Thursday, December 1, 2011

truth is music to my ears

People don't often seem to understand that what I mean when I say something like "that doesn't resonate with me" is actually literal... conversation is like a melody to me... it's soft and subtle undertones float and blend and ring off one another in a audible dance... I love to listen to people talk because I love the sound of it, I love to converse with people because the interplay of voices and truths is wonderful to hear... it's the reason I love to go to crowded places from time to time despite being both claustrophobic and agoraphobic... it's not often I find a place in myself from which I can withstand the buffeting of emotion as I wend my way through the currents of sound, melodic and discordant, so I enjoy it more for the infrequency.

to be continued

Saturday, April 2, 2011

rape isn't about sex, it's about power

Reading on another site this morning a memory came to mind, and I find that I can't get it out of my head without writing it down.  So here it is.  It's the story of the first of two times I was gang-raped, so don't continue reading any further if your stomach is weak.

The summer I turned thirteen is when I had my first consensual sexual experience, and to be perfectly honest, I have no regrets about it.  I enjoyed it, I wasn't coerced in any way, and I thought I was in love with my partner... I'm still pretty sure he loved me too, so I say it again, I have no regrets.

But what happened to me the next autumn... well, that's an entirely different story, and the one I will tell here.

I was quite a tom-boy when I was in my pre-teens and teens, and had many guy-friends who I hung out with... we rode bikes, and climbed trees, and basically just had a good time.
It was through these friends that I met my boyfriend.   He was an older guy, and his name was Darcy.  24 years old, he had a motorcycle, and his own place.  He used to invite the guys in to play video games, and watch TV when the weather was bad, but otherwise they mostly helped out with bike repairs by handing over tools as needed and sometimes running to the store for something Darcy might need.
It was during one of the supply runs that he invited me into the apartment... two of the guys had left just before I showed up and he told me that the guys I was looking for had gone, and suggested that I come inside for a soda.
So I did.
He was cute.  He was mature.  He was interested.  He told me how amazed he was that I was only 14... hard to believe he said, because I had such a nice figure and seemed so mature for my age.
I was smitten.
What girl doesn't want to hear that she's pretty and mature and smart and and and... he told me all the things I was dying inside to hear.  I was young, and as mature as I was due to the life I had led up to that point, I was still only 14...

We "dated" for a couple of months.  The sex was good... I enjoyed it as much as he did.
And there were drugs.  Marijuana, Magic Mushrooms, LSD... nothing too serious... nothing I hadn't tried before... Nothing I didn't know my own reactions to already.  At least, not until that last day.

During the time that I dated Darcy, I was kicked out of my mother's house, and moved in with my grandmother.  Darcy would come to see me, and take me places on his motorcycle, or in his truck.
I genuinely enjoyed the time I spent with him.  And as I mentioned, the sex was good.

We spent the better part of our last afternoon together in bed.
He told me he loved me.
He asked me to marry him.
I laughed, and told him he was crazy, I was only 14, why would I want to get married?!
He laughed too.
He agreed with me, it was a crazy idea, but he planned to ask me again in a couple of years...
He went out to the kitchen to get us some sodas, and the door bell rang.
It was a couple of his friends.
He came back upstairs, and gave me my soda, which I drank quickly, and he told me to take a nap, he was going to spend a few minutes with his friends, and then he'd be back.  He wanted me to be refreshed for more playtime in the bed with him.

I started feeling strange...
Kinda like I was already asleep, and it got harder and harder for me to move of my own accord...
I began to get nervous.  I didn't like feeling so unable to control myself.
After about 30 minutes, Darcy came back.
What I didn't realize at first, was he'd brought his friends with him.

I was laying face-down on the bed when they entered, and I was unable to roll over, or move anything but the tips of my fingers and my eyes.  I could move my lips too, but no sound came out of my mouth.

Someone tore the blankets and sheets away, leaving me naked and exposed.
There were comments of the type you'd expect from semi-drunken men faced with a naked teen aged girl, who wasn't making any obvious effort to hide, or re-cover herself.

"I told you I gave it to her." I heard from Darcy, and I suddenly realized what he'd done and was about to do...

The men started touching me then.

I still don't know how many there were.  At least 5, maybe six or seven... 
I only saw 4 faces other than Darcy's.  
I tried and tried to say no...
I moaned and cried, the tears running down my face, even as my mouth refused to cooperate with my mind.

