Christmas Day

Christmas was wonderful, one of the best that I can remember having. We were still dirt poor through it all but it didn’t really matter.

The children lacked for nothing this Christmas and when they came down the stairs on Sunday morning they found so many presents that they were spilling out from under the tree that was sparkling. Mind you, this was mostly due to my mother and their Godfather, but it was still there and their stockings hung on the wall filled to the brim with treats, small presents and candy.

Chris and I curled up on the couch together and watched them open their things. I took almost 250 pictures on my digital camera. I loved the look of shocked pleasure on their faces as they opened their gifts. I was amused at the fact that each time I took a picture, all three of the kids would set down what they were doing and rush over to me to see the picture.

After presents were opened and we cleaned up our mess, we set about getting food placed on the table. Chris delighted me by bringing out the window markers and drawing festive pictures on our glass table. I carefully arranged all of the appetizers and cookies the children and I spent all of Christmas Eve making.



Chris did most of the decorating, with some window markers that one of the kids had, though the kids and I took turns writing Merry Christmas under the tree.

A girl that I work with was invited to our home for this Christmas. Through casual conversation with her, I had learned that all she had for family here was her father who she had not seen in many years, and it was the first Christmas that she would be without her grandmother who raised her. This just did not sit well with me and I insisted that she come to our house. It is a sad thing to be alone on Christmas and I would want someone to do the same for me if the situation were reversed.

She arrived and of course, the children excitedly welcomed her. I got up to check on the ham while they filled her in on all the goodies that they received this year. We sat around visiting and just talking with one another. Chris, as usual, kept us laughing and joking.

After a while the children convinced us that a movie was in order and we put in Fantastic Four. During which time Grandma came and I went out into the kitchen to make the rest of the massive feast we were going to have.

My friend from work left early as she has been suffering a sinus infection for a little over a week, so dinner was served, followed up by the wickedly delicious Black Forest Pie that the kids and I made from scratch. Sinful is the only way to describe it.

After dinner, I sat at the computer and showed Grandma all of the pictures that we took. She laughed at the look on their faces and it wasn’t long before the children had all crowded around us to look at themselves on the big screen.

Cousin finally came for Grandma and all the food was put away, kitchen cleaned and all that was left to do was enjoy our kids, which we did immensely. Even if that does mean that as a team, Chris and I collectively got our asses handed to us in “Harry Potter’s Scene It” game. We turned our attention to the video games they got and played with them until bedtime.

After they went to bed, we came online and spent the rest of the evening with our friends.

So all in all, it was a good day, full of love and quality time with our family. The way that Christmas is supposed to be.

So forgive my delay as I hope now that each of you had a very Merry Christmas, and I am sending out waves of love and good thoughts for the New Year.

As it was suggested to me in earlier comments, it is our year, and we will take it by storm, starting with taking names and kicking asses.

Peace

Right, so, update on my current life situation.

I got a call last night from the big wig at my job. She offered me the position that I applied for and of course I happily agreed. It does come with a substantial pay increase and my hours are going to be different, but she has assured me that I will continue to have Sundays off as previously arranged.

I went to my first day of training today.

Let me explain what this position is. It is officially called Assistant Team Lead, or ATL from here on out. The Team Lead, or TL, is responsible for a set number of people, making sure that they are making their conversion goals, showing up for work on time, working their scheduled shifts, taking their breaks when they are supposed, and keeping the quality of their calls up.

My job is going to be to do whatever they do. I will, in effect, be a substitute for when they go on vacation, or are sick, or are simply short for one reason or another. I will be taking calls from angry customers; I will be doing their data entry into the computer, and everything else they do.

I am dammed excited. I work my ass off, no matter what position I am in and I feel that I have very commendable leadership skills. I have simply needed a chance to prove it at this job. I guess I did that pretty well already since; there were only two of us who were hired.

I started the training today, by Friday I will be with a TL who will begin to walk me through the ropes. I am very excited, have I mentioned that yet?

After training today, I went out and the man who was my TL stopped me and we chatted for a while. It seems that from the moment I turned in the application, the position was mine, there was never any question, the interview and waiting period were all simply formalities. It makes me feel good to know that out of the one thousand five hundred employees we have at this center, I stood out enough that I had a guaranteed spot.

I am thrilled and on cloud nine. I feel like life is fully coming together. It doesn’t matter to me anymore if this is a manic episode or not, I am going to enjoy it to its fullest. I am tired of living my life around cycles and it’s going to stop. I can do this. I might slip, I might fall, however, I will pick myself back up and I will continue on because I deserve this, my family deserves this and I have worked hard to get where I am now.

For far too long I have lived under a cloud of darkness, or at the very least, the threat of that cloud. I am tired of it. I am taking my life back and it is going to be what I want it to be and I have very clear cut goals in mind for exactly how I am going to do that. Closer to New Years I will be posting them here.

One thing however, is to remind those who have held my hand and offered a shoulder to cry on, who have supported me and encouraged me, just exactly how much I have grown because of them.

There are a few people who read this blog who give me that. Mind you, every single one of my readers are awesome people and I am lucky to have their loyalty.

Buffalo: You are a never ending fountain of support. Your words are normally few, but, have such meaning and are like small pearls of wisdom.

Lili: You tell it like it is. You may not always comment here, but, I read your blog and am inspired every single day by you.

Amber and Dan: Heaven only knows how much I owe to the two of you. I have expressed it to you privately in email, so I will not go into all the details, but, you have an amazing gift to show the world your love and for me, it makes me realize the potential that Chris and I have as a couple. Everyone can learn and grow, and while we are not exactly like you, I have learned a lot from you that has given my life a richer meaning.

Angel: You are always here to support me and I love you girl.

Xariklea: My sounding board, you are always here to listen, no matter what kind of news I present to you. You make me feel laugh and I know I can cry with you.

I have left out only Angeliano, and only because I recently dedicated an entire post to him, he knows very clearly how I feel.

I love all of you; you have given me so much in my life, simply by just being my friend. Your love, your support, your encouragement, has made a world of difference in my life. This year, I am grateful and better for having met all of you. Thank you for that.

Still Alive-Elaborated Version

Wow, where to begin. Life is full of greatness in my world right now.

Chris has finished his second semester of school. One of the classes that he was taking was to lead into what he was going to do for the next two years. The class was split in half, one half of it being classroom stuff, the other half being labs. To complete the class, he had to do certifications, six to be exact. Each certification has to be done on a different person, so we hauled all three kids in, and I also went in. With two days left, we felt good about things because he had only two remaining, we called his cousin, she said she would be delighted to come and let him do it. She would even pick us up and take us out there. I call her Sunday night, the night before we need her to be there, and, she assures me she will be there. So, come Monday morning, we wait, and wait, and wait some more. I call and get no answer; I call back, several times. To make a long story short, she never shows up, which leaves him with one day to complete everything. The one certification is an all day process, but, still he goes to the teacher on Tuesday, she informs him that since he needs two more, there is no point, he says he would like to try anyway, she tells him that if it snows the next day (we were scheduled for a massive snow storm) that she wasn’t going to be coming in. Have I mentioned that if he doesn’t complete the certifications, he fails the class no matter how good his classroom grade is? Oh yeah, it’s automatic.

So, we spent a lot of time worrying and stressing over his student loans. We really can not afford for them to come due right now. So, on Thursday we went to the school, so that he could take the very last finals for this class and another one. While we were there, I went down and spoke to them about it, and have found out that the Dean of the college can over ride him loosing his financial aide which he will surely do when he looks at the fact that last semester he took four classes and finished with a perfect 4.0 gpa.

Chris decided he would study something else. We talked about a lot of different options and after much debating, he decided on something. Ironically, it was one of the things that I had considered doing once he was finished with school. However, I realized that once he is done with school, he’ll make more money than I do now and we will no longer qualify for financial aid. Yes, it is all a twisted little path we walk along.

So, how can I think that life is so great with all of this going on? Well let me tell you. On Friday we went down for him to take the last final he had for his online class, I went down and talked to some people.

I am now as enrolled as a student for college.

Crazy shit huh?

>shakes head at self<

So, then, in addition to this, I have also had big things happening at work. They recently opened up six new positions. The main boss brings me an application and orders me to fill it out. So, I do. It is a promotion for me and I would really like to have it, but, there are almost one thousand people where I work, I figured my chances were slim to none at best. However, I was chosen to interview for it. I don’t know yet if I got it, but, I was told by someone else that I was in the top three, so, all I can do his hope. It would be great to get. I work really hard at my job and am very professional.

Then of course, is the stress of getting ready for Christmas. The tree to put up, the presents to buy, then wrap, the stockings to fill, cards to get sent out. I am seriously overwhelmed with all of it as this time of year is always hard for me anyway.

On a plus note, the dear friend that I have blogged several times about, gave me my Christmas present today. I was taken out by Chris and the kids under the guise of needing to pick up my mother in law’s wallet from the theater where it supposedly was lost last night while she was at the movies. Instead, I found myself sitting in front of a screen waiting for “The Chronicles of Narnia” to start. I was so excited; I think I was worse then the kids.

It was a great day in general, and I am looking forward to Christmas this year, we might be poor as far as money goes, but, damned, I have blessings in abundance. I will revel in the love of my friends and family and bask in the light of harmony that shines in our home. Our life is not perfect, but, it suits me just fine and what doesn’t suit me, I am determined to make better. That is my creed now. If I don’t like it, I will change it.

