnt right.
I dont know why I feel so strongly about not going to church this morning compared to
other Sunday mornings, but Craig eventually talks me into going in spite of my protests.
I dont know why, but upon first glimpse of the building where our church holds its services,
a sense of unspeakable gloom encompasses my soul. Im feeling apprehensive as we walk
toward the entrance. I walk, hanging onto Craigs arm as I try averting my eyes from the other
members in an effort to keep them from the inevitable realization that something is terribly
wrong with me. I force a half-smile to anyone who greets me even though I can barely make the
muscles in my face respond to my meager attempt. I walk through the doors and abruptly have
an overwhelming sense of evil in the building.
Theres something evil here, I feel it; I whisper to Craig as I continue clinging onto his
arm. Craig doesnt know what to say to me, so we find our seats, up in the front as usual, because
thats where the ones who love God and church the most sit. I struggle to stay seated, but fear is
creeping up on me like a rash.
I spy with my little eye something ominous. I look around at all the familiar faces and notice
how unhappy the twenty or so Disciples of Christ look, completely despondent and miserable.
Lately, Ive begun noticing how many members are struggling in their Christian walk and it
seems in their marriages and life as well. Seeing the unhappiness causes me even more distress,
knowing there is something awful happening right in front of our little eyes, but no one will
acknowledge the something awful. I know they feel the profound gloom the same as I do, the
only problem is, we are just too afraid to admit it. Whats happening here I dont know, but
whatever it is, I know a dark force is at work in this church.
The church leader takes his place at the pulpit and starts yet another message about what we
should be striving to be. I writhe and shift in my seat, his words hurting my ears and my head
and my mind until I cant take it a minute more. I stand up in the middle of his sermon and hurry
out of the building with all the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end and a chill racing up
my back. I get in the passenger side of the car, slam the door, then sit and cry, vowing never to
enter that building again.
We arrive home and I head straight out to the patio to sit and think. I tell Craig Im never
going back and I mean every word. For the next two weeks, I sit and contemplate my decision,
not speaking to anyone, even when visited by friends from church. They talk, but I dont
respond. I feel as though my soul has been ripped from my body and Im terrified every time I
leave the property knowing God may strike me dead for abandoning the church. Its what were
taught. If youre not part of the International Church of Christ, if you walk away from the only
true church, youre walking away from God, which means losing your Salvation as well as
risking your life and Gods wrath. I cant help but think continuously of the example one leader
gave of a woman who left the church then a few months later, while stopping on the side of the
road to retrieve something from the trunk of her car, she was hit and killed. Just sayin. The story
sent a paralyzing fear through my heart and mind knowing Im now in her shoes. It leaves me in
a depressed, fear-filled comatose state until Craig tells me that hes making me an appointment
with a psychiatrist.

Psychological and Physical Symptoms of Depression and Anxiety
Various psychological symptoms are also associated with anxiety disorders and fear. Fear itself
is a psychological symptom of anxiety. Those with some form of anxiety disorder may have
persistent, irrational fears such as a fear of eminent death or doom, and fear of passing out or
otherwise losing control of themselves in public. Anxiety and fear may also cause irritability, an
inability to concentrate or relax, excessive worrying, nervousness, and heightened self-
consciousness. Depression frequently coexists with anxiety. Anxiety and fear can cause
symptoms that affect different parts of the body. Headaches, chronic pain and muscle tension,
stomach problems such as nausea and diarrhea, exhaustion, and restlessness may all be physical
symptoms of an anxiety disorder. Anxiety and phobias may also produce such physical symptoms
as a feeling of choking or smothering, heart palpitations, shaking, sweating, hot flashes, and
feeling faint, dizzy or numb. Not everyone experiences anxiety in the same way. (By Keith
Vaughn, eHow Contributor)

So, why are you here today? The psy-cho-therapist, as Dr. Arteberry calls them, asks me
as soon as she walks through the door.
Well, Im depressed and I dont know why.
I see. Whats going on in your life at the moment? Anything out-of-the-ordinary?
Umm, no.
Any deaths?
No.
Have you moved recently?
No.
Is there any illness among friends or family?
No. Wow, this is deep
Nothing has happened that might have triggered the depression?
Nope.
Tell me about your life. What do you do on a daily basis?
Well, Im married to the man of my dreams and were very happy. We have two children
whom I love more than anything, and I also have a few good friends from church.
You go to church?
Yes.
For how long?
Off and on throughout my life, but once my husband became a Christian, we both started
attending on a regular basis, so its been about four years.
Are you deeply involved with your church?
Thats an understatement.

This is how my great revelation came to exist. I have an appointment to talk to a
professional because of a relapse into the darkness, and it ends-up being just what I need to see
the light. As I explain to Ms. Psy-cho-therapist about the church, it moves into how I feel about
the striving and never reaching, the cliques of leaders and worker-bees, and the guilt of never
being what they, the church, or God expects of me. Everything Im saying seems to have pushed
a button in Ms. Professional Advice Giver and she reacts with disgust at the whole churchy
experience and the guilt that goes along with the whole churchy experience.
Thats why I dont go to church, because of the guilt! She announces. We dont need
itwe have enough to feel guilty about already, without a bunch of fanatical rule-making, self-
righteous control-freaks telling us what to do! Thats when I find myself agreeing with Ms.
Expert Listener, like her own little cheerleader, and that is when my great revelation reveals
itself to me.
Youre right! I dont need It! I say; guilt is not what God is or wants from us. Its the
leaders. Theyre the ones who make the rules and theyre the ones who make me feel guilty! Im
not even serving God anymore, Im serving the leaders! Thats it! Its the guilt Im carrying
around thats making me miserable. Its the church thats brainwashing us into thinking that
were never doing enough! Thats the problem! No wonder most of the other members look so
dejected. They must feel the same way whether they know it or not.
Now, Ms. Im So Smart I Get Paid To Give Advice is listening and agreeing with me like
my own little cheerleader when I suddenly get up, full of energy and relief, and thank Ms. Wait,
Dont You Want My Opinion, then walk out the door ready to make a change. I rush home and
announce to my family;
No more! We are no longer going to attend the International Church of Christ with all of its
guilt-giving rules! What do ya say? I look at Craig waiting for his response.
If thats what you feel you need to do, thats fine. Im not too sure about it for myself, but I
support you.
Great! Thats all I needed to hear.


Chapter 69
Never saw off the branch you are on,
unless you are being hanged from it.
~Stanislaw Lec


Be still and know that I am God; period. Be still; be still; I want to be still; I need to be still.
I havent been still for so long I dont think I remember how to be still. What is being still
exactly? Webster says that being still is not moving, motionless and undisturbed. The Bible says
in Psalms 139:18 to; be still and know that God is GOD. In Psalms 4:4 it says; to meditate
within my heart on my bed (or patio) and be still. Therefore, that is what Im going to do; be
still. Ive never been taught to be still. Ive never been taught to meditate on the fact that God is
GOD, though I was taught that God is perfectly capable of guiding me to where He wants me,
butI just need to help Him out a bit by having my quiet times, and prayer times, and sharing
times, and giving times, and serving times, and study times and discipling times, as well as
attending church Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights, in-town or out-of-town, attending
BBQs, birthday parties, Christmas parties, Halloween parties and any other party or get-together
that happens to come-up in sickness or in health, not to mention, cooking, cleaning, fixing,
taxiing, visiting or tending to any other need a member needs met, being met by me or my
spouse or both.
My sudden departure from the church catches the leaders by surprise since its their job to
know everything about everyone. They didnt realize how far gone I actually was, so now its up
to them to save me and they are well behind on their falling-away member saving schedule.
Thus, while the church members and leaders are scrambling to figure out what to do with me,
Im being still and meditating on God.
The first place God guides me to is the blasphemous Calvary Chapel, which the Church of
Christ condemns to hell for teaching that people can be saved just by believing in Jesus. No
matter that Acts 3:19, Acts 4:12, Acts 10:43, Romans 10:9-13, Gal. 3:22-24, Eph. 2:1-10,13,
Hebrews 11:6, John 1:12, John 3:15-16, John 3:36 and many other scriptures all say believing in
Jesus will save us, and that faith and grace will save us, and that salvation is a free gift from God.
Nope, not according to the ICOCs teaching. Yes, they may preach that Gods gift of Salvation is
free, but there are strings attached. If we want to end-up with the salvation God promises then we
must follow all of the instructions given us to follow. First, hear the gospel, then study the
gospel, then repent and turn away from all of your sins, then confess before others that Jesus is
your Lord and Savior, and then be immersed in baptism in order to be saved. We must then
follow all the rules, stand firm by living a faithful Christian life, continue obeying all the rules,
make disciples, and obey, obey, obey which of course is disguised by the wordserving. The
choice is yours. Following what the ICOC thinks is clearly taught in the Bible, or be considered
prideful, selfish, ignorant and disobedient then consequently, finding yourself in the fiery pits of
hell with a look of shock and alarm on your face wondering why youre hot and sweaty when
you could have sworn you were saved and should have ended-up someplace a lot cooler.
Therefore, does this teaching mean that we mere humans know how to give better gifts than
God Himself? Does it mean we know how to love more than the creator of love does? Would we
make our children work for their birthday or Christmas gifts? Could we possibly love anyone
more than God loves us? He, who gave himself over to a brutal torture and death just so we can
live forever with Him in heaven? I dont think so. I start to believe that the church Ive subjected
six years of my life to, might be more than a church, like maybe a mind-controlling, life-stealing
cult-church. Not a full-on cult mind you, but a semi-cult with its pyramid-type leadership and
busy little worker bees working so hard just to prove to the church how devoted they are to God.
Now, dont get me wrong, I didnt come about this revelation or opinion lightly. I
researched, read, and watched documentaries on cults and what makes a cult a cult. Except, now
that I know what I know, I feel stupid for not knowing beforehand what I now know about these
religious groups and their mind and life controlling tactics, and in-turn, staying under the
churchs control for so long. The only factor that eases my torment of not knowing, is learning
that it can happen to anyone at any point, but mostly when a person is transitioning or needing a
change in their life, or when caught at vulnerable moments like getting back together with a
deceitful, drug-abusing, Jeckel and Hyde alcoholic, wife/boy abusing ex-husband who they have
separated from then reunited with at least fourteen times, while always believing things would be
different each timesothe insane fit into cults perfectly. In actuality, its usually the most
intelligent and the most educated, or those who assume theyre intelligent and educated who are
the most susceptible to the whacked-up and crazy way of thinking a cult-church thinks.
However, all the whacked-up and crazy ways of thinking can make perfect sense to anyone
desperately seeking relief from humanitys whacked-up and crazy ideas. Thus, there are a few
things you should be on the lookout for in case you fall for a cult-like church, all of which led me
to my conclusion about the church my family and I attended for so many years.

1. If the church believes we need a greater purpose in life...It may be a cult.
2. If you begin to judge others with different views or opinions...It may be a cult.
3. If youre cut off from friends or family who dont belong to the church...It may be a cult.
4. If you start lying about how busy the church keeps you...It might be a cult.
5. If the church is highly disciplined and structured...It may be a cult.
6. If members have dreams of leadership...It just may be a cult.
7. If you dont overcome sin, dreadful things can happen...It could be a cult.
8. If the church has many rules that must be obeyed...It just might be a cult.
9. If you feel guilty most of the time...You may be in a cult.
10. If youre afraid of disappointing the leaders...You may well be in a cult.
11. If you confuse your commitment to God with your commitment to the leaders...You just
might be in a cult.
12. You can leave if you want, but youre told youll be leaving God...It may possibly be a
cult.
13. If youre afraid to leave because there is no other real church...It may as well be a cult.
14. You leave, but go back...You may be in a cult.
15. If youre okay with the churchthen youre okay with God mentality...You probably
are in a cult.
16. If you give and give, but are told you arent giving enough...You may be in a cult.
17. If youre hanging on a cross, but are told that youre not sacrificing enough...You could
be in a cult.
18. If the church dominates your life...You may be in a cult.
19. If the pastor of your church just told the pastor of the church down the street hes going
to hell...It just might just be a cult.
20. If once a year youre told to give ten times your yearly tithe in the name of sacrifice, and
the founders of the church use part of the money for their own entertainment...Youre probably
in a cult.
Last, but not least
21. If you dont think YOU CAN BE SUCKED INTO A CULT...Youre most likely in a
cult!

The being still and meditating on God and life got me thinking and reading and searching
for answers to my questions, and many of the answers to my questions are answered immediately
upon attending the Calvary Chapel in Yucca Valley. The love of God I feel upon walking into
that church from that first Sunday on brings tears to my eyes and an excitement and joy that fill
my heart and soul for the first time in at least two years. I know this is where God wants my
family and me.
The depression Im suffering from subsides, though, during this decrease in my misery and
despair, I remain on mood-altering drugs, but which I decide are no longer needed, partly
because of discovering the reason for my gloom and guilt, and partly because Ive already
eradicated the problem from my life. I start weaning myself off my happy pills knowing I now
have real happiness, which is far better than what any pill can give me; or so I thought. Within
two weeks of pill-less living, I realize I can no longer maintain any sort of happiness and/or
sanity for longer than an hour or two, and thats only if Im away from home and where Im
expected to be a normal, happy person. Therefore, out comes my smiley mask.
Anti-depressants might now be the only relief Ill receive from the doom and gloom as well
as the hate I feel toward myself and it doesnt matter that life is perfect, or that Ive just escaped
from the church-cult, or even that weve just inherited $330,000. I need medication, ASAP, so
back on the happy-pills I go, and its a good thing I figured this out when I did because just as
were planning our new life with our newly given wealth, earthquakes and tidal waves in the
Indian Ocean kill 225,000 people. Im thirty-six-years old.
The money Craig inherits from his Aunt Helen came while we were still boldly studying,
praying, discipling, serving and giving to the Church of Christ. Furthermore, because we know
that whatever good gifts we receive come from God as James tells us in James 1:17; Every good
gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights we boldly
give back to God His requested 10% of our newly-given wealth, via the church. We of course,
give the government their share, which amounts to $55,000 as well as purchasing a new
truck$35,000 and a used horse trailer$3000. We then decide to start out on a new adventure
by boldly going where no man has gone beforequite literallywhich brings me back to being
stiff and sore, scratched and bruised and being eaten alive by the mosquitoes in the central
mountains of New Mexico.


Chapter 70
Life gives us tickets to places we didnt know
we wanted to go. ~Maya Angelo


New Mexico. Really? Wheres that? The only thing I know about New Mexico is Bugs
Bunny took a wrong turn in Albuquerque and ended-up lost in the middle of some deserty no-
mans-land. Nevertheless, New Mexico is where were heading. Its where Craigs mother is
retiring to, and we would hate for the kids to miss out on their Gramma Lindy spoiling them as
well as us losing our favorite babysitter. Besides, being around more family might be good for all
of us, especially me. Im hoping my sister-in-law, Jill and I will become best friends as well as
Craig and his brother Derek being able to hang-out as much as they want. I dream of us all
having big, happy holiday dinners, nights out on the town, weekend getaways, BBQs and movie
nights along with anything else real families do together, making my dream of having a large,
happy family finally come true.
Craig and I have always played with the idea of moving to the mountains somewhere
outside of California, mostly because we feel well need a bigger house as the kids grow, as well
as wanting to start a horse ranchwhich is more my dream than Craigs, but Craig wants
whatever will make me happy. However, the mountains in New Mexico never crossed our
minds, but again, New Mexico is exactly where we move. No matter that were leaving a home
we love, great friends, a good, secure job, money in the bank and a wonderful church. Nope. We
dont think about any of that as we set out on our new adventure. All were thinking about is
bettering our lives by having more for ourselves. We soon find a deal on the Internet for ten
acres of raw, unadulterated land in the wilderness of the East Central Mountains for the bargain
basement price of $30,000. We then decide to buy a travel trailer to live-in during construction of
the house well be building on our ten acres of raw, unadulterated land$12,000. The piece of
land we purchase seems like a steal since Gramma Lindy paid $60,000 for five acres just ten
minutes up the road. Craig and his brother Derek pay for the property for their mother and each
contribute$30,000 since Derek and Jill have also been blessed with newly given wealth from
Aunt Helen. Whats the difference between the properties that would make such a large
monetary difference you ask? Well, Gramma Lindys land is on a large parcel of fenced land that
has been divided and sold in five-acre plots, with gravel roads and electricity. Our land is a mile
and a half from the main highway up an un-maintained, rocky, pot-holed, teeth jarring and steep,
naturally-formed road. Theres no fence, except for a hundred-year-old, falling down and tangled
barb-wire fence, or what used to be a fence, no electricity, no water, no nothin except trees.
Ponderosa Pines, Cedars, and Scrub-Oak cover the land, and along with a view to die for and a
dream, this is where our nightmare begins.
Its Aug. 2005, the month the kids and I move to the new property and take-up residence in
our humble little travel trailer. Craig drives out to the property with the kids and I to get us set-up
and prepared to live in the middle of nowhere, without him, since hell continue working back in
California while waiting for the house to sell. Im apprehensive about being away from the love
of my life, whom Ive not been away from since moving in together seven years earlier, but Im
sure well be okay since Im still me, the hard-working perfectionist who wont let anything,
including abandonment in the wilderness, get the better of me.
One of the more crucial duties Ill have to perform while out here on my own, is making
sure the kids and I have enough water, with the water coming from the already finished well that
we had started a month before we arrived. We had it started early just to be sure we would have
water for the animals as well as for us once we move out to the property and until our future
home is built. However, there ends-up being a problem with the digging of the well, or the set-up
of the well, or the amount of water found, or the well-digging guys sense of character to honor
the contract to finish the well, and with us being in California and no one there to crack the whip,
the purportedly already finished well we expected to find ends-up being far from finished. Now,
since there is no well water, I have to fill large, fifty gallon barrels with water from Jill and
Dereks house, then using a makeshift pump, I must siphon the water into the trailers tanks. Its
a colossal pain in the neck, but our well should be finished soon so I think I can manage for a
couple more weeks.
Being without Craig doesnt help the fact Im feeling confused about our decision to move
in the first place in addition to feeling guilty for having money while millions of other people are
homeless because of the Indonesian Tsunami. Then, to top it all off, Hurricane Katrina hits and
devastates New Orleans and the Gulf Coast leaving millions more homeless. All the while, here
we are with plans to put in a new house and barn and live our insignificant and selfish dreams. I
have a feeling if we keep this up were doomed for sure, especially since I think God is coming
back any day now because of the frequency of off-the-chart size storms as well as the
unspeakable worldly sin. The New Testament tells how Jesus foretold both the actions of man
and events of nature that will take place before the rapture, which makes me wonder why were
even bothering with our insignificant and selfish dreams if its all scheduled to burn anyhow.
Now, seeing as though we moved from California at the top of the real estate market, we
make a profit of $200,000 on our little house in Morongo Valley, and along with the inheritance
were rollin in the dough. Craig finally moves to New Mexico and joins the kids and I in our
humble little travel trailer in November 2005.
We now have the option of choosing the kind of house or log cabin or whatever kind of
dwelling we want to build on our little unadulterated piece of wilderness since were rolling in
the dough. We have never had any significant amount of money before now, and we have no
clue how fast a pile of perfectly risen dough can go. We budget out what we believe will be
enough to get the essentials...a house, electricity, septic, a well, a drivable road, and of course,
the barn. As I mentioned earlier, we wanted to get the well in before we moved and hey! Look at
this! This well-digging guy is $6,000 cheaper than all the rest of the well-digging guysI
wonder why? How different can they be? They both dig holes, drop in pumps, and Wa-la! You
have water! Sooo, lets use him! Okay!
$10,000 to start and well go from theredepending on where I hit water; the cheaper
well-digging guy tells us.
Got it! Two-years later, were still learning a valuable lesson on well-digging companies
since the well is never finished. Going cheaper in the well-digging business is an enormous
mistake. After two-years of lies and avoidance on the well-diggers part, not to mention him
parking his giant well-digging vehicle on our property for free for two years, and the begging,
pleading, bribing, threatening, calling, cussing, stressing, mind-blowing frustration on our part,
as well as paying another $8,000 to the cheaper well-digging guy, he takes our money on false
promises to complete our well and takes off. Lesson learnedNever, EVER go with the cheaper
well-digging guyPriceless!
I order the forty-five hundred square foot steel building that will be my barn, determining
the size I need by drawing and measuring out six stalls, a tack room and hay storage which will
take-up two-thirds of the building. A workshop for Craig and parking for farm vehicles will take-
up the other third. We have it all set up to be delivered as soon as we arrive so we can get it up
and get the horses out of the weather as soon as possible$35,000. The crew needed to build
our over-sized, beautiful steel barnWhoa! Didnt think of that$23,000. Say What?!!?
We order a fence to be erected around the entire ten acres to keep the dogs, our two goats
and the horses on the property$10,000.
Were now searching for a house we can afford to build and having no luck because of how
much money weve already spent, which isnt what we projected, and how did that happen? The
New Mexico state fair is in town so we take the kids for a day fun and frolic and where we have
an epiphany about our housing dilemma. We see a display of manufactured homes; Chi-ching!
Money problem solved. We can get twice the house for half the price, and the manufactured
homes look just like stick-built homes in addition to being built just as well as stick-built homes
and well get twice the house for half the price! Oh, Yeah! We go ahead and order a twenty-five
hundred square-foot triple-wide home with two by six construction, double-paned windows and
an enormous country kitchen. The house has a large living area, dining room, three bedrooms
and two and half baths. Theres a master-bath with a double vanity as well as a separate shower
and garden tub for the master and me in the master-suite. Theres a large mud-room, two
fireplaces with one being a wood-burning fireplace that we can see through from the dining room
to the office and living area, but which later ends-up as decoration with a candelabra replacing
the wood-burning fire since all the wood-burning fire does, when said fire is lit, is smoke us out
of house and home. The other is a gas fireplace in the master bedroom for the masters of the
house to enjoy while snuggling in the masters bed on cold winter nights; its our own cozy
retreat.
We put French doors in the kitchen leading out to an area where we plan on building a large
deck as soon as we can. We choose large terra-cotta tile for the kitchen and baths, dark wood
floors throughout the rest of the house and wood trim around all the windows and the solid wood
doors. Theres a cozy front porch where we have a custom front entrance door installed, and we
get it all built and put together for only, $149,000; can I write you a check? We find brand-new
stainless steel appliances, a double-sided refrigerator, an over-sized oven, range, and a
dishwasher for the bargain-basement price of only$10,000. The wood and tile floors are an
extra$10,000 as well. Thats okay, I want them, it IS our dream house. But wait, we have to
charge you for the work done after we put the house in; meaning the sealing, painting, staining,
flooring, tiling, and finishing$5000. Oh, goody!
Next, were told by the house delivery guy that we must have the un-maintained, rocky,
steep, narrow road smoothed and widened in order to deliver our house.
Whoa; wait just a minute now. You need to have the road widened? What do you mean by
that? We cant widen the road.
It means that all overhanging tree branches need to be trimmed back far enough and high
enough for the house pieces to clear plus the worst of the potholes filled in and smoothed out.
You do know were a mile and a half away from the main road, dont you? I inform the
truck driver.
Sorry, but it has to be done as well as an area cleared for the house; he adds. I suppose that
makes sense. In the end, delivery costs are$4000. But waittheres more! There is one other
thing you need in order to get the house as well as the barn built.
Oh really? Whats that?
A foundation.
A foundation? Whats that? Just kidding; but what? We didnt budget for that. Oops,
something else we didnt think of.
Well, it has to be done.
Okay; one foundation for the house$16,000; one foundation for the big, beautiful steel
buildinganother $14,000. Its a good thing we saved so much money on the house.
After the first two weeks its like pulling teeth to get the crew to complete the finish work
inside the house and after paying the balance owed on the finish work and a promise from the
crew to finish the odds and ends left on the finish work, they take our money and leave town.
One more indispensable lesson learnednever give all the money until all the work is
doneperiodPriceless!
Next, septic and leach field$6000, and the only thing that goes in without any problems.
After that, electricity. We need two electrical poles to bring the existing power thats down the
road, up the road to our property$5000 for two poles.
But, but we dont want poles. We dont need poles, we didnt budget for poles, and besides,
we want our power lines underground so as not to spoil the view.
O-kay; thats all fine and dandy, and once we get the power lines to your property you can
put them wherever you darn well pleasebut it will take two poles and five thousand dollars to
get the power lines to your property.
But, but, why do we have to pay for power poles and electrical lines that arent on our
property?
Its just the way it is.
Fine; I guess if we want electricity well have to pay.
Next, digging a trench for underground power and water and septic lines from the lower half
of our property all the way to the house on the upper half of our property$7000. Okay, makes
sense, didnt budget for it, but it makes sense. One week later and after hitting solid
stoneanother $5000. O-kay? Another week later, and after damaging the gigantic claw on the
oversized backhoe after prying-up massive boulders and digging through solid rockanother
$6000. You have got to be kidding me! Oh, I almost forgot electricity for the barn$2000.
Electrical total with trench$25,000. Lesson learnedalways sign on the dotted line for the
quoted price so that it cant be changed after hitting massive boulders and solid rockPriceless!
There are a few other lessons we learn about buying a piece of raw, unadulterated
wilderness and making it into a piece of livable property and those arefirst and
foremostdont befriend your contractors. They are not your friends no matter how friendly
they may seem. They are your employees and you should treat them as such, or you may be
taken advantage of, as we were. Two. The cost of turning your dream into a reality might as well
be doubled. Nothing is what it seems and you will run out of money even if youre rollin in the
dough, just as we did. Third. Hire someone to manage the project the first time out, even if you
think you have the where-with-all to be a general contractor, so you dont get taken advantage of
and run out of money and then have to learn your lessons the hard way, as we did.

