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Memories of my challenging life-good, bad, and whatever, lol

  1. #31
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    Win123,



    A child prodigy-wow, it just makes things doubly sad for you. I am so sorry.

    I had a problem with spelling, still do, due to the abuse. But I wasn't good at spelling and the abuse made it worst. I wrote about it on Keesha's thread I think. I wanted to play the violin. But the notes, just like the letters, swirled before my eyes. Years later, in my twenties, I tried the piano. Wishful thinking does not equal talent. I had none.

    I am so impressed by you! Your ability not only to play, but your ability to overcome the association with pain; and play. Something I cannot do with spelling. It must be wonderful to sit and play for pleasure and fun, probably, bittersweet as well. Have you considered playing as a volunteer at a hospital or similar place?

  2. #32
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    Quote Originally Posted by Aneeda72 View Post
    Keesha,

    I feel I must walk on egg shells with you and I have tried to be very careful in my responses. Apparently, I am not successful. I will accept that the flaw is mine. I have mentioned my social isolation. I have been socially isolated most of my life as I have worked very little. Work is where people get most of their socialization.

    I was home raising my kids, foster kids, and then my two disabled adopted kids. Saw neighbors now and then, teachers now and then, but such encounters where limited to conversations about children, lol. I worked, in my sixties, as a phone rep for a major credit card company, but again I was on the phone. Socialized a little on my breaks.

    I see your posts are still here, at least they show for me. Just leave them, why would you want to delete them? I did say I missed reading some of your posts. I did answer most, if not all, of your questions. You can, if you want, say whatever you want on this thread. You can point out things you'd specifically like to discuss.

    I am glad you agree that nothing will be gained by my attempting to speak to my mother. You stated "you never mentioned" I should upset my mother. No, you didn't, and I never said you did. I think you sometimes misread what I write, that's fine. I misread things as well. In fact, I've noticed that sometimes when I write I use the wrong word.

    Using the wrong word, can make my meaning misunderstood. Sigh.

    You haven't failed to connect to me. I don't believe I have turned around what you've said to me. If, by moving on, you mean you will no longer post on this thread that is your decision. But, feel free to post here if you want. I have no problem with your doing so and your comments are welcome.
    And I have tried to be ultra careful in my response to you and feel like I am walking on egg shells also. I wrote out a huge post to you and you ignored it all except for the 7 or 8 questions I asked you so I deleted everything but the questions.
    Itís ok Aneeda. Im not upset with you either. I just donít seem to be making any connection with you and if you think Iím psycoanalyzing you, that wasnít the effect I was going for. Iíll take part responsibility also. Besides which I donít really wish to discuss the abuse I endured. It just depresses me so I will kindly decline responding to this thread.

    Take care Anneda and I wish you the best.

  3. #33
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    AZ Jim,

    Yes, you were lucky

  4. #34
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    Same with me Jim. Couldn't have asked for nicer parents !
    John

  5. #35
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    So before I go on to dad's fourth wife, where it gets really confusing, I will go back to when we lived in Los Angeles County.

    We moved from the Midwest to LA. All I remember about the new house was the scarey back yard. There were avocado trees. The yard had probably never been raked and was piled high with rotten leaves. Under those leaves lived lizards. The lizards frightened us all. We moved.

    The second house was on a super large lot. The landlady had a large house in the back. The back was cemented except for areas of garden and patio for both houses. There were roses. The house she rented to us sat in the front. There was a small flat grass yard, then the yard curved down. There were steps leading up to the screened in patio at the front.

    I have no sense of how long we lived here. Possibly a year and a half. Both my parents worked at the same company. Grandma worked as a nurse at a convalescent hospital. (I remember her taking me, when I was older, to meet her patients. All these older woman, reaching out, clawing at me. Really put me off older people.)

    Again, dad, mom, grandma, brother, and I lived in this house. There was a large eat in kitchen with a screened door that led to the back yard space. Our land lady baked fresh bread early Sunday morning and brought us three loafs. After they cooled, for a minimal amount of time, we sliced into them, and slathered on the butter. So good!

    On Sunday's we went to a large popular non-denominational church. It was the early 1950's. You went to church on Sunday and you dressed up. After church we went to Clifton's cafeteria in Los Angeles for lunch. There was underground parking in the center of the street. Before we ate, we got Orange Julius's which were sold next door. The original store.

    The cafeteria sold food in small windows. You opened the little window and got your food. The decor was like a garden or forest, as I remembered it. I loved it there. Then we went home. During the summer we went to Billy Goat Hill to fly our kites. We had to climb a million stairs but so worth it.