I am slightly afraid that I am simply having a manic moment, because it is always hard to tell when it is manic or when it is real happiness. I feel freer then I have in such a long time. I do not feel emotionally crippled or held down as tightly as I was before. I know that it has to do with my purging myself. I also know that I need to get back to it before things go bad for me again, but, I have been so busy right now that it has been hard to focus.

All I can say is that life is good and I am so glad that I have all that I do. I am glad to know those of you who frequent me regularly, or allow me to regularly peek into your lives. It is one of the many many things I am blessed to have in my life. You know who you are, even if I don’t say it often enough.

Still Alive

Sorry all, I've had alot to deal with at home, it is probably going to be a few more days until I return. Just wanted to let you all know I am still alive and doing well.

Something To Start A New Memory With

Sometimes we meet people in our lives that are like a ghost, they come, they go, but they are not forgotten. Sometimes though, we meet people in our lives that become an intricate part of who we are.

The process itself is mind baffling. For me, I never intend for people to come or go in my life. When I first meet people I don’t make the decision or say to myself “Now that is someone that I am going to become close to” or “I’m going to be friends with the person and in a year they will go away.”

Instead, I take each person as they come into my life and simply accept who and what they are. I don’t always like people, so don’t paint me as a Saint. I am however honest enough to stay away from the people that I don’t like and I feel that I give everyone a fair shake.

Friendship doesn’t come easily to me. Not true friendship anyway. I can be kind and gentle, and offer friendship to many different people. For me though, true friendship is where they extend the offer back and a deep bond is formed.

Luckily for me, I do have such friendships in my life. One of them is what I want to talk about today though. Not only is a dear friend of mine, but, he is also Chris’ best friend.

This man is a regular visitor to my blog. He reads what I write and although he seldom comments here, he emails me, calls me, or, chats online with me about it; sometimes he says nothing at all about it. He has never judged me or my decisions, even if he doesn’t always agree with them. He has loved and supported me for nearly seven years now.

When I say that we are close, I mean that we are very close. I love this man. He does things that shock me, excite me, infuriate me, and like this, just simply touches deep into my heart and reminds me of exactly how lucky I am. I know that this man understands my battle with the darkness and not many people do

We have never met in real life, so it is strange to many people, the way that our hearts have touched each others. It goes beyond an internet relationship though. This man is a part of our lives. Not just mine, but Chris’ and the children’s.

My heart is so full of love for him that it is almost overwhelming to me. I will never be able to imagine my life without him and when I look back, I can’t see exactly where things changed, where we went from being casual friends to this. The testament to this friendship, for me at least, is the knowledge that Chris and I agreed that if anything were to happen to both of us, this man and his wife is where our children would go. We trust in him, in his love for us and ours for him, to know, without a doubt, that he would provide the best life possible for our children in the event of our deaths. He is full of love, and honor and faith. He believes in family first, and we all feel as if we are family.

We speak frequently on the phone. We spend hours with each other, laughing, crying, joking, mocking, and just in general, being together. He has never forgotten any of our birthdays, or our anniversary. He even helps my daughter with her Spanish homework.

I bring this all up because it was a few days ago that this man did something so extraordinary that it left me speechless for several days, if you hadn’t noticed.

A few nights ago I got home from work and as usual, I sat down at the computer and began to sort through emails. I called my mother and had a boring conversation with her at length while chatting with Chris and a friend of mine online. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the mail piled up on the chair next to me. The medium sized envelope caught my attention but I didn't pay it a whole lot of attention thinking that it was something that I had already opened and the kids just set the empty envelope there for lack of a better place to put it.

After some time, bored with my mother's complaints about my brother I reached out to lift up the package, causing Chris to sit up a little straighter when I gave him a curious look.

I turned it over and saw that it was addressed to me from Florida. I smiled faintly and began to open it. Not fast enough for Chris' taste as he kept telling me to just tear into it. I ignored him and kept at my slow pace, peeking in, inside I found a little note that read "Something to start a new memory with"

I peeked in a little further and my eyes welled up with tears as I pulled back the fancy tissue paper to reveal a brand new Mountain Dew shirt.

I stared at it for a long time, not even able to pull it out of the bag as my mind swirled with thoughts. He hadn’t mentioned that particular post to me, yet he had obviously read it. He loves me so much that in his own way, he is trying to erase the things that have happened to me.

Chris continued to beam at me as the tears slid down my face and I slowly reached in and withdrew the shirt. He didn’t understand the tears, because he doesn’t read my blog and a lot of the things that I’ve written here are things I can’t really talk about out loud. Chris seems content to know the general state of things, without all the horrible details and that works for us.

I slipped it on and it was as if his arms were around me. When I spoke to him later, he apologized for not being able to find a white one, but, as he said, “Something to make new memories with.”

I love you. Never forget that.

The Great Escape

The first time that anyone ran away while I was there, was indeed the first time that anyone had run away from the place at all.

I remember clearly that it was a boy named JJ and a boy named Leland. I had a small crush on Leland. He was one of those pretty boys. His family was well off and he was my first glimpse into the fact that even rich kids don’t always have it so good. I don’t remember why he was there, but, I remember him fairly clearly.

Blue eyed and blond hair with a dazzling smile, he could charm the Eskimos into buying ice. He had an easy laugh and when he smiled the corners of his eyes crinkled up and he had a dimple on each side that just made my heart go pitter patter every time that I saw it.

If my memory serves me correctly he was about 16 and I know that his parents were frequent visitors to the Academy, which in my mind meant that they cared more about him then my own parents did.

JJ was a small kid, he was about fifteen I think and man did this kid have ADHD of the worst kind. He could not sit still. He bounced from person to person, place to place, and thing after thing. He would make you tired and dizzy all just by watching him. Like Leland, I am sure that I at one time knew why they were there but the years have robbed me of some of these details. I can’t ever remember meeting his parents.

When I got up that morning, there was a whispered buzz going around. It seemed that sometime during the night while the night staff was doing laundry, they snuck out of the building and were gone.

Not a lot more was known other than that little tidbit of information, although Leland’s parents did come down to “supervise” the search.

A few days later, Leland was brought back and he looked a little worse for the wear. The grapevine story was that they had taken off and were walking along the interstate when a State trooper spotted them and called it in. When they saw him, they took off running, leaving the highway for rougher terrain.

Now, I’m not sure if I have mentioned this or not, but, Western Academy is located in Colorado in a very small town. The nearest large town is about an hour and a half drive and the highway runs along the Colorado river on one side and a cliff wall along the other side, for most of it, not all, but most.

This particular stretch was along the river and being the dead of winter, the river was “frozen”. Most people know that rivers don’t freeze well due to their swift movement, but, they can be very deceptive and these seemed to be the case as JJ and Leland tried to decide if they were going to try to cross the river to get away, or just run along the bank and pray for the best.

It was decided for them when the state trooper caught onto their trail in no time and had managed to catch up to them while they were deciding, so out onto the ice they darted.

Having grown up in Colorado, that river always looked pretty damned big to me. Now I live in a city that sits right on the Mighty Mississippi River and so it seems a bit smaller.

The fact remains however that as they darted out onto the ice, they realized almost immediately that there was trouble. JJ lost his footing and slid into Leland and they both tumbled to the ice with a thud.

Then there was a cracking sound. The officer froze, his expression one of mixed shock and horror as he tried to determine how much time he had before it gave away.

It was while he was trying to decide this, or, maybe he just went into that mode of panic that grips some people, there was another crack.

Then the ice underneath the boys gave way and they both screamed as they were plunged into the icy water.

Now, I’ve never been swimming in the Mississippi, but I learned how to swim in the Colorado, not to mention kayaking and canoeing and tubing on hot summer days, and let me tell you, it has a swift current.

By the time they managed to surface, which alone was a complete miracle, the officer was just a dot standing on the edge of the bank to them.

JJ, despite all the energy this little guy had, was just to tired to swim. I suppose this was because of the cold temperature of the water. So, Leland grabbed his arm and managed to drag them to shore, six miles from where they fell in.

Now, I can’t swear to >all< of this, but I do know that the majority of it is true because this officer was married to a wonderful woman who eventually came to work at Western Academy. So, while some of it may be embellished by the boy who brought the tale back to us, the fact did remain.

I never saw JJ again after that. Some people claimed that he died of hypothermia. I think that they just transferred him out to another facility. At least, that is what I’ve told myself all these years. It would suck to be wrong.

Steve

This is one of the memories that are just lingering here waiting to be told. I have felt sick to my stomach every time that I sit down to write about it and just to avoid confusion, this incident is not in chronological order, but as I stated yesterday, I just can't seem to get past the roadblock that is this memory.

Steve was probably one of the most Nikki-destructive people that there was at Western Academy. I tried to avoid him, but I really couldn't.

He was probably one of the biggest kids I remember having there. No I don't mean height. The man was severely obese and had dark beady eyes that seem to small for his overly heavy face.

He had skin the color of dark leather and he would start out walking very slowly, though he always seemed to pick up speed as he went along. I don't know if he just needed to get all that fat moving or what, but he could move when he wanted to. The boy was just fifteen years old and easily weighed two hundred fifty to two seventy five.

For the most part he kept to himself. He was also teased and taunted by the other kids, although I didn't usually pay it no never mind. If they were picking on him that day, it meant that I was left alone.

Now would be a good time to mention that at any given time there were only usually two or three staff members on duty in the evening. During the day there was more because of therapy and classes and administrative staff and such. One of them was the cook and that is all that he did, cook, he never even came upstairs to my knowledge.

