tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2718036770552970742024-02-21T07:49:08.997-08:00Children Without VoicesThis blog was created for the silent cries that have gone unanswered. Children our most precious gift and undeniably our future.
When does discipline become abuse? When does the dagger of words pierce the heart? How many children are left to care for themselves? When the boxcar scenario hits close to home.Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.comBlogger267125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-62999914022210233372022-09-24T22:02:00.002-07:002022-09-24T22:02:10.266-07:00Another Day<p> I look back at a lifetime and I don't even recognize the woman who was or the woman I became. Everyone is gone that the post would apply to, and I think did it matter? One life changed, is that possible? There is no doubt it's all about choice and hopefully teaching people whether men or women or children, that they indeed have a choice. There was a time that I would hide in the attic as that was my only escape. But now I am not sure if I am stronger or just a little more bitter. The past is gone and yet the scars do remain because if you erase them all you erase a life. I am not sure if the choices were mistakes or a pattern that we fall into. I have said my goodbyes and still a cloud of darkness and anxiety blanket over me. Taking a deep breath and trying to let it all go. I went out and fed the chickens, walked the dogs and I thought wow! humans think they are all that, but we are really no different than any other animal. Though I do tend to think there is more evil instilled in humans or maybe we just don't have all the answers yet. Education is key to changing how we think, act and react and deal with the consequence of choice and actions. When we can't have peace in those we claim to love, how can we expect the world to find peace? War, evil, hatred, greed surface on a daily basis. People like to compare, but everyone has their own cross to bear. Prayers for all mankind that somehow, they will see through their faults to make the world a better place. I hear young people say I lost all faith in people. Evil has won many a battle, but the war is not over yet. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-75973861768322081862019-07-09T08:23:00.003-07:002019-07-09T08:24:56.681-07:00sleeping with the devil<span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">I recognized the signals many years
ago, when kindness stepped aside and
the devil made a show.
You could see it in the eyes, the fear
had taken hold, I was sleeping with
the devil and he wasn't let go.
Paralyzed by shock, the tears rolled
down my cheek, tied in darkness
bound feet to feet.
Trapped by ignorance, loneliness and
despair, the devil lay beside me
and I couldn't avoid his stare.
The words thrown like daggers
filled with ugliness and hate,
with no signs of love, only
a lock upon the gate.
He played the game of evil,
he knew the rules so well,
a tease to pull you into
the fire like blaze of hell.
The tools he used were many
and strategically placed, he
started off with fear and
ended each day with hate.
The master of manipulation,
building you up to tear you
down, isolation, intimidation,
was all that could be found.
The windows were darkened the
door was tightly closed,I'm
sleeping with the devil and
he is isn't letting go. </span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-63026672647383946472019-07-09T08:18:00.000-07:002019-07-09T08:31:57.674-07:00FlashbacksIt has been over forty years and there are still triggers to the time when I was a young child. My mother has outlived all but one child and though at 91 years of age I gave her credit at times for her survival beyond the normal. I have come to look at suicide a little differently over the years. I don't think it Is normally a cry for help but a manipulative and selfish move. My mother asked recently why am I still here. I wanted to shout " because you are being punished for what you did to six children." She has been using threats of suicide as means of manipulation . If I don't take her in she will kill herself etc. Her behavior has brought to surface the many bad memories but one in particular.<br />
I was ten years old. My age of awakening. Though I have seen my mother extremely violent situations from breaking objects, throwing things to threatening with a gun and knife, this one moment haunts me. Mother wasn't your typical loving parent even when we were ill it was my father who paced the floor holding us and trying to calm us down. He has this hum sound ahhh haa ahhh haa in a slow way to try to calm. One night my mother and father were arguing and my mother came into my bedroom she laid a butcher knife and she slid it under my bed pillow and than got up without removing the knife. I got up for school the next morning and as I began to make my bed I peaked under the pillow to find the butcher knife still there. I was afraid to touch it or move It in anyway. I put the pillow back over it and went off to school. Wondering as I had many times whether my mother would succeed in killing my father or herself. I couldn't help but look under the pillow when I got home to find out that the knife had been removed.<br />
With my mothers current threats of suicide I find myself caught fresh in the memory of the butcher knife under my pillow and standing behind her as she shot through the doorway of the bedroom at my father. There were so many bad memories but these two haunt me more than even some of the worst ones. I want them to go away but they are with me day and night. I want to be free of them but they repeat themselves over and over in my head.Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-24667027160908949422019-06-23T21:18:00.001-07:002019-06-23T21:18:55.546-07:00Skeletons The irony my mother who has attempted suicide and been suicidal throughout life has lived far beyond 5 of her 6 children. My nephew said the Lord don't want her and the devil is afraid she will take over. Brings to light what is fair or is justice of fairness even a part of life. 91 years old she attempted to murder my father more times than I care to count and now she sits in the seat of manipulation. If you don't do this or you don't do that , If I can't live with you I will kill myself. I have called the police a few times to do good will check ups . But when is it "crying wolf" and when will she attempt it once more. I find it completely frustrating.<br />
It is difficult to be responsible for a woman who is not only violent at times, manipulative at others but in need of some kind help obviously. I felt like I put the past to rest but somehow she has managed to stir up the worst of memories and my distrust for her.<br />
I stood behind when she pulled a shot gun out on my father aimed and fired. Have been there when she threatened with a axe. I am sure he must have a gene connection to Lizzi Borden.<br />
I have come to the realization that nothing is more valuable than peace of mind. I think am I wrong this time to calling her bluff? Should I allow her to continue to spew hatred ? Manipulation?, threats? anger ?<br />
I was completely upset this morning. It is nothing a person wants to hear at 7 am as they are opening their eyes. I have no idea what her mental health issue is, partially manic depressive , narcist surely some kind of personality disorder. I still mourn the loss of my eldest sister. The only person left who understood, who experienced and who knew the complete background of the skeletons in the closet.<br />
Those who think I should do more, have truly no understanding of what we endured and what I still endure.<br />
Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-70825083558271570012019-04-23T05:57:00.002-07:002019-05-24T10:03:28.444-07:00April 23<span style="background-color: #990000; color: #fff2cc;">What am I feeling? Vulnerable !!!!</span><br />
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<span class="mw-headline" id="Vulnerability" style="background-attachment: scroll; background-color: #990000; background-image: none; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto; border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; color: #fff2cc; font-size: 16.73px; font-weight: 700; line-height: 26.76px; margin: 0px; overflow: visible; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Vulnerability</span></h3>
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<span style="background-color: #990000; color: #fff2cc;">"Vulnerability is a universal aspect of the human condition, arising from our embodiment and our location within society and its institutions. On the individual level, vulnerability refers to the ever-present possibility of harm, injury or biological impairment or limitation. "</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #990000; color: #fff2cc;">Time , we only have so much time, with that comes a certain amount of fear. What am I afraid of ? That the story needs to be told , completed. I am not looking to create a Utopia but hopefully allow more people to be free of the chains that domestic violence places on the soul. For more people to find that peace within and hold on to it, like a blanket of comfort. Rid the world of mental health! "some say i'm a dreamer"</span></div>
Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-75047146856516916872019-04-23T05:42:00.000-07:002019-07-09T08:18:40.909-07:00ResponsibilityMy eldest sister has passed and the irony is all of my siblings are gone and my mother at 91 survives. My mother asked why am I still here? I wanted to say that " it is your punishment" and I bit my lip. Though I do think it is karma, though I am not sure how she feels as I think of her as a selfish person. Losing my eldest sister has to be the hardest. She is the one who encouraged me to write our story. How did we survive as long as we did? The more I explored domestic violence, the more I realized it touched all walks of life and to various degrees. It is true that you can't compare and apple to an orange, that one person's pain is no more or less than another. We put it under the title or chapter "different" we are all different with our own stories, but our emotions are he same.<br />
My loss of my eldest feels greater in pain. Many reasons for that , when I was a child she was more mother than my own mother, caretaker, responsible for our well being. She left the house as a teenager 'minor emancipation" though we were not allowed to have contact with her. I remember finding ways to see her . You hold on to a good moment because there are so many bad ones.<br />
One memory, I was all of ten years old and she took me shopping. It was my first real outfit. I remember the moment even though it is now 51 years ago. She took me to sears and I can clearly see the day and remember in detail the outfit. It was my first grown up outfit and not a hand me down. The skirt was a purple pink and green plaid pleated skirt, the kind that was popular with the large brass pin. I had a soft pink silk blouse and a purple vest with brass button to match. ahh but more important was the grown up under clothing. I remember thinking for sure I was at the age where you are part adult and part child. I know we grew up in some ways faster than most children. I think children of abusive households do grow up faster.<br />
My mother gets all the sympathy cards but she hadn't spoken to my sister in the last twelve years. Not like I blamed lex , sometimes it is just "enough is enough" I think God left me last to continue to tell the story , if only to help one person than my time on earth will have made some sense. My sister Lex had a heavy responsibility to over look and make sure we were safe. I know my pain is not greater than anyone else's or that my story is somehow worse than anyone else. I keep asking myself how can I make a difference? I have held fundraisers , tried to raise awareness and still so much is not done yet. We need to chip away at the negativity in the world, drugs, alcohol and violence even sickness. Where do we start? How do we start? There are charity organizations and people out there to help. Maybe it is just not enough. We are living in a different world , the world of technology. Does this help or hurt the cause ? If we take down walls and share in our stories than we removed fear and maybe even chiseled away at the stigma attached. In a room of strangers everyone has a story. How do we fix it? I keep asking myself the same question over and over.<br />
<br />Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-59922514134624388612017-01-17T10:47:00.001-08:002017-01-17T10:47:14.772-08:00" The Last Mohican"I am not one to place blame but I do think my siblings really didn't have a chance at a life without turmoil. You read about breaking the cycle of abuse and in many ways though not impossible it is quite difficult. It has a lot to do with survival skills and how to handle the down side of life. When you are not taught how to handle stress , you find yourself falling into patterns of familiarity. <br />
I myself have never been a winter person . It is the dark with gray skies, the down time and to much to time to think that triggers the negativity that weighs the soul down.<br />
I find myself saying goodbye over and over in my mind. By the time I put one death to rest I find myself dealing with another. I have always looked at my brother and sisters through the eyes of a ten year old. The age where you have one foot in childhood and one in adulthood and where hope still stands a chance.<br />
<br />
How many tears must fall<br />
to erase the pain and ache?<br />
Where memories flourish<br />
and sorrow deep remains.<br />
<br />
Can't rewrite history,<br />
nor alter the script called life,<br />
moving forward with the day<br />
in hopes of making it right.<br />
<br />
I wiped the tear of sorrow.<br />
moved it from my cheek<br />
and in my heart it still remains<br />
in the time that looks so bleak.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-29078433617892862522017-01-15T08:15:00.000-08:002017-01-15T08:15:21.644-08:00Domestic Violence, Abuse and how it affects children.I am in deep sorrow as I write this. My youngest sister was in need of help but help did not come soon enough. Her last visit to Pennsylvania, it was obvious she was on drugs prescription or street drugs. She went to my mother's who said to her" you no longer exist, you are not my daughter." My younger sister never went anywhere without her dog but on Labor day in September of 2016 she drove into the pathway of a Santa Fe Cargo train in a rural town in New Mexico. It severed her spine , punctured her lungs and she died being prepared for lifeflight. There are unknown answers, did she try to beat the train, was it suicide ? I may never know the answers but her pet wasn't with her. They sent her ashes back after the autopsy and no service was held. It was like her life didn't matter or that she didn't exist. I had a difficult time with it , somehow I couldn't bring closure. So many unanswered questions and such a violent and lonely way to pass away.<br />
When we were children we were swimming in the river and my father wasn't in sight. We had to be all of five and nine years old. Barge sent waves which knocked my sister off the float. The waters dark and I couldn't see her or find her. I saw her hand reach out of the water and I pulled her close to me. She was horrified. We never spoke about that for years and than one day she thanked me and said you saved my life in the river and again when I needed someone. She was a handful and yes that is what family does ..reaches out to help. But this time with the train accident I felt I didn't do enough to help, that just maybe if I would have tried she wouldn't have been in New Mexico. But all in all you can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. I once told her you can run the world over but you have to be able to look in the mirror and like what was looking back. She obviously had a difficult time as she searched for a life of happiness and kept turning it into her own personal hell.<br />
I never thought I would be the "last mohican " or the last man standing. I must say it is quite difficult to see and end to all your siblings.<br />
I think about Andrea almost on a daily basis, before the accident i would think she was having the last laugh on the beach with a umbrella drink and well it seemed wherever she went disaster followed. Maybe the journey for her had come to an abrupt end because this was her story. All I know for sure is that mental health is at an all time high and not enough is known and not enough help is out there. How many more people would seek help if they knew that there would not be a stigma , a label?<br />
I guess sometimes tell those who need to hear it that we love them. So if anything I do hope that those who need help find it and that everyone remind themselves to say I love you to those closest to them. " I love you" three words that just might make a difference in someone's day or even more so in their life.<br />
We all have struggles, what separates are those who now to deal with the struggle and those who don't. Every tear that falls is filled with memories, heartache, sorrow despair and the pain that comes with saying once more to a sister. Forgiveness is a healing tool not just for those who need forgiven but for ourselves, to heal and ease the mind.<br />
<br />
...the long and winding road.<br />
<br />
<br />Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-92182160586833914452016-02-20T12:25:00.002-08:002017-01-15T07:49:21.821-08:00Violence is an equal opportunity employerI haven't written for awhile. It seems like I am just overcoming the death of my father and brother. I have thought recently about elderly parents who were abusive and now seek your help in their later lives. I don't necessarily think it has to do with forgiveness. It is not whether I forgive my mother or not but that she still can be quite manipulative. I can't allow myself to be put in that position and so cruel as it may seem, I do the minimum I have to. I make sure she has her needs met, housekeeper, nurse, food etc but I refuse to let her move in. <br />