Life in the mountains is serene and beautiful. We have found ourselves a secluded and
homey hideaway, away from the extraordinarily frequent crime and murder in Albuquerque.
After coming from a cityscape of resorts, golf courses and country clubs, Albuquerque is ugly,
but its real life unlike what we were used to in Californias Coachella Valley. I feel disheartened
with the ugliness whenever we head into town to do shopping and errands, but what a relief it is
when we head back up to the seclusion of our ranch; our home sweet home. Towering
Ponderosas surround the house and land, but its the wildflowers and sunsets that make the
natural beauty and tranquility of the mountains so awe-inspiring. The fields are covered in
patches of purples, blues, yellows, oranges and reds the likes of which Ive never seen before.
Im in awe at the splendor of the New Mexican countryside. The sunrise and sunset skies are so
full of spectacular color its as if God, having a palette of pastels in one hand and a paintbrush in
the other, paints the new sky everyday as only the Creator of the universe can paint, thereby
creating the indescribable masterpiece we see every morning and evening. The scenery and
colors are dazzling and mesmerizing and influence me to call our ranch, The Painted Sky
Ranch. Nothing else could have described our new home better.

Life in the mountains is hard. I never knew living twenty minutes out, or if I want to be
technical, up, from civilization could be so hard. Twenty minutes is all it takes to go from an
altitude of fifty-five hundred feet to seventy-five hundred feet, literally traveling into a new
ecosystem. The lifestyle change needed to survive is drastic according to our new racist,
schizophrenic, government-hating, AR-15-toting, transvestite, mountain-man neighbor, Tracy,
who we meet while still living in our travel trailer. He comes riding over on his quad with a
young woman, whom we later find out is his wife, on her quad, to meet the new city-folk about
to adulterate the unadulterated ten acres directly in front of their ten acres, thereby tainting his
privacy and the hundreds of acres of wilderness he patrols like a quad riding, AR-15-toting
Rambo. Tracy is anything but Rambo; instead, hes an angry, hateful sixty-something-year-old
man, whos about five-eight in height and thin as a whip. He has long, stringy, graying blond
hair that he keeps in a ponytail, and who has angry, suspicious, beady little eyes and pot-marked
skin which is tanned to a leathery roughness from the many hours spent in the sun. His face has
the look of someone who has done way too many drugs or has had a terribly difficult life,
however, his body is fit and healthy which makes him look much younger than his sixty-
something years. He wears camouflage daily, and if he didnt deny being ex-military, I would
have bet he was an emotionally damaged Vietnam Vet.
Angela is Tracys wife; a twenty-two year old girl, thin and pretty, with beautiful long,
straight, dark, almost black hair down to her waist. She seems to be the complete opposite from
the man she calls her husband. When shes introduced as Tracys wife were immediately
suspicious, thinking maybe he kidnapped the girl and is now hiding-out here in the woods. We
figure she must be suffering from Stockholm syndrome and is too afraid, or feels sorry for the
pathetic looking creature that holds her captive to cry out for help. Shes perfectly respectful of
her husband, always keeping her mouth shut, not speaking unless spoken to, in addition to
agreeing with everything Tracy says which makes their relationship even more bizarre. Shes
very protective of him to a fault. Tracy, on the other hand, wont stop talking, or complaining I
should say, and even on that first day of meeting him, he goes off into a rampage of vulgarities
and verbal assaults on every Mexican and Indian within a twenty-mile radius. He tells us that
were crazy, not to mention stupid, to move to these mountains because of the afore mentioned
Mexicans and Indians being extremely territorial. They hate white people and hate white people
buying up their ancestors land. He then insists if we, white people, are determined to stay, we
should expect trouble. We should watch out for any vandalism to our property because the
Mexicans and Indians wont stop until theyve run us back to wherever it is we white people
belong.
Why do you think I ride around here with a cussin gun? I know what theyre capable of.
Ive had my cussing house and garage broken into five cussin times, and my cussin pump
stolen from my cussin well and on and on he goes. We notice he cant say three words
without swearing so we tell the kids to go do something out of earshot of his profanities. Tracy
continues his battering ofeverything, but in the hopes of shutting him up, we tell him that we
white people are staying but well buy some guns for protection. He did give us a little scare
about the white-hating Mexicans and Indians because we dont yet know hes a racist,
schizophrenic, government-hating, AR-15-toting, transvestite, Rambo wanna-be.
Tracy goes on with details of the cussing winters with fifteen feet of snow, below zero
temperatures, freezing water lines, cussed-up vehicles from driving the cussin road from hell.
Its the only road up to our properties so theres no avoiding it so we had better be ready for a
rough cussing ride.
We knew about the road when we bought the property and we plan to fix it; Craig tells
him.
Ahha; good luck with that, he says sarcastically. Just wait until we have cussing mud
up to our knees after the snow melts. Oh, and dont forget the cussin summer monsoons and
more vehicle damage from getting stuck on the cussin road because of the cussin mud. The
mud gets in every nook and cranny of every cussin vehicle you own. You can try using gravel
on the road, but thats a waste of money because itll just sink. Everything else is too expensive,
and no one round here will pitch-in and help; cheap cusswords. Nope, you wont be fixin this
road.
I think well manage; were tougher than we look, I inform him.
Yeah, sure you are. Well see how long you last. Dont say I didnt cussin warn youjust
sayin.
Tracy seems overly serious about everything he tells us, so Craig and I cant help but think
he just may be a little whacky. Eventually, we suspect he only warned us about all the trouble we
could have living in the mountains because he and Angela dont want neighbors. Speaking of
neighbors, we go ahead and introduce ourselves to the only other family living on the road from
hell, figuring if we introduce ourselves and make nice, we wont have any problems since they
might be the white-hating Mexicans Tracy was talking about and whom he has accused of taking
part in the vandalism of his property. The Moras end-up being normal folk, friendly and
hospitable, and when we get to talking we get an earful about Tracy and Angela and about how
weird they are, of which we definitely agree. Weve had a few more visits from the foul-
mouthed, gun-toting Rambo wanna-be and his pretty and innocent-looking child bride who turns
out to be as much a hater as her so-called husband. However, Tracy wasnt kidding about the
winters, or about how rough the road would get as our new, non-white-hating Hispanic friend
and neighbor confirms.
The problem with the road and the ground in general is the fact that its made up of
Caliches, which is clay, and what happens to clay when it gets wet? It gets slicker than a greased
pig on a patch of ice. What happens to a four-ton truck on an un-maintained, rocky, pot-holed,
teeth-jarring, steep, caliches-covered road from hell? It gets stuck, and then you burn-up the
transmission trying to get unstuck, which is nearly impossible without help, thereby leaving you
needing to be pulled out and now you need a new transmission even before the house is
built$6000. Lesson learned? The next time you drive the road from hell in your four-ton truck
with the new transmission and get stuck, you at least know not to try and get unstuck by yourself
and burn-up the new transmissionPriceless.
We eventually buy a smaller and lighter used, Toyota Four-Runner$3000. A month later,
the engine blows and catches fire$3000 down the drain. We then go and purchase a used, all-
wheel drive Hyundai Santa Fe, thinking an all-wheel-drive street vehicle can easily handle the
road from hell since its small and light and all-wheel-drive$7000. A few months later, the car
has to be overhauled because of the amount of mud caked into every nook and cranny of every
part of the vehicle$2000. A few more months later, things start to go wrong once again from
the mud-caking as well as smashing the oil pan up into the engine because of the smaller, lighter
vehicle sinking into the mud and hitting the protruding rocks on our un-maintained, rocky, pot-
holed, teeth-jarring, steep, caliches-covered road from hell, so we trade it in on a jeep$5000.
Within six months of moving to the mountains, we spend close to $20,000 on vehicles and
vehicle repairs. We finally buy a tractor to repair the road$15,000 cash. In reality? Priceless!


Chapter 71
About the time we can make ends meet,
someone moves the ends. ~Herbert Hoover


Life is moving along at a rapid, yet erratic pace. After a year of working at places that dont
even cover the monthly bills, Craig finally lands a job where he can make enough money to
maintain our mountain and horsy lifestyle. I dont work given that Craig and I decide that me
being home to raise our kids is far more important than both of us working with someone else
raising our kids. Besides that, wed never see them due to the inevitable, conflicting schedules of
school and work. Mandy and Justin will be in school during the day and well be working at
night. If I got a job during the day while the kids are at school, Craig and I would never see each
other and that would be as good for our marriage as walking over hot coals with one shoe. At
least with me at home, Craig and I can see each other during the day, with the kids and I together
at night. Even still, the situation isnt ideal since the kids only see Craig one, maybe two days a
week depending on how many days off he has. I suppose the secret to being a stay-at-home mom
is having zero debt, or being independently wealthy, either of which would eliminate the
financial stress and worry. It would be nice if Craig only had to work enough to make enough to
pay the living expenses, put a little into savings and have a little family fun. However, were far
from debt-free, with Craig barely making enough to pay said living expenses and, needless to
say, nothing left-over to put into savings or for having a little family fun. I cant complain
though, since I now have everything Ive always wanted, but even so, I cant help but worry
since we take a loan to finish-up the loose-ends around the property in addition to paying off the
debt that weve accumulated after we spend all the dough we were rolling in while creating the
loose ends in the first place.
The kids are happy and having fun with their new found freedom, roaming around the ten
acres with the dogs and horses and goats who think theyre dogs, and getting dirty and muddy or
wet and cold depending on the seasonand theres no mistaking which season were in here in
good ol New Mexico. First of all, theres the beautiful spring, but with it comes the mud season
thanks to April showers bringing May flowers. Spring is then followed by perfect summers that
bring the staggeringly powerful downpours we get during the monsoon season, and then, thanks
to the monsoon season, theres another muddy season. Next, lovely autumn rolls around then
mud season once again depending on how wet autumn is, and after autumn of course, old man
winter moves in for about six months to give us yet another dirty, sticky, slippery mud season
thanks to the melting snow. Curses!
I thank God we made sure to include a mudroom in our list of must-haves because mud we
have, but the worst part of all is that its the Caliches mud and its not just vehicles it sticks to. It
sticks in and on anything and everything it comes in contact with, which means that no matter
that I clean the mudroom from top to bottom on a weekly basis, it becomes and remains dirty the
other six days. I always keep a large Rubbermaid container around for a place to throw all the
muddy shoes and boots especially since trying to rinse off the five pounds of sludge that
accumulates each time theyre worn is simply impossible. Scraping your feet on the bark of trees
is the best way to remove at least four of the five pounds of mud clinging to the bottom and sides
of whatever footwear you happen to be wearing. You can then either hose off the rest, or leave it
to dry on your boots or shoes where it becomes as hard as concrete. I put a large heavy-duty
rinseable mat with a semi-hard plastic bottom and raised edges just inside of the mudroom door
to catch any mud that comes from the onslaught of muddy boots and shoes going in and out of
the mudroom from flowing onto the floor all in the name of trying to keep the floors somewhat
clean. Nevertheless, after about a month, there is so much mud ground-in to the so-called
rinseable mat that it no longer rinses out.
Im forever grateful as well, that we decided to install an oversized garden sink in the
mudroom so we can wash hands before going into the clean part of the house. Its been a life-
saver as far as keeping the rest of our home free of the frustration-inducing, sanity-sucking mud.
Now, in order to avoid walking through the mud to get to our mud-covered vehicles, we
surround our house with woodchips, which we purchase for five to ten dollars for two to three
ton loads from the local recycling plant. It takes load after load of munched-up trees, bushes,
pallets, and even some old wood furniture to cover the parking area outside of our back door.
Once I finish dumping and spreading the taller-than-me pile of woodchips on our driveway, or
on the worst parts of the road, I must then pick through the newly dumped wooden rubbish to
make sure there are no nails or other metal type particles that may want to jump-up and flatten
ours, or our neighbors tires. If that were to happen, I know Id end-up on Tracys most annoying
new neighbor list for the rest of his life, putting a strain on our already strained neighborly
relations.
The horses too must endure the mud-covered ground as best they can though they take every
step as gingerly as possible to avoid the inevitable slip in case of accidentally stepping in haste.
During the winter, if the snow starts melting away, thereby exposing areas of muddy earth, their
hooves and legs as well as the underside of their entire belly including their tails, become caked
with dried dirt from the globs of mud being flung upward with each step they take. Its also to be
expected to see the horses eagerly run from the barn after a night shut-up in their stalls, to
enthusiastically and quite happily plop down in the nearest bare spot and roll to their hearts
content, mud or not. Theres nothing more disheartening than to see a beautiful, clean, shiny
horse grinding itself into sticky, fur-staining mud while trying their best to cover every inch of
their large horsy bodies, and there isnt a thing you can do about it. Horses will be horses and
who am I to prevent them from doing what a horse loves to do best? So, I just laugh at their
frolicking and enjoy the show.
Dealing with the snow in winter, which we have no experience dealing with being from
Southern California, is so much easier than dealing with the mud. We all loath the mud. Every
time we must navigate the muddy road it can and usually does become an adventure. We never
know if well actually make the mile and a half trek to the highway. If Craig isnt home, I have
to be desperate to leave the property, and even then, I need time to build-up the courage to tackle
the drive since without Craig, Im alone in my endeavors to escape from the ditches if
accidentally sliding into their muddy grasp. If I do happen to get caught by one of the truck-
eating obstacles along the way, Ill have to hike back home with each shoe becoming caked with
more and more of the sticky clay until it feels as if Im wearing lead boots. By the time I arrive at
the mudroom door, my clothes are splattered and muddy from the mud being flung from my
shoes as I walk along, and if Im having a particularly bad day, Ill have fallen down on the
precipitous terrain because of it being worse than a natural slip and slide and in turn, arrive home
in a mud-covered outfit. Craig and I finally realize the only sure-fire way to get up or down the
road is by tractor or quad and unless the ground is frozen, even the thought-to-be all-terrain
vehicle is iffy. The winter air gets a bit cold when trying to catch the school bus at seven in the
morning or when Craig comes home from work at one in the morning, but hey, ten degrees isnt
that bad, besides, you get used to it.

Whats up with the ravens? I dont recall noticing ravens flying around when we were living
in the travel trailer, so why do they now consider our property a social gathering place for the
flocks to congregate? It seems the longer we live on our new property the more numerous the
ravens become, gathering among the trees surrounding our house morning, noon and night. The
ear-splitting squawking wakes us at the crack of dawn with screeching so loud we may as well
have our windows open, which we do in the summertime, making the squawking and screeching
even more unbearable. We wake every morning cussing and swearing were gonna get a rifle and
shoot every one of the noisy winged demons, except, theyre a protected species. What are they
doing here, anyhow? I dont see ravens at any of the neighbors properties, though Tracy says he
has numerous ravens as well, except, he likes them and even names his property after the black,
squawking nightmares. Raven Ranch, not that his ten acres is a ranch by any means, but he
calls it a ranch nonetheless. I just wish the ravens knew how much Tracy appreciated them and
then maybe they would flock to his property and leave us in peace.
Besides dealing with the mud and the ravens, were still dealing with the no-good, lying,
dead-beat, well-digging guy in addition to dealing with a lack of funds. Were living pay-check
to pay-check as they say, but our four horses dont care and are eating us out of house and home.
The good news is, my dream of having a horse ranch has come true and Ive already had one
filly born. The unfortunate news is, I have no money coming in from the horse ranch to pay for
the horse ranch. Ive even put ads around town to advertise my horse-training and lesson-giving
abilities and if interested, please call, but I never receive one cotton-pickin call. Next, I think of
maybe purchasing some unbroken horses to train and sell, but thats when I become aware of
how truly inexpensive horses are here in New Mexico, no matter how good the bloodlines. I
learn that New Mexico is a good place to purchase horses, but definitely not to sell horses. The
only way I could make a profit is to haul them back to California to sell, but that takes money
and money is something we dont have much of, therefore; we continue to feed and care for four
horses plus one foal with the money Craig makes, which is putting an enormous dent in our
monthly bill money.
Luckily, learning how to do things myself while trying to stay out of trouble and trying to
make my mother happy has always been one characteristic Ive benefited from my entire adult
life. Its especially handy where learning something, making things happen and getting things
done are concerned. I learn how to trim my horses hooves from years of watching different
farriers and by learning what works and what doesnt. After years of stumbling over rocky
ground, my mare can now walk, trot and even gallop over any kind of ground in addition to us
saving a hundred and fifty bucks or more every twelve weeks. I do all my own vet work and Ill
only see the vet for services I cant do at home. My vet fully supports and willingly provides me
all the shots and meds needed at cost in order to avoid driving an hour and on top of that, having
to tackle a truck-eating road.
Im always trying to save money wherever I can, except when it comes to grain, hay and
supplements. I want my horses as healthy and as beautiful as possible so Ill only feed the best. I
justify the money spent on high-quality feed by the fact Im not a shopper, trading nice clothes
and shoes for jeans, t-shirts and bootsriding boots, winter boots or mud boots. The challenge
of meeting the expense of a horsy lifestyle is worth the sacrifice, besides; living in the mountains
puts nice clothing and accessories into perspective. Still, with all of Craigs working and all of
my saving, we struggle. It seems everything we touch dissolves into another mess we need to
clean-up. No one ever accused us of not meeting expenses seeing as though everywhere we turn
there they are, staring at us smack-dab in the face. I feel God must be punishing us because no
matter what we do, were constantly fighting to keep our heads above water. There must be
something were doing wrong, although I have no idea what it is. Weve been going to church,
the local Calvary Chapel, thinking it would be as good as the Calvary Chapel near our home in
Morongo Valley, except, the messages here are fruitless and elementary. Coming from the
brainwashing we received at the Church of Christ, anything so basic sounds redundant to me
seeing as though I learned the same teachings as a young Christian.
Most Sunday mornings I dont even want to go to church, and I believe my lack of
enthusiasm for our Sunday morning sacrifice is part of the reason were being punished.
Sometimes though, I find it hard to justify using so much gas on our hour drive to church and
learning zip, or feeling convicted about zilch. Besides that, Craig works into the early morning
hours from his Saturday night shift, and after working six days a week to make ends meet, hes
dog-tired. I feel terrible for waking him early on Sunday mornings, but feel more frustrated that
he doesnt get himself up so we can go and worship God as a family especially since he calls
himself a Christian. Why should I have to be the leader when it comes to the spiritual part of our
lives? God calls men to be the spiritual leaders of the family so I think he better get his butt in
gear. I also think Craig is being a poor example for Mandy and Justin about sacrificing for Jesus
no matter how tired one may beright kids? Right! Im sure God is taking my husbands lack of
sacrifice and spiritual leadership into consideration and punishing us accordingly.
Were giving our tithe like God asks of us, with ten percent coming to about three to four
hundred dollars a month. I never short God His portion since He promises to fill our barns to
overflowing if we just give the small portion He asks for, and as He tells us to do in Proverbs 39-
10; Honor the Lord with your possessions, and with the first fruits of all your increase; so your
barns will be filled with plenty, and your vats will overflow with new wine. Our barns are not
overflowing and our vats are empty, but I guess God will decide when we deserve to be in
plenty.
I want to make sure God knows Craig and I are willing to sacrifice for others as well, so
were also giving to the local homeless shelters. We have so much and most certainly are spoiled
while those poor people in the shelters have nothing, and doesnt God command us to give to the
poor? I also feel I need to give to organizations who feed starving children, again, because
theyre starving and were not. We try to share our faith when we can, but were usually shot
down since its Craigs family members we reach out to the most and theyre not interested. I try
to pray on a regular basis, but praying is hard when we have so many problems. I feel like a
whiner and Im sure God is sick of my whining. When and if I pray, it seems all I do is beg for
help, which Im sure God is sick of hearing as well, although; I do make sure to thank Him for
our home and my husband and kids and horses, and apologize foreverything. My arch-enemy
is back with a vengeance and theres nothing I can do to get rid of my life destroying guilt.