    One time grandma took me downtown on the bus. On the way back, she tried to get on the bus but couldn't. Her underpants had fallen off and laid at her feet, trapping them. Grandma was a big woman. She looked down, stepped out of her underpants, kicked them away, and got the bus. Lol. (You go grandma! I loved this woman so much.)

    A lot of good memories from this house, good and bad.

  6. #36
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    The house was two story. Kitchen, bathroom, living room downstairs, bedrooms up. The living room had an old super large fireplace that wasn't used. I could stand up in it when I was 7. I hid in it often to try and avoid mother. She couldn't reach me, but she demanded I come out. I did.

    I never saw saw the upstairs. I assume there were three bedrooms, but there could have been two. Mom and dad had a room, grandma had a room, and brother either shared grandma's room or had his own. I was not permitted upstairs. I slept on the screened in front porch. It was too cold in winter, too hot in summer.

    The door into the porch did not have a latch. The door into the house was locked at night so I had no access to the inside. My bed was placed in front of the windows. At night my family watched TV, and I could watch through a small slit, where the blind was not pulled all the way down. Till my brother noticed and ratted me out.

    Closing the blind all the way, and the curtains, made the porch completely frightening and dark. Anyone reading this thread, this post needs to understand that I had no value. Men had value, boys had value. Women had little value, girls had no value at all. I've given it a great deal of thought, my mother's attitude. Her casual neglect of me.

    It was the time we lived in. It was the time my parents grew up in. It was, whatever it was. I wrote earlier how my mother wanted my forgiveness for what happened when I was 17. I wrote how I hated her. It should have read that she thought I hated her now, and then, for crimes committed so long ago. I don't and I didn't . Any hate I ever had was fleeting.

    I was not/am not a passionate person. I am laid back. I never had strong substanied angry emotions even as a child. I forgave her/them for so much. It became a habit, an ingrained habit. That day, when I was 68, when she insisted I forgive her-it was unnecessary. For me it was a foregone conclusion, I would. I simply would not tell her so.

    I was fortunate to be a believer, even as a child, and exposed, via grandma, to various forms of religion. Those tent revivals really were amazing! I chose to be baptized late in life. I chose a formal religion. I choose to be a non-practiceing Catholic. But, and it sounds trite, God saw me through it all. Never drank, never did drugs, I thought I had survived.

  7. #37
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    Keesha,

    I see you have sent me a PM. Let me remind everyone, I can't read PM. My old iPad does not allow them to open. I don't know why. Please do not send them. There is a lot my iPad doesn't do. Like me, it's old, forgetful, and only works half the time. My iPad screen, like my mind, frequently goes blank.

    Please do not try and tell me how to open PM's. That will just frustrate us all.

    Your PM was sent to me in a different manner so now I know what it said. Hmm, I did read that post. I didn't reply because my replies seem to upset you. If you don't want to post on my thread, don't. I am not being rude. I am just not pushing you to do anything. What I am "talking about" in my thread might be too difficult for you to read.

    I have never asked you to be specific about the situation in your childhood. I have repeatedly said generalizations are fine. I didn't ask you to talk about your abuse. We don't need to have a "connection". I also wish you the best, just not sure what that means. I am getting confused about this situation. I want you to do, what you want to do.

  8. #38
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    Quote Originally Posted by Aneeda72 View Post
    Win123,

    A child prodigy-wow, it just makes things doubly sad for you. I am so sorry.

    I had a problem with spelling, still do, due to the abuse. But I wasn't good at spelling and the abuse made it worst. I wrote about it on Keesha's thread I think. I wanted to play the violin. But the notes, just like the letters, swirled before my eyes. Years later, in my twenties, I tried the piano. Wishful thinking does not equal talent. I had none.

    I am so impressed by you! Your ability not only to play, but your ability to overcome the association with pain; and play. Something I cannot do with spelling. It must be wonderful to sit and play for pleasure and fun, probably, bittersweet as well. Have you considered playing as a volunteer at a hospital or similar place?
    Yes, I do enjoy playing for friends. I also play for a diabetes support group that meets in my home. When I first got the piano, I was tense & thinking, "What the hell am I doing?" And for the first several weeks when I had to start over from the beginning, re-learning everything & my hands didn't want to work after 48 years, but I was surprised at how fast I picked it up again. I instinctively kept checking next to me & had to convince myself that my mother couldn't hit me because she died 7 years ago. But, when I play for people, I have to fight shaking hands & a rapid, pounding heart - just as I did during a concert. It's hard to shake but I'm working at it.