When I look back at the abuse my father was with my siblings, my mother a hundred times more abusive with him. Men don't want to talk about it. Be it shame or embarrassment they rarely tell anyone. Why did he stay well I asked my sister that question. My mother was alway suicidal and my father was afraid of her hurting herself, so when I wanted to take a knife or a gun from her she in turn would use it on him. What we call abuse my father called discipline. So in his mind he was loving his children. On the other hand my mother was over the board violent. I stopped writing because a few comments , one said " get over it" and another said " that it all had to be a lie" and yet another said great fictional story telling. " Unless you grew up in such a domestic violent situation I am sure you can't comprehend what goes on almost daily in many homes. People think of a death by murder and say oh how awful but for us attempted murder was on a regular basis. She almost succeeded in taking him out. Sad situation that happens way more often than I would like to admit. <br />
Many children grow up to live full lives and never tell what goes on behind close doors. Other children are affected in different ways.<br />
Time is passing by so quickly and I think what else can we do to change the world. I had wished my father would had a computer in his day. He might have found away out or a way to get help , financially , physically and in the mental health capacity.<br />
My brothers passing was troubling. He never received the help he truly needed and still to this day when he told the psychiatrist what happen and she said "when you are ready to tell me the truth I'll listen. " He made up a lie about being a prisoner of war when he was in the military, that was easier for her to believe than the truth. What can you do when those who should help don't?<br />
Memories come little by little and some things that I had forgotten surface. It gives me more in depth look at lives of children raised in domestically abusive households. <br />
I have one sister left she is on dialysis awaiting a kidney transplant. We have gotten much closer over the last few years in away I never expected. She fills in the blanks of the years I was to young to remember. It is therapy when she is here and I talk with her which is everyday. Who else better understands than a sibling who endured the same situation. <br />
I wanted to add a little bit of info. as I meet people who have endured situations that are similar. It takes and incredible source of strength to overcome the violence in the home and yet it does flow over into our current lives. I became very aware how partners or spouses can push buttons that trigger an episode. Yet I don't believe we should walk on egg shells trying to prevent such.<br />
Can we get out of a difficult situation, with divorce at an all time high you would think that those in abusive situations would easily get out. Fear is the number one reason that you should get out and the number one reason people don't. Education is key not to place blame but to guide and bring about alternatives for those living in domestically violent homes.<br />
Thank you all for hanging there and wish you all well. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-50939427097350258242012-09-25T20:38:00.000-07:002012-09-25T20:38:42.885-07:00Wipes Tears...Thank you Anne's big sister for the update, since that post seems to get lost in the archives, I took the liberty of placing your comment here.<br />
<br />
<dt id="c4722718394277772330" style="background-color: white; color: #202020; cursor: pointer; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 18.200000762939453px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0.25em; white-space: nowrap;"><span dir="ltr">TheNewLinke</span> said...</dt>
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This is Annie's big sister again...I felt that I should post and update. I'm sorry this is so late in being posted but as you can imagine, this has been a roller coaster of emotion and sometime you forget things...<br />UPDATE: Larry Boyd was arrested Sept. 27, 2009. Prosecutors said Boyd beat Lutz to death after a night of heavy drinking. Boyd was convicted in March 2011 of third-degree murder and aggravated assault. Larry Boyd, now 40, will serve a sentence between 29 and 58 years for beating his girlfriend, Anna Marie Lutz, to death.</div>
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July 25, 2011 8:14 AM</div>
</dd>Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-14636337736126709132012-09-07T01:58:00.002-07:002012-09-07T01:58:41.210-07:00In memory of Anne Lutz. reposting<br />
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Twenty four year old Anna Marie Lutz was murdered by her live in thirty eight year old boyfriend. You won't hear big headline stories, because she wasn't a sports player, politician or famous actor or singer. Anna Marie Lutz is one of the thousands of abuse cases that goes undetected until it results in murder. There is no excuse for such violence upon another human being, we all have the option of walking away from a domestic dispute. Anna lived twenty four short years on this earth and her time was cut short by one persons lack of self control and horrendous choice to strike out at a beautiful young woman.<br />
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How many women are caught up in domestic violence? I don't believe we will ever know the truth, for as many cases that are revealed, there are that many more that we will never find exposed. Some choose to stay out of fear, others think they can handle it, many feel there is no options or alternatives and many believe they have nowhere else to go. Pride and embarrassment as well as denial reveal itself when options are offered. To reach out in anger and hit a person you claim to love doesn't happen just once, it most likely happened before or will happen again. Anna Maire Lutz was not one of the lucky ones, she doesn't get a second chance to make a choice, to escape, to get away, to live her life.</div>
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Religious leaders will say that this was all part of Gods great plan. This is part of Evil, the devil alcohol might have encouraged the violence, the seeds of evil had already been in placed and sowed to allow and outburst to be violent enough to take a life. Violence only has a chance to strike out once you have allowed evil into your being. Alcohol and drugs only heighten the negativity within a person, the seeds of evil have to already exist to allow an unforgivable experience. I say again unforgivable, for no one has the right to cut a persons life short.</div>
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This in in honor of Anna Marie Lutz, she lived such a short time,experienced so little and came to such a violent end. May her soul find peace in the arms of the Lord.</div>
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The tears we weep are for the many,</div>
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the hearts and souls of those in fear,</div>
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may they find inside the courage,</div>
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to surface above the pain and despair.</div>
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Anna Marie Lutz is somebody, she is a daughter, sister, aunt, cousin and friend,etc. Her kindness, warmth of heart and the magic of her soul were taken advantage of by the one person who she entrusted her life. This is a betrayal of a loving spirit. I chose to write about Anna Marie so that her story shall not be forgotten and that her life will not be in vain. I hope people remember not just how she died, but how she lived.</div>
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Every thirty seconds another story of domestic abuse happens, some survive and many do not.Marriage, friendship, relationships, partners, none of these titles give a person the license to abuse. Domestic violence occurs in every walk of life and every income bracket. I promised several years back to put a face to domestic abuse and bring to light a horror that still goes unpunished until it is to late. We seem to reward aggression and the traits of aggression in sports etc, I prefer to acknowledge the size of ones heart and their impact on the world around them. It is obvious by those who knew Anna Marie and shared in her life that she is and always will be a beautiful spirit.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">In the time it takes you to close your eyes</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">and open them again someone in the world</span></div>
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Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-58984011114661850942012-09-07T01:40:00.002-07:002019-07-09T08:22:36.403-07:00Sleeping with the DevilI recognized the signals many years
ago, when kindness stepped aside and
the devil made a show.
You could see it in the eyes, the fear
had taken hold, I was sleeping with
the devil and he wasn't let go.
Paralyzed by shock, the tears rolled
down my cheek, tied in darkness
bound feet to feet.
Trapped by ignorance, loneliness and
despair, the devil lay beside me
and I couldn't avoid his stare.
The words thrown like daggers
filled with ugliness and hate,
with no signs of love, only
a lock upon the gate.
He played the game of evil,
he knew the rules so well,
a tease to pull you into
the fire like blaze of hell.
The tools he used were many
and strategically placed, he
started off with fear and
ended each day with hate.