Chapter 72
The world has taken a turn for the surreal.
~Tom Hanks in Saving Private Ryan


Ive sprung a leak. Ive contracted diarrhea of the mouth, and for some reason, I have no
way to stop it. Any sign of unkindness, selfishness, impurity, impatience or complaining is met
with a cold-hearted attack on the heart and soul of the offending person. Things most people,
including me, would normally disregard and ignore, are now things that offend and infuriate me
and have to be met head-on and obliterated. I mean, why shouldnt somebody say something to
someone who offends and doesnt realize theyre being socially incorrect and/or offensive? It
suddenly somehow becomes my mission in life to bring the afore mentioned sins to light. Im
just so quick-tempered lately, I cant help but spout-off. I no longer care what people think of me
which makes me wonder and worry that something is wrong with me given that Ive always
cared what people thought of me.
My sister-in-law and I still arent best friends, and are hardly friends at all since shes best
friends with a woman who acts as if she hates my guts, which in turn, makes me hate the best
friend back. I know my reaction to her is wrong, so each time I see her I try my best to be
personable as well as friendly, but to no avail. Besides that, the same best friend makes me
extremely uncomfortable because of her never smilingever. I mean, never. My mother never
smiled, at least at me, so this womans smilelessness freaks me out. Whenever Im around her, I
feel the need to drink just so I can relax and appear at ease, or at the very least, somewhat
normal. Jill isnt as amusing as I once thought which I learn as soon as we arrive in New Mexico.
We end-up at her house a few times in the case of our lack of water from our unfinished well, or
from the extreme cold and no heat because of the generator going out, or whatever other
unforeseen difficulty came upon us while living in our travel trailer. She doesnt like sharing her
and Dereks and their two dogs and three cats small space with us and our dog, being that it
makes her small house thoroughly cramped. She yells at my dog, gets annoyed with my kids and
hates sharing her food. Her selfishness makes me crazy angry, and her lack of hospitality takes
me aback. We are family, are we not? Moreover, if were family, how can she be treating us so
callously?
After two to three months, Ive had enough. I cant take it a minute longer, and for the first
time in my life I allow everything Im feeling about Jills behavior toward us come pouring out
of me. Forget about not liking confrontation, I confront all shes been doing in addition to the
way shes been acting. I tell her that Ive never met or known anyone so selfish in all of my life,
and the fact were her family just makes it all the worse. I cant help but cry as I rage on, which
is usually the case when Im overly angry and dealing with what needs confronting. Then, as
quickly as my outburst starts, it ends as I walk out her door, promising never to inconvenience
her again. The next time we see each other, Jill pulls me into the bathroom and apologizes,
telling me that she didnt know she was coming off in such a mean, selfish manner. No one had
ever told her before now that she behaved in such a way, but now that she knows shell work on
being a more gracious person. I start crying at her words and because of being so relieved she
doesnt hate me for my angry eruption. Why couldnt I just pull her aside and talk to her like a
normal human-being instead of an out-of-control maniac? It certainly would have resulted in the
same outcome. I truly do love her and want us to be friends since shes the only normal sister
Ive got. From the night of our confrontation on, Jill is a different person. Shes now kind, loving
and funny to not only my family and me, but everyone else shes around as well, and
surprisingly, even our dog.
Its two years later now and we still arent best friends, but were as good of friends as can be
seeing as though Im just not the best friend type no matter how bad I want to be. The fact I try
to avoid Jill whenever her best friend is around doesnt help, but I dont want to take a chance on
another out-of-control outburst occurring.
Im feeling as if theres a volcano in my chest waiting to erupt and I think its due to many
factors. First and foremost, having to deal with the mud and the truck-eating road from hell more
often than not. Then theres our crazy, racist, gun-toting, Rambo wanna-be neighbor and his
mean child-like bride. Next, theres still the begging, pleading, bribing, threatening, calling,
cussing, mind-blowing frustration at the well-digging guy for refusing to finish our well even
though its been over two years, plus the cost of running a horse ranch when the horses arent
bringing in any money for the horse ranch. Theres always the fact were always broke even
though my husband is never home because of working ten hours a day in order to make enough
money to pay the monthly bills, and to top it all off, I feel as if God hates us.
Months pass by, and I continue my rampage of frustration and volcanic eruptions on other
helpless victims including my own dad for his disturbing old man ogling of, and comments about
womens breasts. Why cant he just be a normal, sweet, loving grampa as you see in Norman
Rockwell paintings instead of a booby-obsessed, sex-crazed deviant? This aspect of his character
has always grossed me out, I mean, hes my dadand hes oldand it brings back bad
memories. In the past, Id usually just roll my eyes in disgust, then deleting his remarks from my
mind, pretend I didnt hear what I heard. But now I cant ignore it for another second. I let loose
on his seemingly ageless and repulsive sex-drive without pulling any punches. My assault on his
booby/sex obsession works and thank God, I never hear him utter another word about his
favorite part of a womans anatomy.
Dissociative Disorder
Individuals that have symptoms of dissociative disorders as a result of verbal abuse, usually
develop selective amnesia as a coping mechanism in an attempt to escape feelings. A dissociative
disorder can be viewed as a way the brain protects itself. (By Patricia Hill, eHow Contributor)
My husbands own mother isnt even safe from my temper since I believe she needs to be
made aware of her on-going offense of being rude and disrespectful in the nasty way in which
she speaks and behaves toward her ninety-year-old mother. Nana is the current sufferer whom I
believe needs saving from the offender who knows not they offend, by my newfound rage
against the mean. Never in my wildest dreams could I have ever spoken to an elder, especially a
mother, no matter how kind or wicked they may be, with such disrespect untilnow? Grandma
Lindy is extremely gracious about the whole altercation, even thwarting Craigs attempt at
stopping my outburst and attack. I suppose she felt I needed to get out what I, at that moment,
felt I needed to get out. Its true, I just couldnt take it any longer, but again, I could have
handled the whole situation in a calm, adult-like manner and once more, Im sure the outcome
would have been just as congenial. When my outburst is over, Craig and I just look at each other
and wonder whats happened to me, but the good news is that from then on, Gramma Lindy
starts treating her mother with more respect and once more, Im relieved there are no hard
feelings.

Passive Aggressive Adults
Adults who were abused may not like what a person says or does, or how others treat them, but
they allow other people to do it and then they just stew inside until they eventually blow up in
some way such as telling the person off, or quitting a project, or ignoring the person all together.
These people often do not understand the difference between aggressiveness and assertiveness,
never learning to be assertive as a child because everything they did was criticized, ignored, or
devalued in some way. (Carol Roach, Psychologist)

Chapter 73
Just because youre paranoid,
doesnt mean theyre not after you.
~Joseph Heiler in Catch 22


Im sitting at my computer writing my heart out, literally. My writing has been sporadic due
to the fact I have to stop for weeks at a time to compose myself after dredging up so much
unpleasantness along with the emotional toll the unpleasantness is taking on my psyche. The
sections about my first marriage are the most difficult right now as I must relive the first years of
my demise, which led to the biggest mistake Ive ever madeleaving my first two children. The
second most difficult part is the segment of my life that deals with my second husband. Its
extremely upsetting when through my analyzing and writing, I make the eye-opening realization
of what a broken and wicked person I was, and how I wasted the best years of my life on a
monster. Besides all that, the problems Im having now are puzzling, and whats making matters
worse is that I cant sleep, which doesnt lend itself to figuring out puzzles. I lie wide-awake
until the wee hours of the morning just thinking, thinking, thinking. I think about what I
accomplished during the day, what needs to be accomplished tomorrow and what I think I should
accomplish in the future. I then think about what I think God is most likely thinking about me
and what Im accomplishing and not accomplishing, as well as what Craig might be thinking
about how Ive been actingand why the heck cant I sleep? As I lay in bed night after night,
my heart starts palpitatingfive strong beatsthen back to normal, then another few seconds of
intense pounding then back to normal. I wonder whats causing my heart to pound like this, like
a hammer against a nail. I check my pulse and count for one minute and sure enough, my pulse is
racing and Im sweatingIm having a heart attack I just know it but cant believe itso I dont
do anything about it. When morning inevitably comes, I wake-up and realize Im still alive and
breathing. Phew! What a reliefI thinkIm not sure.
I make an appointment with my new doctor here in New Mexico, Dr. Cooper. Hes a tall,
lanky Dennis the Menace looking man with strawberry-blond hair with all the other typical
features of the red-haired populace including fair skin and freckles. Hes young and fresh out of
medical school so hes particularly interested in everything I tell him about my medical history. I
have all my health records from California transferred to his office and after reading about my
history with depression, hes especially concerned.
Im fine, I tell him; Im on medication for anxiety and depression and it must be
working, otherwise, I wouldnt be alive right now.
O-K, so youre sure theyre working? He asks skeptically as if I might not be telling the
whole truth. I can make you an appointment with a psychiatrist if you want.
Nope, Im good.
Okay, so what else is going on?
Well, Ive been having heart palpitations and my pulse is always fast
Yep, I saw that on your chart.
Ive been sweating a lot and I feel shaky. I also feel like Im having a hard time breathing
or getting enough air, you know what I mean? Oh, and Im never hungry and I feel as if theres a
volcano inside of me ready to blow.
Huh, okay. Well, lets check you out and see what we can find. I receive a brief physical
exam and just as I expected, he doesnt find anything out of the ordinary and everything seems
okay.
Theres nothing out of the ordinary and everything seems okay; Dr. Cooper tells me. Ill
order some blood tests and well see what comes up.
Okie dokie, is all I can think of to say. Im disappointed Ill have to wait to get any
answers.
The results come back within a week and everything is fine, but I know Im not fine, or Im
a hypochondriac on steroids. I still feel as if theres a volcano inside of me ready to explode and
as the weeks pass by, my volcano feels as if its getting even closer to exploding at any second.
Nothing helps the fact Im still not sleeping, and now, as I lie awake listening to strange
noises in the night, Im wishing and hoping and practically willing any evil, sick, demented,
crazy person to enter our house just so I can slit their throat or blow them away with my forty
caliber handgun. Im so sick of all the corruption I hear about on the news and I dream of
becoming a vigilante, just like Jody Fosters character in The Brave One. At least then I could
rid the world of a few of the evil, vile monsters that prey on innocent people. I do realize my
thoughts go past the point of normal thinking, and these days, its more often than not, but still I
fantasize about surprising my imagined, uninvited intruder with a knife across their throat
without an ounce of remorse.
If I were a man, I sometimes think Id be a psychopath. Ive always had a fascination with
serial killers and when learning about said killers, it seems to be that theyre usually raised in
abusive homes, unwanted, unloved and despised. I was raised unwanted, unloved and despised
so maybe I am a psychopath in some ways, even though Im a woman. I feel so cold and full of
hate toward mean, cruel or dangerous individuals, I envision myself executing the source of my
hate and/or anger without hesitation. Abusive parents especially, but any abusive adult
committing any kind of mistreatment toward any weaker, smaller and innocent person, young or
old, triggers a murderous rage that sometimes overwhelms me, and oh; how I wish I could carry
out my homicidal tendencies on the cowardly abusers.
I suppose Ive never followed through with my killer instincts because of never actually
being physically abused in a violent way. I was emotionally and psychologically battered as a
rule, which only left me craving love and acceptance instead of acting-out through violent
behavior. I do have a surprising lack of emotion when thinking of either natural or accidental
deaths of my parents, or siblings, or any other person who has hurt me, not excluding myself, but
I dont know if this lack of feeling is normal. In any case, I think this would make me a
sociopath, not a psychopath. Except, I care deeply if I hurt other peoples feelingsso I believe
that eliminates sociopathy as well. I dont know whats wrong with me, or why I sometimes feel
so homicidal, or suicidal come to think of it. I just know that sometimes I feel like a nut and
sometimes I dont. These feelings always seem to be just below the surface, waiting to be set in
motion against the predators of the world whom I feel I could kill without a second thought.
Personality Disorder
One of the key differences between BPD and antisocial personality disorder (ASPD) is that
people with BPD tend to internalize anger, choosing to harm themselves, such as engaging in
non-suicidal self-injury over potentially causing harm to others, while people with ASPD tend to
externalize it by hurting others. (Chapman & Gratz 2007)
Along with my lack of sleep and disturbing thoughts, Im starting to lose weight; so far,
twenty pounds in a month. Im exhausted all the time, which I chalk up to not sleeping. Im
irritable, which I blame on exhaustion. I feel like I cant breath as I huff and puff from the
slightest activity, which I blame on my heart pumping away at a rockets pace. Now, along with
the restlessness and insomnia, skyrocketing blood pressure, losing my appetite, losing weight,
feeling fatigued, gasping for breath, sweating like a pig sitting in a sauna, trembling as if I have
Parkinsons as well as feeling weak and dizzy, my hair is falling out. Im also itchy and twitchy
and my eyes feel irritated and scratchy like theyre full of sand. The fact that my eyes are not
only sunken but always puffy as well, makes it look if Ive been bawling my eyes out for twenty-
four hours straight. However, the worst symptom of all and that just recently startedparalyzing
panic attacks. The thought of going anywhere off the property is frightening, the thought of
going anywhere off the property without Craig, impossible. Now I know Im going crazy. Here I
am, Ms. Independent, not able to fathom being out in public without Craig by my side, and if we
do go anywhere, I cling to his arm and wont let go for dear life.
Its Sunday, were getting ready for church but I dont want to go. I sit on the edge of the
bed trembling, not from fear, but fromwho the heck knows? I certainly dont. Im sweating
and my heart is pounding so hard I can hear the thumping reverberating through my chest and
into my ears. I tell Craig once more that I really dont want to go to church. The thought of all
those happy churchgoers around me is freaking me out. I dont understand why Im afraid, and
though I know the anxiety Im feeling is real, my fear just doesnt make sense. I must be going
crazy, what other explanation can there be?
Youll be fine; I hear Craig gently say. Well just sit in the balcony where there are less
people. All I can do is look at him knowing it wont matter where we sit, I know I wont be
fine. We arrive, and as usual at this super-mega-monster church, there must be at least two or
three thousand people milling around, in and out of the main auditorium like ants at a picnic.
This is the most preferred service of the three services offered since it caters to those who dont
want to get-up too early, as well as to those who want to get home in-time for the Sunday
morning football game.
Ive learned through the years and understand through experience that super-huge, super-
popular churches are popular because of the super-simple sermons. The pastors avoid any
mention of sin in order to avoid offending any of the super-spiritual people who make their
weekly trek to the Sunday service, and who listen to the conviction-free, feel-good message
which in the end, makes them feel super-good about their weekly Sunday sacrifice. Id like to see
these people attend a hellfire and brimstone type sermon at a super-strict cult church, then wed
see how super-spiritual these sacrificial ants truly are.
To me, the milling crowd may as well be the needle-sharp thorns of a rosebush, deviously
hidden behind beautiful, fragrant flowers, ready to draw blood as soon as you reach for a
blossom. Is it not true, that as soon as you need support from one of these super-spiritual smiling
faces, its then when youre pierced and bleed? Isnt it then when true natures are revealed?
When you realize that the smiling faces are really just masks veiling wicked human natures?
Evil, hideous monsters attending church in an effort to conceal their wickedness? It is for this
reason alone, I now realize, that I cling to Craigs arm, staring out in a subdued panic, trying to
avoid the slightest touch from the strangers milling around us as if any contact will be
unbearably painful. The eyes behind all the smiling faces look evil to me, their presence here just
for show, pretty roses and painful thorns. Theyre all evil, I tell you, EVIL! I know theyre all out
to hurt mestay away! Stay away from me you evil, hideous thorns!
Craig leads me up the stairs to the balcony and if I could have, I wouldve sat on his lap, so
fearful I am of the strangers around us. I tell myself to relaxjust relax, stop being stupid, just
calm down, what can possibly happen? The worship service begins, and the congregation stands
to sing but I stay glued to my seat, not wanting to move, not wanting to feel more vulnerable in a
standing position. I feel as if I cant breathe and I might hyper-ventilate. Deep slow breaths, deep
slow breaths; I repeat to myself. Craig stands, but keeps a hold of my hand. He looks down at me
and smiles a reassuring smile. My poor husband could smile at me until the sun goes down, yet it
wouldnt matter, his smiles dont help.
The message begins and I twinge at the pastors voice and his unpretentious Sunday sermon.
Each word he utters feels like a finger poking at my sides, my back and my neck, poking at me
until Im itchy and twitchy and cant sit still. Im trembling and my heart is racing and all I want
to do is scream as a claustrophobic freak locked in a box would screamwhen suddenly, I cant
stand it a second longer. I jump-up and start scrambling past the seats in our row, running up the
aisle, down the stairs and out the door, gasping for air as I do. I find a secluded bench, sit, then
cry as I continue trying to catch my breath. Why is it so hard to breathe? I hide my face when
one of the evil smiling thorns walks-by so they wont see my tears and feel the need to stop and
ask me whats wrong. I remain paralyzed and breathless on the bench until the service is over
and until Craig and the kids come and find me. When I finally see Craig, my anchor, my rock, I
once again attach myself to him as he wraps his arm around my shoulders.
Why were you outside mom? Whats wrong? The kids ask.
I dont know, I say; I dont know.
Panic Attacks
Panic attacks, which may also be referred to anxiety attacks, are mainly associated with panic
disorder, a type of anxiety disorder. A panic attack is the sudden onset of physical and
psychological anxiety symptoms. Panic attacks may last for 5 to 30 minutes Repeated,
untreated panic attacks may lead to the development of phobias. Physical symptoms of a panic
attack may include shortness of breath, chest pain, increased heart rate, sweating, nausea, and
dizziness. Those experiencing a panic attack may think that they are suffocating, having a heart
attack, or dying. A panic attack may cause of feeling of disassociation that makes a person feel
like he or she is going insane. (By Keith Vaughn, eHow Contributor)
I want to die. At least then I wont feel like Im going to explode anymore. Every night I
hear the news reporting on all the innocent people dropping like flies through random acts of
violence or accidents, people who had their entire, happy lives ahead of them, yet, I cant catch a
break. I cant help but dwell on death since I started going crazyfor the reason that dying is the
only thing on my mind. Ive sunk into a black pit of despair, a cold, hopeless, bottomless pit. I
might as well have heavy, black sludge passing through my veins. My moods have become
erratic, more so than normal. Up and down, left and right, vertical and horizontal, any place a
mood can go, my moods find a way to get there. My constant maneuvering to avoid looking and
acting depressed for my familys sake, results in sudden drastic changes of behavior as if losing
touch with reality. The severity of my depression on any given day establishes the severity of my
struggle against it, thereby determining how unstable I become. Craig cant handle the thought of
what Im dwelling on, where Im sinking to, or where my moods have been going, so he decides
to take me to practically every psychiatrist in Albuquerque in hopes of finding a doctor wholl
have the magic touch and bring the woman he loves back from the brink of falling off the deep
end.
I dont care how much it costs; I dont care if I lose everything; I just want my wife well!
He tells the last few doctors we visit since most are only worried about whether or not we have
insurance instead of first and foremost caring about whether or not they can help me. When we
finally do find a doctor whos willing to take me on, we schedule a time for the next day. Craig
comes with me to my first appointment because he knows Ill refuse to go otherwise. A young,
cocky-looking man walks-in and I stare at him with a cynical eye. I feel agitated, and want to put
the so-called psycho-therapist in his place because he cant help me, nobody can and Im
determined to prove it. I know it doesnt make sense and its crazy that I didnt want help, but by
this time, I WAS crazy, theres no other way to put it. Every function of my body was in hyper-
mode and every thought was of my own demise. I wasnt going to allow anyone to keep me from
my eventual relief, which to my mind was death, and that included anyone who thought they
could just talk me out of my crazy condition.
Self-efficacy
Childhood abuse undermines belief in ones self, the ability to succeed in life and to achieve
goals. Children who dont receive support, approval or encouragement develop into adults with
self-doubt, guilt and lack of initiative. They have feelings of inadequacy, lack confidence and
doubt their ability to be successful. Underachieving and lethargy are often present with
depression and despair, and the adult believes seeking help is futile. (By Martin B. Rivers, eHow
Contributor)
I once read a quote from a man named H.L. Mencken that read,

A cynic is a man who, when he smells flowers, looks around for a coffin.

But I say; when I see a psy-cho-therapist, I look around for feathersbecause theyre all a
bunch of quacks! Haha! As Im laughing to myself, the man notices the look on my face.
Hi there?
Hi, I say coldly; looking at him as if I wished he were dead.
Why are you looking at me like that? He asks.
Like what? I growl.
Im not quite sure, he says; as if not sure if he should be afraid of, or annoyed at me.
It may be because I dont want to be here and you cant help me; I say matter-of-factly.
Why do you say that?
Because Ive been to you people before and no one has ever been able to help me; I say
with a sneer as if Im proud of the fact.
You people?
Yep.
Huhwell, well just have to wait and see, wont we? So why are you here exactly?
Because I wish I were dead.
Whys that?
Because I hate the world, and I hate being alive, and whats the point of being alive when
theres so much evil and hatred in the world? Being alive is sooo stupid; Im stupid; Im just a
waste of space.
I see; well, we have meetings every Craig and I didnt realize this was going to be a
lets see if youre pathetic enough to fit into our little group, or maybe youre worse than pathetic
so you might be allowed to see someone one on oneappointment. Craig listens politely, says
thanks well think about it, then we walk out the door.
Im not going back; I announce.
Thats fine; but we are going to find someone else. I roll my eyes at the suggestion.

Its Mothers Day 2007; the day I cry. Every Mothers Day that I can remember, I cry, no
matter whats done for me. The reason for my inevitable tears may be from the painful residue
thats stuck forever in the nooks and crannies of my heart because of Mothers Day being the day
I left my two little babies so many years ago. It might be, perhaps, because I dont feel worthy of
the adoration a mother deserves because of the heinous crime of leaving my two little babies so
many years ago. It could also be because of not feeling appreciated, and as usual, it hurts deeply
and confirms my belief of not deserving the adoration a mother deserves. Whatever the reason, I
cry.
Now, seeing as though its Mothers Day regardless of the fact that I have a volcano in me
ready to explode and all I think about is death and I feel unworthy and unappreciated as a
mother, I need to at least try to relax, and so, I start drinking. Craig takes care of dinner and the
kids, keeping them out of my hair while I try and relax with a glass or two, or three, okayfour
glasses of wine. By the time Im on my fifth glass of red depressant, dinner is over, the table has
been cleared, the kids put to bed and now Craig is watching TV. He comes into the kitchen to
find me still at the kitchen table, dazed by wine and depression but asks how Im doing anyhow.
I shrug and start to cry. Ive made it all day without actually crying, as I tried to be grateful for
the cards and flowers Craig picked-up for me the night before on his way home from work. But
by my sixth glass of wine, Im hating myself for the fact my motherhood isnt worth more than
three run-of-mill Mothers Day cards and a cheap bouquet of grocery store flowersI guess
thats all Ill ever be worth.
God hates me. I hate myself. Nobody loves me or has ever loved me except you and I just
want to die; I respond in anguish to Craigs question. I cant stand living anymore. Im just a
waste of space. I seethe and hiss the words into the space in front of me, making sure Craig
doesnt misread the direction of my anger. I couldnt be angry with him even if I wanted to be.
Hes like my own personal hero and if it werent for him, I dont know where Id be right now.
Thats it! Im done. Im sick of everythingand Im gonna take care of it all right now! I
get-up from my chair as Im speaking and head straight to the medicine cabinet. Im thirty-nine-
years old.


Chapter 74
My mom always said normal is just a cycle
on the washing machine. ~Wynonna


I have a bottle of Valium. The pills are left over from the days of Dr. Arteberry, he gave
them to me saying to take one when I started feeling anxious. The Valium helped, but I never
liked the feeling of being dazed and floaty so I stopped taking them, however, I kept them
around for emergencies or when I thought Id be better off being dazed and floaty. I have about
twenty pills left, enough to do the trick Im sure, though honestly, Im not sure at all since Ive
never tried to kill myself with a bottle of Valium before now.
We still keep our medicines in a kitchen cabinet seeing as though were usually closer to the
kitchen than the master bathroom when meds or painkillers like Tylenol or Aspirin are needed. It
also makes it super convenient when sitting in the kitchen, drinking my sixth glass of wine, or
when needing to get ahold of something to try and stop the pain by killing myself.
What? Craig says as I get-up and walk to the cabinet. I walk back to the table and sit
down.
See these? I say to him as I hold the bottle up for him to see, immediately dumping the
contents into my hand then tossing back all twenty pills. Im now trying to move the pills to the
back of my tongue so that I can swallow them all in one gulp but it isnt working too well since
pills are sticky when wet. I reach for my wine to wash down the pills that are still sticking to my
tongue, except, while concentrating on not gagging on the pills now sticking in my throat, my
death-wish pill-popping attempt finally becomes clear to Craig. At once, my knight-in-shining-
armor is up from his chair before I can react, then three of his large fingers are jammed into my
mouth. All three fingers are digging around for the pills at the back of my throat, obviously
causing me to choke. Needless to say, the Valium end-up all over the table in front of me. After
hes sure everything is out of my mouth, Craig takes hold of me, slowly sliding me off my chair
and onto the floor and placing me on his lap, gently rocks as we cry quietly together.
Why did you save me? I want to die; I sob.
No! No, no, no! I love you!
They say that the most important thing a father can do for his children is love their mother;
and oh, how Craig loves meno matter what.

