So there is a lot I can and should put on here, but it might get a bit overwhelming if I tried to put everything on here. So I will start simple.
I am a late 20’s early 30’s (28 at the time of writing this), survivor. I grew up as child number 2 of 7, though at the age of 14 I got introduced to my half siblings bringing it to 6th of 15. I won’t get terribly into depth about my siblings so don’t worry about trying to figure it all out. My father was a Navy man, but a man with a lot to hide. My mother was 14 years younger than my dad and was 14 when they got together she never really had her teen years or much freedom, which caused a world of problems later on.
The first 10 years of my life were a nightmare, they write books and movie about people who had childhoods like mine. My father was a sociopath and we have reason to believe a schizophrenic, but during his life no one saw any of this. He was a careful man, he showed you only so much of who he was. To the Navy he was an outgoing, career minded patriot and veteran. To my family he was the tyrant who ran our house with an iron fist. He took rod and weal to a whole new level. I don’t know when he began experimenting with drugs but before long he and my mother were hooked, strung out junkies, who made friends with some rather unsavory people.
Wikipedia would have you believe cults and Satanic ritual abuse don’t exist, they call it a panic, say it’s all lies but there are those who would say the same of the Holocaust. I don’t remember how it began, but I was only 2 the first time my father sexually abused me. Before I was 8 he began passing me around to his friends in exchange for money, drugs, or a favor owed. I have only one memory of the actual cult activities, a group of people in grey cloaks standing around a bonfire in some kind of sandstone cave. I remember chanting and a goblet of something being passed around. They made me drink it, then there was more chanting, the flash of a knife and it all goes black from there.
There are other memories, other abuses, but I will get into those later in the actual blog. I was 9 when my father was arrested for domestic violence. There was a drug raid and my siblings and I (there were six of us then) were all placed in foster care for the better part of a year. The condition of my mother getting us all back was leaving my father, so she did. He followed us though, of course. When my mother refused to come back to him he killed himself, hanging himself in the front tree of my grandparent’s house. I was witness to the events and it left me scared for a number of years, because though I didn’t remember the other abuse (until I was in my 20’s that is) I did remember that my last words to my father were ‘get a life’.
After my father’s death the physical abuse stopped and the neglect began, my mother was still a junkie and she took in a number of drug dealer boyfriends, so that our house was always the stopping grounds for the local junkies, many of whom had a thing for young girls. Also began the yo-yo effect of being taken in and out of foster care. In the years from 9 to 18 I changed schools nearly 2 dozen times and was bounced around more than I care to think about. I became very depressed. I started cutting myself, drinking. and having sex with random people, anything to make the pain go away.
My life wasn’t all bad but it was mostly bad, there are some bright shiny faces who tried to help me and I will always thank them for what they have done for me, sadly most of it came too little too late.
I was 21 when I moved away from it all, packed up my bags and moved 3,000 miles to start over. There were some bumps along the way but it proved to be the right choice. I met a wonderful man, my common law husband, in 2006 and he helped to heal me. He gave me safety for the first time in my life, I had never felt safe before then, which had its own set of problems.
A young mind can only cope with so much before it gets creative, making up new ways to survive. My brain did this, it broke off into fragments, hiding away parts of me to keep them safe. Each part specialized in something different, one dealt with men, another with homework and so on. By keeping each part seperate no one knew all of what happened to us and we could keep going. It’s called Dissociative Identity Disorder but it’s better known as Multiple Personality Disorder. I first suspected I had it after having a talk with a woman I met who was also DID, though it would be several years before I knew for sure.
By giving me a safe place, my husband inadvertently set himself up to be the common thread between me and my other parts. He started the ball rolling which would ultimately lead to our healing. Though things had to get a lot worse before they got better.
To make a long story short, in the 6 years of my relationship with my husband I have put him through so much. I cut myself so badly I had to get stitches, I tried to drink a bottle of windex, I was in and out of the hospital so often I couldn’t work, for 4 years I was out of work and he supported me 100%. He pushed me, made sure that I got the help I needed which thankfully I got in the form of a wonderful therapy program at the local university. I am proud to say today that I am almost whole, most of the others in my head are gone, fused back into the whole. I am working and productive.
Though it almost came too late, my husband and I went through a rough patch about a year and a half ago. He was working 2 hrs from home and temporarily moved out, I was struggling with my own inner demons and he wasn’t there. Sadly someone else was, I don’t want to lay all the blame on someone else, he was a Married Man with kids and I was fragile and needy. I wasn’t able to see the right and wrong of it all when he started paying me so much attention. I just needed someone and I was alone at the point. I won’t get into the details right now but the relationship I had with that Married Man will haunt me for the rest of my life. It nearly ruined 2 households and hurt people I really care about.————-
So that’s me in too much detail and this blog is my place to heal and deal with the issues that my childhood and later years have left me with. I hope that this blog can help someone else to understand at the very least.