The master of manipulation,
building you up to tear you
down, isolation, intimidation,
was all that could be found.
The windows were darkened the
door was tightly closed,I'm
sleeping with the devil and
he is isn't letting go.
Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-31445240825825593982012-08-17T06:02:00.000-07:002012-09-07T01:43:33.056-07:00The Lardin House Inn<img alt="Profile Picture" height="240" src="http://profile.ak.fbcdn.net/hprofile-ak-snc4/373012_212621178760183_1888002669_n.jpg" width="326" />
The Lardin house in Masontown Pennsylvania is sponsoring a fundraiser for DVSSP - Domestic Violence Services of South Western Pennsylvania. It is free to the public and will have an auction for the DVSSP, car show, music, entertainment arts and crafts.
Donations will be accepted and can be mailed to
the Lardin House Inn 1892 McClellandtown Road Masontown, PA 15461
(724) 583-8310
We are in need of vendors so anyone who wants to sell their arts and crafts call to set up a display.
Chinese Auction Items are also in need.
Any and all help is appreciated.
DVSSP
Our Mission
The mission of Domestic Violence Services of Southwestern PA is to increase awareness of domestic violence and its effect on the community, to empower those victimized by providing advocacy and safe and effective services, and to work for social change designed to eliminate domestic violence.
PROGRAMS AND ADDITIONAL INFORMATION
SAFE SHELTER
…Safe shelter for domestic violence victims and their children. (food, clothing, and personal care items for residents)
24 HOUR HOTLINE
…24 hour hotline, transportation and intake to Shelter.
EMPOWERMENT COUNSELING
…Individual face-to-face and hotline counseling for domestic violence victims and their significant others. Advocacy and accompaniment. Information and referrals.
LEGAL ADVOCACY
…Court accompaniment and assistance with Protection From Abuse Orders.
SUPPORT GROUPS
… Free informal support groups for anyone directly or indirectly involved in a present or past abusive relationship. Call 724-724-223-0911, 724-852-2373, or 724-439-9500 for more information.
CHILDREN'S PROGRAM
…Daily children's program for children residing in the Shelter and Fresh Start Transitional Housing program. One-on-one and group counseling through structured activities is facilitated by a children's advocate.
Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-60257895503451462212012-05-11T04:45:00.000-07:002012-05-11T04:45:29.416-07:00New MemoriesShattered dreams,<br />
loneliness and despair,<br />
heartache, sorrow<br />
with nothing to share.<br />
<br />
The day is changing<br />
and the sun is gone,<br />
drapes of darkness<br />
are holding strong.<br />
<br />
Made a promise,<br />
held it long and<br />
now in passing<br />
rewrites the wrong.<br />
<br />
Unaccustomed to<br />
something new,<br />
the road untraveled<br />
belongs to who?<br />
<br />
<br />Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-37014503034674066862012-05-07T02:59:00.000-07:002012-05-07T02:59:06.271-07:00The Child in MeHobby horse,<br />
child at play,<br />
breaking glass,<br />
memories remain.<br />
<br />
Sad and lonely,<br />
dark and gray,<br />
haunting tales<br />
of yesterday.<br />
<br />Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-43355195767985892952011-08-08T02:54:00.000-07:002011-08-08T19:57:50.951-07:00Chapter 1Why is childhood so important? Many will say just let it go, don't go back! I really didn't think there was a need to. While many may not think the lives of five children that lived many years ago is so important. Why write a story that psychologist and psychiatrist believed was made up, who would believe it? Why write about it in the first place? I thought the best thing was the old adage" let sleeping dogs lie." But here is why it is so important when you are a child, those early years lay the foundation to who you are as an adult. It doesn't mean that it rules your life, but truthfully when you need to turn to something you have what you have been given in the tool chest of survival. <div>It would seem that this is not a story of secrets,for as many people who deny that children could have lived through such a life, it was well documented. Why didn't the community help? Where was the extended family? There are pages upon pages documented. The police had been summoned to our home more often than not. I hated the sounds of the sirens and the craziness that was called childhood. How far back does the mind drift. Articles in the newspaper documented many of the stories. Upon my fathers death, the articles surfaced and the story goes on. So it is not some big secret, the newspaper people were aware, the radio people were aware, the police were called in so many times surely they knew children lived there. What was it written off as ? attempted suicide, assault, domestic abuse, mental health. I am not sure what outsiders saw when looking in. It was that we didn't have the usual signs of child abuse. We were educated, dressed clean, the house was scrubbed. Yet other people knew school teachers knew, school psychologist knew. One even reached out to help the youngest sister, but golly gee they needed the signature of the abusers to give a child help. Now that makes little sense, you ask approval to help a child who is not flourishing in a abusive home. </div><div>Why do children protect their abuser? One is they are taught well to hide the truth. But this wasn't the case most of the truth was documented in the media. On the other hand " silence is golden" and fear strikes a dagger that pierces the heart and soul. The best way to end up beaten and bruised was to speak about it. </div><div>I could only go back as far as the years I was placed here on earth, so I turned to my eldest sister to fill in some of the early years. She had extraordinary responsibilities placed on her. She filled the position of cook and mom , big sister. There is a strange connection because though we all lived it, we didn't speak about it even among ourselves. What was there to say? We all saw, experienced and felt it. As children we escaped the best way we could by pretending that we came from a semi normal family. </div><div>I looked back at the houses we lived in and I couldn't get past the doors to the homes. Virgin way has now been replaced by a new highway and all I can really remember is the yard. It was fenced in and Morning Glories grew along the fence. It was here where things escalated, my father lost his job, the house was taken for back taxes and until all was said and done, we would have little food, no gas or electricity and everything we had would be left behind. </div><div>I was honestly to young to remember the first time my mother attempted suicide. I am not even sure it was the first time, it was the most memorable occasion as it did hit the nightly news and the papers. Life was spiraling quickly out of control My father refused to return to work as he said he couldn't deal with the embarrassment of his wife jumping off the 16 th street bridge. But did it ever occurr to him what his own children were going through at school. They had to face the name calling and the awful way children can be to one another. I think that is why Lex became the fighter. Little in stature, she threw a mean punch. She fought to protect any dignity as she protected us anyway she could. Her Childhood was being stripped from her, more so then the rest of us, as she was the oldest. Domestic and child abuse is unlike any other situation in that it is repeated so often that it becomes ingrained within, like a blue print to your soul. There wasn't a day that we didn't look into our mothers eyes to see what we were in for that day. I have lost track of how many times she attempted to murder my father. She shot at him, she stabbed in with a butcher knife in the back and again in the stomach, she went after him with a hatchet, she broke his head open with I am not sure with what. Fear it was our first platform in which to launch into life. Had she succeeded in killing him or herself, the story would have been over before it had a chance to start. But it wasn't over, it happened over and over again from childhood on. The more aggressive my mother was with my father the more aggressive he was with the children. </div><div>I can't remember inside the houses we lived. I don't know why. Even when I close my eyes I can only get as far as the doors. We were moving every year a new house. I can't see beyond the doors, can't see the walls or the rooms. It is as if I can't open the doors to the houses. Like I cut those years out of my memories. It was almost as if this was the norm and we learned how to survive each day. I am not sure the physical wounds are serious as the emotional wounds. Barriers and walls were being built, ones that would limit and control our destiny. Though my sister would tell the stories of theft for food, going hungry and sewing clothes out of rags. Those responsibilities did not fall on me. I think it is rather odd that we learn to balance both the insanity in which we lived with our need to fit into the real world. As I try to understand the position of each sibling, I find myself drifting back to my own view of this hell that had been built here on earth. I try desperately to remember what went on in those houses, but it is as if