Im back in Dr. Coopers office with Craig by my side as he proceeds to tell the Doc about
my Mothers Day disaster.
So your medication is working, huh? Dr. Cooper says in a mocking, yet serious way.
It was; I dont know whats going-on. I feel like theres a volcano in me ready to explode. I
cant explain the way I feel any better than that. I just want it to stop; I just want to die but
before the words are out of my mouth, Dr. Cooper instructs Craig to take me straight to the
psyche ward at the UNM Hospital and see what they have to say, which ends-up being not much.
After explaining how Im feeling and what Ive been thinking and what I tried to do, the doctor
simply asks me if Ive had my thyroid checked.
Umm, my thyroid? I dont know. Whats a thyroid?
Its a little gland in your neck that just controlsEVERYTHING! He says, then explains,
in very little detail I might add, what a thyroid is.
O-kay? I still dont understand how crucial the little thyroid gland is to our well-being
from his brief explanation, but, oh well. How serious can it be?
Come back after you have your thyroid checked, the doctor says to me; after that well see
if you still need to be here. Theres nothing I can do until then. What! Are you kidding me?
Talk about a run-around! I never realized it was so hard to get help with volcanoes! I suppose if
you arent hearing voices telling you to commit mass homicide, you arent sick enough to
acknowledge. Maybe if I slit my wrists someone might take me seriously. Why wont anyone
help me? The next day, Dr. Cooper calls me up at home to see how things went.
What did they say? He asks first thing.
They said I need to have my thyroid checked before theyll help me.
Are you kidding me? They always say that. I think they just dont want to deal with one
more person, so they send you back to me to have blood tests done just to buy some time. Well,
can you come in today? I immediately determine that seeing him this afternoon will be
impossible since Craig is leaving for work soon. Tomorrow will have to do since I wont go
anywhere without my security blanket, but I keep that little tidbit of info to myself, being too
embarrassed to admit it.
No; how about tomorrow? I say.
Thats fine, and dont worry, we will find you some help. Yeah, whatever; I think to
myself. If I make it that long.

Its been two weeks since Mothers Day and weve been invited to my sister-in-laws
birthday party. Jill asks me to make her my famous, thirty layer chocolate crepe cake with
hazelnut filling.
Of course; I tell herno matter that Im physically wasting away, or that the act of
standing takes my breath away, or that I cant stop trembling, or that my heart is beating a mile a
minute, not to mention I tried killing myself two weeks earlier in addition to the cake taking five
hours to make; Ill be fine. Except, I know Jill doesnt know how bad things are with me, so I tell
her no problem, its the least I can do. I would hate to disappoint my only sister-in-law.
Its the day of the party and I have to pound two beers to keep the anxiety of having to be
around anybody, other than my husband and children, from causing me to start screaming and
ripping the hair from my head. My chest feels as if its going to burst so I need to calm down or
else someone will have a bloody mess to clean-up. The worst part of the whole ordeal is the fact
that Jills best friend will be at her party which just adds to my apprehension especially since Im
going to have to deal with her menacing looks and smile-less face. The insecurity Ive always
battled causes me to continue worrying about what it is she doesnt like about me, even though
Craig tries to encourage me by saying it doesnt matter. I also find out that Jills brother and his
girlfriend, whom Ive never met, will also be at the party. I know for a fact Im in no condition to
be meeting new people especially since lately, meeting new people makes me want to run the
other direction screamingStranger Danger! Unfortunately for me, I cant run away as weve
taught our children to do. Nope, I have to stand and be brave, face my fears and appear friendly
and happy to meet the new dangerI mean strangers. Fortunately for me, I feel better as soon as
we walk into Derek and Jills house and I see a table overflowing with bottles of liquor, beer and
wineoh my!
Craig! Penny! You made it! Ooh! And theres my cake! Jill says as she greets us
excitedly. My eyes quickly scan the room seeing whos already here and whom I do and dont
recognize. The third beer I gulp down in the truck on the ten-minute drive over has helped my
trembling, but my anxiety is still building in my chest and I feel as if Im going to burst into
tears.
Hey! Hi there! Yes, we made it; happy birthday and yes, the cake made it as well and its
all yours.
Thank-you so much for making it for me! I think I might skip the real food and just have
caketeehehe.
Hahaha, yeah I feel as if Im forcing my exchanges. I seriously dont want to be here.
Do you want a drink? Help yourself, Jill offers cheerfully, not knowing Im freaking-out
inside.
I think I just might do that. Just then, I glance over at the best friend and I swear I see a
look of disgust on her face. Most likely because Ms. High and Mighty doesnt drink and looks
down on those who do. Oh well, thats her problem. I go ahead and grab a beer then head
outside, and thats when I see themthe strangers.
Hi, Im Penelope, Craigs wife. I force myself to proclaim as I walk toward the patio
table. The strangers, Jills brother Brian, and his girlfriend Jenny introduce themselves and seem
friendly enough, so I go ahead and sit down. Standing for any length of time is downright
exhausting anyhow and drinking my fourth beer isnt helping my balance at all. I already feel so
weak and now I have to sit down with the others before I fall down, but its far better than sitting
inside with Ms. High and Mighty. Brian, Jenny and I exchange pleasantries, which is becoming
easier on my part as my fourth beer hits my system. Im starting to feel like my old happy-go-
lucky self again, except with a boiling volcano inside my chest. Jenny announces she needs
another drink and when I see her empty glass, I ask her what shes drinking.
Vodka tonic; she answers.
Oooh, that sounds good! I declare as I follow Jenny to the liquor table. Jenny already
seems to be pretty tipsy herself, and since Im feeling the same, were acting as if weve known
each other for years instead of only an hour. I grab a glass and some ice, then proceed to pour in
a hefty shot of vodka with a little tonic as Jenny does the same, then afterward, heading back
outside together.
The conversation turns toward religion once were back at our little patio table, and Im
starting to have a good ol time seeing as how I know a lot about religion, good and bad, and Im
feeling confident about joining the conversation. I finish my drink and Im quickly on my way
for a refill, but this time I pour three-quarters of the glass full of vodka with just a splash of tonic
followed by my downing another shot of vodka for good measure. It just feels so good to feel
good for a change; I dont want this feel good feeling to go away. Im already pretty drunk by
this time and since I havent eaten all day, being that Im never hungry anymore, all the alcohol
is flowing right down my throat into my stomach then directly into my blood stream without
anything to slow it down. Oh well, can I ever truly be drunk enough with what I have to go
through these days? I dont think soso, what the heck, what can it hurt if I have another? I
make it back to the table, amazingly without spilling, and see that Derek, my dear, dear, brother-
in-law Derek has joined the conversation.
Derek! Hi Derek! My favorite brother-in-law! I say a little too loudly with the drunken
love only a drunk feels. I lean over his shoulder and give him a big bear hug from behind.
Hi Penny; smiling at me with aI know whos a little bit buzzedsmile, but I dont care,
I think its funny. I think everything is funny right now. I rejoin the conversation and now Im
starting to put in my two cents a little too often, particularly since the conversation takes a turn
toward criminals and religion for some weird reason, and if they, the child molesters, rapists,
murderers and the like can be saved.
Yes. Yes they can; I say as if I know it all because of having firsthand experience with the
subject of this tte--ttedid I just say that? Thats hilarious! Besides, dont most drunks know
everything? The Bible says anyone who turns to God can be forgiven of his or her sins, I
continue-on; wagging my finger around in a drunken circle to drive in my point.
Oh, really? Brian retorts skeptically. So youre saying a serial killer who murders,
tortures and rapes for half his life, can go to prison and proclaim hes a Christian then go to
heaven after all hes done? Im staring at Brian as he speaks, but my mind is suddenly far, far
away, back in my second marriage and thinking about my abusive, lying, drug-addicted,
alcoholic, child-molesting, ex-husband and his professed conversion, and how he didnt change
one iota after he was saved. I then, without warning start spitting-out a rambling slur of drunken
lingo as I try to convey whats on my mind and how I feel about said thoughts.
The Bible tells us, I say a little too loudly; that God still loves Joseph and wants him in
heaven even though hes a child molester. Soooif he tries to turn his life aroundagain, which
he probably will since going back to prison for a second time just a year after we split-up
forstill wagging my fingerfor contributing to the delinquency of a minorbut I know; I
suddenly say, shifting gears faster than Mario Andretti, I know what Joseph was trying to do to
that boy. I know what he wouldve done to that boy if he hadnt told his parents about the drugs
and alcohol Joseph gave himhe wouldve molested him! So that boy saved himself from being
molested! I continue on in my drunken ramble. I know all thisbecause I heard with my own
earsfrom Josephs own mouthhow he hunts and manipulates young, nave boys into trusting
him. Im crying now so Im not only slurring my words but blubbering and who knows if
anyone can understand me but I understand me so I continue. He just waits until he can move-in
and molest them without worrying the boys will say anything to anyonebut this timethis
time his selected victim did tell someone and nownow hell be in prison for a looong, long
time because this strike is his second strike! Everyone at the table has stopped talking or
responding and are now just staring at me as I ramble away. I also know that while hes taking
it easy in prison, hell get all into Goda-gain, and put on the Christian acta-gain, and claim
to be saveda-gain. The only problem isis that there arent any temptations or struggles in
prison and all he does is workout! Oh, and search for God and forgiveness, and, and ITS JUST
NOT FAIR! Especially when SOOO many people here in the REAL world are struggling to pay
bills andstruggling to be what God wants them to be, and do what God wants them to do while
he just gets to be and do whatever HE wants and still be forgivenand savedand why would
God do that? Its just not FAIR!!
Im oblivious to the fact Im babbling and crying like a blubbering baby as Im declaring the
unfairness of God, Joseph and the judicial system until Craig is behind me and trying to lift me
from my chair as I continue sobbing out my protests uncontrollably.
I think shes had a little too much to drink, I hear someone say.
Yep, shes drunk, someone else says, and then I hear Craig strongly suggesting I stand-up
and go for a walk.
My legs are so weak as well as being so appallingly drunk, Craig has to hold me up as he
continues encouraging me to stand and walk. Except, in my head and drunken fog, Im not at
Jills party anymore but in my past life where all the hurt and pain and lack of love Ive ever
experienced flashes before my eyes and suddenly, Im so angry I start screaming as I try to stay
upright.
I HATE MYSELF! I WANT TO DIE! LET ME GO! LET ME DIE!!! Im struggling and
squirming to get out of Craigs grasp and when I finally get free, I fall, not having the strength to
support myself.
Somehow, Craig has managed to walk me all the way to the driveway where I find myself
next to a truck in the dirt. I hear Gramma Lindy calling for my kids and telling them to go in the
house with her and get some cake even through my hysterical sobbing. Craigs hands are on me
and I feel him trying to pull me up, but I start twisting around on the ground as I scream
furiously at him to leave me alone and let me die. I open my eyes for a second and realize Im
looking under Dereks truck as Craig continues pleading with me to please get-up and telling me
that things will be okay. I refuse to listen and continue screaming and squirming when I
unexpectedly start scrambling and pushing myself under the truck where, at the moment, is the
only place I feel I can go where they cant get me. Its as if its the only place on earth I can go
where I can be alone and hopefully get awayaway from the torture chamber my mind and
body have become as I scream yet again; I WANT TO DIE!!
Unfortunately for Jill, the partys over. Im oblivious to everything except for the legs and
feet of Jill, Derek, the strangers, and Craig standing around waiting and watching to see what
will happen next. Im not sure how long Im under the truck, but I know Im still screaming and
pounding the ground with my fists for what seems like an eternity, and thenits over. I lay
there whimpering, exhausted and dizzy from the alcohol and my physical exertion. I hear Craig
saying something to me, but I cant make it out because of the pounding in my head and ears
from my racing pulse. In time, Craig is finally able to coax me out from under the truck. I feel
him brushing my clothes off with his hand and trying to get my hair out of my eyes and unstuck
from my tear-stained face as he slowly walks me to our car and puts me in the front seat. I can
barely open my eyes from my drunkenness and crying, but when I do, I see a surreal world,
weirdly unfamiliar, distorted, disturbing, like the experiences in a dream or even a nightmare
from my past, but then I see my Craig, the only person who has ever truly loved me, walking
toward the car as I pass out.

Were driving. I dont know where were going, I just know were driving on the freeway as
I fade back into darkness.
The car is stopped. I force my eyes open for a second and amazingly, I recognize where we
are, most likely because we were just here. Were at the UNM Psyche ward. I hear Craig get out
of the car as I fade in and out of consciousness. My head is hanging limp on my chest as I sit,
held-up only by my seatbelt. I awake to a choking sensation, then a warm wetness on my lap and
I realize Im throwing-up. The only problem is, I cant do a thing to help myself because of my
head and arms feeling as if they weigh a thousand pounds. I continue throwing-up all over the
front of me and in my lap and on the seat and floor of the car then falling unconscious once
more. Craig opens the passenger door and I hear his voice, then a womans voice, but I dont
know what theyre saying.
The wind is blowing like a hurricane.
What? Whatwhy? I attempt to reach for the hair thats blowing and sticking on my face
and in my eyes, but my arms are like jelly and flop back onto my vomit-covered lap.
You threw-up; I hear Craig say through my drunken stupor. Were on our way home.
The windows are down because you threw-up. Then, everything goes black.
Stand right here; Craig says to me.
Whaaat? I feel myself being manipulated into a standing position and I dont know why
especially since it seems to be impossible to open my eyes.
Stand here and dont move; I hear Craig say. Hes helping me steady myself while
continuing to shout my name in order to keep me from passing-out and falling down. How Im
standing on my own is beyond me, but I think it has to be the authoritative voice Craig is using
thats giving my legs the little bit of stability theyre mustering. Im still confused about why Im
standing where Im standingby the way, where am I standing? Suddenly, Im being sprayed by
icy cold water but Im powerless to stop it while still barely understanding whats happening to
me.
Ahhh! What...what...are you doing? Im holding-up my hands to try and stop the water
from hitting me.
Youre covered in vomit; I have to hose you off before I bring you in the house. Thats the
last thing I hear.
Im in the bathtub soaking in warm water up to my chest.
Are you okay? Penny, youre in the bathtub; do you want to get out now?
Noooo
I wake-up in bed around seven in the evening with my pajamas on, my hair still damp but
combed.
Wow, weird; whoa, I dont feel so good; Craig?
Yeah?
Wherewhat are you doing?
Im in the living room; he says. I slowly make my way toward the living room and the
couch.
How do you feel?
Better, I think; what happened?
What didnt happen? He replies. Im ashamed and curious at the same time, but I need to
know how big a fool I made of myself. Craig gives me the footnotes of the days happenings,
sparing me the bloody details.
Oh, nowhat did your mom and everyone say?
They just told me to get you some help.
Where are the kids?
Theyre spending the night with mom.
Im so sorry. Im so embarrassed. I dont know how Im going to face your family again; I
shamefully mutter.
You dont have to be embarrassed. We just need to figure out whats wrong. Are you
hungry?
Craig makes us dinner, though I can barely eat since my stomach is still churning. I feel as if
I might still throw-up, but I appreciate and love him for taking care of me.
What would I do without you? I say.
I dont know; Craig says with a loving smile.


Chapter 75
Some days, its not even worth chewing
through the restraints. ~Author Unknown


Im hiding in the house like a hermit. Its the only place I feel safe, and its the only place
they, meaning everyone else, are safe from me. Im never alone, with Craig home during the day
while the kids are at school, and the kids home at night when Craig is at work; its for the best. I
shouldnt be alone. Im also trying not to drink, but Im wound-up tighter than a drum ready to
burst at any second if I dont get some relief, and drinking is the only relief I have right now.
Its the middle of the afternoon and the phone rings. Its Dr. Cooper.
Penelope, I have some news.
You do?
Yes. Your blood tests came back and youre hyperthyroid.
What does that mean?
It means your thyroid is causing all of the symptoms youve been experiencing. Your
thyroid is producing a lot more hormone than it should be, in fact; its producing way too much.
You mean, Im not going crazy and theres actually a real honest-to-goodness reason
whymy hairs falling out, Im exhausted, irritable, out of breath, restless, fatigued, sweaty,
shaky, weak, dizzy, losing weight, feeling itchy and twitchy, have skyrocketing blood pressure,
have no appetite, my eyes are irritated, scratchy and always dark, sunken and puffy as well as
why Im having panic attacks, depression and suicidal tendencies?!
No, youre not going crazy, and yes, hyperthyroidism explains all of that.
Halleluiah! Oh My Gosh! Thank God! Im almost crying with relief.
Well, Ive never had anyone sound so happy at bad news before now, but OK.
This is not bad news! This is such a relief! Now I know Im not going crazy! Thank-you,
Thank-you! I exclaim.
Youre welcome. I also want to apologize for not believing you, and not listening and
following through with trying to figure out what was wrong.
Ahhh, its okay and thank-you for your apology. Not many doctors would admit when
theyre wrong.
Dr. Cooper goes-on. I went ahead and made an appointment for you this week at the
endocrinology department at UNM. I wanted you in as soon as possible.
You did? Thanks! Ill be there. I wouldnt miss that appointment for the world!
Within a week I undergo Radioactive Iodine Treatment and everything I just went through
for the last year is over within two weeks. But only God knows how far back this all really
started.
Getting the news that the volcanic thrashing Ive taken for the last year wasnt my mind
going crazy, or just me acting like a hyped-up hypochondriac on steroids is the biggest relief Ive
ever experienced in my life. But why? Why did this happen to me? Why would a gland that
controls every vital component in our bodies, turn against the body that sustains it? First of all,
what is a thyroid? Google here I come, and because I think many women may suffer unexplained
symptoms as I did and may want to know why as I did, I add a summation of what I find in the
back of the book. The thyroid is an incredible and unbelievably important part of our make-up,
and any disturbance whatsoever changes everything about our body and mind. Theres just so
much going-on inside our bodies with every part affecting every other part, it makes it extremely
difficult to understand. Fascinating, yet confusing at the same time.
Now, being that the thyroid gland is one of the larger glands of the endocrine system, it has
a direct connection to depressive symptoms. In fact, one area of research in determining the
causes of clinical depression focuses entirely on the endocrine system which works with the
brain to control numerous activities within the body. The endocrine system is made up of small
glands within the body which produce hormones and release them into the blood. The hormones
that are released into the body by the glands regulate processes such as reactions to stress and
sexual development. It has been found that a great number of depressed people have abnormal
levels of some hormones in their blood despite having healthy glands. Its believed that such
hormonal irregularities may be related to some depressive symptoms such as problems with
appetite and sleeping since they play a role in these activities. Further clues to the role of the
endocrine system have to do with the fact that those who have endocrine disorders sometimes
develop depression, and some depressed individuals develop endocrine problems despite having
healthy glands.
The endocrine system usually keeps the hormonal levels from becoming excessive through
an intricate process of feedback, much like a thermostat in a home. Hormonal levels in the body
are constantly monitored, so when a specific hormone rises to a particular level, the gland stops
producing and releasing the hormone. When an individual is depressed, this feedback process
may not function as it should. Problems with hormone levels may be intertwined with the
changes in brain chemistry that are seen in clinical depression. The endocrine system is
connected to the brain at the hypothalamus, which is a small structure located at the base of the
brain, and it is responsible for many basic functions such as body temperature, sleep, appetite,
sexual drive, stress reaction, and the regulation of other activities. It has received a great deal of
attention from depression researchers as the hypothalamus also regulates the pituitary gland,
which in turn controls the hormonal secretion of other glands.
The pituitary is sometimes referred to as the master gland as it controls hormone functions
such as our temperature, thyroid activity, development during childhood, urine production,
testosterone production in males, and ovulation and estrogen production in females. In effect, the
gland functions as our thermostat that controls all other glands that are responsible for hormone
secretion. The pituitary gland is a critical part of our ability to respond to the environment. The
hypothalamus uses some of the neurotransmitters that have been associated with depression as it
manages the endocrine system. These neurotransmitters, serotonin, norepinephrine and dopamine
all have a role in the management of hormone function. These three neurotransmitters function
within structures of the brain that regulate emotions, reactions to stress, and the physical drives
of sleep, appetite and sexuality. It is unknown whether changes in levels of neurotransmitters can
cause the development of depression or if depression causes changes in neurotransmitters. It may
happen both ways. Researchers believe that our behavior can affect our brain chemistry, and that
brain chemistry can affect behavior. For instance, if a person experiences numerous stressors or
traumas during his or her lifetime, this may cause his or her brain chemistry to be affected,
leading to clinical depression. On the other hand, that same person may learn how to change
depressed thoughts and behavior and cope with stressful events. Doing this may also alter brain
chemistry and alleviate depression.
The hypothalamus may also be the culprit when it comes to excessive levels of cortisol in
the blood. Most clinically depressed individuals will have an excess of cortisol flowing through
the bloodstream. Cortisol is secreted by the adrenal glands that are located near the kidneys.
Cortisol is widely known as a stress hormone produced by the human bodys adrenal glands.
Common symptoms of both high and low cortisol levels include anxiety, insomnia, irritability,
memory problems, confusion, depression, cravings for sugar, and body temperature regulation
with problems such as chills, hot flashes, and night sweats. Cortisol abnormalities are common in
people diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome, fibromyalgia, hypo and hyperthyroidism,
multiple sclerosis and many other conditions connected with long-term chronic stress. It is highly
possible that all of these conditions are connected by the adverse impact on the adrenal glands
due to chronic stressors including a variety of core reasons such as severe emotional stress,
infections and autoimmune reactions.
Now, just because someone becomes hyperthyroid doesnt mean theyll transform into the
crazy, paranoid, suicidal maniac like I was. I now understand the implications of my depressive
symptoms and the part they played in my hyper behavior. The psychological effects of abuse
which include: fear, anxiety, depression, stress and PTSD, intrusive memories, memory gap
disorders, sleep or eating problems, hyper-vigilance, exaggerated startle responses, irritability,
anger issues, alcohol and drug abuse, self-abuse, suicidal tendencies or suicide and assaultive
behaviors were magnified tenfold. If a normal person becomes hyperthyroid, they may feel the
physical effects of the condition, but without the emotional explosion.

One of the problems with biological and chemical depression is that it doesnt go away with
radiation treatment like the other ninety-nine percent of my hyperthyroidic symptoms, though I
feel fantastic now that the doctors have eradicated the volcano from my chest, or should I say,
neck. The problem is, I dont realize my depression is still alive and well and just lying low at
the moment. I dont realize that during the good times, the effects of a lifetime of emotional
trauma doesnt go poof! and just disappear, nor do I understand that I could be the poster-child
for depression if I was so inclined even though being the sad face staring out at patients in an
exam room is still the last thing I would ever want, but, like it or not, Im now a perfect example
of Depressive Disorder.
After receiving my Radiated Iodine Treatment which totally eradicated my goiter-infested
thyroid, and after I recover from my year-long ordeal, Craig and I determine I can no longer be a
stay-at-home-mom. I need to start working again to help with the house and home the horses are
continuing to eat through. The kids have their Gramma Lindy who happens to be our favorite
babysitter and the reason we moved to the muddy mountains of New Mexico in the first place, so
at least theyll be with family. Sohi-hoe, hi-hoe, its off to work I go.