This meant that in the evening, two staff members were left trying to control about twenty kids during what we considered to be our free time. It was the only time that I could go be alone without having to explain myself.

My favorite place was the hallway that led to the kitchen. It was dark and very seldom used. I would curl up against the wall with my knees drawn up to my chest and think about things. Usually these things consisted of trying to understand why my mother couldn't love me anymore, or where my life was going to go since she didn't want me, and other wonderfully destructive thoughts.

This is where Steve found me one night. I could tell immediately that he was angry. His face was bright red and those eyes were a dull brown color as he sneered at me. For a moment I felt a shiver of fear run through me and then I was just plain pissed off. I told him to get the hell away from me and he laughed and I started to my feet.

His chubby hand reached out and pressed on my shoulder which forced me back down in an awkward angle. I had one knee on the floor and the other was tucked underneath that.

His other hand reached out to grab me by the back of my hair and although at this point in time, the only sexual conduct I had any experience with was my grandfather and my older brother, I knew what was coming and my mind began to swim. I needed to get away, but there was no where for me to go. I was afraid to scream as he leaned his face down into mine. I nearly gagged on the putrid smell of his breath. It was like something had rotted in there while he chewed on it.

"You all think you are so much better then me don't you?"
I shook my head in denial, unable to get the words out.
"Well your not and I'm going to show you, you're going to see what happens when you fuck with me"

I wanted to point out to him that I hadn't done shit to him, that if he wanted to go abuse someone, there were a number of people that could be rightly to blame for his misery; I simply wasn't one of them.

However, I was young and I was afraid and even now I have this lockdown mode. I will be honest, I didn't say no to him. People think that it means I was willing. I wasn't. I was just too scared to move, to think clearly. Sure the staff members could protect me that night, but, sooner or later he would get me and if I got him in trouble, it would be all the worse for me when he did get a hold of me.

I felt the hand on my shoulder let go and for the briefest of seconds I thought he was going to let me go, then I felt his hand come down across my face and had he not been holding onto my head with the other hand, I would have slammed into the wall.

"I didn't hear you" he hissed at me and I blinked, unable to say anything. Had he asked me a question? What was the answer supposed to be? Should I admit that I didn't hear him? Why didn't I hear him?

Over and over the question swirled through my mind and I felt him hit me again, and then again, and once or twice more maybe, I lost track because my head was buzzing and I wasn't even sure that I was still awake.

His grip on my hair tightened and he paused in his assault on me, I swear only long enough for me to be able to focus again and when I could, I saw that he had stepped closer and now I was face to face with the zipper on his jeans.

"Open it up bitch"

Numbly my hands reached up and I unzipped him. I felt tears welling up in the corners of my eye and I commanded them not to fall. I was not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. He could force me to do a lot, but he could not force me to cry. At least, that is what I told myself.

If I thought his breath was putrid, it was nothing compared to the smell of his unwashed body. I couldn't help it, I gagged and his hand tightened again and shoved my face towards his crotch. His pants weren't even all the way down, but he didn't care. He used his hand in my hair to rub my face back and forth until he was hard and I was struggling to breathe.

Not because he had anything substantially to choke on, even at the age of eleven I knew it was small, but because he used his free hand to lift up on the rolls of fat and there lurked a fetid smell. My eyes watered up again and again I forced them back.

"Open up your mouth and so help me to God if I even think your gonna bite down, I will fucking smash your face in"

This guy was big enough to do so and I believed that he would, and so I opened my mouth. He thrust himself into my mouth and jerked his hips back and forth. He tightened his grip on my hair and jerked me around, putting me into a position that was most pleasurable for him.

I tried as hard as I could to make it go fast. I wasn't really skilled at the age of eleven in the finer points of performing oral sex, but between my mouth and his hand, it didn't take long before he pulled out and slapped my face while he ejaculated all over me.

His breathing was labored and his eyes looked glassy when I looked up at him again. He rubbed himself on my face where his goo had landed and I shuddered, still too afraid to move.

He let go of my hair and I slumped forward on my hands and knees and began to gag. He patted my head and said "It'll take some practice, but, not bad for your first time"

I jumped up and ran into the bathroom where I hung my head into the toilet and threw up. I scrubbed at my face with dry toilet paper to get all of his semen off of me. My face began to sweat as I threw up. I stayed there a long time and I think I had fallen asleep with my head on the toilet rim because the next thing I knew a staff member named Mary was gently shaking me awake and asking me if I was all right. I numbly nodded and stood up on shaky knees and with her assistance I made my way up to my room. They left me up there the next day due to the fact that I was still vomiting and I had developed a fever.

I would learn years later that stress can cause some serious physical damage.

The Coldest Season

Winter is the hardest season for me to get through. To start with, the days are shorter and I feel like I always have so much to do. Secondly, I do not handle the cold well and it is really cold here. Makes me want to stay inside and do nothing. I feel lazy and that makes me feel bad about myself. Last but not least is the holiday factor. It brings back so many memories of people that I have lost and that makes it hard for me.

This year I must say though, that I am doing better then most years. Our Thanksgiving had some minor issues, but, all in all we managed to pull it together and serve a beautiful meal. We were joined by Chris’ grandmother, mother, and brother and towards the end, his stepfather.

The food was delicious and everyone was in good spirits. Of course, we didn’t tell them about how our daughter, who was helping me cook, left a stick of butter on the stove, or how it melted and dripped down into the burner, or how it caught on fire. Did I mention that I had a stupid moment and tried to put it out and instead of grabbing the baking soda, I grabbed flour? Some of you might not know this, but flour is highly flammable. But in the end Chris swooped in to save the day and all was well again.

I sat down yesterday to write a post and I just had no heart for it. I was clingy and needy and I wanted to be with Chris, so I went over and curled up against him on the couch. I think I must be coming down with something because I slept a lot. It was a very relaxing day for me.

We played video games together and when the kids got home from school they played with us, all the way up until “House.MD” came on, which is currently my favorite show. I love his sense of humor and I think that the chemistry between all of the characters are just fabulous.

So, why is this year different? I am not for certain, but I do believe that it has to do with me dumping all of this garbage out of my head and onto my blog. It isn’t so much that once it is down it is gone, it is more like, now that it is down, I don’t feel like I’m keeping some dirty secret. I have never felt as if I were safe enough to tell other people. Of course, Chris knows most of this, but even the little details, specific circumstances, those are mine and mine alone and I am tired of carrying it by myself.

There is still so much to tell and I am just sort of at a loss as to which way to go. I want to tell it in order, but things are not coming to my mind in any kind of order. Names come and go as do the times when things happen. It is like my mind isolates the incident and I can not draw any more about it in my head and nothing else comes to me until I get it out. I know that this is going to cause some kind of confusion and I’m sorry, but it is the only way for me to be able to get it all out.

For example, I don’t think a whole lot happened in between my first Thanksgiving and my first Christmas there, but, I have specific memories lurking at the corners of my mind and I know that they belong further down the road. There they stand, like a massive roadblock to what I want to say, demanding that I let them out.

I have some pictures from my time there. Not a lot, but, enough that I could show people where I was and what I mean with visual, yet, I am not sure that I want to have those out there. I just don’t know right now. It is all very much jumbled in my mind.

I know that things are getting better. I can feel it. I also know however, that it is still a long road to recovery. I can do this. I have to tell myself that every single day just to make sure that I don’t let things bog me down and twist me up too much. For the first time in a long time, I feel like it is one step forward, one step forward, one step forward, one step back, rather then the whole one step forward two steps back syndrome that is normally my life.

I don’t normally respond to comments left to me, and I am thinking of changing this, but, even if I don’t, please always remember that I do read them, and they do help me, they encourage me and lift me up and give me strength to go on. Thank you, each and every one of you for that. For giving me the support that I so desperately need.

Hal

Whenver I write these posts I have to close my eyes and just let my fingers move over the keyboard. I don’t bother to correct even the typos until I’m done. I think I do this because with my eyes open I always want to go forward, into the next minute, time keeps moving forward and all that rot. But when I close my eyes I can take myself back so clearly that I can still smell the place.

I was pretty subdued after my Thanksgiving restraint. I didn’t want anyone to look at me, or talk to me which is just as well since no one was allowed. Every couple of days I told a staff member to fuck off just so that I couldn’t move up in a level. Lori tried to get me to stop but I was too angry at the world.

I didn’t want friends. I didn’t want people who look to me for anything, not even a conversation. If the other kids avoided me before, it was twice as bad now. I didn’t care.

There was a boy thought I probably shouldn’t call him a boy. Hal was seventeen when I met him and he is, even to this day, one of the biggest guys I’d ever met. Maybe my mind has just forever placed him as the biggest, but at the time he definitely was.

He had short white blonde hair and huge hulking arms. The man held them out slightly as he walked because they just didn’t fit all the way up against his body.

If Krista was a white witch, Hal was the opposite. The man loved anything and everything to do with Satanism. He was currently in the middle of a great debate with Western Academy as to weather or not Satanism was a religion and weather or not they had the right to keep him from it.

He always wore ripped up jeans and shredded metal band shirts. They took away his studded leather bracelets so in defiance he wore plain black leather bracelets. Steel toed black combat boots.

I don’t know what he was in for, I never got close enough emotionally to him to ask. I was a little bit afraid of him.