those ten years of my life had been cut from my memory. Everything that is that behind those doors. There are situations as a young person I do remember, but they all seem to occur in the streets or in the school, where we found our greatest escape. I was seven years old and I walked half way home from school with another classmate. She was always so nice and obviously smart. She asked me one day, " why do you shake so bad? " I shrugged my shoulders, as I really didn't know why I shook so badly. Bad enough that it was drawn to the attention of my teachers. I do remember being sent to the principals office, it was a woman, older a little on the heavy side. She turned to the woman at the desk get her parents on the phone. We had no telephone and so she pinned a note to my dress. I remember the dress it was a cotton with a pattern of squares in colors of dark purple, gold and with a white peter pan collar. My shoes were always the same, black and white oxfords. I can remember details of what I had on that day and I can remember walking home , but I can't for the life of me see open the doors and see inside the house. I wanted to fill in the void, the missing parts of my life and to this day I cannot. It is almost as if my life began at ten years of age. Not be cause life was better at that point, maybe it was that I learned to live in the dysfunction or that it was the first time I was in a house for more than one year. I keep going over and over the places in my mind and I find it disturbing that all I can see existed how side of the houses where we lived. I can see the river, I spent allot of time down there. Playing outside, going to the park, school, church, I can remember everything to a point. It was always cold and I remember throwing the blanket over my head, listening to screaming and crying and the destruction. I don't see it but I can hear it. I am afraid to move and even more afraid to look. I think it is a frightening time, my brother is gone he joined the military and my older sisters ran away. It only leaves me and my baby sister. I sit here and as I type the words I literally try to open the doors with my mind. To enter a place where I have not been for ever fifty years. I felt I needed to do this as my life now parallels with the past. In order to understand where I am now, I must remember where I have been. My eldest sister said that I was magnificent at blocking out what was going on around me. Did I block it out or did I see and hear more than any child should? Lex tells her version of being so bruised that in the summer she had to wear heavy winter tights so that when she put on her blue gym suit no one would see the bruising. Lex being the oldest knows more about me than anyone . She said I was very sickly as a baby and that she was so afraid I was going to die. I had most childhood diseases, whooping cough, chicken pox and measles well before I was a year old. My father who was the disciplinarian as well as the caretaker was also the abuser. I think that sends mixed signals. The man who cares for you, feeds you is the same one who strikes fear. Lex said that father walked the floors all night with me, because I could not breathe nor stop from choking. She said he was sure I would die. How does one hurt the person or people they deem to love? I am confused by this. As I think back to as far as I can remember, I knew that it wasn't right. I think I learned to day dream early in life, it was away of escaping. You can go anywhere your mind will let you. With my eyes closed, I went to the birds and the flowers and the trees, that is where I was free from fear. There was nothing that could be found to hurt you there. nothing. I don't know who I am or why I am here. I do know that I love the sound of the train humming. I wish it could last forever, because the noise brings silence to the fighting, the breaking of glass and to the pain. </div><div>Lex is not here to care for me, she is not here to take me away. I am sent to live with my aunt. I don't know how long I am there. I remember that she had a nice bed, clean and pretty with big fluffy pillows. I know not to touch anything to look but not touch. This is a lonely time for me , my family is not around me, my baby sister is not here. I feel lost, empty and frightened in another way, not for my life. I feel like I will never see them again. I know it is winter close to the holiday, but I don't think there was a Santa Claus or a Christmas tree. </div><div>I feel agitated, why am I here and why do people now want to know about an abusive family? I believe I can't change the present until I accept the past. I thought to myself how can this make me stronger? What good can come from this. I want and don't to unlock the doors of the past, for they are walls of blood. I am troubled as the woman who I call mother, was and is capable of murder. I was reading the newspaper at an insane person who opened fire and killed innocent people, what makes her different. She destroyed so many lives and she refuses to take responsibility. She must know how she altered lives. I don't feel so forgiving, I know she was ill but I still cannot find total forgiveness. This was our destiny and she rerouted the path in which we traveled. She lined it with fear and I have learned fear so very well. I want to love her and I hate her. In church we are taught to forgive but I am afraid forgiveness will take down the shield and reveal the vulnerability and she will take advantage of that. </div>Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-69479151784355377662011-02-05T09:24:00.001-08:002011-02-05T09:28:47.911-08:00I choose Love<div style="text-align: center;">I don't know which is worse the silence or the<br /></div> evil that is spewed from his mouth.<br />~<br /><br />I understand the imprisonment that is chain free.<br /><br /><br />I am aware that one evil seed can grow and spawn itself upon the world.<br /><br />There are only two choices, you either chose to live in love or with hate. I don't believe you can have it both ways.Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-4760835733820933792011-01-03T19:57:00.000-08:002011-01-03T20:23:53.218-08:00The Silent Treatment<div class="pagination"> I thought there wasn't any other form of abuse left to experience. I had been physically abused, verbally abused and sexually abused. But there was another form of abuse that I did not realize I was having inflicted upon me. It has been six weeks and I have been in the mist of the silent treatment. If I try to speak he close his eyes or rolls them in his head so only the whites show.He refused to speak to me as though I don't exist. The holidays were much the same he spoke to everyone but me. I didn't know what was happening, I tried to have a discussion to more of the same. I was making myself sick because I was caught up in the unknown, would he hurt me again, himself. I hate guns is it better he doesn't talk to me than pull a gun on me. So many questions and I did not have the answers. I don't sleep so well and I didn't know what to do. I searched the silent treatment online omg it is another form of abuse, it is another way for him to have control. I was shocked and relieved, that what I was feeling and experiencing was real.<br /><br />I am experiencing all kinds of emotions both physical and emotional. I want to at this moment throw up as I thought I have come so far there can't be anything else he can do to me. My symptoms are real, what I am experiencing is real. I am being punished because <span style="font-style: italic;">I stepped outside of isolation and spoke to someone. He accused me of doing things sexual and otherwise. I was desperate for contact with another human being. I didn't realize the full extent of this abuse, until believe it or not I opened a face book account and realized that 35 years ago when he came into my life he made everyone exit. I have spent my life without a friend and without family.<br />I thought to myself ok this is real how do I handle it? </span><br /><a class="next" href="http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/457436/forms_of_abuse_physical_mentalemotional_pg2.html?cat=41"><span><br /></span></a></div> <a name="view_flag_menu" class="pos_marker"></a>Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-2191997851277058762010-11-16T19:07:00.000-08:002010-11-16T19:08:41.098-08:00Unitelligble MayhemThe misunderstood infliction of one soul upon another.Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-6029080622641999472010-11-06T21:48:00.000-07:002010-11-06T22:37:52.919-07:00The Poster Child for AbuseI really didn't know where to start with this post. Each dysfunctional family has a blue print unique to that individual situation. There are still many similarities between the various abusive families, sometimes the connection is drug abuse, alcohol abuse, financial situations, illness and health issues and can also be ignorance, lack of education and others times its simply being caught up in the cycle of abuse. There is no trauma to the heart, soul and mind that is less or worse than another. To the children involved each is very, very serious. A slap across the face, a beating till a child can't walk, sexual abuse, verbal, fear, hatred are all ugliness in the weak threads of life. <div>Many of us don't look like the average poster child for abuse. But that does not make the crime against humanity any less painful. Even when we don't realize it, we are in a cycle which will provide the next generation of child abuse. Can we stop it? Will we stop it? Some will and some won't. I believe with all my heart that children are born pure. I had at one time believed that a child who grows up to an evil adult was born of a bad seed. But the more stories I hear of child abuse, I find that they each lack various ingredients necessary for a stable and healthy atmosphere. How do we give love, peace, respect, to children who have never experienced those various emotions. To a child who has been stripped of their individuality and ingrained with fear from early on in life. </div><div>Fear is what and abusive child is taught early on. It can make a child hide within them self, become hateful, angry, lonely and lost. I think in this era we are blessed with technology which allows us to educate, understand and share in our own personal stories. The more we open up and the more we talk about it, the more we reveal what power the abuser has on a child way after they have grown up. </div><div>I wish there were easy answers and I could save the world and all the children in it. A child is born to be loved and with love I believe we can change the outcome if only one child at a time. The poster child for abuse is not one but many, of every color, ethnicity, income brackets and place in the world. There are the children that are obvious who live on the streets who have no restrictions placed upon them and they are easier to recognize.There are many more who don't fit the look of the obvious poster child and yet the cries are just as loud and their pain and their needs. I am not sure why such ugliness exist in the world, but it does. I cry for the many children who will never get a chance to break the cycle of abuse and for my sister who's smile was removed way to soon from this world. The only way we will ever slow down the cycle of abuse is to intervene earlier in the lives of children and parents alike. Yes there are classes now for young parents and youth groups and yet this is still not enough to stop the violence. What will it take? We have enough money and resources on this earth that no one should starve, go without shoes, or lack quality education. Each child that is born gives us an opportunity to make the world better. Guidance and education are part of the intervention process. They say that people get what they earn and that the wealthiest people at the top of the chain deserve what they have and that the share no responsibility to those who they feel are leeches on society. I am talking in dreams of a Utopia , it all seems so easy, just replace hate and greed with love. Just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love.just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love. Just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love.just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love. Just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love.just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love. Just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love.just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love. Just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love.just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love. Just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love.just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love, just replace hate and greed with love,just replace hate and greed with love.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was hoping if I said it enough times I could make it a reality... but unfortunately hate and greed exist and will prevail as it prevents us from curing the world of the viscous seeds of abuse. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-89289886230485254482010-11-05T12:37:00.000-07:002010-11-05T20:27:44.437-07:00May you be blessed with the holiday spirit everyday of the yearI think of each day as a holiday, a celebration of life. I always keep a turkey in the freezer for when my own children come home so that we will be able to enjoy each others company and celebrate and eat. When you are sharing a moment or a day with friends and family it is a true thanksgiving despite the holiday calendar.<div>I have not always made the right decisions when it came to my own intermediate family. I tried so hard not to pass on my own childhood dysfunction. I guess you would say that I struggle with the past even to this day. Not necessarily with the stories or the facts of the individual violent episodes branded to my soul but with my ability to deal with, understand and in someways know what is right and wrong. </div><div>As an adult I made every attempt to hide the negativity and to treat each situation differently as not to repeat the errors of my parents ways. Yet in some bizarre way I found myself in a situation that was eerily familiar. How I react and I struggled to surface above it was much different than my mother and yet it was as if we dealt with the same situations in our unique way.</div><div>I do believe when you have a supportive cast you are much more able to comprehend and rise above circumstances, such as financial, control, heartache loneliness as well illness, accidents and yes dysfunction. I find that like many I nearly drowned in the pressure and stress that became an everyday occurrence. I feel that it is important to be taught survival skills and I find it ironic that what is normal behavior to some is not to others. I have at many times waited till I couldn't take anymore to stand up for myself, like a rat backed into a corner fights back. </div><div>I think we shouldn't take children for granted. I spent a lifetime trying to hide abuse from my own children. Did I think because they didn't see the actual physical hit, twisting of arms, control and verbal abuse that they didn't know it was happening? What did they see, hear or understand? I know that I am not the same person I was earlier on in my marriage. I have learned that it takes a combination of factors to create the victim and perpetrator scenario. I do to this day battle both spiritually and physically to be stronger, smarter and more capable of preventing a negative situation from reoccurring.<br /></div><div>Sometimes I find that I am so afraid of standing still that I may fall back into old habits and learned behavior of the norm for a dysfunctional family. I indulge in work so that I don't become weak and comfortable. Maybe it is the dreams that we are taught early on for a world that doesn't exist. In a dialogue with a friend of the family he said " I am not a stranger to tragedy" None of us are we all will at sometime meet face to face with death, sickness, finances and our own personal struggles. We are of course all human and will bare the trials of our human weakness. What separates us is the knowledge and our own survival skills as well as our own abilities to prevent stress and anxiety from taking hold and leading us down the wrong path. </div><div>As many of you prepare to celebrate the holidays be reminded of those who are alone, lost and struggling to find their survival suitcase. Sometimes it is a smile, a wave hello or goodbye, little things can become major things in the life of a person who is lost spiritually. </div><div>Suicides are typically up during the holidays. Many times it is because we see it as a big family get together. Many have no families, some are estranged and others have not realized that gifts and over indulgence in food does not make a holiday. Laughter, happiness, sharing and bonding creates memories that will carry a person through life.</div><div><br /></div><div>Happy Thanksgiving! Share a kind word, a smile, a hug...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-6634877426826182152010-10-20T23:47:00.001-07:002010-10-21T00:44:15.402-07:00The Adult ChildI was watching a movie of a true story about a woman who was on death row. Throughout the story they tried to convince not only the jury but the viewer that it was because of the womans childhood or lack of upbringing that made her a candidate for murder. I can't remember exactly when I had a conscious understanding of right and wrong but I knew from very early on what didn't feel right or seem right. In many instances we do have roll models that reflect right and wrong. We look to adults in youth groups, neighbors, relatives and yes even other children and their families, etc. Even before we are introduced to the world beyond our own we have an internal understanding of what is expected or what is society's normal. I tried to think about my emotions and my thoughts in what I believed was a world of turmoil. <div>I can remember being ten years old very clearly. There was a merge of personality still part child and another part of me entering the world of adults. I always thought that any stability that I had came at this particular time but I also had a deep and profound understanding of the dysfunction in which we as children were raised. I thought it was pretty amazing how much you know and understand as a child without even discussing it with anyone. Repeatedly watching attempted murder is like watching a murder being carried out over and over