Chapter 76
Hes turned his life around; he used to be depressed and miserable,
now hes miserable and depressed. ~Harry Kalas


Going to work is a necessity and that is exactly what I tell Craigs boss one night while
sitting at the bar having dinner. Now, since Frank and I are to some extent friends from all the
times Ive gone to wait for Craig to finish his shift and being the roaring drunk that he is, I end-
up partying with Mr. Restaurant-owner more times than I care to mention. The fact I have fifteen
years experience waiting tables, and seeing as this restaurant is a high-end steakhouse, in which I
have the most expertise, he gives me a job on the spot. My getting a job so easily, along with
getting a job with my husband whom I havent worked with since meeting him ten years earlier,
makes me think that my going back to work is meant to be, and Im excited. The only problem
is, I still dont realize my depression is hiding in the shadows just waiting for the right time to
reveal its unbeatable existence.
My going back to work helps our financial situation just as we knew it would. My new
employment not only helps with the bills, but also helps me lose track of God and my Christian
walk, my fear of the end of the world, suffering people and natural disasters. My re-invigorated
occupation also reawakens my need for male attention even though Craig, the love of my life, is
right beside me whenever the banshee in me comes out to play. My partying and drinking into
the wee hours of the morning like a drunken, horny teenager reminds me of what I used to do in
my twenties and early thirties. It just feels so good to feel good again and now I want to playor
maybe Im going through a mid-life crisisthough it seems a little early being that Im only
thirty-nine, unless of course, thirty-nine is the new forty-five. It doesnt help that our place of
employment is the epitome of worldly living and indulgence as described in Romans 1:29-31;
being filled with all unrighteousness, sexual immorality, wickedness, covetousness,
maliciousness, full of envy, murder, strife, deceit, evil-mindedness; they are whisperers,
backbiters, haters of God, violent, proud, boasters, inventers of evil, disobedient to parents,
undiscerning, untrustworthy, unloving, unforgiving, and unmerciful, not to mention, a bunch of
drunks. The scripture goes on to say in verse 32; who, (meaning Christians) knowing the
righteous judgment of God, that those who practice such things are deserving of death, not only
do the same but also approve of those who practice them. Meaning, the fact Im obviously
approving of the sin because of my taking part, I am just as worthy of Gods judgment as those
who are ignorant of Gods wrath toward those who practice such things. Oh, my dang-itIm
doomed for sure!
Not that this is an excuse, but depression alters the ability to function normally, and me
being thirty-nine-years old makes no difference whatsoever, nor does it exclude me from the
rule. In adults, depression rears its ugly head through sexual conquest or profanity. Other ways
people reveal depressed dispositions are through gambling and risk taking with money,
relationships and even ones life. Excessive generosity, working long hours, or persistent
injections into other peoples conversations in order to make ones self feel included, are other
obvious signs of insecurity due to depression. In children, and even some adults, the problem
becomes apparent with showing off, temper tantrums, or withdrawal from family and friends.
The truth of the matter is, even when depressed, you still make the choice to sin, maybe not-so-
much in children, but certainly much more likely with adults and especially when on depression
medication which gives you the clarity of mind to make decisions. Depression certainly doesnt
justify my seeking happiness or acceptance through sinful actions, just as deeply ingrained anger
doesnt justify murder, nor does deeply ingrained greed justify theft or materialism, nor does the
deeply ingrained desire for numerous sexual partners justify promiscuity. The act in question
must be considered not in terms of its source in the person but in light of the appropriate biblical
doctrine. Obviously, we dont choose to have sinful desires, but we can choose not to act on
them. I like to put it this way; Satan has a deck of cards fanned-out in front of him with each card
representing a sin. He then picks a random card to taunt and tempt you with, leaving you with the
decision to act on that particular sin. If you decide to act on said temptation, Satan will happily
continue to provide access to that particular indulgence. If you decide to resist the desire, taunt or
temptation, Satan will give-up on using that particular enticement against you as Galatians 4:7
says; if we resist the Devil, he will flee from us. But rest assured, he will continue picking
different cards until he finds a sin to which youre vulnerable so we must always be on the
lookout.
Unfortunately, most depressed individuals dont realize theyre depressed until they develop
physical symptoms of which Im all too aware. However, even before those symptoms develop,
depression can have a noticeable impact on your job and friendships. Most people can tell when
someone is depressed even before said individual knows, though they usually wont point it out.
Luckily for me, at least a quarter of the employees at my new job show obvious signs of
depression, which seems typical for waiters, helping make my mental instability less obvious.
Things are not going well. The recession of 2008 has hit with a vengeance. The restaurant
has slowed down to a turtles crawl and half the time Im at work, Im just standing around
chatting with the other employees without guests to serve. Were all told on a constant basis that
if we have time to lean, we have time to clean; but since were only paid two dollars an hour, no
one feels too enthusiastic about cleaning. As the hours pass by one slow second after the other,
were asked, one bored server after the other, if we want to go home early or hang-out and wait
for guests that may never show-up. I usually decide to go home if Craig and I have driven
separate vehicles, or Ill just hang-out in the bar and wait for him to finish his shift. Craig always
stays and works since he always has tables because of him being who he isone of the original
employees. Hes been here since opening day four years earlier. Its also because hes the hardest
working and most meticulous member of the staff that the restaurant employs, allowing him to
be shift supervisor ninety percent of the time, thereby making the most money. Its no longer
worth it for me to drive the forty minutes from the top of the mountain to the middle of
Albuquerque to make next to nothing while gas prices are shooting through the four dollar mark.
The jump in gas prices has raised our monthly fuel bill from $450 up to $1000 per month. Its
costing more for me to go to work than just stay home and resume my stay-at-home-mom status.
My health has taken a turn for the worse, again. This time I have a bloated feeling around
my lower abdomen that never goes away. I put up with it for months as I watch my belly grow
bigger, as well as struggle against a ripping pain in my uterus whenever I move around whether
at work or home. Come March of 2009, I start spotting, with any kind of movement causing a
deep pain as if my insides are falling out. Ive been working for almost a year and a half when I
give my two-week notice. I end-up quitting right away since Im already hobbling around like a
penguin trying to keep my uterus from dropping onto the floor in addition to the restaurant not
wanting to clean up the mess something like a falling-out uterus would make. I make an
appointment with my doctor for a check-up, ASAP.

The news, which is about to change our lives for the worse, arrives in the mail as simply and
inconspicuously as any other piece of mail and we open it with as much interest as we would if
opening a magazine. The mail is from Chase Bank, our mortgage holder, so I open it and start
reading.
Dear Mr. Meriwether: This is to inform you that our records indicate a negative escrow
balance in your account. In order to rectify this matter, your monthly mortgage payment will
increase from $1368.00 to $1748.00 monthly. The rest of what they have to say doesnt matter. I
reread the letter trying to understand what Im trying to understand.
Craig! I yell for Craig hoping hell understand whats being said and what I cant seem to
understand or refuse to understand because of not wanting to acknowledge what I think Im
reading. Craig takes the letter and starts reading.
Well, it has to do with the escrowand the escrow has to do with the taxes and
insurance
Theyre supposed to be taking the taxes and insurance out of the payment! I say a little too
loudly as my blood pressure rises twenty points. So, why werent they taking the money for the
escrow?
I dont know, but Im going to find out. Go get the loan papers. I immediately hurry off to
the filing cabinet to find the answers to our heart-pounding, nerve-wracking questions. We
scrutinize the papers with x-ray eyes hoping to find anything at all that will exonerate us from
this apparent crisis.
Where are we supposed to get an extra four hundred dollars a month? We can barely pay
our mortgage as it is; I grumble as we search. Eventually we see it; the answer to the question,
the ping to the pong, the peanut to the butterthe reason were being charged four hundred
dollars a month more on our mortgage. Theres a mistake on the property tax amount! Not only
is there an error on the annual amount it says we owe, the amount is out of the ballpark wrong.
Its clear to us that someone intentionally wrote the numbers down incorrectly. Our property
taxes are $2400 a year, divide that by twelve and you get two hundred dollars a month; the
amount written down on the loan papers$34.
What in the world? Im starting to tremble from the anxiety caused by the situation.
Wait, lets think about this for a minute; Craig says calmly. What did we tell the loan
officer? We told him that we dont want the loan unless our monthly mortgage payment stays the
same.
We-dont-want-the-loan if he cant make it work, I repeat.
Well, it looks as if he made it work all right, Craig says. We look at each other and
simultaneously saycall Chase!
We call Chase and explain the situation, but they dont care. We tell them that its not our
fault the taxes were written down wrong, but they dont care. We tell them that they should have
caught the fact that not enough money was going toward the escrow for the last TWO years, but
they dont care. We tell them that we dont have the extra money to pay the extra four hundred
dollars a month, but they dont care. We remind them that the economy has collapsed and were
already struggling as it is, but they dont care. We let them know theyll be putting a responsible,
mortgage-paying family out on the street, but they still dont care. We beg, plead, bribe, threaten,
call, cuss and stress-out from the mind-blowing frustration from Chase refusing to care about our
situation for the next two years, and still, they just dont care.

Its the summer of 2009; I quit my job in March and right now Im waiting to have surgery
after finding out from an ultra-sound that my uterus resembles the size of a five-month-old
pregnancy. My uterus is full of nodules, or benign tumors, or fibroids growing out of control;
another gift from my dear ol pituitary gland. The bothersome gland could no longer harass my
thyroid so it decided to terrorize my uterus, just like a bully in a schoolyard. Fibroids range in
size from the size of seeds, undetectable by the human eye, to bulky masses that can distort and
enlarge the uterus. They can be single or multiple, and in extreme cases, expanding the uterus so
much that it reaches the rib cage, as in my case. A hysterectomy is scheduled for the first week
of November. Its the soonest the UNM hospital can fit me in seeing as how were on State
Insurance and until then, Ill continue waddling around, keeping my knees together to be sure
nothing comes out before its time.
The stress of fighting with Chase and the prospect of losing everything keeps Craig and I
tossing and turning every night. Our health is suffering and were looking ragged and worn-out
as well as catching every cold and virus making the rounds depending on the season. Im still
waiting for my surgery and feeling more and more uncomfortable every day, and on top of that,
we notice Justin is starting to look ragged and tired as well. We know something is wrong, but
dont know what. School lets out for summer and hes about as excited and energetic as a dog in
the middle of a dog day afternoon; I chalk it up to boredom. He gets mopey when I send him out
to play; I chalk it up to a bad attitude. Hes always hungry; I chalk it up to growing. Hes always
thirsty; I chalk it up to his eating. Hes always peeing; I chalk it up to all his drinking. He says
hes tired and feels weak; I chalk it up to the Bird Flu thats going around. He removes his shirt
to take a shower and AHHH!! My son looks like a skeleton. Hes lost a great deal of weight, hes
skin and bones. I nickname Justin, Skeletor, and Skeletor laughs at his new nickname. I chalk his
weight-loss up toI have no clue.
Justin has been like this for almost a month and if nothing changes in the next day or two,
Ill make an appointment for Skeletor to see a doctor. The next day, hes too weak to go out and
play, telling me that he feels nauseous, then, at almost the same moment, he throws-up all over
the sofa.
See, it is the flu! I announce happily even though I have to clean vomit off of my micro-
suede couch. I head to the bathroom to find the thermometer to take Justins temperature which
ends-up being normal. How can he have the flu and no fever? I call the local pediatrician and
give her a quick recap of the last month of Justins life.
Bring him in right away; is all the receptionist says.
O-kay, I say; except, Im not a patient there, I think to myself, not daring to inform the
receptionist of this fact since the waiting list for this doctors office is three years out.
Ill be there in thirty minutes. I dont have a clue as to what can be wrong with my baby.
Of course, since Im told to get Justin to the doctors office right away, Ive started worrying in
addition to preparing for the worst.
Your son needs to go to the emergency room; Im told. Hes in Ketoacidosis, a condition
caused by high blood sugar. Justin is diagnosed with Type1 Diabetes. Hes nine-years-old.
Justin is in critical care for three days then moved to the pediatric ward for three more days.
I cry every time we meet with the doctor as well as my brain refusing to absorb anything the
Diabetes Educator is trying to teach us so the meetings become a family affair. Gramma Lindy,
Auntie Jill, Uncle Derek as well as dad all attend, absorbing the information for me. Learning to
care for a diabetic child is a breeze once I come out of shock-mode, however; once home, I go
into denial-mode and keep announcing to the world how easy it is to control blood sugar and
administer insulin for carbsuntil checking blood and giving shots to a nine-year-old four times
a dayisnt. Justin is struggling with his new condition and Im the only one whos actually
there to comfort and encourage him and who truly understands how he feels. I now have to take
thyroid medication for the rest of my life in order to survive, just as he now has to take insulin
for the rest of his life to live. I explain to him about our plight and we cry together. Sometimes
you just need someone to cry with, with the talking and crying helping Justin relax, take a deep
breath and recharge. Hes then able to start over with a different prospective. I need to be strong
for my son, but along with our continuing fight to keep our home and the wait for my upcoming
surgery, the pressure is slowly killing me and it takes every ounce of strength not to shoot
myself, so I cut myself instead.
Physical Effects of Abuse and Mental Illness
Abuse victims can take on self-harming behavior because they are overwhelmed with feelings of
fear and helplessness. They may suffer fluctuations in their weight because of eating disorders
theyve resorted to, or they may start cutting themselves. (By Spencer Hendricks, eHow
Contributor)

Chapter 77
Im not useless; I can be used as a bad example.


It starts one night after a bottle of wine. Im feeling sorry for myself and crying to Craig
about how stupid life is, and why is God punishing us, and what do we need to do to get out from
under Gods wrath. Whats the use of living if this is how we have to live? One train wreck after
the next, when will it ever stop? I think were cursed.
It doesnt help that my ex is out of prison now, and I have to confront what Ive avoided
confronting these past eight years with his mother, Marian. She still has the crazy idea she can
manipulate the nonexistent relationship between he, whom I hate to mention, and Mandy into
being more than imaginary. The situation lends itself to me having to say something to Marian
about her deceit, (which Mandy tells me about) and unfortunately, making me the recipient of
her wrath.

Fear of Expressing Yourself
Signs that you are being or have been verbally abused and quashed include an inability to
express your thoughts, feelings and opinions freely because you know the abuser will ridicule
you and possibly scream at you. You will find that youre afraid to voice your opinion or express
an idea. You work so hard at keeping peace between you and others that you become
emotionally and physically exhausted. (By Cindi Pearce, eHow Contributor)
Now, you might think her antics wouldnt get to me anymore since shes been going behind
my back since her youngest son and I parted ways when Mandy was just two months old. But
being lied to, whether you know it at the moment it happens or not, is infuriating. Marian has
always known that I dont want any contact between her son and Mandy, but since she doesnt
believe anything I tell her about Joseph, she sure as heck isnt going to go along with my rules.
She has always believed Joseph to be as innocent as Christ himself of any and all wrong-doing
including what hes been to prison fortwice. Her refusal to acknowledge his guilt makes me
nuts, therefore putting me in the position of making sure she knows I still feel the same about the
situation even after eleven years.
Marian and I have always had a love/hate relationship ever since I can remember whether
she wants to admit it or not. I try to love her for the few good qualities she possesses as well as
for Mandys sake, yet I hate her for the hell she puts me through when it comes to her son.
Again, she doesnt believe her precious Joseph can do anything wrong just like she didnt and
still doesnt believe her wicked second husband could have done anything as vile as molesting
her youngest child for over seven years. Whos the original queen of denial? Huh? Thats what I
thought.
Marian makes an effort to love me as Mandys mother even though I refuse to acknowledge
her son as Mandys father and for that she secretly resents me. But oh, how many times she has
sent me over the edge of sanity from the fury of finding out shes gone behind my back when it
comes to Mandy and he, whom I hate to mention, and me feeling the need to ignore her deceit as
well as ignoring my frustration, thereby keeping the peace for everyone elses sake even though
its eating me alive. Its been twenty years of putting on a happy face even while despising most
everything about Marian. Ive ignored her deceit and allowed her to think she got away with
things. Ive sat back and watched as Marian showed favoritism toward Mandy then Id have to
console Justin because of said favoritism. Ive felt obligated to do whatever she wanted because
of her spending money on us in order to buy our love and devotion despite my protests, as well
as going behind my back as often as possible in keeping Joseph informed of Mandys life and
sending pictures to him while in prison as well. All of it has caused countless hours of pure
hatred and rage toward Marian all because I was too paralyzed from fear of strong, authoritative
women or any kind of confrontation, and above all else, confronting strong, authoritative
womenbut, maybe it was actually hatred and rage toward myself for allowing Marian so much
control over the situationhummmm, I wonder?
Dysfunctional communication
Codependents have trouble when it comes to communicating their thoughts, feelings and needs.
Of course, if you dont know what you think, feel or need, this becomes a problem. Other times,
you know, but you wont own up to your truth. Youre afraid to be truthful, because you dont
want to upset someone else. Instead of saying, I dont like that, you might pretend that its
okay or tell someone what to do. Communication becomes dishonest and confusing when you try
to manipulate the other person out of fear. (By Darlene Lancer, JD, MFT, Lancer, D. (2012).
Symptoms of Codependency. http://www.PsychCentral.com)
All of this brings me back to how Im feeling when I decide the physical pain I can inflict on
myself will be far more bearable than the intense emotional pain on the inside. I take out my
pocket-knife and start scratching the surface of the skin on the underside of my arm. My
concentration takes my mind off whats bothering me and as I continue to scratch the same spot
over and over again I notice the pain, but also notice that the pain eventually reaches a point
where it stops hurting any worse than it already does. Im eventually able to cut through the skin
enough for the blood to start coming to the surface then slowly start running down my arm. I like
that. I like to see the bright red color on the pale skin of my inner arm. I have to be careful
though, I need to be able to hide the cut to avoid questions as to how I hurt myself in case anyone
notices and asks.
Wow; I feel so much better. I reflect on the relief I feel as I clean myself up. Its like the
feeling of being nauseous then vomiting and feeling better. Its awful, yet a relief at the same
time. Its as if Im releasing all of my over-inflated emotion and can think clearly again.
Afterward, I calmly head out to the living room to join Craig in watching TV as if nothing
happened.

Its finally time for my surgery. I have a complete, remove everything but the kitchen sink
hysterectomy. The surgery lasts over three hours. I lose a lot of blood from the cutting out of my
female parts along with the fibroids which have grown and attached themselves to parts
unknown, but I survive. Im in the hospital for four days when I suddenly announce Im well
enough to go home seeing as how Ive already had four previous C-sections and isnt this pain
just like that? The surgeon even cut and entered through my old scar, however; for those of you
who are wonderingno, this pain is nothing like the pain from a caesarean sectionat all. The
pain, once the narcotics wear off, is indescribable and paralyzing even though I have an
extremely high pain threshold. I surprised my doctor by wanting to leave the hospital so soon,
but the pain Im feeling here at home is nothing like what I was feeling while in the hospital and
its knocked me down a few rungs on theI feel betterladder. The Ibuprofen Im given takes
the edge off at most, but I prefer to use it during the day since the narcotic I was prescribed puts
me to sleep. The pain is intense no matter how slightly I move for the first two weeks, but I suck
it up and try to enjoy what I think will be a short reprieve from responsibilities as well as being
waited on by Craig and the kids for a changewhich they do marvelously. Thanks guys!

2010 comes alive like a sleeping vampire. Of course, Craig and I declare a better year ahead
thinking that maybe saying it out loud will make it so, but what do we know? Does anyone ever
know when or where Dracula will strike, teeth bared, ready to rip out your jugular? I dont think
so.
Craig tells me that we need to get away from everything for a little while even though were
struggling financially. Well just use some of our tax return to take a family vacation. It will help
us feel close again as well as getting our common sense back on track. I agree, and we head to
San Antonio with the kids for five days of fun. While were gone, the only dog Ive ever truly
loved in my entire life is killed. Shes torn to pieces by the neighbors dog who lives next door to
Derek and Jill, who we asked to dog-sit for us while we were in Texas. The pain hits me like a
tidal wave and I dont get over it for more than two years.


Chapter 78
If you think no one cares youre alive,
try missing a couple of mortgage payments.


We quit paying our credit cards to make the mortgage payment. We quit buying groceries to
make the mortgage payment. We stop shopping for anything but necessities to make the
mortgage payment. We put the horses up for sale to help make the mortgage payment. We hold
out hope well qualify for a modification once Obama is elected so we can make our mortgage
payment. I secretly cut myself to release the pressure from the stress of trying to make the
mortgage payment. We finally qualify for a modification and thank the Lord our problems are
over. Halleluiah! We receive a letter telling us that we can start paying our new monthly
mortgage amount of $987.00 while the bank finishes the paperwork. During the next six months,
things are better financially and between Craig and me, and with the kids being happy and
healthy, things are getting back to normal though Im still hurting from the loss of my Miniature
Schnauzer, Noel.
Then it comes, the letter that truly, unquestionably, definitely changes our lives. The letter
that informs us of the fact we no longer qualify for a modification because, why? Nothing has
changed since we were first qualified six months ago and to top it all off, we now owe six
months of late fees and penalties for making partial payments even though the partial payments
were actually our new, full monthly payment and werent partial payments at all. Oh, and please
make a payment of $43,000 to bring your account current; thank-you very much.
This is the last straw; were done; its finished. Chase wants the house so badlythey can
have it. Ill find a home for the dogs and the one chicken who survived through the winter. Ill
put the horses back up for sale since they didnt sell the last time I put them up for sale during
another one of myIm sick and tired of everythingbreakdowns. Even my Stallion, Kenos
Skydancer, whom I bred and raised and is a local champion from his first yearling stallion show,
and who I know is a once in a lifetime horse has got to go as well. I know if its possible to be in
love with a horse, then being in love is what this is. I cant imagine ever having the same kind of
relationship with any other horse the rest of my life, but right now I dont care and when hes
gone, Ill just focus on the anger at what Chase Bank has done to us instead of the pain of losing
my beloved horse so maybe it wont hurt so badly.
Everything has to go, I say aloud. Im sick of it all; just sick of it. The house, the barn, the
mountain, even the horses. Itll be a relief not to have to deal with the horses, and the feed bill,
and the road from hell, and the mud, and the gas it takes to go up and down this stupid mountain,
and the crazy, schizophrenic, transvestite neighbor and his delusions as to why his child bride
left him, and no, Craig didnt kidnap her and turn her into a prostitute and oh, did I mention the
road?
Craig and I are making a massive change. We sell everything related to a mountain and
horsy lifestyle and only keep what will fit into a three-bedroom apartment. Moving down into
town, not to mention, somewhere with paved roads, a pool, a gym, a movie room and no outside
chores to do, makes us feel as if were on vacation, and its fun for a few months. Eventually
though, apartment living becomes terribly dull, mostly because of not having any outside chores
to do. For Mandy and Justin its better than vacation being theres a skate park across the street,
school is five minutes up the road and there are friends galore, and now Craig has an easy drive
to work with no worries about how to get up a muddy, icy, snowy and always slippery road from
hell in the middle of the night in ten-degree weather. Weve learned many lessons from our
experience in New Mexico and hopefully, well never forget what those lessons have taught us.
One thing is for sure, were so glad were free from the grasp of the mountain, and oh, the relief
we feel while driving away for the very last time.


Chapter 79
The difference between fiction and reality?
Fiction has to make sense. ~Tom Clancy


Nothing is making sense. Bewildering thoughts about everything Ive ever known and lived-
by my whole life are popping into my head, confusing my beliefs and tangling-up my mind like
an unraveled ball of yarn. Everything I know about God, about life, about money, about family,
about friends, about good, bad, right and wrong is changing as well as ripping away any shred of
confidence I have left in me. The world is changing right before our eyes. What was once wrong
is right, and what was right is now wrong. No action or behavior is shocking anymore and its
causing an immense sadness, lethargy, anger and fear to come over me. Im not coping well after
the loss of the house, the horses and dogs, especially my Stallion and Schnauzer, and especially
after all the years of hard work landscaping and decorating while spending every dime we had.
Wishing I were dead is now a twenty-four-seven contemplation. If someone were to measure
success against whether or not you had the same problems as the year before, it would make me
a twenty-four year failure, and being a failure makes me wish I were dead. Ive never stopped
thinking about my first two children, theyre with me day after day in the back my mind. They
reached out to me about five years earlier when they were thirteen and fifteen-years-old, but then
just as suddenly as they appeared, they disappeared, with me never knowing exactly why. Their
sudden departure from my life left me feeling empty and discouraged about having to start our
relationship all over from scratch the next timeif there ever is a next time. It all gets me
thinking once again, about how little love Ive had in my life and wishing I had never been born.
Oh, how I wish I had never been born.
Luckily, as time goes on, I figure out a different way besides cutting to get my feelings out,
and now I start writing when Im feeling the worst. I write a poem about all the pain Ive
experienced from the beginning of my life to what Im struggling with at the moment, and to
which I continue adding as my life continues to unravel. The words come pouring out of me
without hardly a thought. Im forty-three years old.