  9. #39
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    I totally understand. I can spell better by myself, with no one in the room. but still feel pressured. I hear the words of how stupid I am. Sometimes I still invert the letters, the b's and the d"s and remember all those big red F's in my spelling book. The beatings, as if hitting me with a belt will improve my ability to spell. As if hitting you, would improve your ability to play.

    Our mothers are/were the stupid ones.

    My daughter's gift of the Alexa has really helped me.

    What you are doing is great and courageous. The struggle will be worth the result, IMO. A talent, like yours, should be shared, I am so glad you are able to share it.

  10. #40
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    I blamed my mother for a lot of what happened to me. What she did to me, made me react in ways I might not have. On the flip side, what I didn't realize, until my children were grown, is that it is somewhat normal to blame your parents, and how they raised you for your life choices.

    My daughter once asked me how could I have let her move in with a certain boyfriend. I responded with how did she imagine I could have stopped her. Now that she has grown children, sadly, she has learned that you can advise an adult child, but you cannot control them. She now understands how "I let her move in with that boy."

    There is a song "Because of you" sung by Kelly Clarkson. (There are different versions by others.). It is a bittersweet song (probably was meant to apply to a romantic relationship), but I think it applies well to any abusive relationship. I "walked" though my life. Always trying to choose safety, rarely managing to get it.

    Anyway, stepping down from my soap box. Lol.

    Since I was seven, I dreamed of rabbits. Always rabbits.

    Why rabbits? Finally, when I was in my twenties, and my daughter was 7, I asked my mother, who was visting at the time, if she knew why I always dreamed of rabbits. (I actually just realized that my daughter was seven at this time. Never thought of her age before.)

    Keesha mentioned briefly about compartmentalizations of memories and how her memories are still returning. Yeah, I know about this. I learned about this ability of the mind to shut off extremely tramatic painful events/memories on this summer day.
    The fact that these memories returned when my daughter was 7, was coincidence, but odd.

    During my childhood my mother had made comments to me that I didn't understand. I won't repeat any of them, doing so might be against forum rules, but you will understand. Even before the incident I was not allowed to leave the yard unless with brother. It was a control issue for her, not a protective issue. It's important to know the difference.

    I realize my posts are getting shorter. It becomes more difficult to write about this and I need breaks. I have thought about not writing about this. But it makes the story incomplete. It makes me, in some way, a prisoner of what happened all those years ago. I am going to write about it. It might be a hard read for some. If so, please don't read it.

  11. #41
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    So, I asked my mother, in the 1970's, if she knew why I always dreamed of rabbits. (I was in my twenties.) She laughed, and answered with a question.

    "Don't you remember what happened?"

    And in that single space of time, I remembered. I remembered two specific memories-only two. Strange the way the brain works; closing off what you can not bear, until you can bear it. Those memories explained so many things. Those memories brought a closure I didn't know I needed. The dreams of rabbits stopped.

    When I was 7 years old, I was kidnapped and raped.

    The story as my mother told it in response to my questions, filled in with things I figured out.

    It was Saturday because my mother was home. Sundays were church etc. It was after lunch but before dinner. Dad got home (from wherever) at dinner time. It was the early 1950's. In the 1950's, at dinner time, you had better be home. This was mostly true for everyone s children. I wasn't home, and I was always home. Where is she, dad asked.

    Mom said she told dad she hadn't seen me since lunch. I was a child who is not allowed to leave the yard, a child who is never out of shouting range. My mother knows this, these are her rules. My mother acknowledges this. My mother did nothing to find her missing child.

    Like every other dad, in this time period, he is mad. I am supposed to be home for dinner. He searched for me. He found me in the rabbit shed of the handyman who lived in the neighborhood. It was, of course, my fault. I must have "flirted" with guy. I was, according to my mother, a little whore. I only climbed trees, as a child, so the boys could see my underwear.

    On and on, a common response towards girls who were abused in the 1950's and later in this manner. No doctor, no police, no comfort, no protection for me. The man was known, but not blamed. What if the neighbor's had found out? The shame of it all. I was ruined, useless, not marriage material.

    Lord love a duck, I was so lucky the 1960's happened. Hippies, free love, war, the female revolution saved me from what might have been a horrible existence. But what happened sealed my fate forever with my parents, especially my mother. The beatings became intensive. She started to use the belt.

    At 7 years old, I was left with dreams of rabbits and a fear of the dark. It was dark in that shed. The therapist I saw a couple of years ago wanted to "explore" what happened in that shed. I did not and do not want to know. The two memories I have are enough. I will take the rest to the grave in the hidden room in my mind.