again. The irony was that it was like the Bill Murray movie " Ground Hog Day" it was the same violent and disruptive life style over and over again. I don't believe we became numb to the violence but on the contrary we learned to recognize the signs and expect the worst. My mother was an obvious key, as it was her actions that prepped us both early in the morning and through out the day. I can remember laying across the bed and thinking about all the negativity with in my own life. I don't really recall wondering what my brother and sister thought, in many ways we each were looking for our own out. I believe early on that it was about own survival. The 60's came with their own set of problems, it was a time of rebellion and change in society's structure, especially closer to the 70's. People were talking more and less was being hidden in the closet. Because we really knew it wasn't right, it forced each of us to leave home at an early age, to find an escape. My brother was the eldest he joined the military, my eldest sister fought and earned her right at 16 in the courts when she won her right with minor emancipation. The third born was pregnant as a teen and ended up marrying the baby's father and of course dying way before her time. I went to live with my brother after his release from the military and my youngest sister left in her teens on a road of most would expect from a troubled teen. Choices we were at the age where we could decide to get away and we did. But no matter where we run the memories come with us. Almost all of my life I had this internal drive to run, run as far and as fast I could,but no matter where I went I had to deal with all that happen. I couldn't run fast enough nor far enough and I couldn't hide. The beginning of writing was the first step in standing up and accepting the past as a chapter that happened. Turning the pages and looking ahead to the future without the need to run was not easy but necessary. I understood at this time the importance of facing our ghost and acknowledging that in many ways our tools to achieve were limited to what we were taught as a child. Do I believe my parents loved me, strangely enough I do believe my father did, I thought my mother regretted having children. She always said she didn't want girls and she had four of them. She hated domestics cooking, baking and I can guess really what I learned about all the necessary skills of homemaking came from my eldest sister Lex. I can't ever remember her lovingly combing my hair an when I try to think of the time that was positive with mother in those early years I find it almost impossible. Except for one day when I was really small and I had to have an operation on my feet, I remember crying as they took me from her, " I want my mommie, I want my mommie" In most situations that is what a child wants is to be loved and I guess that is why even though it's wrong we love our abuser. Love is a need no different than food and water and a essential part of our internal human being. Whether our love comes from a dysfunctional parent or an abusive spouse, we seek and need to be loved. I am not sure why that is so, doesn't seem to happen to everyone that way, but as much as I love my parents, I hate them for what they did to five innocent children. I am not proud of that anger that has remained inside of me for so many years and letting it go is in itself therapeutic. I spent the better part of my life trying to understand why my parents were like this and the obvious always surfaces, they were two people who were never meant to come together and have five children. The love between them was weak and they didn't have what it takes to rise above the negative chapters of life. I shall not carry their guilt and yet when push comes to shove I have done all I can to continue to walk without ruffling feathers. Why? Because I am so aware of what people are capable of and I have learned that fear is the ultimate motivator in a dysfunctional family. Once that trigger of fear is pulled the gears are in motion and a life is altered. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /> </div>Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-75322289044285951162010-10-15T06:55:00.000-07:002010-10-15T07:14:27.917-07:00HappinessI pretty much digested the past and though I recognize that there is a part of me who stood witness to the crime of abuse. The merging of the present and the past allows me personally to move forward. I believe that denial and secrets just place added grief on a person, as if we are to continue to carry on the ills and guilt of domestic abuse. There are many who surface above and yes are survivors and that is truly a positive direction. How, when, where and why, it seems to all be part of our intended journey. Don't get me wrong I don't think we were necessarily intended to experience such negativity, but I do believe because of our human weakness and strengths we were able to experience and gather knowledge maybe in hopes that we will someday rid our world of such violence. <div>I rarely go back for one major reason we can't change the past and also if I dwell a little to long I get nightmares. You need to know when to step back and when to step ahead. All we can really be sure of is in what direction we will lead our life for the future, what do we pack in the suitcase to take along with us. With the passing of my father and my mother up in age, I feel as if a chapter has come to an end. So many tears have fallen those which are behind eyes and no one can see. I think at times we are taught to search for a fairytale ending and that in itself sets a person up for a fall. </div><div>I have been thinking about my future and what I want from it. That is always difficult because we have a variety of expectations for ourself and for our children. There is a gray area where the decisions we make today will lead us down the path of tomorrow. I can' honestly say there are days I rather just roll over and pull that blanket over my head and not get out of bed and other days where the bigger picture is just that much more clearer. Of course I want what everyone wants to be happy. Happiness is a form of contentment and that contentment has nothing to do with possession. Being in the arms of someone who loves you so is happiness, with that kind of happiness you can surface above anything and everything. What makes you happy? </div>Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-21326776673281592112010-09-28T10:03:00.000-07:002010-09-28T10:56:15.872-07:00There is HopeI spoke with a friend today and though many times I think enough has been said, I am encouraged to write, educate and document moments of my own life. My dear friend said "give other people hope." I thought about that where I have been , where I am now and where I am going and what it took me to rise above it. It is true that writing in itself is therapy. In documenting my life I have been able to surface above it the negative. I am not sure where to start, so I will start from the beginning of my young adulthood. <div>Family life was extremely dysfunctional. I worked from an early age and attending school left really no time for socializing with people my own age. When I met the man who would become my husband, I look back and I don't really know what I thought. Life seem to be a day for a day with many struggles. Dysfunctional a family we were still taught <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">morals</span>, so there were many red flags, control being one of them, aggression, possessiveness and poor decision making skills. These are a few red flags that you recognize in a person but don't in your teenage years know what they mean. It was simple things at first, closing off contact with other people, not letting me have time with girlfriends, threatening my employer, staying at my place of work all day. At first I like many young women confused some of these signs with wow, he really likes me. Sometimes and I believe this to be true, dysfunction needs two pieces of a puzzle in interlock. You can't be an abuser, unless the other partner allows themselves to be abused. So I realized not only with my own daughter but with other young women that it was so important for them to understand the red flags of dating. What is socially a part of the norm and not is important for us to recognize and to get away before one becomes a part of the sickness. There were other issues that were never really acknowledged, how one treats you, compassion, respect and the importance of not giving in or up ones own personality. </div><div>Somethings were a minor adjustment, not seeing eye to eye, morale and religious convictions and our choices and responses to life. Of course you love a person or you wouldn't commit to trying to make a marriage. If a person and I mean any person, friend, lover or partner of any kind, belittles,downs your look, clothing, body, personality than one must take a serious look at whom they choose to surround them self with. At no time should one feel less than, hurt, <b>Verbal abuse</b> is real and it doesn't just hurt but it sets in motion the key of dysfunction insecurity. Once insecurity is unlocked abuse is set in full function. </div><div>Most things appeared minor some of it I just brushed aside. Flaws in ones character and the unrealistic