I Wish I Hadnt Been Born
A poem and Memoir by Penelope Meriwether

I wish I hadnt been born.
The feeling I live with
Day after day...forlorn...because
I wish I hadnt been born.
Then my mother could have been free
To live her life, no guilt, no questions,
About abandoning me.
I wish I hadnt been born.
Then my father could have been happy,
To work, to play, with no thought of the way,
To raise a daughter on his own.
I wish I hadnt been born.
To have to live,
With the monster, my father,
Chose to give,
My new mother.
I wish I hadnt been born.
Then I wouldnt have been a bother,
To the woman who already had a daughter,
And gave birth to my brother,
Both of whom made me...The Other.
I wish I hadnt been born.
Then my life, my heart,
wouldnt have been torn,
Into a thousand parts.
Oh, why do we have to live,
Why do we have to accept
The pain, people have to give?
I wish I hadnt been born.
When in my messed-up state,
I chose a mate, a life
I thought would work,
but that I came to hate.
Then the husband I chose so fast,
Could have chosen differently,
And found a love that would last.
I wish I hadnt been born.
To abandon and hurt,
My first two children,
All because of feeling,
No self-worth.
I wish I hadnt been born.
I should be dead,
Why does God spare me,
When Im so sick in the head?
When on the wide road I traveled,
I lived my life recklessly,
As my discernment unraveled.
I wish I hadnt been born.
Then I wouldnt have decided,
To date and love a devil,
With whom I soon resided.
All the years I wasted in fear and rage,
Never able to turn the page
To make the man I thought I loved,
Release me from his evil cage.
I wish I hadnt been born.
Then the mental and physical abuse
Ive experienced, and the use,
of alcohol to drown my pain,
would not exist...Id need no cane.
I wish I hadnt been born.
Then the urge to kill,
The need for pills, would not be real,
No need to deal
I wish I hadnt been born.
Then I wouldnt have tried so hard,
To find the winning card,
To try with all I had
To stop being so sad.
I wish I hadnt been born.
Though I found relief in God himself,
Those who claimed to love Him,
Claimed my faith for themselves.
I wish I hadnt been born.
Nobody seems to care,
God may hear my prayer
But continues to allow me
To suffer, relief is rare.
What does he want from me??
At one time, I gave my whole life to Him
But never once was I free.
I wish I hadnt been born.
Then the agony that bombards my soul,
I would never have to feel.
No need to try and heal.
I wish I hadnt been born.
Im always so alone,
No family, no friends,
That I can call my own.
I wish I hadnt been born.
The man of my dreams,
Arrives to rescue me,
My happiness so real,
But now HE has to deal.
I wish I hadnt been born.
Two new kids,
I feel bad for them,
to have me as a mother,
what a gem.
I wish I hadnt been born.
Life keeps going,
Why wont it stop?
The weight of the world,
Is what Im towing.
Ill never be right,
Ill never be what is expected of me,
Happy and carefree.
I wish I hadnt been born.
Rich and then broke,
New home, new life,
What a joke.
A failing economy,
My failing health,
Leaving me empty,
searching for help.
I wish I hadnt been born.
What a loser I am,
Jack of all trades,
And master of none.
To have empty talent,
To hear empty praise,
What purpose then,
is my life meant?
I wish I hadnt been born.
My family deserves joy.
But with me as wife and mother,
How can they not wish for another?
What a rollercoaster ride,
One day up, one day down,
Most days, its like I died.

Craig finds and reads my poem and the very next day he takes me to the UNM psyche
warda-gain. I talk with a doctor and after informing him of our recent loses, Im diagnosed
with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. (I have no understanding of my mental illness at this time)
Im enrolled in a class for stressed-out, depressed people suffering from PTSD, which is
supposed to teach us how to change our thought patterns and how to cope with whatever loss has
brought on the condition. I go a couple of times a week for two weeks but can hardly stand
listening to the other patients in the room whining about their problems, and seeing as though all
of them are alcoholics and drug-users just trying to stay sober, I stop attending. Staying sober
isnt my problem. My problem is always wishing I were dead because of not seeing any reason
to live when everything one has ever had, or ever known, or ever loved can be taken away or
changed within a blink of an eye, no matter what you do to try and keep things from being taken
or from changing. I suppose I should just deal with the losses and accept the fact Im cursed, or
being punished, or doomed, or pretend none of the rotten luck weve experienced over the past
five years ever happened, or forgive and forget, or be joyful in the bad times as well as the good
times, or maybe I should just blow my head off and get it over with. Once Im gone, maybe then
all the bad will stop plaguing my family and theyll be able to live the rest of their lives in peace.
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
Severely abused people may suffer from a condition called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
(PTSD). PTSD occurs when chronic abuse causes extreme anxiety, hypersensitivity to stimuli,
heightened responses to events and flashbacks or nightmares related to the abuse. (By Brooke
Nichols, eHow Contributor) Abused children are more likely to exhibit panic or associative
disorders, attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder, or post-traumatic stress disorder later in life.
(Child neglect: Outcomes in high-risk urban preschoolers. Pediatrics, 109(6), 1100-1107;
Weinstein, J., & Weinstein, R. (2000)
Our apartment lease lasts fourteen months. As the end of the lease term nears, we look back
over our finances and decide well never get out of debt paying twelve hundred dollars a month,
or even seven hundred dollars a month on a dumpier apartment. The only other option we can
come up with, after much debate, is moving into Craigs Mothers spare bedroom with Craig
leaning toward moving-in with mom, and me leaning toward the side of not. Gramma Lindy
agrees with the moving in, so we do, seeing as how her agreeing helps tip the scales in Craigs
favor. Our living with Lindy is a whole other story, one I dont want to ramble on about, but its
the mom-thing again and that contributes to me adding more to my poem.
Reactivity
A consequence of poor boundaries is that you react to everyones thoughts and feelings. If
someone says something you disagree with, you either believe it or become defensive. You
absorb their words, because theres no boundary. With a boundary, youd realize it was just
their opinion and not a reflection of you and not feel threatened by disagreements. (By Darlene
Lancer, JD, MFT, Lancer, D. (2012). Symptoms of Codependency. Psych Central.)

I Wish I Hadnt been Borncontinued

I wish I hadnt been born.
Certainly not the worst
To die alone without family
But family who makes you feel alone,
Makes me want to burst.
First my birth-mom,
then my step-mom,
father, brother, sister,
My first son and daughter,
My second, now my third,
mother-in-law.
I wish I hadnt been born.
Then never would I feel,
The hypocrisy of love,
Never again will I kneel.
I wish I hadnt been born.
God wants me to love, to serve,
But being a doormat?
Ill no longer do that.
I wish I hadnt been born.
Whats wrong with me?
Why am I not loved
By those closest to me?
If in love I could abide,
Then the evil living inside
Which makes me want to hate,
I wouldnt have to battle to hide.
I wish I hadnt been born.
I wasnt loved when a people-pleaser,
Still no love, when I speak my mind,
The same lack of love whether,
Mean or kind.
I wish I hadnt been born.
What does God want from me?
I sure hope he shows me,
Before Im no longer here, to be
I wish I hadnt been born.
To have so much,
To suffer so much,
To see others suffer more,
To feel guilty for,
Feeling sorry for myself.
Should I appreciate,
All the hate, the failure in my life,
Compared to hunger, sickness,
Torture and death,
others endure every day?
How unjust
I wish I hadnt been born.
For how I love to drink,
But then I start to think,
Then the pain needs to feed,
reminding me of the need, to bleed.
Cutting is the result
Its like my own little club, a cult.
I love to see the blood run,
releasing the pressure like a gun
I let it run until Im done.
Paralyzed
My pain realized
I wish I hadnt been born.
Whenever I let down my guard,
The evil and hurt bombard.
Then again I head to the loony bin,
The crazys yard.
I wish I hadnt been born.
When I look to the future,
I see nothing new,
The same old thing,
Nothing has changed,
No reason to sing.
Do you ever feel
Everything is wrong.
Born in a place and time
You truly dont belong?
They say God doesnt make mistakes
Than why wont my soul He take,
Up to the pearly gate,
Where I can swim in a golden lake.
Do my children really need me?
I suppose they do.
To lead them down the narrow road
From me they take their cue.
Sadness kills;
Depression stills
My heart and soul,
But Peace, is my final goal.

I know some of you may be wondering how, as a Christian, could I be so depressed. The
reason being that by the time I became a Christian, I was already suffering from the
consequences of years and years of negative thinking patterns and relentless unhappiness. I was
so physically and mentally damaged that all I could do is pray God would help me cope with the
torment caused by my deepening despair. The circumstances which brought on the depression in
the first place still enveloped me and I wasnt able to envision any way out without disappointing
other peoplewherein lies my problem. My mentality has always been, better I suffer than upset
someone else. It also didnt matter if life ever took a turn for the better, my past was always there
to torture me which kept me in an ever-worsening state of mental health with aggressive negative
consequences compounding my life choices. Therefore, to better understand how I arrived at this
point, Ive summed-up my life in a list of actions and the consequential symptoms Ive suffered
with through the years, resulting from my childhood abuse.

My biological mother abandons melack of control, abandonment issues
The middle child of a new stepmotherfavoritism of siblings, unloved, lack of control,
worthless, low self-esteem, being quiet and submissive
Verbally and emotionally abusedunloved, low-self-esteem/self-worth, despair, anxiety,
fearful, loss of trust, passivity, compliance, perfectionism, detachment
Sexual abuse of siblingstrauma and stress, failure, guilt, loss of trust, detachment
Dysfunctional familydiscouragement, disappointment, failure, guilt, unloved, chronic
stress, perfectionism, detachment, acting socially or emotionally inappropriate for their age
Made to feel like a failureunloved, never good enough, low self-esteem, guilt,
worthlessness, perfectionism, detachment, inferiority complex, being less flexible, persistent or
enthusiastic than non-neglected people
First marriagefeeling unloved, unlovable, low self-esteem, worthless, insecurity, loss of
control, detachment, resentment, PTSD, Bipolar depression, being unresponsive to affection,
displaying an inability to control emotions or impulses
Abandoning my childrennot good enough, low self-worth, failure, guilt, unlovable,
bipolar, self-efficacy, depression, borderline personality disorder, detachment, displaying poor
coping skills
Sexual Promiscuity, drinkinglack of self-esteem, unlovable, detachment, disassociative
disorder, inferiority complex, abusing alcohol, soliciting sexual interactions
Choosing a dysfunctional partnerlack of self-esteem, worthlessness, neediness,
victimization issue, inferiority complex, suffering from depression, anxiety, low self-esteem and
borderline personality disorder
Hanging onto an abusive relationshipself-hate, worthlessness, abandonment issues,
detachment, anger, resentment, mistrust, chronic stress, insecurity, bipolar depression, self-
abusive behavior, co-dependant
Becoming a Christiannever good enough, failure, guilt, boundary issues, low self-esteem
neediness, perfectionism, co-dependant, acting highly independent
Loss of second marriagefailure, guilt, worthlessness, loss of control, acting independent
Sex with non-Christian partner before marriage/leaving churchguilt, failure, neediness,
resentment, anger
Not able to advance in the churchfailure, guilt, self-efficacy, loss of control, insecurity,
bipolar depression, resentment, inferiority complex, demonstrating helplessness under stress,
crippling guilt
Moving to New Mexico wealthyguilt
Wasting all of our inheritancefailure, guilt, chronic stress and anxiety, displaying self-
abusive behavior (e.g., suicide attempts or cutting themselves), acting lethargic and lackluster
Losing everythingfailure, guilt, loss of control, detachment, exhibiting panic or
associative disorders, manic depressive/hyperactivity disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder.

Death Wish
When someone is experiencing suicidal thoughts the first and most obvious behavior that may be
exhibited is that they mention the fact that they often feel as if they want to do away with
themselves. Unfortunately, many people who express this to others are often viewed as one who
wants attention. While this may be true in some situations, isnt it only right that they get the
attention and help that they are seeking? If they feel the need to express their desire to kill
themselves, it is only right that we take the time to take them seriously and help them get the help
that they need. Most people who experience this mode of thinking are not crazy, or anything
like that, they are just not equipped with the proper coping mechanisms to deal with the things in
life that are overwhelming them. It is vital that all suicide expressions are taken into serious
consideration. (By braniac, eHow Contributor)
Marrying Craig gave me the opening needed to finally experience what had been hiding
within me. Before Craig, I never had a second to realize what a mess I was because of always
looking after everyone elses feelings and needs. I was the little wounded creature in a cage of
denial until Craig opened the door and let me free which in turn, released all the turmoil from the
past thirty-three years all at oncethough I had no idea what was happening. It didnt help that
the mountain we moved too was cursedit had to be. I heard on a TV show once, that way back
when, Indians would curse the land to keep rival Indians or the white man from ever being
productive on a particular piece of land and anyone who tried would come to financial and
personal ruin. Um, I know its hard to believe, but its equally as hard to refute the evidence.
First off, the woman who sold us our ten acres, had owned the property for twenty or thirty
years then practically gave this beautiful piece of New Mexico land away for $30,000. Getting
up to the property was rough, but once you got there it was heaven and shouldve been worth a
lot more according to the nearest price comparisons. Then, after signing the papers and shaking
hands, I clearly remember her wishing us good luck. Good luck? Why do we need luck? At the
time, I take it merely as well wishes, but now Im not so sure with all the rotten luck we had
since moving to the property. It all starting with the well and the well-digging guy, then all the
money wasted putting in our house and the problems with the digging of the trench. Then there
was the trouble with the finishing work with the workers ripping us off as well as all the
problems with all the vehicles because of the trouble with the road and the mud. Then there are
the ravens, the harbingers of evil as well as representing the profane, the devil, evil spirits, the
villain and thief, war and destruction, death and doom, and which multiplied each year we
resided on the mountain. Each year was worse than the last starting with the trouble with my
health, the trouble with my mind, our son getting diabetes, the death of my beloved dog, the
mystery surrounding a life-ending injury to one of the horses, the trouble with the bank, the
trouble in Craigs and my marriage, the trouble with finding a good church, the difficulty
maintaining our Christian walk, then, after all that, losing everything; the house, the property,
our dearly loved animals and not to mention, the $400,000 we invested into the ranch. Nothing
went right from day one. Our life became a slow-motion tumble into an abyss and then, to add
insult to injury and as if to make a point, the house burns to the ground right after the couple,
who just put in an offer to purchase our home in a short sale, lit a fire in the see-through wood-
burning fireplace. They were trying to warm-up after spending half a cold winters day trying to
get unstuck from the mud, snow, and ice on the road from hell, but instead, end-up losing the
house and their two dogs in the fire. Its as if the land had had enough and refused to stand for
anyone else to live there.
There was also the house up the road from us which was built and owned by a single man
who was eventually found dead of a heroin overdose. After standing empty for years, a family
buys the house but end-up having many health and financial problems. They eventually go
bankrupt and move off the mountain just like us. Then theres Tracy and Angela, the paranoid
and hate-filled couple hiding out in the woods from who knows who, but who also suffer through
personal and financial hardships. Tracys wife ends-up leaving him and Tracy goes crazier by the
year until moving off the mountain about the same time we do because of the voices he hears in
his closet. The Moras, the neighbors we met after first moving to the property and who lived
down the road and at the bottom of the last rise from all the rest of us, dont seem to have any
bad luck, but then again, his property has been in his family for generations.
Coincidence? I think not. The Bible says in Ephesians 6:12, For we wrestle, not against
flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of
this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.
There is a war going on. Its not a war like the wars which are currently going on between
nations today (although such wars may be a part of the bigger war). It is a spiritual war. It is a
war between Satan and his fallen celestial allies and Christ and His church. It is an invisible war
in that we fight against unseen forces. It is therefore a war which must be waged by faith, and not
by sight. It is a war that we cannot fight in our own strength, but only in the strength which God
Himself supplies. (Bob Deffinbaugh, http://www.Bible.org)
Everything revolves around the spiritual forces under heaven whether we choose to believe
it or not. Many things happen in the demonic spirit world that we cannot understand, but in 1
John 4:4, the Lord assures us that greater is He that is in you, than he that is in the world. So, is it
an old Indian curse that brought us, the mountain dwellers, to defeat? Who knows? All I know is
that I can look back now and be sure it wasnt God raining turmoil down upon us as I thought
during all those years of oppression. God doesnt create trouble or curse people but will allow
hardship to happen when a lesson is needed. Forces of darkness are always busy seeking to
harass people, especially Christians. Demonic entities like to use the weakest vessel in a family,
but Satan will also try to attack strong believers in an effort to discourage them and undermine
their efforts in reaching others with the gospel. Spiritual attacks can come when were serving
the Lord faithfully as well as when a Christian is backslidden, but in the end, its typically to
keep the believer confused and distracted. Ephesians 6:11 tells us to; Put on the whole armor of
God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. And in verse 13; Wherefore
take unto you the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and
having done all, to stand. I cant say that weve always had our full armor on through the years,
but with Gods help we were able to withstand most attacks with the proof being that our family
made it out intact.

Its now a well-known fact that neglect and/or verbal abuse during a child/teens life can
impair brain development and will most likely lead to problems in their emotional, psychosocial,
and behavioral development. A long-term study by the CDC found that, As many as 80 percent
of young adults who had been abused met the diagnostic criteria for at least one psychiatric
disorder at age 21. A study published in 2008 by the National Institute of Mental Health
(NIMH) found that, having a history of child abuse...led to more than twice the number of
PTSD symptoms in adults who later underwent other traumas, compared to traumatized adults
who werent abused in childhood. Abused adults have difficulty understanding the emotions of
others, regulating their own emotions, or forming and maintaining relationships with others.
Often, emotionally neglected children have learned from their relationships, as in my case with
my mother, that their needs wont be met by others. This may cause a child not to try to seek
affection or help from others as seen in my undeterred and veracious effort to take care of myself
as well as other people emotionally and physically. This behavior in turn caused co-workers or
friends not to offer help or support, thus reinforcing the negative expectations of my inner
neglected child making me fiercely independent, though in actuality, I became the complete
opposite.
After I rededicated my life to Christ, then later, when Craig became a Christian and even
after emerging ourselves fully in the church, I never lost the try, try, try at being the best, best,
best attitude. It became impossible to feel good enough for anything, which subsequently, lead to
feeling guilty as well as convincing myself that I dont try hard enough. For me, becoming the
best at whatever I did was the only thing that mattered. Becoming a leader in our church became
my biggest motivation for doing half the things I did no matter how many times I told myself
that I was content with my position and role in the church. I always believed I was serving God
in all my efforts until becoming more depressed by the year which was a sure sign I was no
longer serving God, but man. It was the same with everything I ever tried to do in my life.
Whatever I couldnt be the best at became another failure on my long list of efforts. Whenever I
failed, the more guilty Id feel and the more stressed-out Id become in trying to do better at
whatever I failed at in the first place. In the end, all of my trying, failing and resulting guilt all
contributed to my bipolar depression. Up, down, up, down, up, up and awaythen crash! Id go
fromzero to holy crapin two seconds flat. I was up while in my efforts, down in my failures,
up in trying to do better, down when I thought about failing once more, then back up in my effort
to exonerate myself from the original failure. Id become so emotionally exhausted from all the
mental ups and downs that Id crash in the end whether I failed or succeeded. It became a
continuous, vicious cycle I couldnt escape from.
Years and years I lived like this, never knowing my highs were too high and my lows too
low. I never knew why I did the things I did or felt the way I felt. There were absolutely no grey
areas with me. It was all or nothing. All of my life I just wanted to impress people, to be
someone illustrious and influential, someone whom other people loved and looked up to, a role
model, a famous artist, equestrian, even a chef in my own restaurant or catering business. The
money to be had was never my motivation for my grandiose dreams, but love. My wanting to be
loved overpowered everything else and in the end, my fear of failure ruined everything else. Ive
never been the best at anything so in my mind, it made me a failure at everything. Ive never
once been content at doing something for the joy of just doing, which could be a major
contributing factor at never having the ability to perfect anything. Once I fall short of perfection,
Ill just quit and move on to something new even while knowing deep inside, that theres
something wrong with this mentality. My mother taught me to work for love and approval and if
I didnt receive the expected emotional reward, it meant I was a failure, and oh, how well I
learned this behavior, turning me into a thirty year failurebut this sort of thinking is so wrong.
If this book does anything, I hope it teaches someone, everyone, to just work to the best of your
ability, not only working to make God and others happy, but first and foremost, working to make
yourself happy.
I NEVER could have said that before now. The idea of doing anything to make myself
happy was considered selfish, and how my mother hated when and if I did anything I enjoyed, so
as I grew, I learned that doing anything for myself was wrong. This thinking was reinforced in
my mind once the sin of selfishness and the avoidance of said sin was pounded into my head by
the Church of Christ. I became an expert at avoiding anything that brought me joy and instead, in
order to make something okay, Id turn everything into work with a means to an end. My motive
became supplementing our income, or opening a homeless shelter, or saving all the orphans in
Africa, etc. Ive always wanted to do something meaningful, and always felt as if I should be
making a difference, but somehow couldnt or wouldnt come-up with a way to do it. I became
someone full of good intentions with no way to bring them to light. The talents I did have could
never be enjoyed for the joy they brought me, however; I now know theres a difference between
selfishness and enjoying life as God intended as it says in 1Tim.6:17; we should trust in the
living God, who richly provides us everything to enjoy. God wants us to enjoy His perfect gifts
and knowing this has taught me that I should do things because they make me happyinstead of
turning everything I do into a job in the hopes of pleasing everyone else.
Watch for signs of emotional abuse.
A child who seems excessively withdrawn, fearful and anxious about doing something wrong
might be experiencing emotional abuse. An emotionally abused child often will exhibit little
attachment to her parents or caretakers, and either seems inappropriately adult-like or
inappropriately child-like. For example, a very young child might serve as caretaker for children
close to her age, and be able to effectively cook, clean, draw a bath and more. An older child
who is a victim of abuse might rock, suck her thumb or otherwise exhibit behavior common in
children much younger than her. She may also display extremes in behavior, such as being
extremely aggressive, compliant, passive or demanding. (By Shewanda Pugh, eHow Contributor)

Chapter 80
When wealth is lost, nothing is lost;
when health is lost, something is lost;
when character is lost, all is lost.
~Billy Graham


I was a guiltaholic; I couldnt not be guilty even when I tried. Guilt is like a disease, a cancer
spreading throughout your whole existence until it eventually kills you. Id feel guilty somehow
and in some way with every thought Id think and every move Id make. Everything I did or
didnt do, somewhere in my doing or not doing I was guilty. The guilt I felt on such a continuous
basis caused continual stress which contributed to my depressive state. I began to realize I was
acting as judge, juror and executioner of my own soul every day of my lifeso the guilt had to
go.
Getting rid of disease-like emotion is difficult these days with the pressure of being perfect
hanging over our heads twenty-four seven. However, with the pressure comes the stress, and
since we cant escape the pressure to be perfect even at home, the stress continues. The stress
response system in our bodies when engaged in the past, literally to save our lives, would shut
off once we were out of danger. If we were animals on the plains of Africa and a lion were after
us, wed run for our lives and either be caught and killed or wed get away, hence, the shutting
down of the stress which resulted in the shutting-down production of the stress hormone.
Nowadays, that same powerful stress response is used in reaction to our modern day
environment where we feel we have no escape, control or end in sight from the many
complications, problems and deadlines in our modern day struggle to survive. Feeling that out-
of-control feeling means our stress hormone production remains on and pumping. This free-
flowing stress so many of us live with on a twenty-four hour basis causes us to continually
marinate in stress hormones, which in turn, begin killing us.