He was like the silent soldier fighting against government and authority. Sometimes I wished I could be him just because he never took any shit off of anyone. He told them like it was and didn’t care if they dragged him off into the time out room.

I think that he stands out in my mind because he was not one of my tormenters. I knew this almost instinctively. He was to mature for such petty nonsense.

Not to long after Thanksgiving I got my first real glimpse into the man as we sat around the breakfast table. By this time we had assigned seating and he sat across and three people over from me.

I sat picking at my cold eggs, trying to draw out the time at breakfast so that I would have less time to spend in the classroom. At the quiet murmer of those around me my attention was drawn to him and he sat as still as a statue, staring straight ahead. In his hand he clutched his glass of milk. The glasses were those small hard plastic things that they used to use in schools, kind of a brown, yet see through color.

My attention was drawn to the look on his face and it was pulled tight with fury and I wanted to run from him. A slow trickle of blood ran out of his nose and I wondered why he didn’t reach up and wipe it off. Before I could blink there was a loud shattering sound and milk flew all over the place. I nearly jumped out of my skin and a soft whimper escaped me. His dark brown eyes shifted towards me and I cringed at the look in them. The man was full of rage and hatred and I could feel it boring out of him and into my soul. I flinched and he almost smiled Instead he looked down to his hand, which was now bleeding and he stared at it for a minute before he used that hand to wipe the blood from his face.

The staff converged on us and he told them that he was fine, that it was an accident and I felt a chill go through me as he looked at me again before standing up to go have his hand looked out.

Mind you, we had no doctor or nurse on staff and there was nothing more then a first aid kid. Anything that required more attention than that resulted into a trip to the hospital in the nearest town.

I saw him later, with a piece of cloth wrapped around his hand. He was leaning against the wall watching me and I furrowed my eyebrows at him. I was startled when he started to laugh. It made me angry and I took a breath to steel my nerves so that I could move past him, muttering a half hearted “Fuck you” as I went past.

His hand shot out and like a vice his hand wrapped around my upper arm and he jerked me in close to him. I could smell him and it was a clean smell. Remined me of being outside in the crisp air just as the sun is setting. “Is that what you want?” His lewd smile made me jerk at my arm, a full blown scowl on my face as I found it impossible to move. “I can arrange it for you.” Sadly I felt a tremor shoot through me and I cursed myself for being afraid of him.

“Let go of her Hal” came Lori’s voice from the darkened hallway that lead into the bathroom.

He grinned at me again and jerked me up against his body and I didn’t even have time to catch my breath, let alone protest before his mouth came crushing down on mine. My eyes went up to his and he was watching me as his tongue invaded my mouth. I was frozen to the spot. I couldn’t withdraw. I couldn’t protest. All I could do was stand there. His gaze lifted up and his eyes watched Lori and it was then that I tried to pull away. He wrapped a second arm around me and crushed me to him. I felt like I couldn’t breath.

Lori moved as quick as lightning when he shifting his gaze back to me. It’s the only way I can see it happening, because had he known what was coming, I’m pretty sure he would have backed off. But he didn’t and when he looked down at me, I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye and suddenly I was free and he was stumbling backwards holding onto the side of his head.

Lori grabbed my hand and we ran into the classroom. I was shaking so hard that I could barely stand up. Lori muttered something about female issues and pushed me down into my regular chair.

I avoided Hal like the plague after this. However, there was one more incident later that would turn everything I had thought upside down.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving was always such a huge holiday for my family, before my grandmother died. We would go to my grandparents every year and feast. A feast included all aunts and uncles, all cousins, all in-laws to the in-laws and anyone who knows the in-laws. It was a massive event that resulted in food being brought in by everyone, along with all that my Grandmother had spent a week preparing. We used long buffet tables pushed together, normally five or six, and they ran all the way from the living room into the kitchen.

We would all sit down and my Grandfather would say grace, the only time I ever saw him pray. He wasn’t a religious man and the only time I ever saw him go into a church was for funerals, and even then, it had to be a family member, friends were remembered at home. Then everyone had to name something that they were thankful for.

There was always a fire burning and even though we had every kind of home made pie imaginable, all of us kids looked forward to roasting marshmallows when we were done stuffing our faces.

It didn’t end when everyone was done eating though. Our Thanksgiving lasted well into the night with the adults playing cards and us kids sneaking outside to do whatever we wanted. Us younger kids usually played hide and seek as my grandfather’s land was full of great hiding places, the older kids, would sneak off into the shop to play truth and dare or spin the bottle.

My first Thanksgiving at Western Academy was bittersweet. It would set the trend for a very long time to come. Me celebrating with people other then my family.

Most of the kids that were there went home for Thanksgiving. The few of us who stayed numbered about five, including me. We were gathered up and a small turkey roll was prepared with potatoes and gravy, stuffing and corn. Not the massive feast I was used to and I forever hate turkey rolls.

There was no prayer, there was no giving of thanks, which was probably good because I didn’t feel I had a lot to be thankful for other then being alive and many times that was even questionable.

My heart was heavy as I thought of my family celebrating. I wondered if they even missed me or if they would just fill the chair with another warm body. I had to wonder if I even mattered to any of them.

This was the first year of my mother’s “Adopt an Orphan” program. It was not a program really, just a habit of finding someone at work that didn’t have family and insisting that they join hers for the holidays.

How could a woman who didn’t want anyone be alone for the holidays, ignore her own child. Leave her alone in a place full of strangers at such a young age?

As I poked my fork through the lumpy mashed potatoes I became enraged at her. My little broken heart bubbled up and I flung my plate across the room and felt a small amount of satisfaction as it smashed against the wall. My glass of milk quickly followed before the staff could recover. I jumped to my feet and began to scream at them. I told them how I hated them and I hated this place and they had no right to keep me locked away from the rest of the world.

With tears of anger and anguish streaming down my face I reached for the plate of the boy who was sitting next to me, the same boy who had poured coffee on my shirt and when lifted it up out of my reach I grabbed his milk and poured it over the top of him before flinging it too.

By that time the staff had recovered and closed the difference between them and myself. I felt arms grab a hold of me and I went crazy. I began to thrash and kick and scream. I thought maybe if I screamed loud enough the people in the house next door would come to rescue me and I would finally have a family that loved me.

They hauled me into the time out room and I continue to scream as they struggled to maintain control of me. They couldn’t lay me on my back because my legs were too powerful and I was kicking the crap out of them. They pinned my arms above my head and I curled my hands up and drove my nails painfully into the flesh of their hands. They finally managed to flip me over but it was no better, they were holding my hands too close to my face and reached out and sunk my teeth into a hand. I didn’t know who it belonged to, I didn’t care. How dare they treat me like a fucking animal, no matter that I was acting like one, they had no right.

I began to sweat with the effort of fighting off three adults and they were sweating with the effort of holding down one very small girl. I suppose I should find some satisfaction in that, but I really don’t. This was the first time that I was ever restrained; however, it would be far from the last.

Each year I look forward to the holidays and each year something goes wrong on Thanksgiving. This year, I am working, so we had planned on having the in-laws over on Sunday for the big dinner. I went through a lot of trouble to make this huge menu of stuff that we would be having, the children and I preparing ourselves for a whole day of baking pies and such. I was really looking forward to it.

Of course, with the crap that my father in law pulled, we immediately revoked the invitation to him and they decided to do Thanksgiving today without us. Even if we had been invited, we wouldn’t have gone.

So, this year, my family is eating hamburgers, and home made mac and cheese (Amber has the most awesome recipe! Thanks Amber!) And I will be eating with coworkers.

Sunday with be just Chris, our children, and myself. However, I do have a lot to be thankful for.

I have a great family. Loving husband, beautiful and loving children. I have good friends who love me, I have a job, we have a place of our own. We have each other and right now, we all have our health.

I hope that all of you who celebrate, have enjoyed your Thanksgiving. I hope that like me, everyone, will find something to be Thankful for this year.

My Favorite Game

The morning after my blanket party, the staff came in and found me still under my bed. I was pretty bashed up and reluctant to come out, but I did eventually. Guess the promise of food was just too much for me to continue to remain stubborn.

The talk at the breakfast table was non existent. No one could look at me and I had to ask myself if it was because I was that bad, or was it because of their own guilt.

Of course, I tried to tell the staff that I could not identify anyone. I’m pretty sure they thought it was more of a refusal then the honest truth, which was that I did not know who it had been.

We were all taken into the Rec Room and the gathered us up on the stage. After a few minutes of leaving us alone like that, they came back and said that all of the girls would be put on probation if someone didn’t speak up and tell them who was responsible. We sat there for about three hours while the staff tapped their feet and whispered to one another to no avail.

So, all female students were place on probation with the exception of me. I still don’t know what they were thinking of, isolating an already isolated child by punishing an entire group of girls. This did not help me gain any popularity. Here we were about three weeks out from Thanksgiving and the staff had just slapped them all with a punishment, which, by the rules, stated they couldn’t go home unless they managed to get back to the level of Trust.

I slept under my bed for the rest of the weekend. Lori returned to Western Academy that Monday and of course, she was told right away what had happened, she was furious and had no qualms about stating that fact.

I think this was the first time that the staff noticed her protectiveness of me and decided that it could be used to their advantage. They decided right away to move me into Lori’s room and while I felt safer, I also was very fearful that Lori would resent me because of this. She had been alone in her room since I arrived.