    I am still afraid of the dark. I still have panic attacks, sometimes, in the dark. I still refuse to go into the backyard in the dark. I still sleep with a night light on.

  12. #42
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    Aneeda72,
    I can also relate to the panic attacks. As for sleeping, I have four loaded guns in my bedroom - safe in quick-access lock boxes. Once I lock my bedroom door, I feel safe & sleep OK. I was a competitive shooter for many years (the other thing I'm good at). I do it for fun, but probably also due to the feeling of vulnerability from my childhood abuse.

  13. #43
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    Win231,

    Yup, the panic attacks are the worst. We don't have any guns, and I made my husband give his marine "pig sticker" to our son years ago. But I understand what you mean. We've only been in this house a couple of years and when it settles it sounds like someone is walking around upstairs. I get a tad worried, let the dog out of his crate, and send him upstairs.

    Lol, there is never anyone there, still, it makes me feel safer to have the dog take a look. (Husband works midnights.)

  14. #44
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    Dad's fourth marriage and fifth marriage are confusing still.

    As I said, I met dad's fourth wife right before I left for basic training in the army. He had two children, a girl aged 2 and a newborn son. My mother sold the house and moved, so I had no ideal of her where abouts. My brother never wrote me so I didn't know where he was. My father must have wrote me because I knew where he was.

    I didn't go on leave after basic since I didn't know where any family was. My memory of this time is sketchy. A while later I must have heard from dad and I went on leave. He introduced his fifth wife to me. She was 19, one year older than I was. Dad was 5'4" as big around as he was tall. How he married again and again I have no ideal.

    When mom saw me one time at the home, she brought the rest of my stuff in a trunk. This 19 year old had my trunk. I never saw my things again. The girl was pregnant. I had no ideal or no memory of what happened to his previous wife and children at this time. Later I received a letter that dad has his daughter. His wife had the son, and grandma was with his wife.

    I believe the fifth wife was the last wife. She lost the baby. My oldest sister thinks the fifth wife is seperate, and there is a sixth wife. It gets really confusing as dad indicates he leaves this wife and is alone with his daughter. I got married and wrote my dad a letter saying that my husband and I would be happy to raise his daughter. He was insulted.

    He writes me a letter, rejects me, and I never hear from him again. Later, from that young daughter, I learn he is married, has another son (who hates him) and, hmm, four more daughters. His daughter, from his fourth marriage, is raised as a step-daughter in his last marriage.

    Since this woman has the same name as the person I meant on leave, I believe he only had the five marriages. This does not discount any affairs he had. Or the fact he may have more children. What woman saw in him is a mystery to me. He had no money, frequently didn't have a job.

    When I was in my forties (?), my mother received a phone call. The youngest half-sister that I knew of called my mother thinking it was her mother. Lol. She was now in her twenties. She told my mother that she was her long lost daughter and wanted to talk to her. My mother informed she that she was not her mother in no uncertain way.

    But, she told her, her sister (me), had been looking for her. She gave her my phone number. (I will call her G.). G called me. We talked extensively. I knew where her mother was. I don't remember how or when I learned the information. I told G she had a biological brother, and two other half-sisters.

    She found her mother, met her brother, and moved to the Midwest to be near them. G told me about the other half-sisters and half-brother. We exchanged a few letters but they really weren't interested in a long term relationship. Everyone is afraid of what the others might want from them except me. I am very pro-family. I have nothing to lose.

    My oldest half-sister and I travel to the Midwest and meet with G and her bio brother about 10 years ago. Her looks just like dad. G's mother has died by this time, she is in a bad marriage, and eventually I hear nothing more from either one of them. But I do have some pictures of this family, and my dad in his later years. He continued to be an abusive man.

    When dad split from G's mom, she went back to the Midwest and married dad's disabled brother. Go figure that one. Grandma went with them. Grandma died, my uncle died, and then G's mother died. I saw my grandfather right before he died. Then my step-grandmother died. The only one left is my mother and dad's fifth wife.

    I was continually abandoned by my relatives. My mother always choose my brother over me. I really never existed for my brother. Dad choose his continued supply of new children. Grandma choose G. I was left again and again. I kept track of these people, I think, because I was desperate for someone anyone to care. They didn't.

    After grandfather dropped Ann off at our house, he never came back. I went back once and saw him when my son was three. He never meet my daughter. I've visited all their graves except dad's. He remains unburied.

    My mother's dad died when she was young. I saw her mother several times, but she has many children and many grandchildren. We were never close. Mom's family and extended family is huge, but she kept them seperate from us. When she dies I will start her genealogy, but it's too late to grow close to that family.

    This is the end of this chapter of my life.

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