They moved me to suit themselves, like some kind of living sex-doll.
I could not move under my own power.
I could not stop them.
I could not even say "no"

I was vaginally raped at least 15 times.
I was sodomized twice.
I choked on two different penises, but the drug Darcy gave me made it less than perfect for such acts, and after those two tries they stopped and concentrated on the rest of me.
I had bite marks on my thighs and breasts and neck, and finger-mark bruises all over my body.
One of the guys even went so far as to clean me up a little before he took another turn.

Needless to say, none of them used any kind of protection.

I don't know how long it lasted.
An hour.
Two hours.
Maybe 3...  I just don't know.  Time does funny things when you're in a situation like that...  it seems to race and to come to a complete stop at the same time... you can't trust your impressions, or even your memory about time

I almost pulled away from one of them...
Pulling my leg closer to my body in a sudden jerk that startled them all...

"She's coming out of it" someone said,
and they all started getting off the bed, and getting dressed like they finally realized they were doing something wrong...  It didn't take long for them to leave me alone in the bedroom...

Covered in crusting drying cum... spit... blood...

Crying, sobbing, trying desperately to cover myself, and wipe off some of their filth, but the drug was still too powerful in my system, and I could barely crawl to the head of the bed, to curl into fetal position... to hide from what had been done to me.

I had stopped crying before Darcy returned to the bedroom after he had seen his friends out.

"Did you enjoy your nap?" was the first thing I heard him say.

I can't even begin to express what I felt at that moment.
Did he really think I didn't remember?  Did he think I didn't know what he had done?
He sat down on the bed, and I had regained much of my ability to move under my own power by this time, and I skittered away from him instinctively.  There was no way I wanted him to touch me ever again, much less right then.  I felt so DIRTY.  So SOILED.  I felt like I was less than the filth that was crusting my body.
I felt so terribly ANGRY.  I couldn't look at him, couldn't bear the thought of what he had done to me, so soon after telling me he loved me.  I couldn't reconcile the two.

"why don't you take a shower" he said, finally starting to realize that the drug hadn't affected my memory of the events of that afternoon, as he'd been expecting.  He began to try to explain it away...  I don't remember the exact words, but the gist was this...

He DID love me, but his buddy offered him money, and the drug, and he needed the money for his rent, since he'd been spending so much on me lately. so he figured, since I wouldn't remember later, that it was worth it.  He told me he still wanted to marry me.  He didn't see me as dirty, or soiled, or ruined...  And then, he left me alone while he went to get some water.

I made my way to the bathroom after gathering up my clothing from the bedroom floor.
I couldn't find my underwear.
I took a quick shower, and then dressed, taking my time, and stopping several times to cry a little more.
When I was dressed, I left.
I walked the 20 or so miles to the subway station nearest to Darcy's place.
I snuck into the station, since I didn't have any money on me for a fare, and pan-handling was out of the question in the state I was in... I'm quite surprised, looking back, that I wasn't caught.  I certainly wasn't being very careful about it.

I made it back to my grandmother's in the wee hours, and got into my room without anyone seeing me.
I spent the next 3 hours in the shower, trying to wash off the filth that only I could still see, emerging only because my alarm went off and I knew that my grandmother would be wanting her usual morning shower, and would ask too many questions I was too ashamed to answer.

This is the first time I've told this story in detail.
I didn't press charges.  I never even confronted Darcy with what he had done... instead I just tried to bury my pain as I always did... as I was trained to... I refused his calls, and never saw him again.

It was years before I stopped being ashamed of what those men had done to me... years before I stopped blaming myself, and feeling dirty... unclean...
Years before I realized that I was a victim, and even more years before I decided I wasn't going to be a victim any more.
Years before I realized that those men had gotten off more on the fact that they could do anything they wanted with my body, than on my body itself.  I was just a thing that they could control for those hours that I had no control over myself.
Years before I could stop wishing I didn't remember, as Darcy had obviously expected to happen.

I still remember every detail as if it were yesterday...
But I am no longer ashamed.
Mostly I'm angry.
Angry at them.
Angry at ALL the monsters who take the innocence of a young person and kill it for their own pleasure.
Angry with those who try to call the excersize of physical power LOVE.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

How an Animal Lover Suddenly Becomes Dog-Phobic

Since I was very, very young, I have always had special relationships with four-legged friends.
I would confidently approach any kind of animal on the street, and knew when one was unsafe to approach by some strange instinct that I still experience today.
The kind of animal didn't matter, if it would stand still at my approach I would pet and play with it... dogs, cats, raccoons and squirrels, and even the occasional bird would all let me introduce myself, and seemed to enjoy my attentions, at least for a few seconds, or minutes.
I always have, and always will love animals, certain types more than others, of course, and dogs are still at the top of the list, despite what for a while was debilitating phobia.