However, this was not to be the case and she happily came into my room and helped me move all of my stuff. Not a difficult task since I didn’t have any posters on the wall, or any pictures to take with me, all I had was my clothing that was either hung or folded neatly in my locker.

Lori became more to me then just a roommate. She was not my friend, but, as near as I was going to get it to it in this place. I just could not trust enough to be friends with anyone.

I wanted to tell you about her, what she looked like, the things we talked about, but all I can remember is that every weekend she went home. She was a tiny little thing, even to me and I was only eleven.

The other thing that stands out in my mind is one of my best memories from there.

The way that our room was set up was simple. We both had our beds pushed as close to the windows as we could get them. There was a window sill that stood about a foot up off of the floor. This made for a natural night stand, and, I could see the little house next door perfectly with it’s little lights glowing in what I assumed was the kitchen, not to mention the stars.

Now, let me try to give you a visual. We both had our beds pressed against the same windows, lengthwise. That meant that the foot of her bed was at the foot of mine, with about three feet separating us. We secured a box, or, maybe it was a milk crate, from somewhere and put it in that space, it fit perfectly.

This made for a very handy table and one day after Lori returned home from a weekend pass she carried a brown suitcase, very small suitcase. It was leather bound and had three stripes that ran up the middle on both side. She was very excited about it but wouldn’t say a word about it until late that night when we were in bed.

As we often did, we climbed into bed after pajama’s were put on and teeth were brushed and we waited and soon enough the staff came in to make sure we had lights out. As soon as they left, we would turn around and lay on our stomachs so that we could chat face to face.

This night held a magical surprise as we lay facing each other and she lifted that suitcase up onto our makeshift table and snapped it open, she watched my face as she opened it until it lay open flat.

I stared, and then stared some more before looking up at her.
“What is that?”
”It’s a game”
”What kind of game?”
”The kind you play”
”I don’t know how to play this game”
”Well I’m going to teach you”


And so began my lifelong love of the Backgammon game. Not a single night went by that we didn’t play at least one, if not five or six games. When Lori went home for weekend passes, she would leave it with me and I would play a game by myself.

This year for Christmas (yes, I know it isn’t here yet) a very dear friend of mine asked me what I wanted and I told him that I wanted my own backgammon game and it arrived about three weeks ago.

I’m not sure who was more excited, me or him, it was a pretty close race. He insisted I open it up immediately and I did and I cried. It looked exactly like Lori’s and I was taken back to the good times at Western Academy as I held it in my hands.

Now, sadly, Chris hates to play this game, but, I will not despair, for I have three young children who are more then willing to learn.

Burning Rage

Today my daughter and I had a long talk. We were discussing Thanksgiving, which, against my better judgment, I had agreed to host at our house this year.

As we were talking about my father in law, who the children call Gpa, and as I have stated before, is a raging alcoholic, her face took on a troubled expression and I asked her what was wrong.

“Will you make a rule that he can only drink a couple of beers Mom?”
”He is not allowed to drink in our house sweetie you know that”
“That’s good because last time….”

I felt the little prickling of fear raise the hair on the back of my arms and I tried to keep my voice calm.

“Last time what?”
”Nothing”
“Don’t tell me nothing, last time what”
“Well, he does weird things when he gets drunk”

Alarm bells began to ring in the back of my ears and I took a couple of cleansing breaths.

“Weird things like what”
“I, I can’t tell you Mom”
”Yes, you can sweetie, you can tell me anything”
“Well, remember when we spent the night?”

My mind raced back to about two weeks ago when we let all three of the kids spend the night and I nodded stupidly.

“Well, Gpa told “insert oldest boys name here” that he could earn some money, doing yard work but it was cold and I didn’t want to go outside, so I asked him if he had something I could do inside. He started to say something and Sara came in and he got quiet and watched her, waiting until she left and he leaned over to whisper in my ear”

Her voice cracked and tears welled up in her eyes and the bells turned to a low hum and I reached out to tuck her hair back away from her face behind her ear.

“What did he say to you?”
”He said that there was something and I asked him what and, and Mom”

Her words trialed off as she sobbed and I gathered her up into my arms and rocked her back and forth while we sat in the van in the parking lot of a laundry mat. I held her until she was all cried out, my mind scrambling to put it together as I held her.

“He said he wanted me to lift up my shirt and I told him he was crazy, he said that it wasn’t like he’d never seen tits before, mine were just smaller”

I felt the white hot rage begin to burn under my skin and I was grateful she couldn’t see my face as my hands smoothed at her hair.

“Did he touch you, or grab you, or anything at all?”
“No, he started like he might because I told him he was crazy again and I pulled away fast and then he just shrugged and started drinking beer again and I’m sorry Mommy, I”

I cut her off “NO! You didn’t do anything wrong. I wish you had told me sooner, but this is not your fault”

She started to cry some more “ I didn’t want Daddy to fight with Gpa, he’ll be mad at me” and I hugged her close to me again.

“Daddy is not going to be upset with you, don’t ever think that, this was not your fault, Gpa is a grown man and he should know better, I promise you baby, I >PROMISE< you, this will not >EVER< happen again.

The whole way home my mind buzzed and burned and by the time we parked I was shaking so bad I could barely stand.

Chris knew the moment he came out the door to help us carry in the groceries and laundry that something was wrong, I could barely get the words out as I whispered “We’ll talk, in the house, send the kids to their room”

He looked alarmed and I wanted to tell him it wasn’t him, that it wasn’t his fault, but I had no words just yet.

We unloaded everything and he sent the kids up to their room and turned to me and I started to cry as I unloaded the conversation onto him.

I have never seen him so pale, so distraught, so angry. I tried to reach for him, to comfort him and he jerked away form me, rasping out “Don’t touch me. I am going to kill him, I will fucking rip his head off”

It was the last we spoke of it for the night, though he eventually took me into his arms and kissed my cheeks whispering his love for me.

My body still burns with rage.

Blanket Party

Two days after Krista left and I still didn’t have a new roommate. There were whispers that a new girl was coming in and they were talking about putting her with me. I knew it was because they thought that maybe I could finally make a friend if she was given the chance to know me before the other girls.

More importantly though this was the night of Lorie’s first weekend pass and she was very excited. She invited me up to her room to talk to her while she packed. She told me of her boyfriend back home and I was actually very surprised. I knew that there was a romantic relationship between her and one of the guys there, his name was Brett. I think it was the first question I had actually ever been able to ask her about herself and it just sort of spilled out of my mouth.

“Don’t you love Brett?”
She gave me a highly amused look and asked me “What makes you think that?”
”Because you were kissing him”
”You saw that?”
”Lorie, everyone saw that”
”How did everyone see that?”
“He looked like he was choking you with his tongue”

This seriously cracked her up and she laughed for a long time over it before she tipped her head ever so slightly, her blue eyes narrowed at me, as if looking for an answer to something before she calmly stated.
“You really >are< that young aren’t you?”

This made me mad and I scowled at her, which, seemed only to amuse her more. She was still grinning at me when she asked me “Are you a virgin?”
I was pretty sure I knew what that meant, but I wasn’t one hundred percent, so I fired back at her “Are you?!”
She shook her head at me “No, not for a long time” she looked almost sad as she said it.
“Well neither am I” of course, I still was, but, I wasn’t about to tell her that and I squared my shoulders back and watched her carefully for the sign that this was the secret code to get into this club I had been excluded from for so long. Maybe they just hadn’t gotten around to asking me yet and this was my chance.
She stopped in the middle of what she was doing and stood there watching me with a shirt hanging from her fingertips, I bravely held her gaze and I began to hear that all to familiar buzzing in my ears, telling me something was going to happen now. I watched as she carefully lay the shirt that she had been about to pack down on the bed, I blinked but refused to look away or show any sign of weakness least I fail this test, whatever it was.

She reached out and tried to put her arms around and pull me into a hug. I remember her voice was softer then I had ever heard before and my entire body was on high alert. She was either going to bring me into the fold, or beat the crap out of me and I still wasn’t sure which one yet.
“Nikki, you don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not and you don’t have to hide who you are, just be yourself”
My hands shot out and I pushed her away from me, my voice rising “I don’t want to be me! No one likes me! It is easy for you, you are pretty and smart and the other kids like you! They hate me!”

She was shocked at my outburst; I could tell by the way she just stared at me with the blank expression on her face. I didn’t care; I wanted someone to hurt as much as I did right then, right there.
“I like you” is what she said. I didn’t want to hear that. I didn’t want her to like me. I wanted her to hate me to. I didn’t want to have to have a friend and I didn’t want anyone else to rely on me. I wasn’t capable of taking care of myself, I absolutely did not want anyone else coming to me, yet, a small part of me ached to be this girl’s friend.

It was an ache deep inside my chest that began to spread and only seemed to get worse when I looked at her, her arms held out to me and for a brief moment, I thought of how it would feel to let someone hold me, comfort me, really be there for me. The ache changed to a gnawing hunger and I could feel myself softening towards her as the tears slipped down my face, my hands trembling even though I was digging my nails into my arms. I choked back a sob, knowing that once the damn was broken, it would all be over for me, I would never be able to stop the flow of tears that were just hovering there, threatening to destroy me. I thought for a second of what it would be like not to have the pain anymore and I took a step towards her, my eyes still locked onto hers.

The door opened and a staff member stepped in “Lorie, your ride is here”
“Just a minute” she said but, we both knew at that moment it was too late.
The moment the door opened the spell was broken and she could see in my eyes that the wall had just slammed down again, more firmly in place then ever before, cutting off the chance we had, the chance >I< had.

