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.
TW: Abuse/SA/Language/Suicide/Death A place to put down my thoughts about my past and current place to deal with my trauma and healing.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Sunday, November 27, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
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.
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.
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.
Monday, November 07, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
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<
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<
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
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.
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.
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