When I was about 4, there was a german Shepperd bitch living next door to my grandmother.  Nanny was on friendly terms with the woman who owned the dog, and they often sat together for tea and conversation of an afternoon.  While they sat and chatted over their teacups, I would play with the dog.  I was always careful and well able to judge the dog's moods, despite being so young.  I was well acquainted with this dog from before I was out of diapers, and usually felt quite safe with her.
We even had a ritual for saying goodbye when the time came for Nanny and I to head back home...
She would sit at the threshold while Nanny and her neighbour said their good-bye and got in a last bit of gossip at the door, and I would hug her around her neck, then give her a gentle kiss on her nose which she would return with a doggy grin and a quick swipe of her tongue across my face.  It was an important ritual to us, and we never separated without it.

On the last day that I was to play with this particular dog, things didn't go quite the way I was used to.

Nanny and her friend sat down at the kitchen table, and shoo'd the dog and I away to the living room.  The dog wasn't in her usual good spirits that day.  She was cranky and out of sorts, and was very particular about where and how she wanted to be touched.  She growled at me for the first and last time that day, but when I expressed concern to Nanny and her friend, the shush'd me and sent me back to play.
I was extra careful that day, the dog's attitude being just a little distressing.

By the time it was time for my grandmother and I to leave, everything seemed to be OK, and we began our good-bye ritual.  I hugged her, and gave her her kiss, and she licked my face, just like always, but then it happened...

As I turned away, the dog lunged without a sound, and attacked me from behind.

Suddenly, I was no longer in my own body.  Instead I was floating at the level of the ceiling watching while the dog chewed on what I took to be a doll, not recognizing myself in the bloody mess that I had unexpectedly become.

Nanny and the dog's owner tried desperately to get the dog to let me go, but they were unsuccessful.  The woman's daughter came running from upstairs and tried to help but seemed to be afraid of getting bitten and was quite ineffectual.  I believe to this day that I would have certainly died if the woman's son hadn't arrived at that opportune moment.  He was able to wrestle the dog off of me, but not before she took a large chunk out of my scalp and ate it, hair and all.

Scalp wounds, as most people well know, bleed profusely.
And the human body has only so much to spare.

There was a large puddle on the floor where the dog had mauled me, my clothing was soaked, my grandmother's clothing was soaked long before she got me to the hospital, as was the back seat of the car that transported us there.  More than half my blood volume leaked out of that scalp laceration and the various other claw and tooth marks that were on my neck, chest and arms.

I was rushed into a room where a doctor and two nurses worked to stop the bleeding, and I can remember hearing them talk about how I had lost so much blood that I was hardly oozing anymore.  They stitched and stitched... 300+ sutures to close the gaping wound caused by a 4 inch square piece of missing scalp... it kept tearing because of the need to stretch the remaining flesh to cover my exposed skull. 

To this day, I am forced to explain to hairdressers how I got the scar because it is so large and jagged, and requires some skill to cut around.

Immediately after, as soon as I was on my feet again, I continued my old ways of approaching strange animals much to my grandmother's fearful chagrin.  And as always they accepted me like an old friend.

It wasn't until 15 years later that my phobic fear came boiling to the surface of my mind.

It was winter, and I was hugely pregnant with my son, my due-date only a couple of weeks away.  The sidewalk on my street was slippery and my tread careful as I headed home from my job in my neighbourhood pet shop. 

Just next door, the neighbour had a large husky who was kept chained in the front yard.  He was prone to barking whenever someone walked by, viciously lunging and quite intent on attacking of only he could reach them.  I knew better than to engage the dog, and as Cesar Milan is fond of saying "no talk, no touch, no eye contact" was the rule I followed.  Every day on my way to or from work, I kept a wary watch from the corner of my eye, on this vicious animal just in case he might someday break his chain.  Stranger things had happened in my life.

On this particular day, just days before we were set to move to a larger place to accommodate our growing family, I found that the dog wasn't on his chain.  In fact, the chain was laying curled next to the front door of the dog's home, and I was momentarily relieved to avoid his nasty barking.  I quickened my pace for a step of two, before I found out that the dog not only wasn't on his chain, he was quickly trotting around the side of the house, head down, ears forward and tail down.  There was no sound from him at first, but his lip curled, and I saw his hackles raise as he crouched menacingly, and began to try to creep around to get behind me.