I still wonder, if I had taken her hand, if I had let her take me in her arms and allowed her to comfort me, would it have changed anything? Would it have made a difference? I think maybe, in a small way it would have. I think that maybe I wouldn’t have felt so alone and maybe I would have felt as if I was worthy of being loved.

The sad fact is though, that I didn’t take what was offered and Lorie was off for her weekend pass with a quick pat on my shoulder and a host of giggles as she ran downstairs.

I headed back into my room to study. I didn’t have homework, but studying passed the time away from the other kids. I stretched out on my stomach and lay with my head in my hands, staring at my math book and began to do the problems for the next day in my head.

I must have dozed off, because I certainly didn’t hear the door open, or the group of girls who entered my room, at least not until it was too late.

The blanket came down over the top of me and my face was immediately pushed into the bed tightly, to keep me from screaming. Pain shot through my back at the first punch and again through my side as I was hit there. I tried to turn over, it was like being caught in an iron grip, my head was forced into the bed, and my arms were pinned. I tried to kick at them, my mind screaming as I fought the red haze that offered right there on the verge of my vision. It came closer as more pain poured down on me from above. My lungs were burning, I couldn’t get enough air. I tried to lift my head with everything I had, just to get one more desperately needed breath of air and was rewarded with a blow to the head that left me reeling. The fight went out of me and I knew that it was almost over when I began to see small white spots floating in the distance. My muscles relaxed and I let my eyes close on their own.

I felt myself being turned over and I could hear them breathing but not a one of them said a word, more blows fell, this time on my face, my stomach, my arms, and my chest. I can’t say in reality how long the beating lasted, it seemed like a very long time to me.

The pain had been so intense that even after they left, I didn’t have the energy to pull the blanket off of my face for quiet some time.

When I finally could move, the blanket had stuck to the blood and wounds on my face and it hurt to peel it off. I was so cold and I shivered violently as I tried to make my mind tell me what I was meant to be doing. I stumbled off the bed and onto the floor. I lay there, wanting to cry, but, unable to find it in there anywhere. I hurt so bad, inside and out, physically and mentally.

Finally, I scooted under the bed and that is where I lay. In the darkness as I thought of all the bad things I did. I went over all the teachings in my life, searching for an answer, one particular thing I did that was so bad that I deserved to be punished. I prayed for a sign that it would soon be over and I would be forgiven and that maybe one day my mommy would love me again.

There were no answers that night. Just a lonely broken little girl who grew up into a broken woman, struggling to fit herself together again so that she can be worthy of the love that has finally been given to her.

To this day, I still flip out if blankets are drawn over my head.

Krista

Sometimes I have so many things in my mind that I can’t keep them all straight. Sadly, most of my thinking is done at work where I have no access to a pen and paper to jot my thoughts down. It leaves me feeling very scattered and without resolution.

Despite Lorie’s best attempts to stick up for me, there was only so much one person could do against all of the others. One huge stumbling block was that I did not want to be labeled as a tattle tale or a sissy, so I often kept the little things to myself.

Like how someone came in and toothpaste in all of my underwear, or how I would get up in the mornings to find that all my carefully hung clothes had been ripped down of my hangers. I didn’t tell anyone about how they shut the lights off on me while I was in the shower, plunging me into darkness, sometimes, just for added fun, they would set the dirty laundry basket right outside my shower stall so that when I pulled back the curtain and step out, I’d fall over it.

Harmless crap really, but the pain it did to my self esteem is everlasting. I have still, not learned to trust people completely and I have learned there is no better place to cry then in a darkened bathroom, preferably in a hot bath.

During all this time, I tried to get to know people. Most of the avoided me very openly, but, if I could manage to catch one or two of them alone, such as in the bathroom, or in the hallways at night, I could get them to talk to me.

I learned a lot about Krista during the first couple of weeks. We would talk in the darkness about her life. It was always her life because mine was just not open for discussion. It was all still to raw, still to fresh for me to want to go over in casual conversation.

Krista was seventeen when I arrived there. She had been there from the opening six months earlier and was in the process of making arrangements for when she left. Her birthday was sometime in the first week of October and she would be eighteen, which meant that legally they could not hold her there anymore, no matter where she decided to go after she left.

When I asked her why she had been put there she said it was because of her religion. I was a bit baffled by this and it became the first time that I was introduced into a Wicca lifestyle. She said that her parents had accused her of being a devil worshiper, said that they were afraid that she would harm herself or another person. She went on to tell me about how her father decided one night to” beat the devil out of her”. In trying to purge his daughter of her “sins” he nearly took her life, she spent the next five months recovering in the hospital. She became addicted to pain pills and from there it progressed into other drugs until she was a sixteen year old drug addict who would do anything, including selling her body, just for the next high. Of course, the drug addiction lead to stealing, at first, it was just for something to eat so that she didn’t have to spend her money on food, then it went into things that she could sell for money so that she could get more drugs. She said one of the biggest money makers was to go into a store and buy something for thirty of forty dollars and then go in and steal the exact same item and return it for the cash. Back then, a lot of stores didn’t require even the receipt, just a small form filled out with your name and address and of course, you can put any name you like on it, so it was easy to get away with. She was picked up a couple of times for petty theft, but nothing major. A cop found her overdosed in an alley one night and that began her recovery.

She had come to terms with all that had happened in her life. She never bullshitted it or sugar coated anything. Her parents were rotten human beings who should not have children, in her opinion, but since they did and she was it, she was not going to let them ruin her life. In the short few weeks I knew her, I grew to respect her a lot for that.

Krista left Western Academy and I never heard of her again. I don’t know how her life has turned out, but in my mind, she would have grown up as a very successful career minded woman. I also see her as continuing to practice Wicca in her long flowing dresses. Really, she should have been born in the sixties so that she could have experienced the flower child era. Somehow though, I think that Krista brought it to life wherever she went, she was just that kind of girl.

As the days approached to Krista leaving, I was filled with a new fear. I would soon be getting a new roommate and I had no idea who it would be. The staff was always very tight lipped about things like this. In the last week before she left, I was in a near panic every time I went to bed. I would lay there for hours, trying to picture myself with someone new in my room. I tried to make my mind fit the pieces together of a puzzle that just didn’t have all the pieces to it. I didn’t know who had been doing these things to me and I was terrified to trust anyone. I prayed and prayed that it would be Lorie, in a small selfish way, I prayed for it because I knew that she would protect me from them.

Krista’s leaving took place with very little fanfare. She waited in the lobby until the car that was to take her way arrived and then she came into the classrooms to say goodbye to all of us. There were a few tears shed by the other girls who knew her better, they would miss her, the tears that dripped down my face were born out of self pity though, knowing that I would be alone in that room tonight. As Krista hugged me goodbye she pressed something cold into my hand and when she walked away I looked down to see one of her bracelets. I smiled and slid it onto my wrist. To this day I have no idea why she did it.

I arrived at Western Academy on August 31st and I can count on one hand the acts of kindness that were shown to me by my fellow students that year. It is something I held onto dearly.

Krista, if you ever read this, know that the simple parting of a bracelet gave one little girl something to hold on to. It got me through some long months. Thank you for that.

My 11th Birthday

Well, now that the break is over. I am going back into the depths of my mind to recall what order things went. It has been nearly 20 years, so I’m liable to mess this up at some point.

My birthday was one week after I arrived. Since I was a new arrival and all of my paperwork was still being processed, it was overlooked. Two days after my birthday, when a small box from my mother arrived, they finally realized it. By then it really was too late to do anything about.

Inside the package was a single item. It was a white shirt with a Mountain Dew emblem on the right hand side just above my chest. Now this might seem like an odd gift for a little girl turning eleven, but, it was my favorite drink and at the time, their emblem was much cooler then it is now.

Of course, being the good girl I was, I took it up and promptly put it into the dirty laundry. We had a large garbage can type container that sat in the upstairs girls’ bathroom and we all put our clothes into it. Each night, the third shift staff member, of which there was only one, would haul it down to the laundry room and wash, dry and fold it all. In the morning, we awoke to clean clothes outside the hallway that we sorted ourselves and put away.

The next morning I rushed out and gathered up my clothes and slipped into my freshly washed brand new shirt. I went in to wash my face, comb my hair and brush my teeth.

Then we all headed down for breakfast. It was Monday morning, which meant that coffee would be served with breakfast.

Have I mentioned that at this point in time, Western Academy had only been operating for only a short while, less then a year, which meant that we were still the test subjects.

I still had not made any friends and the loneliness always seemed worse in the morning because everyone would gather into groups, fighting over who was going to sit next to who and I always ended up sitting alone, picking at my food. This morning was no exception.

I did not partake in the coffee. I have never been a coffee drinker and I’m still not. It was just one more thing of many that set me apart from the rest of the kids.

I finished up what I could stomach of my meal and began to carry my tray over. I should have noticed how quiet it got before I even stood up, only a few hushed whispers. I was too busy poking at my food and thinking of something that at the time was really important to me.

Rick appeared in front of me, cutting me off before I could make it to dump my tray. I looked him in the eye and I saw a slight smirk appear on his face before he lifted up his hand and the aroma of coffee hit me. Before I could step back, he poured the entire contents of the cup down the front of me. My skin felt the flash of fire before it went numb and for a long moment I just stared at him. I would not give a single one of them the satisfaction of seeing me cry so I moved forward quickly and dumped my tray into the garbage, tray and all and walked with as much dignity as I had left to the bathroom.

