It has been brought to my attention that I really need to maintain an “online presence”, and apparently in this day and age that includes blogging. Oi vey! Most the people that know me will tell you that I am not your average girl. At five years old most girls were playing dress up, planning their weddings, and probably holding a diary under their bed talking about how cute Brad Renfro was. Me? I was figuring different ways of superimposing my GI Joe pieces with the stupid Barbie’s my aunt kept buying me and using fire crackers to blow them up. . Keeping a diary, however, was not something that was ever particularly on my mind or even something I ever remembered being able to keep up with. So, when I was informed that blogging was something that is now fashionable I literally cringed. I don’t even lie down in a therapeutic office and confess my sins, but the “status quo” wants me to do it in an online forum for billions of people to have access to. *shrugs* What do I have to lose other than my dignity, privacy, and my ability to be an introvert? Sign me up!
So, at this point in time you’re probably wondering why on Earth I was blowing up GI Joe pieces that had been superimposed with Barbie pieces. I would LOVE to say that I had some sort of really good explaination, but alas…I don’t. Well, I kind of do. I was raised by a single gay father that had no idea how to raise a little daughter. Oh, I loved that man. I really do…but looking back at some of his parenting I shudder to think of allowing my five year old to do half of what he let me do, but I digress. Anyway, sometime during my fifth year I started being molested by a family member. This was one of the many ways I acted out. I didn’t want to hurt anyone – even myself, but I had a lot of rage. Plus I was a bit of a tomboy with an obsession with fire and a pure hatred of Barbies. When I realized that their stupid little dresses and shoes were flammable it was only a matter of time that I practiced on their bodies. My aunt had an obsession with buying them. I had an obsession with destroying them. It was fun, and yes a little disturbing. And it was one of the MANY signs and signals that were missed over the next seven years.
Don’t worry…I survived, and I beat the odds. Statistically, those who have experienced and endured the events in my past have become psychopaths, sociopaths, addicts, or have died from suicide. While I will not deny that in my younger years I attempted suicide….I am still alive, kicking, and screaming! I feel for every person who has walked in my shoes and hasn’t survived. Others may judge, but I know how deep it cuts personally. I also know how hard it is for ANYONE to climb out of the hole of darkness that it creates. The lifetime of trauma. I am one of the lucky ones, but so many get lost in the cracks.
I decided a few years ago that I wanted to live. And by golly I’m going to do the best job of it that my illnesses will allow.
And that’s what brings me here. Blogging while attempting to get back into my passion: Photography.
Please, if you know any child who is being abused in any manner contact your local authorities or any of the child abuse contacts below for helo and resources. Do not wait, because every minute that goes unvoiced is another year added to a life sentence.
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