These are the most common health problems caused or worsened by stress:

Cardiovascular disease and Hypertension
Depression and Anxiety
Sexual dysfunction
Women = Infertility, irregular cycles
Men = Erectile dysfunction
Frequent colds
Sleeplessness + Fatigue
Trouble concentrating
Memory loss
Changes in appetite

The popular culture saying, Stress kills rings exceedingly true for people with adrenal
dysfunction and abnormal cortisol levels. The adrenal glands assist us in our reactions to
stressful events, but our chronic stress can also cause adrenal gland collapse which results in
severe adrenal insufficiency wherein cortisol continues being secreted even though a person
already has high levels in his or her blood. This is why stress is believed to be related to clinical
depression, especially since the high levels of cortisol usually decrease to a normal level once the
depression subsides.
What starts the whole process? You might ask. Well, its known that the hypothalamus is
responsible for starting the process that leads to the secretion of cortisol by the adrenal glands.
First, the pituitary gland is stimulated into releasing adrenocorticotropic hormone (ACTH) which
causes the adrenal glands to secret cortisol into the blood. When the endocrine system is
functioning properly, the hypothalamus monitors the level of cortisol that is in the blood and will
then stimulate the pituitary gland to manufacture corticotrophic-releasing hormone (CRH-
Releases cortisol into the blood). When the cortisol level rises, the hypothalamus slows down its
impact on the pituitary gland which slows the production of CRH. When cortisol levels become
reduced, the hypothalamus causes the pituitary gland to produce more CRH. In a depressed
person, the hypothalamus may continuously influence the pituitary gland to produce CRH
without regard to the amount of cortisol that is already in the blood.
Another structure in the body that has received attention from depression researchers is the
limbic system, which is an interconnected network of brain nuclei associated with basic needs
and emotions such as hunger, pain, pleasure, satisfaction, sex, and instinctive motivation. The
limbic system is the most primitive part of the brain, yet the activities of the limbic are so
important and complex, that disturbances in any part of it, including how neurotransmitters
function, can affect your mood and behavior. Great progress has been made in the understanding
of brain function, the influence of neurotransmitters and hormones, and other biological
processes as well as how they may relate to the development of depression, however, there is far
too much information to include in this book, especially since Im not an expert on the subject,
excluding of course, what I, myself experienced. Its all available on the worldwide web if you
would like to learn more.

Its been my experience that myI need to do something meaningful and make a difference
in the worldkind of thinking was a weary notion. Ideas with little meaning and leading
nowhere in the end because of not being followed by constructive action. The truth isand here
it isI was too afraid to follow through with any of my meaningful ideas. I was afraid of being
controlled, afraid of not being appreciated, afraid of not being the best at whatever Id be doing,
afraid of wanting to quit and afraid of someone finding out that I really didnt want to be
involved in the first place. My depression was the primary reason for the fear which then brought
on the avalanche of other negative emotions. All of this fear lead to feeling guilty for feeling the
way I did which lead to not following through, which lead to feeling like a failure, which lead
back to depression which then lead back to fear. I know some of you are probably asking
yourselves how I can be so fearful with God in my life, or why didnt you just get over it, take
that first step, face your fear?? First of all, Christian or not, fear is a real emotion.
Its not sinful to have fear in your heart, though it is important to figure out why. According to
the Bible, theres nothing wrong with realistically acknowledging and trying to deal with the
identifiable problems of life, but its wrong as well as unhealthy to be immobilized by excessive
fear and worry. Such emotion must be committed to prayer unto God who can release us from
paralyzing fear or anxiety, thereby freeing us to deal realistically with the needs and welfare
both of others and ourselves. (Dr. Gary R. Collins, Christian Counseling)
I have finally figured out what Im most afraid of and that is someone having power over
me. This fear of being controlled is what remains from the control others have had over me
throughout my life including my abusive mother, my controlling first husband, the co-
dependency I demonstrated with my second husband, the complete control the church had over
me, and last but not least, the control my depression has over me. I hate it with a passion.
Just Get Over It?
For many years, the prevailing wisdom encouraged trauma survivors to just forget about it.
This advice still exists today, in the form of the flippantly delivered admonition to get over it.
But is that advice effective? Holocaust survivors are often used as examples of people who
experienced horrifying events, and yet put their pasts behind them. At first, they seemed to
function well. However, as these same survivors are now hitting the milestones of middle and
old-age, we find that their experiences are starting to haunt them. In a fascinating paper,
researchers noted that as Holocaust survivors in their study aged, they had more difficult
experiences with children leaving home, retirement, and illness. The survivors had worse
experiences of cancer. They had more pain. Hospitalizations were more traumatic. They
experienced even political events such as the bombing during the Gulf War, more keenly than
those who had not gone through the Holocaust (Kruse & Schmitt 1999). The researchers noted
that as they aged, their level of busyness decreased, allowing these memories to surface again. In
sum, the get-over-it strategy appears to work only temporarily. (Kathleen Kendall-Tackett,
Ph.D., IBCLC Family Research Laboratory, University of New Hampshire)
In order to start healing, Im systematically started eliminating guilt and stress from my life.
Ive started with the easy things by going back and finishing everything Ive started, thereby
eliminating the guilt of not finishing. Feeling guilty about walking by something and saying to
myself, I need to finish that, is no longer an option. Fix what needs fixing, clean what needs
cleaning or finish that art project. Finishing things Ive started has made me realize I can choose
not to stress-out, and in turn, eliminate guilt. Ive learned that sweating the small stuff just makes
you sweaty and miserable, so take care of the small stuff and finish one task before starting
another.
Another change Ive made is to no longer watch the evening news except for a little bit here
and there, or catching the weather or some other story I find interesting. As far as taking in hours
of narrative about the hate and evil and overall negativity of the world, its no longer an option. I
used to feel guilty for not watching the news and in turn, being in the know because of being
taught that the not-knowing is just selfishness on our part meant to protect us from the worlds
problems. I now believe God will allow me to hear what He wants me to hear and allow me to
know what He wants me to know. If God needs to use me in some way, He will place the need
on my heart and call me into His service. I dont believe God is given enough credit as far as His
knowing whats needed and by whom, and I dont believe bombarding our minds every day with
the worlds worries is what God intends for His children. I believe it is critical as well, to always
remember that anger, stress and guilt are three destroyers of peace and joy, and if the news
causes someone to experience any of these three negative emotions, its probably time to
eliminate the news from your daily life. It may be difficult at first as it was for me because of
seemingly being addicted to the emotional beating Id take every night; however, almost
immediately after skipping it, I felt a peace and calm in my life that surprised me greatly, as I
know it will you as well.
As the years have gone by, my thoughts on pastors who preach the guilt message, to which
Im terribly sensitive, has changed dramatically. Where once I felt that if you didnt come away
from a service feeling convicted about trying to do better, the message was a waste of time, I
now feel the guilt message is detrimental, especially if its on a weekly basis. Besides the
International Church of Christ, a good example is from a church my family and I started
attending while living in the apartment on the west side of Albuquerque. Id walk away from
most services laden down with so much guilt for not being a super Christian, my whole day, or
should I be more honest and say, my week was ruined. Id feel guilty when I went to church as
well as if I didnt. It made me want to rip my hair out in frustration!
Why? Why do churches think they have to guilt people into giving tithe, giving of their
time, going to church, sharing their faith, reading their Bibles or praying? Does it work? Yes, on
some people, but most people dont want to feel guilty and will start avoiding church to avoid
feeling guilty. Is that what we want? No! I believe in teaching Christians how to live a Godly
life, how to overcome struggles, avoid sin and how to love God as well as be reminded of Gods
love for mankind, but guilting Christians into basic Christian duties changes the priority of the
acts. Where once an act of Christian faith was performed out of love for God, it now becomes the
confirmation that you did your Christian duty in order to please the church or pastor as well as
alleviate guilt. Ive also stopped attending any church who plays the numbers game, meaning,
continually boasting on the number of people being saved as if its all from their own doing. Its
God who saves souls. Our job is to sow seeds and share the salvation message. God will take
care of the rest. In conclusion, I do hope to find a church someday that makes the church
experience a true fellowship. A place where Christians can worship God in addition to
strengthening their faith, finding support, teaching and encouragement; not rules, reprimand and
guilt.

What You Can do to avoid committing emotional abuse.
All children need acceptance, love, encouragement, discipline, consistency, stability and positive
attention. What can you do when you feel your behavior toward your child is not embodying
these qualities but is bordering on emotional abuse? Here are some suggestions:
1. Never be afraid to apologize to your child. If you lose your temper and say something in anger
that wasnt meant to be said, apologize. Children need to know that adults can admit when they
are wrong.
2. Dont call your child names or attach labels to your child. Names such as Stupid or
Lazy, or phrases like good for nothing, Youll never amount to anything, If you could
only be more like your brother, and You can never do anything right tear at a childs self-
esteem. A child deserves respect.
3. Address the behavior that needs correcting and use appropriate discipline techniques, such as
time outs or natural consequences. Be sure to discuss the childs behavior and the reason for the
discipline, both before and immediately after you discipline. Discipline should be provided to
correct your childs behavior, rather than to punish or humiliate him or her.
4. Compliment your child when he or she accomplishes even a small task, or when you see good
behavior.
5. Walk away from a situation when you feel you are losing control. Isolate yourself in another
room for a few minutes (after first making sure the child is safe), count to 10 before you say
anything, ask for help from another adult or take a few deep breaths before reacting.
6. Get help. Support is available for families at risk of emotional abuse through local child
protection services agencies, community centers, churches, physicians, mental health facilities
and schools.
7. Dont yell. If you speak quietly, your child will have to listen harder to hear you. Dont show
FAVORITISM in love or punishment. It is the MOST destructive element of emotional abuse.

Chapter 81
Advice is what we ask for when we already know
the answer but wish we didnt.
~Erica Jong


After our house was fraudulently taken from us, Craig and I have realized that there is more
to life than the nine to five, a house and bills. So, weve decided that we no longer want the
American dream at the moment, which these days is so hard to maintain anyway and even easier
to lose, but want freedom and adventure instead. Weve purchased a large fifth-wheel trailer to
live-in as we move around the country, taking our time before we once again find a place to
settle down and call home. It eliminates the hassle of maintaining the almost impossible to
maintain American dream as well as allowing us to see the country which weve always wanted
to do.
Weve taken our kids out of public school and are now home schooling them through an
incredible Christian curriculum called A.C.E., Accelerated Christian education. In doing so, we
have eliminated the stress of dealing with new laws and regulations in the very worldly public
school system along with the lack of proper education for our children. They are now thriving
and excelling at schoolwork without peer pressure, frustration or discouragement. A.C.E. is
based on a reward system which encourages self-discipline and motivation, as well as Godly
principles and values. The results are more than we could have asked for, for which were
extremely thankful, and even if it doesnt last and the kids want to go back to public school, I
know that theyll be ready for the moral and spiritual challenges theyll face.
Another area of our lives weve changed is whether or not we make plans or improvise. We
no longer allow stress in our decision making anymore. In our travels, well make plans for
Craigs days off, and when the day arrives, well sit and have coffee as usual, get the things we
need for the trip put together, then leave when we leave. While were out, well make
suggestions, try new things and just enjoy the day without rushing and timelines, which
eliminates frustration and stress. Were easy-going about each others ideas and take family
votes. If we wake-up and dont feel like going, we dont; if we want to sleep in, we do; if we
want to stay up late, we will. I could never sleep-in past nine in the morning without waking-up
and instantly feeling guilty for what I considered being lazy, and I couldnt stay-up late without
promising myself that I wouldnt sleep in past nine. I have noticed however, that getting enough
rest makes an enormous difference in maintaining a gentle and quiet spirit as it says in 1Peter
3:4; let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the incorruptible beauty of a gentle and
quiet spirit, which is very pleasing in the sight of God.
I recently received an email with a list of suggestions for stress relief. Its the best list Ive
ever read for eliminating stress, mainly because it agrees with so much of what Ive recently
changed in my own life. I know these things actually work, so I hope you give them a try and see
for yourself.

Pray continually.
Go to bed on time.
Get up on time so you can start the day without rushing.
Say No to projects that wont fit into your time schedule or that will compromise your
mental health.
Delegate tasks to capable others.
Simplify and un-clutter your life.
Less is more. (Although one is often not enough, two are often too many.)
Allow extra time to do things and to get to places.
Pace yourself. Spread out significant changes and difficult projects over time, dont lump the
hard things all together.
Take one day at a time.
Separate worries from concerns. If a situation is a concern, find out what God would have
you do and let go of the anxiety. If you cant do anything about a situation, forget it!
Live within your budget; dont use credit cards for ordinary purchases.
Have backups; an extra car key in your wallet, an extra house key buried in the garden, extra
stamps, etc.
K.M.S. (Keep Mouth Shut). This single piece of advice can prevent an enormous amount of
trouble.
Do something for the Kid in You every day.
Get enough rest.
Eat right.
Get organized, so everything has its place.
Listen to a tape while driving that can help improve your quality of life.
Write down thoughts and inspirations.
Every day, find time to be alone.
Having problems? Talk to God on the spot. Try to nip small problems in the bud. Dont wait
until its time to go to bed to try and pray.
Make friends with Godly people.
Keep a folder of favorite scriptures on hand.
Remember that the shortest bridge between despair and hope is often a good Thank you
Jesus.
Laugh
Laugh some more!
Take your work seriously, but dont take yourself seriously at all.
Develop a forgiving attitude (most people are doing the best they can).
Be kind to unkind people (they probably need it the most).
Sit on your ego.
Talk less; listen more.
Slow down.
Remind yourself that you are not the general manager of the universe.
Never, borrow from the future. If you worry about what may happen tomorrow and it
doesnt happen, you have worried in vain. Even if it does happen, you have to worry twice.
Every night before bed, think of one thing youre grateful for.
Accept the fact that some days youre the pigeon, and some days youre the statue!
Always, keep your words soft and sweet, just in case you have to eat them.
Always read things that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it.
Drive carefully ...Its not only cars that can be recalled by their Maker.
If you cant be kind, at least have the decency to be vague
If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again, it was probably worth it.
It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply to serve as a warning to others.
Never, buy a car you cant push.
Never put both feet in your mouth at the same time, because then you wont have a leg to
stand on.
Nobody cares if you cant dance well. Just get up and dance.
Since its the early worm that gets eaten by the bird, sleep late.
The second mouse gets the cheese.
When everythings coming your way, youre in the wrong lane.
Birthdays are good for you. The more you have, the longer youre alive.
You may be only one person in the world, but you may also be the world to one person.
Some mistakes are too much fun to make only once.
We could learn a lot from crayons. Some are sharp, some are pretty, and some are dull.
Some haveweird names and all are different colors, but they all have to live in the same box.
And, last but not least, but by far my favorite;
Be a person who can enjoy the scenery on a detour.

Now, if youre wondering how you can get off the crazy emotional road youre on, whether
a young person just starting out, a twenty-something making poor decisions or a thirty-something
and beyond already riding-out years of disastrous choices, I have some suggestions. While
writing in such detail about my own rollercoaster ride through life, there were many instances of
awareness regarding if onlys. If only I would have done this instead of that, turned left instead
of right, gone up instead of down, etc; so I decided to give you some helpful hints as to what
would have saved me from years of trouble. Unfortunately, I cant change one thing from my
past, after all, the past is done and gone and since I dont have the ability to change history, this
just may be your lucky day. You now have the opportunity to get off the wild ride youre riding
and change your life before its too late and you find yourself sitting and writing down a list of if
onlys of your own.

As a young person:
1. Dont start drinking. If only I never took that first sip, most likely, ninety-five percent of
my troubles never would have happened. Alcohol leads to faulty decision-making. Ninety-five
percent of prisoners say they commit their crimes while drinking or doing drugs. Alcohol is
poison to the mind and the soul. Alcohol is a depressant. Whatever mood youre in before
drinking is the mood that will be amplified while drinking, however, moods can and usually will
change once you cross the too much to drink line and/or according to circumstances. Alcohol
never helps.
2. Make wise friend choices. Think about who a person is and figure out what theyre made
of. Ninety percent of whats on the inside will show on the outside no matter how subtle the
signs may be. Study people and learn the signs of insecurity, depression and anger, and think
about how a person will affect your life. Know that if someone you respect doesnt approve of
someone, you probably shouldnt befriend him or her. Trust your parents opinions. If only I had
been taught how to choose friends and boyfriends, how different my life could have been.
3. Make good decisions about your future by thinking before you act. Literally, stop and
think about the consequences of your actions. Leave the room if you have to, give yourself time
to think, and then think about the pros and cons of what you want to do. The smallest decision
can have the biggest impact on your future. If only I realized how my decisions would affect my
future.
4. Strengthen your relationship with God through Bible study and prayer. If only I didnt
leave God behind once I was out on my own, which, coincidentally, was when I needed Him the
most. Use the Bible as your handbook for life, God has given us a way to deal with every
circumstance. Pray for Gods guidance and help.
5. Listen to your inner voice, its there to help not harm. If only I hadnt thought of my little
annoying voice as annoying, I would have avoided soooo many problems.
6. Make time for quiet times. Unplug from music, phones, video games and television,
which are Satans way of keeping us from thinking about life and God, as well as keeping us
from hearing when God speaks to us. We need time to think in order to learn. If only I had paid
attention to what God was trying to teach me all those years.
7. Avoid credit cards to avoid the debt trap. If only I hadnt used my credit on a man who
had no qualms about ruining it once we broke up. I spent a good ten months working a second
job just to buy him and his roommates a lovely sofa and loveseat. Nice one, Penny...go figure
that one out.
8. Be slow to speak and quick to listento any moral, intelligent and experienced advice-
giver who happens to be in your life. If only I had someone who cared enough to give me life
advice, I could have put it to good use many times over.
9. Understand that if you come from an abusive home, life may be more difficult for you, so
take the necessary steps to help yourself.

As a twenty-something:
1. Dont start drinking or stop drinking if you use alcohol based on emotions. Alcohol is not
your friend.
2. Get rid of unhealthy influences and negative people. Its amazingly easy to become
negative when around negative people. The people you surround yourself with is what you
become. If you want to be smart or kind, surround yourself with smart and kind people.
3. Get more than one opinion. If youre feeling miserable, youll be more likely to follow a
miserable persons advice. Itching ears listen to what they want to hear.
4. Eliminate stress by learning to recognize stress symptoms. Make equal time for work,
play and rest. Rest is a remarkable stress reducer.
5.Eliminate guilt. Fix what can be fixed. Finish what needs to be finished. Apologize where
an apology is warranted. Help when and where help is needed. God before everything, family
before everything else. Dont be an enabler, it will only hurt you.
6.Stay healthy and love you for you. Dont compare yourself to anybody, especially from
the entertainment industry. Looking good is their job and it keeps you from loving yourself.
7.Eliminate every form of violence from your life. What goes in is what comes out. If you
fill a cup with coffee, will you be drinking tea? If you fill your mind with hatred and violence,
hatred and violence will affect your thoughts and actions. If you fill your mind with love and
kindness, love and kindness will affect your thoughts and actions.
8.Trust God through Bible study and prayer. God loves you and wants you to be happy.
9. Listen to your inner voice.
10.Unplug from the world daily.
11.Be an excellent listener.
12.Stay out of debt or pay off debt.
13. Get your thyroid checked for unexplained tiredness or hyperactivity before deeming
yourself as bi-polar.
14. Understand that if you come from an abusive home, life may be more difficult for you,
so take the necessary steps to help yourself.

As a thirty-something and beyond:
1.Stop drinking if its been or is a problem.
2.Say goodbye to corrupting influences and negative people.
3.Seek advice from people you respect.
4.Take care of problems within relationships. Forgive and love, even if you must distance
yourself.
5.Eliminate stress. Know your stress symptoms.
6.Eliminate guilt. You cant fix the world.
7.Finish what you start. Do one thing at a time.
8.Make equal time for work, play and rest, especially rest.
9.Stay healthy without obsessing about weight.
10.Eliminate all violence from your life.
11.Grow closer to God through Bible study and prayer. Make time for God and listen for
His voice.
12.Focus on your family.
13.Listen to your God-given inner voice.
14.Unplug from the world daily.
15.Be an avid listener.
16. Get out of debt.
17. Decide today to let go of the past, you cannot change any of it. Begin today to give your
all to the Lord and He will set you free from the chains that are keeping you from living fully in
His joy
18. If you feel like youre going crazy and cant understand why, first get your Thyroid
checked and go from there.


General Characteristics of Emotionally Abusive Mothers

Making the child/teen feel responsible for the mothers feelings.
Threatening them in general.
Threatening them specifically with rejection or abandonment.
Threatening them with vague, unstated consequences.
Using force upon them.
Invalidating their feelings.
Laying undeserved guilt on them.
Placing undeserved blame on them.
Dominating the conversations.
Refusing to apologize.
Always needing to have the last word.
Judging or rejecting their friends.
Sending them to their rooms for crying.
Locking them out of the house.
Using punishments and rewards to manipulate and control them.
Invading their privacy.
Under-estimating them.
Failing to show trust in them.
Labeling them.
Criticizing them.
Giving them the silent treatment.
Failing to give them real explanations.
Giving non-explanations such as because it is wrong or inappropriate or its a sin
Slapping


Chapter 82
Happiness is when what you think, what you say
and what you do are in Harmony. ~Mahatma Gandhi


Ive finally learned what true happiness is for me. For one, big changes in our lives are truly
second chances. Its being content whether living the American dream or living in a trailer.
Happiness is getting out of debt, staying out of debt and living within our means. Happiness is
planning adventures and eliminating the rush, which eliminates the stress. Its being calm ninety-
nine percent of the time. Happiness is not trying to impress others by what I have or what I can
do. Happiness is enjoying life and being happy doing things I enjoy. Happiness is finishing what
I start.
Happiness is doing what I can for others and not feeling guilty if I cant do more. Its
knowing one person cant save the whole world, but helping your neighbor is a good place to
start. Its being able to let go of something for another persons happiness, treating others as I
want to be treated, lending a helping hand, and being hospitable with whatever I have even if its
just a cold drink on a hot day and not a five-star meal. Its knowing bad things happen to the
good and the wicked alike, and good things happen to the wicked as well as the good. Happiness
is knowing unpleasant events may occur once again, but knowing as well that we can handle
anything by staying calm and remembering, God is for us and not against us. Happiness is
knowing when, and being able to keep my mouth shut, yet having the guts to stand-up for whats
right. Happiness is being able to listen without taking on the problems of the world, but still
having compassion. Happiness is being able to be happy when Im alone. Its knowing when to
say goodbye, goodnight, or no, without guilt. Its knowing when someone isnt good for my
mental health, then letting that person go and removing him or her from my daily life. Happiness
is loving God without someone telling me how. Happiness is no longer feeling guilty because of
thinking Im not doing enough to deserve Gods love.
Happiness is knowing that being a size twelve is normal, being a size ten is fun. Happiness
is excepting ourselves for who we are, whether short or tall, big or small, thin or chunky, young
or old or rich or poor. Happiness is finally learning that vanity and happiness are incompatible as
well as knowing Im not so important, other people have nothing better to talk about than me.
Happiness is learning that I dont have to drink in an effort to drown my troubles, especially
since our troubles know how to swim. Happiness is definitely learning that I can have FUN
without alcohol! Happiness is also knowing without a doubt, that the grass isas sure as the sky
is bluenot greener on the other side, nor can you run or hide from your problems because of
problems being so good at hide and seek. Your troubles will always find you eventuallytrust
me.
Last, but not least, happiness is knowing Im finally through with the past and that Ive
learned all I can from dissecting every part, but now Im done, its over. Situations may pop-up
to bite me every now and again, but I will deal with those as they happen.