This was the first time that I discovered what great little hiding spot there was in the cabinets. I pulled one open and just stared into it for the longest time, then climbed in, curling myself up tightly by wrapping my arms around my knees and burying my face into my lap.

I sat there and went over in my mind all the things I had done in my young life, trying to pinpoint a place where I might have noticed that my mom stopped loving me. Then I tried to go back to see if there was any love at all.

I found no answers in the depths of my mind. I found instances where my mother would scream at me about what a rotten bitch I was. Yes folks, by the time I was about five I can remember my mother calling me a bitch, when my breasts started to come in early, then I became a whore to her. She would scream these obscenities at me while raining blows down on any part of my body she could reach. This didn’t happen very often but each moment of each time was burned into my mind.

The hardest part was that she wasn’t always like this. She would have periods of great generosity. Not money wise, but, with her words, she would tell me how beautiful, how smart, how sweet I was. She would make me feel like a princess just by taking me in and showing me how to make something in the kitchen. It was this that confused me. I never could understand how someone that loved you so much could hurt you so bad.

I think I fell asleep because the next thing I remember was hearing some of the girls come into the bathroom. They were laughing and talking about what a baby I was, about how I had run away because of a little bit of coffee. My chest and stomach burned still and I closed my eyes and put my hands over my ears in hopes of drowning out the voices, the words. The tears fell down my face anyway and I defiantly decided to stay there forever.

They laughed some more, making general snotty comments about how short my hair was, how I looked like a boy. The door opened and I held my breath as the water from the sink above me turned on, when it turned off I heard Lorie’s voice.

“Not be so mean to her, she’s just a kid and she really doesn’t deserve to be here. She’s not like the rest of us; her mom just didn’t want her.”

The other girls gave her some ribbing about being nice to the reject and her voice went soft and held a dangerous tone “I was her roommate at BPI, I know what kind of pain she is going through and I don’t care what you guys think of her, if any of you pull another stunt like today’s, you’ll understand exactly why I was locked up”

I shuddered a bit even as my heart swelled for the one person who had the guts to stand up against the masses on my behalf. I knew that she was in the system because she nearly beat a girl to death for sleeping with her boyfriend. She had told me that much at BPI. The girl had some serious anger management issues, but it seemed she had a soft spot too.

I don’t think Lorie ever realized exactly how much her actions effected me. She was never big on words and touching was not something she did freely, at least, not in a gentle manner.

All told I was under that sink from breakfast until just shortly after dinner. I was starving when I came out and slunk upstairs. I was immediately put on probation and sent to my room where I feel asleep with my stomach growling. Not a single word was said between me and any of the other girls.

I knew that things would not be getting better any time soon.

Tag

Angel tagged me and I don't normally do this, but I really needed a break from the stuff taking place in my head for the blog right now. Thanks Angel.

1. Were you named after anyone?
My first name was after my father's very first girlfriend, my middle name was after his ex-wife. No wonder my mother hated me.

2. When did you last cry?
A harder question would be when was the last time I >didn't< cry. I have no idea when that was.

3. What is your favorite lunch meat?
Hmm.. Spam.

4. What is your most embarrassing CD?
All 264 of my Cd's were stolen, now I have MP3's.

5. Where is your second home?
The Rocky Mountains. How I miss the Aspen trees.

6. Do you trust others too easily?
On a surface level yes. Deep down, no.

7. What was your favorite toy as a child?
Honestly, I don't recall any toys.

8. Would you bungee jump?
Hell freaking no way. I have a serious phobia of high ledges, not to be confused with a fear of heights.

9. Do you think that you are strong?
No.

10. What are your favorite colors?
Yellow. Blue. Black.

11. What is your least favorite thing about yourself?
The way that I demand to much love and attention.

12. Who do you miss most?
My sister.

13. What was the last thing you ate?
A cookie.

14. If you were a crayon, what color would you be?
Invisible

15. What is the weather like right now?
Cold and rainy.. and dark outside.

16. Last person you talked to on the phone?
The guy who answered the phone at the video game store.

17. Do you wear contacts?
I wish.

18. Last Movie You Watched?
The begining of Hotel Rawanda. Does the begining count? I was really tired and I am going to watch it.

19. Favorite Day of the Year?
Any day where I feel safe and content.

20. Where Would You Want to Go on your Next Vacation?
Well.. if I could afford to go anywhere in the entire world, it would be Australia. In the states, Florida, to meet my best friend.

21. Favorite Smells?
Sex. Strawberry.

22. What's the furthest you've been away from home?
Vermont.

Pass on to . . . Well. . . If you haven't done it, now is a good time and say it's because I made you.

>eyes dart<

My First Night

When I left BPI it was with the understanding that I would be going to Western Academy in one week. Not really something that I was looking forward to, but it was, inevitable.

When we pulled up my heart stopped. The place looked huge from the outside. I knew I did not want to be there.

My mother climbed out of the car and cheerfully announced that we had arrived. I shot daggers at her and resisted the urge to point out that I was young, not stupid.

I didn’t notice the grounds so much as I noticed the lone house next to my new home. It was a farm house and I closed my eyes and for a moment I pretended that I was going in there to a warm loving family that actually wanted me.

The feel of my mother’s hand gripping my arm pulled me out of the first fantasy I had about the house next door, but it would not be the last.

She tugged on me and I tried hard not to, to be brave, but my eyes welled up with tears and I lowered my head so that my long hair slipped down into my face, creating a shield between me and the world I was about to enter.

As I trudged along the side walk, I felt like I was a convict walking down the corridor to the gas chamber. I felt deep in the pit of my stomach that this was going to change my life forever.

We stepped through the doors and was greeted by John. He was the one in charge of everything and he took us into his office. It was a small room and on one side of the plain brown desk there was his chair, on the other, there were two more chairs where we were directed to sit.

I later learned that John was an alcoholic. He would leave work and go to the pub in town. This was a terribly small town and everyone knew that if he was needed after hours, he could be found there at the bar.

He was an older man, if I had to guess, I would have said he was in his fifties. However, I have learned that alcoholics tend to look far beyond their years so his true age is a mystery. He was short and scrawny in physical size. The man had one of the most commanding presences I have ever come across. You know when he spoke, you better shut your lips and listen.

He went over the rules and the system and assured my mother that I would be well taken care of. Years later I would learn that this was just a formality and it didn’t matter at that point whether or not my mother felt I was safe there. She had already turned over custody of me to the state.

I was lead up to my room and I was happy to see on my way there that my old roommate from BPI had also arrived at Western Academy. A short lived happiness I can assure you, but at the time, I thought that I had an ally already waiting for me.

My room was the middle room, and, the smallest of all the rooms. I was introduced to a young lady named Krista who was going to be my roommate.

I wish I could remember all of the names of the students who where there when I arrived, but, there were literally hundreds in the years I spent there and often it blends together in my mind.

Krista was probably one of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen in my life. She hand long blonde hair and perfectly straight teeth. She dressed in long flowing gowns and whenever she moved she jingled from the throng of colored metal bracelets that dangled from her wrist. She was on honors working towards graduate status.

My mother left soon after and I stood in the window of my new room just watching her go. I would like to say that I got used to my mother’s abandonment, her rejection of me, but to this day it is not something I have ever been able to let go of. It leaves me full of self doubt, asking myself what it was about me that was so unlovable to her. I was not an only child, but, at this point, I was the only one she had given away. It also left me wondering how anyone would ever be able to love me if I was so bad that my own mother could not love me. Aren’t mothers supposed to love their children no matter what they do?

That night I climbed into my bed, and lay there whispering in the dark with Krista. She told me about the staff members. Then she began to tell me about herself. She was a white witch she said, she had a ouija board and could speak to the dead. She told me how the building used to be a church and that they shut it down because several people were killed there.

I never did learn if that was true or not. My adult mind tells me that it was done to scare me, but, then again, later down the line when I began to make friends with the kids that lived in town; I learned that they told the same stories.

If it was designed to scare me, it worked. I was scared to death and my ears strained for the sound of any angry ghosts that might be after me. Krista had a soft and soothing voice and I was nearly lulled to sleep when I heard the first thump. It was coming from the wall directly next to my bed and I gritted my teeth. My skin tingled and as always when I feel any kind of intense emotion, my ears began a slow buzzing in them.

The tears fell and a suffocating feeling came over me but I was not going to utter a single word of fear. Krista chattered on as if she had heard nothing.

My first night at a place that would become the first home I had ever had was spent with tears streaming down my face. Something that would become common place within my life, I learned how to cry in silence. Some times I still do.

Routines and Rules

I was going to use today to post about rules, but, I think I will also go into the routines that we had since they are all closely tied together.

We got up at 6 every morning. We had until 7:15 to be ready to go downstairs. That meant that we had to fight for the showers, blow dry hair, get dressed and get our rooms cleaned.

Our rooms were required to be immaculate at all times, and they never cut us an ounce of slack on it. Beds made, the clothes in our lockers shelves had to be lined up flush with the edge of the shelves as well as with each other. The clothes that hung had to be neat and orderly.

Getting a shower could be a real pain and it seemed that no matter how early I got up, for about the first two years of my life there I was always the last one allowed in. Of course, I was also too small and afraid to stand up for myself, but there was a good reason for that, we’ll get to that later too.