set of goals where neither see eye to eye are all something to take note of. But I think it did start with sex, men will say " women use sex to control a man" and a woman says" that "man uses force in sex to exert his position as ruler" In reality aggression really has no place in a loving relationship. There is definitely a good and bad feeling that can be had. It is seems like the steps that chip away at a persons being are started even before they realize it. Sex between two people should be a loving experience and yet there are so many crazy things people do that just don't feel right. </div><div>I chalked a lot of the red signs up to being " old school" But as I am learning it is not about old school, or even the victims insecurities abuse is about the abusers insecurities. It is amazing how many have problems where alcohol and drugs have no part in. </div><div>If sweet talk doesn't work use fear. The abuser has many tools in which he uses to control his partner. They are extremely confusing because sometimes they are camouflaged as being a sweet action when in reality they are placing guilt. Many people have heard it, Look what I do for you, I am so sorry, it will never happen again, but I love you, I didn't mean it to happen. </div><div>Neglect, many people don't think of neglect as being abused. Oh but it so high on the abusive list. We as humans have many needs to be met, some of them are interaction, growth, education, community, this is where isolation comes in. These are all very, very minor and some may thing abuse is not yet prevalent. But as they say the wheel is being set in motion and period of outburst are part of the abuse pattern.<br /></div><div>Easier at times to recognize the good in a relationship than to dwell on bad. If you have a good re pore and you have trust, respect, compassion and love, with no gaps in between than you will have avoided the foundation that is set for abuse. </div><div>I found that abuse is also a pattern. That there are steps to it. I have heard referred to as the honeymoon stage. It is where they are on good behavior and everything seems positive, promises of change. But that gives way to episodes that are unforgivable. One person doesn't need to be beat black and blue to be abused. Pulling hair, kicking pushing,bending arms behind their back, belittling are all unexceptionable behaviors. Some situations escalate and others seem to avoid the major explosions. </div><div><b>Breeding Fear </b>it is amazing that a person doesn't need to be hit to create a situation which breeds fears. I can remember several situations, I try to forget them but some of the more difficult ones remain. I can see his face he is filled with hate and ugliness, I am not sure what is wrong, he has the gun in his hand, he is in the middle the yard and bullets are flying through the air, he is screaming, I am not sure about what,yelling for the neighbor to come out to kill him. Why is he doing this? I don't think to call the police oh it would be such an embarrassment, it would end up in the paper and everything. I need to calm him down, he is ranting, I am not sure about what, screaming about a car on the road cutting him off. None of it makes sense, I am afraid and not, I grew up in a dysfunctional home, I had myself convinced I could handle it. I talked him into putting the gun down after about twenty minutes of him screaming and shooting the gun off. My son running through the woods to get the dog that got loose, ducks the bullets flying past him. I don't think it was right to try to handle the situation, he had been on a verge of a break down many times and each time he reached for the gun to kill someone else or to kill himself. I was taught to be afraid of the system as much as I was afraid of the man who gave me more of a dysfunctional life. Here I am telling people to get help, but I didn't believe help was out there, part of me still doesn't that is the sad part, I don' t believe real help is out there. We are taught to fear the police, the courts and the system which threatens to disrupt an already disruptive life. </div><div><br /></div><div>Fear from the abuser, fear of the system, fear of letting out those dirty little secrets. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div></div>Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271803677055297074.post-66460435079665518862010-09-23T20:33:00.001-07:002010-09-28T11:15:07.387-07:00Crazy is ..bringing children into a world and not loving them.Spoke with someone from when we were kids. It made me think about a time that I had pretty much digested. One of the questions was why? Why was my sister so abused and she was. My father called it discipline, but it was anything but. You don't beat children till they bleed, you don' t make them stand on rock salt bare foot in corners till they can no longer stand. Yet that is exactly what my father did. It was a rather strict life style you either followed the rules or you were punished sometimes it was, no let me rephrase that, it was always unnecessary punishments.<br />My sister was very attractive she had sunshine in her eyes and a warmth in her smile. Dating was forbidden, talking to boys were off limits. I can honestly say that I don't really know why he chose to punish so aggressively. Could have been laughter or smiling, or being children. Lights out, than lights better be out or he would come up those stairs swinging that belt. It is funny if I think about it I can actually here the shuffle of his footsteps. I didn't want to go back, " don't you dare move!" if you jumped or cried he would swing that much harder. I remember the later years easier, if my sister skirt was wrinkled it would be a reason to beat her, if she put make up on, if her hair wasn't fixed right, if she spoke to a boy, if she was late coming home from school, if the dishes were not clean enough, if the table wasn't set, if she smiled, if she laughed, if she cried.<br />Didn't want to go back...no I didn't, but here I am. I see the gravel, the empty lot over grown with weeds, the railroad tracks, the river. the greyness of it all. I am not sure why my parents are yelling, my elder sister always got yelled at. "Take your little sister to her room," almost as if mother was prepared for an argument with my father. Get the little ones out of here! breaking glass, screaming, all night long, I couldn't sleep unless the train was going by... I learned to love that hum. I was nine years old, this particular argument escalated. My mother grabbed a knife, my father tried to take it off her, she was stronger than you would think a woman could be. My father turned to go out the door. Not once, but twice she placed the knife in his back, he called out for my elder sister as he fell to the ground. My brother and sister tried to stop the bleeding, it seem like forever till the ambulance came to take him to the hospital. Like the many times before and after he refused to name my mother as the perpetrator. Can't sleep, can't cry, holds my dolly. Every thing will be okay, daddy will be alright. Mothers eyes red filled with tears and rage. Why was this happening, did she hate him so?<br />The next day was quiet, my older sister spent the day cleaning broken glass. I went outside to play ball, the other children were not allowed to talk to me. Stay away from her, her parents are crazy. "Your mom is crazy, your mom is crazy!"Some of the children whispered, others chanted. I can remember their names, one day they were friends playing and riding a bicycle the next they were told to stay away from me. Was I bad? Is this why my parents did that? I was afraid, I was alone. We never spoke of it, we never asked questions. It was the secret that everybody knew. It was a rather confusing time, two people who held each other, hated each other so much that they destroyed each others lives. I talked to my Dolly's allot, I escaped into a world of fantasy. Children can be mean, did they know we were hurting inside? did they know we were confused?<br />I spoke with my eldest sister recently, she said"momma should have died when she jumped from the bridge" She said it would have been over, instead it happened over and over again. The short years of childhood were filled with violence, suicide, ugliness, punishments verbal and physical. The knives are hidden everywhere, don't touch them momma will be mad. They are under the sofa, under the pillow, in my bed, under the cushion of the rocker.She said "If he comes back in this house I'm gonna kill him" I heard the polices sirens I ran to the window, momma yelled at me" she said "run, run to the window, look for your daddy!" Were they taking daddy are they taking him away again? I feel like I am in the room I can see her holding a hatchet she is really mad, she really is mad at him, she keeps repeating she is going to kill him. She yells really loud to my sister, "I told you to get these children out of here. " She grabs my hand and puts my coat on, we go to the park and my sister see's her friends, I play on the swings. I am alone, "don't play with her, her parents are crazy." I have been alone my whole life, keeping the secrets so well hidden, that I myself had forgotten them, or did I?Children with out voiceshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16488135366287070304noreply@blogger.com2