Recently, and for the first time in my life, and while living in Tahoe for the summer, I
actually heard myself say for the first time everIm happy to be alive. I have true peace and
contentment inside and it shows as genuine joy on the outside. I speak with my dad on random
occasions, and though I love him, Ive realized its okay if were not best friends as long as Im
here for him if he needs me. Ive reconnected with my brother Peter as well as long-lost relatives
whom I lost track of during my teens. My step-mother is still the same and were still estranged,
but I know Ill never renew that relationship.
My first ex-husband would still prefer if I never saw my kids again, and my now twenty-
five-year-old son is in the Navy after spending some time in college taking PHYSICSsay
WHAT?!!!! Yeah, hes that smart! He also communicates with me a little bit through Facebook.
I dont know much about my twenty-three year-old daughter except that shes athletic as I was,
and shes extremely beautiful, but other than that I dont know much about her since she wont
communicate with me at all.
My second ex-husband is back in prison for molesting another boy for the third time. His
mother and I are no longer in touch and my kids are no longer allowed to see her until theyre
eighteen, if they want. Marian once again, went behind my back, trying to sneak her son into
Mandys life even though shes fifteen and can make her own decisions. Marian still refuses to
acknowledge that any interest her son expresses for Mandy is only for her benefit. Nevertheless,
one good thing happened with Joseph going back to prison this third time, and that isMarian
now knows and believes her son is guilty of molestation. Will miracles never cease?
I must say, Im doing better every day with my response to meanness and negativity, and
with each slight, I just try to remember to put into practice something Ive learned from this
journey and pray. Im also praying that everyone who reads this book will go away feeling
optimistic about the future. We all just need to remember that life isnt easy and that we all make
bad decisions sometimes, but anyone who wants to change, can change. Satan doesnt want you
to have peace in your lives and will try convincing of you of your unhappiness. He will also try
to convince you of the necessity of things, people or jobs in your life no matter what adversity
theyre leading towards. Overcoming Satans lies is easier than you think if wed just remember
what God tells us in Ephesians 4:8; Finally brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever
things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are
lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, if there be any praise, think
on these things.
Satan wants us all to believe his lies about ourselves, our family or the world, but we CAN
stop the lies with the truth. Ephesians 4:8 mentions everything we need in order to change our
negative thinking. It changes the bad to good, the wrong to right, and the ugly to beautiful if only
we remember to think on these things. Ive broken down the words in the verse in order to
reinforce the message and to prove its power.
We must remember to focus on everything that is:

TRUE: Factual, accurate, right, spot-on, correct, proper, exact. Conforming with reality or
fact.
HONEST: Truthful, sincere, frank, candid, straightforward, direct, open. Expressing or
embodying the truth.
JUST: Fair, impartial, moral, reasonable, sensible.
PURE: Unadulterated, uncontaminated, unpolluted, clean, untainted, wholesome. Free and
clear of impurities, virtuous.
LOVELY: Beautiful, attractive, pretty, exquisite, charming, divine. Loving, caring or
friendly.
OF GOOD REPORT: good account, story or tale, good information, statement or testimony.
Of good reputation or perceived character.
VIRTUE: Desirable quality, value or worth. The distinction of being morally good or
honest.
PRAISE: Admire, commend, extol, honor, congratulate. Words that express approval or
admiration.

Im now middle agedforty-sixto be exact, and because of my anger, stress, anxiety,
guilt and depression, Im spending my forties fixing everything I broke in my twenties and
thirties. I know Im getting closer every day to having everything back in working order because
of the help Im receiving from an extremely compassionate, yet practical therapist as well as the
revelations God has given me about my behavior with the biggest one being the true reason for
who Ive been the last forty years. I now know mental illness is very real and runs rampant
throughout the real world. Just because were not locked-up in a loony bin doesnt mean were
not sick. I know that most of the time my being able to handle life at all is only through sheer
will-power and that if I were ever to come off my medication, I would most likely die an early
death, either purposefully or accidentally, though I tend to forget this when things are going well
because of taking my meds religiously and at the right dosage. However, thinking that anti-
anxiety and anti-depression medication will do all the work in keeping me from jumping off the
deep-end is a huge misconception. Its also one reason why scientists have had to create new
drugs to take on top of the medications already being taken in the hopes of helping the original
medications work the way they should. Taking these powerful drugs without putting forth the
effort in learning new ways to handle lifes difficult situations is sort of like dieting without
exercise. It helps to a certain degree, but dieting without exercise, as in taking drugs without
coping mechanisms, will not give the satisfying, lasting results desired and may cause you to
think the medication youre taking isnt working. Therefore, Ill continue trying to find coping
mechanisms and ways to live at peace with myself and others as I continue doing what it is I
believe God will have me to do.
God is so good. He doesnt want us to suffer, He wants us all to be saved. You may not love
Him right now because of not knowing Him, but to know the Lord Jesus is to love Him. God is
not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance. 2 Peter 3:9 The Lord
is not slack concerning His promise, as some count slackness, but is longsuffering toward us, not
willing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance. So be strong, give
yourself a break, think positive, and remember that God always gives second chances no matter
what weve done. We must never give-up hope but continue to trust in God no matter how bad
things get. (Isaiah 26:3-4; Romans 5:3-5; 12:12; Ephesians 6:10-18; James 1:2-4). Prayer is
vitally important as well. Pray throughout the day and as often as possible. (Ephesians 6.18; 1
Thessalonians 5.17) Remember that this world is not our home and we should try to avoid
becoming overwhelmed with all the problems we face as we deal with them. (Ephesians 6:10;
Philippians 4:13)
My life couldnt be better at the moment, and though I know the road ahead may get bumpy
once again, I have faith well make it through, learning from our mistakes as well as knowing
God is always ready to carry us to safety as He always has. Remember, the Lord is always
faithful, His mercies are new every morning. Keep your mind focused on Him and not on the
present or past circumstances and you will be strengthened.
####

Help us simplify our lives, Lord
We have too much, use too much,
Expect too much. Search us, O God,
and know our hearts today. Clarify our character,
cleanse us and wash away all transgressions
setting us free from the bondage of sin and guilt.
Please guide and bless us.
In the name of Jesus, our loving Savior,
Amen




Thank-you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, wont you please take a
moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer?

Thanks!
Penelope

Connect with Me:

Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/pennysanatomy
Friend me on Facebook: http://facebook.com/AnatomyofaLife
Favorite me at Smashwords



APPENDIX

The thyroid gland or simply, the thyroid, gets its name from the Greek word for shield,
due to the shape of the related thyroid cartilage, and is part of the endocrine system. The gland is
a butterfly-shaped organ and is composed of two cone-like lobes or wings, connected via the
isthmus. The thyroid isthmus is variable in shape and size, though the thyroid is one of the larger
endocrine glands, weighing 2-3 grams in babies and 18-60 grams in adults, and becoming larger
in pregnancy.
The thyroid gland is found in the neck, below the thyroid cartilage that forms the Adams
apple and extends beneath, to approximately the fifth or sixth tracheal ring. Its tough to
determine the glands upper and lower edges by vertebral levels since it moves position in
relation to these during swallowing because of its secure attachment to the underlying trachea.
Between the two layers of the capsule and on the posterior side of the lobes, there are on each
side, two parathyroid glands that control the bodys calcium levels. Proper calcium balance is
crucial to the normal functioning of the heart, nervous system, kidneys, and bones.
The primary function of the thyroid is the production of the thyroid hormones
triiodothyronine (T3), thyroxin (T4), and calcitonin, which plays a role in calcium homeostasis.
Up to 80% of the T4 is converted to T3 by peripheral organs such as the liver, kidney and spleen,
with T3 being several times more powerful than T4, which is primarily a prohormone, perhaps
four or even ten times more active. The thyroid controls how quickly the body uses energy,
makes proteins, and controls how sensitive the body is to other hormones. These hormones
regulate the rate of metabolism and affect the growth and rate of function of many other systems
in the body. T3 and T4 are synthesized from both iodine and tyrosine. Hormonal output from the
thyroid is regulated by the thyroid-stimulating hormone (TSH) produced by the anterior
pituitary, which itself is regulated by thyrotropin-releasing hormone (TRH) produced by the
hypothalamus.
The thyroid and thyrotropes produce a negative feedback loop: TSH production is
suppressed when the T4 levels are high. The TSH production itself is modulated or altered by
thyrotropin-releasing hormone (TRH), which is produced by the hypothalamus and secreted at an
increased rate in situations such as cold exposure (to stimulate therm genesis). TSH production is
blunted by somatostatin (SRIH), rising levels of glucocorticoids and sex hormones (estrogen and
testosterone), and excessively high blood iodide concentration.
Thyroid disorders include hyperthyroidism (abnormally increased activity), hypothyroidism
(abnormally decreased activity) and thyroid nodules, which are generally benign thyroid
neoplasms, but may be thyroid cancers. All these disorders may give rise to goiter, which is an
enlarged thyroid. Hyperthyroidism, or overactive thyroid, is the overproduction of the thyroid
hormones T3 and T4, and is most commonly caused by the development of Graves disease, an
autoimmune disease in which antibodies are produced which stimulate the thyroid to secrete
excessive quantities of thyroid hormones. The disease can result in the formation of a toxic goiter
as a result of thyroid growth in response to a lack of negative feedback mechanisms. It presents
with symptoms such as a thyroid goiter, protruding eyes (exophthalmia), palpitations, excess
sweating, diarrhea, weight loss, tremors, muscle weakness, unusual sensitivity to heat,
restlessness, insomnia and mental disorders such as severe anxiety and/or depression. The
appetite may be increased or decreased.
Beta blockers are used to decrease symptoms of hyperthyroidism such as increased heart
rate, tremors, anxiety and heart palpitations, and anti-thyroid drugs are used to minimize the
production of thyroid hormones, in particular, in the case of Graves disease. These medications
take several months to take full effect and have side-effects such as skin rash or a reduction in
white blood cell count, which decreases the ability of the body to fight off infections. These
drugs require frequent dosing (often one pill every 8 hours) and often require frequent doctor
visits and blood tests to monitor the treatment, and may sometimes lose effectiveness over time.
Some patients will, therefore, choose to undergo radioactive iodine-131 treatment, due to the
side-effects and inconvenience of such drug regimens. Radioactive iodine is administered in
order to destroy a portion of or the entire thyroid gland since the radioactive iodine is selectively
taken up by the gland and gradually destroys the cells of the gland. Alternatively, the gland may
be partially or entirely removed surgically, though iodine treatment is usually preferred since the
surgery is invasive and carries a risk of damage to the parathyroid glands or the nerves
controlling the vocal cords. If the entire thyroid gland is removed, hypothyroidism results.
Hypothyroidism is the underproduction of the thyroid hormones T3 and T4. Hypothyroid
disorders may occur as a result of congenital thyroid abnormalities, autoimmune disorders such
as Hashimotos thyroiditis, iodine deficiency (more likely in poorer countries) or the removal of
the thyroid following surgery to treat severe hyperthyroidism and/or thyroid cancer. Typical
symptoms are abnormal weight gain, tiredness, baldness, cold intolerance, and bradycardia
which is a slow heart rate and is usually below sixty beats per minute. Hypothyroidism is treated
with hormone replacement therapy, such as levothyroxine, which is typically required for the rest
of the patients life. Thyroid hormone treatment is given under the care of a physician and may
take a few weeks to become effective.
Negative feedback mechanisms result in growth of the thyroid gland when thyroid hormones
are being produced in sufficiently low quantities as a means of increasing the thyroid output;
however, where the hypothyroidism is caused by iodine insufficiency, the thyroid is unable to
produce T3 and T4 and as a result, the thyroid may continue to grow to form a non-toxic goiter.
It is termed non-toxic as it does not produce toxic quantities of thyroid hormones, despite its size.
Initial hyperthyroidism followed by hypothyroidism is the overproduction of T3 and T4 followed
by the underproduction of T3 and T4. There are two types: Hashimotos thyroiditis and
postpartum thyroiditis. Hashimotos thyroiditis or Hashimotos Disease is an autoimmune
disorder whereby the bodys own immune system reacts with the thyroid tissues in an attempt to
destroy it. At the beginning, the gland may be overactive, and then becomes under active as the
gland is damaged resulting in too little thyroid hormone production or hypothyroidism.
Some patients may experience swings in hormone levels that can progress rapidly from
hyper-to-hypothyroid (sometimes mistaken as severe mood-swings, or even being bipolar before
the correct clinical diagnosis is made). Some patients may experience these swings over days
or weeks or even months. Hashimotos is more common in females than males, usually
appearing after the age of 30, and tends to run in families, meaning it can be seen as a genetic
disease. Also, more common in individuals with Hashimotos Thyroiditis are type 1 diabetes and
celiac disease.



References

Child Welfare Information Gateway, Childrens Bureau/ACYF
1250 Maryland Avenue, SW Eighth Floor Washington, DC 20024
800.394.3366 Email: info@childwelfare.gov www.childwelfare.gov
www.childwelfare.gov/pubs/braindevtrauma.pdf
www.childwelfare.gov/pubs/issue_briefs/brain_development/brain_development.pdf
The New Brain, by R. Douglas Fields, Published on October 30, 2010
Impaired brain development. (Tarullo, 2012).
Disrupted Neurodevelopment, (Perry, 2012).
Supporting Brain Development in Traumatized Children and Youth:
https://www.childwelfare.gov/pubs/braindevtrauma.pdf/Understanding the Effects of
Maltreatment on Brain
Develoment:https://www.childwelfare.gov/pubs/issue_briefs/brain_development/brain_develop
ment.pdf Child Welfare Information Gateway. Available online at
https://www.childwelfare.gov/pubs/factsheets/long_term_consequences.cfm
Goldman, J., & Salus, M. K. (2003); Perry, B. D. (1997). Incubated in terror:
Neurodevelopmental factors in the cycle of violence [On-line]. Available:
http://www.childtrauma.org/CTAMATERIALS/incubated.asp; Sullivan, S. (2000); Kraemer, G.
W. (1992). A psychobiological theory of attachment. Behavioral and Brain Sciences, 15(3), 493-
511.
Goldman, J., & Salus, M. K. (2003); Crouch, J. L., & Milner, J. S. (1993); Erickson, M. F.,
& Egeland, B. (2002); Gershater-Molko, R. M., & Lutzker, J. R. (1999); Sullivan, S. (2000);
Dubowitz, H., Papas, M. A., Black, M. M., & Starr, R. H. (2002). Child neglect: Outcomes in
high-risk urban preschoolers. Pediatrics, 109(6), 1100-1107; Weinstein, J., & Weinstein, R.
(2000); Gaudin, J.
Garbarino, J., & Garbarino, A. (1994). Emotional maltreatment of children. Chicago:
National Committee to Prevent Child Abuse, 2nd Ed.
Glaser, D. (2002, June). Emotional abuse and neglect (psychological maltreatment): A
conceptual framework. Child Abuse & Neglect, 26, 697-714.
Pecora, P., Whittaker, J., Maluccio, A., and Barth, R. (2000). The child welfare challenge.
New York: Aldine de Gruyter.
www.ehow.com/about_5128111_effect-verbal-abuse children.html#ixzz2pqycPVSX
www.ehow.com/about_5128111_effect-verbal-abuse-children.html#ixzz2pqylkUXI
Signs of Verbal Abuse, By Yvette Sajem, eHow Contributor
What is Emotional Abuse? by Stephanie Partridge
Effects of Abuse, www.thisiswar.com
Characteristics Of Narcissistic Mothers http://www.fortrefuge.com/
General Characteristics of Emotionally Abusive Mothers
www.topix.com/forum/city/sikeston.../TBSV6VU9QVS8HI1UN
The silent treatment By J.S. Copper, eHow Contributor
Bedwetting, By Heather Topham Wood
Symptoms of Abuse By Cindi Pearce, Dawn Westin, Karen Kleinschmidt, Peter Grant,
Alexander Eliot, Brooke Nichols, Valerie Belew, Stacey Buckner, Spencer Hendricks, Jennifer
Zimmerman, Rob Wagner, eHow Contributors
The Psychological Effects of Verbal Abuse, By Kellie Holly, www.HealthyPlace.com
Silver Reflection http://silverreflection.tripod.com/speakoutagainstverbalabuse
Science Daily from www.sciencedaily.com/articles/i/inferiority_complex.htm Moritz,
Werner, von Collani. The inferiority complex in paranoia readdressed: A study with the Implicit
Association Test. Cognitive Neuropsychiatry
Interference in development of affect regulation/tolerance skills. Briere, 1992; Briere & Gil,
1998; McCann & Pearlman, 1990.
J.E.B. Myers, L. Berliner, J. Briere, C.T. Hendrix, T. Reid, & C. Jenny (Eds.) (2002). The
APSAC handbook on child maltreatment, 2nd Edition. Newbury Park, CA: Sage Publications.
www.psychologytoday.com/blog/the-favorite-child, The Favorite Child: A Psychologist
Explores Family Dynamics, by Ellen Weber Libby, Ph.D.
Social difficulties. (Perry, 2012).
Signs & Symptoms of Fear & Anxiety, By Keith Vaughn, eHow Contributor
Emotional Effects, Behavioral Effects By Conny Marian, eHow Contributor
www.healthofchildren.com/C/Child Abuse.html#ixzz2pqxBIBIw
http://www.healthofchildren.com/C/Child-Abuse.html#ixzz2pqwDV6Iz
http://www.healthofchildren.com/C/Child-Abuse.html#ixzz2pqwXgR3Q
http://www.healthofchildren.com/C/Child-Abuse.html#ixzz2pqwprXrk

Neglect By Mary Strain, eHow Contributor
Family, By Rebekah Smith, eHow Contributor
The Causes of Bipolar Disorder (Manic Depression) By Steve Bressert, PH.D.
psychcentral.com/lib/the-causes-of-bipolar-disorder-manic-depression/000912
Bipolar disorder, By Jeffrey Norman, eHow Contributor
Posttraumatic Stress (AmericanPsychiatricAssociation,1994)
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, By Brooke Nichols, Tess Reynolds, eHow Contributor
Depression and anxiety, By Martin B. Rivers, Ella Miller, Martin B. Rivers, eHow
Contributor
Psychology Today, Steven Stosny, Ph.D.
Acts of Omission, John Briere, Ph.D.
Passive Aggressive, Carol Roach, Psychologist
Treating adult survivors of severe childhood abuse and neglect: Further development of an
integrative model John Briere, Ph.D. Department of Psychiatry and the Behavioral Sciences
Keck School of Medicine University of Southern California.
Implicit/sensory memories, John Briere, Ph.D.
Narrative/autobiographical memories, John Briere, Ph.D.
Conditioned associations between abuse stimuli and emotional distress, John Briere, Ph.D.
Adult Depression, By Calia Roberts, Tiffany Roget, Karen Kleinschmidt, eHow Contributor
Borderline personality disorder, Chapman & Gratz 2007
Borderline Personality Disorder Reconsidered, John Briere, Ph.D.
Characteristics of Suicide Attempts of Patients With Major Depressive Episode and
Borderline Personality Disorder: A Comparative Study. American Journal of Psychiatry 157:
601608. doi:10.1176/appi.ajp.157.4.601. Retrieved 16 November 2013.
Suicide, by braniac, eHow Contributor
Co-dependency, By Laura Pru, Robbin McClain, Patricia Hill, Peg Streep, eHow
Contributor
Kellie Holly of the Healthy Place website, Domestic violence advocate
Symptoms of Codependency. Psych Central. Retrieved on January 23, 2014, from
www.psychcentral.com/lib/symptoms-of-codependency/00011992
Is It You or Is It Me? How We Turn Our Feelings Inside Out and Blame Each Other, Scott
Wetzler
Lancer, D. (2012). Symptoms of Codependency. Psych Central. Retrieved on February 6,
2014, from http://www.psychcentral.com/lib/symptoms-of-codependency/00011992
The five symptoms of dissociation, Marlene Steinberg, M.D., www.drmsteinberg.com
Steinberg M, Schnall M: The Stranger in the Mirror: Dissociation-The Hidden Epidemic,
HarperCollins, 2001, 2000. Translations: Spanish, Italian, Chinese
Steinberg M: Handbook for the Assessment of Dissociation: A Clinical Guide. Washington,
D.C., American Psychiatric Press, 1995
Steinberg M: The Structured Clinical Interview for DSM-IV Dissociative Disorders-Revised
(SCID-D). Washington, D.C., American Psychiatric Press, 1994.
Steinberg M: The Interviewers Guide to the Structured Clinical Interview for DSM-IV
Dissociative Disorders- Revised. Washington, D.C., American Psychiatric Press, 1994
Steinberg M: Advances in Diagnosing and Treating Dissociative Disorders: The SCID-D-R.
Bulletin of the Menninger Clinic. 146-163, Spring 2000
Just Get Over It? Kathleen Kendall-Tackett, Ph.D., IBCLC Family Research Laboratory,
University of New Hampshire



Resources for Help

What Are the Effects of Emotional Abuse? Douglas Besharov in Recognizing Child Abuse:
A Guide for the Concerned, 1990
Besharov, D. J. (1990). Recognizing child abuse: A guide for the concerned. New York: The
Free Press.
Dubowitz, H., and DePanfilis, D. (Eds.). (2000). Handbook for child protection practice.
Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, Inc.
Feild, T., and Winterfeld, A. (2003). Guidelines on abuseEmotional abuse. Tough
problems, tough choices: Guidelines for needs-based service planning in child welfare.
Englewood, CO: American Humane and Casey Outcomes and Decision-Making Project.
Watch for signs of emotional abuse. By Shewanda Pugh, eHow Contributor
Tartakovsky, M. (2013). 10 Tips For Raising Resilient Kids. Psych Central. Retrieved on
February 7, 2014, from http://psychcentral.com/lib/10-tips-for-raising-resilient-kids/00017272
Tartakovsky, M. (2013). 9 Ways to Reduce Anxiety Right Here, Right Now. Psych Central.
Retrieved on February 7, 2014, from http://psychcentral.com/lib/9-ways-to-reduce-anxiety-right-
here-right-now/00017762
Tartakovsky, M. (2013). 10 Small Steps You Can Take Today to Improve Bipolar Disorder.
Psych Central. Retrieved on February 7, 2014, from http://psychcentral.com/lib/10-small-steps-
you-can-take-today-to-improve-bipolar-disorder/00016916
In J.E.B. Myers, L. Berliner, J. Briere, C.T. Hendrix, T. Reid, & C. Jenny (Eds.) (2002). The
APSAC handbook on child maltreatment, 2nd Edition. Newbury Park, CA: Sage Publications.
Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; In all your
ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths (Proverbs 3:5-6).
Through the Lords mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They
are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. The LORD is my portion, says my soul,
Therefore I hope in Him! (Lamentations 3:22-24).
Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected; but I press on, that I may lay hold
of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me. Brethren, I do not count myself to have
apprehended; but one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward
to those things which are ahead, I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in
Christ Jesus. Therefore let us, as many as are mature, have this mind; and if in anything you
think otherwise, God will reveal even this to you (Philippians 3:12-15).
Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let
your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding,
will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:6-7).
But when the kindness and the love of God our Savior toward man appeared, not by works
of righteousness which we have done, but according to His mercy He saved us, through the
washing of regeneration and renewing of the Holy Spirit, whom He poured out on us abundantly
through Jesus Christ our Savior, that having been justified by His grace we should become heirs
according to the hope of eternal life (Titus 3:4-7).
Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution,
or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor
angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth,
nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ
Jesus our Lord (Romans 8:35, 38-39).
Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due
time, casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you (1 Peter 5:6-7).