Once we were ready we would line up in front of the door that leads to the main hallway. We were not allowed to open it because our door had an alarm on it that resounded throughout the entire building.

After filing downstairs we would go by the window of the kitchen and pick up our food. If you were lucky, you got kitchen duty and then you could hang out with the cook. The only cook I remember the name of was Jimmy and man that guy rocked. He used to take us outside the door right next to the kitchen and let us smoke with him.

We would move into the dining room which, was had eight picnic style tables that we all crowded around to eat. Once we were done, we dumped our tray and moved over to one of the two couches that sat on the far end of the dining room around a small television. The only one in the entire building.

Once everyone was finished eating, which, we had to be by 745 we would head into the classrooms. Here we learned everything a blossoming teenager needed to know.

We didn’t really have authentic teachers, rather, just more staff members who acted as teachers. Still, we had books and I enjoyed learning even then.

At some point during our day, yes, every day, we would be pulled out one by one for our therapy sessions.

At 1215 we would line back up and grab our lunch.

School was over by 430 and at that we set about doing our chores. Cleaning the bathrooms, vacuuming the hallways and stairway. It never took long because there were so many of us and then we would be herded into the Rec Room for a bit of relaxation time. Twice a week, those of us who had been raped or sexually assaulted went in for group therapy.

After Rec time we would again line up for dinner, which was served by 530 sharp, never late, never early. After dinner, which ended at 615 we would go into the Rec Room and hang out for roughly an hour. This was the point where most people got into trouble.

I recall heading upstairs around 730 where we would go to our rooms and get ready for bed and then spend the next hour and half hanging out in the dorm hallways. Lights out was 900.

Our behavior was measured in levels. There was “trust”, “honor” and “graduate”. Each level had 4 weeks to it and we had to carry cards around with us at all times for the staff members to mark at the end of each activity. Your card clearly marked your level and your week up at the top such as Trust Week 1, and so forth.

Each level gave you more privileges. If you reached Honors, you were able to keep a radio in your room and since chores were picked from highest ranking to lowest, you did well to obtain higher levels.

This was so hard to do though because it consisted of many things. Chores had to be done perfectly the first time. You had to participate in therapy to the satisfaction of the therapist. Of course, you could not swear or fight or any of the other mundane rules that normally accompany such a place. If at any time a staff member felt that we were not up to our potent ional at a task, they would write on the back of our cards. They went over them at the end of the week to decide if we were worthy of moving up.

The lowest level was “Probation” which meant you had a serious infraction. Running away, fighting, outright refusal to obey an order, getting restrained, getting caught with contraband were just a few of the many things that got you knocked down to probation immediately.

The first three days of probation were the hardest. All students were forbidden to talk to you and getting caught doing so was an infraction. You lost all privileges and had to sit alone for meals.

I don’t remember all of the little rules, or even all of the little things that came with each level of the point system. It wasn’t very often that anyone got to Honors let alone Graduate.

I did do it though and, that set of a chain of events that made me realize how dependant I had become on living in this kind of environment.

The Upper Floor

Heading upstairs was like moving into another world. Whereas the downstairs was a place of quietness, other then our Rec Room, the upstairs was full of loud voice, laughter, the occasional shout from a staff member to pipe down.

The first door that you came to, was another office. This consisted of one desk, two chairs and two large metal cabinets that housed files and medication. It also housed the alarm system for the entire building.

Right across from this was another room. When I first came, it was actually a bedroom that contained 4 boys. After a while, they decided that 4 angry teenage boys all together in one room was just too much so they converted it into a punishment room of sorts. I’ll go more into that later.

In addition to this, there were three more doors on that side of the wall that housed the boys.

There was a single door on the other side, about halfway down the hallway that led to the girl’s dorm. That meant that it was a massive wooden door that opened up and you had to actually go inside in order to access our rooms.

When you stepped through this door, you were facing one of the bedrooms; on your right was bathroom that had 4 stalls and 4 showers; on your left was a short hallway that led to two more rooms.

I would eventually end up living in all of these rooms at some point, but, I started out in the middle room.

Now, each of the rooms were different, by quite a bit. Size and setup played a big part in this difference. However, there were some things that were standard.

The windows were one of those standard things. Every single room upstairs, with the exception of the office had windows that faced outside. The biggest room had 4 and the smallest room had 3. The windows, in whole, were huge. Eventually I will get to posting pictures, when I find them, but, for now I will try to describe it.

There were two portions to the windows. Top portion was huge plate glass that was about 6 feet in height, the bottom part was maybe a foot and a half, but, then again, that is just a rough number and I really suck at measurements. The lower portion of the windows could open. You just had to have a crank, which, we didn’t because they had all been removed. You know the ones I’m talking about, you turn them and the window slowly creaks open.

From the outside, all the windows looked like upside down crosses. That always struck me as sick humor since the building used to be a church. None of the windows had any kind of coverings on them.
Also inside each of the rooms, each student had a “locker”. They were made of wood and painted white. There were no doors on them, open completely. As you looked at them, there were 4 shelves on the left and the right had a closet bar with a longer shelf just above that.

We each had a single bed and for the life of me I can’t remember what color the bedspreads were, but they were all the same.

The best thing that I can recall about the rooms was the window sills. Each window had them and we always put our stuff that didn’t fit in our lockers there, neatly of course.

That was one of the many rules that we had. Which, I will go into in my post for tomarrow.

The Bottom Floor

Western Academy. Two words that left a major impact on my life. This was not your typical lock down facility. It was a “Residential Child Care Facility” or RCCF as I will refer to it later if need be.

To say I was unique is an understatement. Not only was I the youngest student to have ever gone there, being only 10 years old at the time of my arrival, but, I spent more time there then any student before or after. Almost 6 years of my life. Also, I was the only student who lived there who had not been in trouble with the law.

I can’t be bothered to make up names and trying to remember what all of the codenames would be. There were a lot of people that lived there with me over those six years and I am sure that I will not be able to tell it in chronological order either, but, it is the stories that matter rather then the timeline.

Living at Western Academy, time seemed to have no meaning. It was one day after the other.

How they managed to convince anyone that turning an old church into a RCCF is beyond me, but they did it and, it wasn’t so bad, at least, not as far as I was concerned.

Downstairs, as you entered the building from the front, was a couch and a couple of plants. Straight ahead was a stairwell that disappeared upstairs and an office that was tucked back and to the left side of the stairwell. The office belonged to Clair and Bill, they were the owners, though very very seldom there. It was always a treat, at least for me, to have them there as I adored them almost instantly.

Immediately to the left of the entrance, was a door that led to an office. This was John’s office and he was head of operations. Not the owner, but, the man in charge. A few steps past this was a hallway to the left and a huge set of doors to the right.

Beyond those doors was my favorite place in the whole world. At least, it was when I was 10 years old. We called it “The Rec Room” which of course was short for Recreation. The moment you step in there was a hard green floor. Not tile, but, a flat all one piece green floor. Separating two sides of the room was a volleyball net. Further in was a pool table and not far beyond that was a stage. This was used as a podium obviously because just behind it was a boarded off area that, even in my time, held the baptismal font. On either side of the stage were doors that when opened up, held a storage area and a set of stairs that led into this baptismal font. The doors were kept locked almost all the time. The left side contained our sports equipment, as well as the pool sticks.

If we were in the Rec Room, there was a volleyball game going, a pool game going, and those who were involved in neither were settled up on the stage having whispered conversations or writing letters usually.

Once you step back out of the doors leading into the Rec Room, you are facing a long hallway. If you go down this hallway you will encounter the main office on the left and directly across from that was the counselor’s office. They shared an office and at any moment of the day there was someone in there having all the problems of their little world solved.

Right next to that was the laundry area, one washer, one dryer. Next to that, a room that I became way to familiar with that we will explore later.

Continue down and you came to the first of two classrooms on the right hand side. Nothing fancy, simply a classroom with a chalkboard and individual desks set up in rows of 4 and columns of 3.

Turning left at this point would take you down another hallway that led to the bathrooms. At the end of this hallway, on the left was the kitchen and on the right was a doorway that led to dining room. If you kept going, you would wind up outside again.

If you continue on instead of turning left past the first classroom, you came to the second classroom, same setup as the first. A few feet farther was another doorway leading to the outside.

That was the extent of the lower floor of Western Academy. With the exception of the room between the laundry room and the first classroom.

That was the “The Time Out Room”. It, like most of the walls in the place, had brown paneled walls, and a greenish blue carpet. It had a massive oak door that creaked when I was shut and the sound echoed throughout the room. There was no handle on the inside, at all.

This is where they tossed us when they felt we were “out of control”. I can’t describe the helpless feeling of being forced into a room and having the creaking of the door echoing in the small chamber, knowing that I was in there until someone else decided for me to let me out.

I hated that room with a passion. Sometimes they would put people in there and leave the door open, but, more often then not, if you were in there, you were alone, closed off, and for added punishment, they would turn off the lights and you would be left in the darkness with only your thoughts.

Have I also mentioned that I am also claustrophobic? Is this a coincidence? I do not think that it is.

I am tired of living my life suffering for the past. I know many people who have had it worse then me, if you haven’t, you should check out the links on my page and read some of their stories. They have turned out with happy lives, full of love and laughter. I need to find a way to do this and I am hoping by exploring all of this, putting it down where I can look back and see the things that were done to me, see how they effected me, I can change how I look at this, and how I let them effect me. I am tired of living in fear from the shadows and darkness. I am ready to battle it head on.