Immediately, I turned to face him, full on and puffed myself up to make myself appear larger and more menacing.  I knew damned well that if I let him get behind me, I was dead, and so was my unborn son.

He stopped the creep and held his ground, and began a low, horrible growl in his throat. and he bared more of his teeth to me.  I tried to scare him... intimidate him into leaving me alone, but he was having none of it... I was prey and he was determined to have me.  I called for help, holding my purse ready to jam into his mouth if he lunged for me.

I called and called.  2 minutes passed... then 5... and then 10... finally someone in the dog's house looked out the window at me for a moment, and then they walked away, leaving me to the mercies of their vicious dog.

I kept calling, yelling, and trying desperately hard to keep from allowing my voice to turn to a shriek which would give the dog more reason to see me as prey... he advance an inch at a time, coming closer and closer every minute.

My voice was hoarse and my legs shaking with desire to simply turn and run, 40 minutes later when my husband got home from work, and seeing what was happening to me, he jumped out of his van, a crowbar in hand, and went for the dog like a mad man!  I'd never been so happy to see him.

Finally, the dog's owner deigned to come outside, but only to threaten my husband with the law if he touched the dog which was now barking and backing away from us.  The man called the dog to him several times before it responded, and they both went inside, but not before my husband told the guy that if he ever saw the dog again, he was going to kill it, but the man ignored the threat.

We called police, and were told that since the dog didn't hurt me, there was nothing they could do.
Thankfully, we never did see the dog again... and I found out years later, that my husband made regular trips down that street just to see if he could see it.... he was not usually a violent man, but that dog had threatened his wife and son, and he wanted to see it dead with a rage that I never experienced in him again.

From that day onward, I have been terrified of large dogs, and even a little dog that barks can send me into a mini-panic-attack if I am not prepared for it. 

But I still love them.  Large or small, dogs are wonderful.  Even though I am still afraid.

Monday, February 28, 2011

a mother should...

a mother should be someone her child can trust...
a mother should protect her child as much as she can without stifling them...
a mother should be proud of her child's accomplishments...
a mother should encourage her child's safe explorations of the world...
a mother should teach her child... be confident in himself value himself as a unique and special person respect others and himself

Friday, February 25, 2011

How to Forgive?

I've been reading allot of web pages and blogs lately that talk about healing from childhood trauma.  There is really only one thing that they all have in common... they all say you should forgive your abuser to help you move past the experience, but how do you do that?

Is it really even feasible to forgive someone who doesn't even see that they've done anything wrong?

Is it possible to truly forgive someone who continues to abuse even after they've asked for forgiveness?

Personally, I don't think so.

I don't hate my primary abuser, my mother.
Truth be told, I pity her, even as I remain angry at her behaviour, and continued insistence that SHE is the injured party.   This is shown in all it's glory in my earlier post titled Dirty Laundry where she categorically denies any wrong doing on her part, even while trying to villainize my sister, myself, and our maternal grandmother.

Does someone like my mother deserve to be forgiven?
What is forgiveness, really?

A common phrase I hear... that we've all heard, probably allot... is "forgive and forget"

I can't do it.

Especially the "forget" part...  there's an awful lot to forget...

There is not one person in my family who doesn't know that my mother was abusive and neglectful.  Not just immediate family like my my maternal grandmother, my mother's brother's and sisters, their spouses and children, but more distant relations like great-aunts and uncles, second and third cousins, and even relatives that are further removed, but no one really knows the extent of the abuse, and nor did they do anything to stop her when she would scream invective at us, or even beat us in their presence.
My grandmother usually brushes aside any mention of neglect by saying, "well, you always had me" which, as far as that goes, is more or less true... when we were able to contact her at least.  But more than once, my mother took us away from any possible contact with my grandmother by taking us to a different province.  My grandmother says, "I was always only a phone-call away" but what she doesn't understand is that most of the time, we had no phone.  And even when we did have a phone, the threat of beatings was always there if we were caught.  Gods forbid that mother ever saw a long-distance call on the phone bill!

Finding forgiveness is hard.

Recently, I have been told things by my brother's daughter's mother that make me believe that mother even sexually abused my brother.  He had scars on his penis.  I was told they looked like bites that had healed without treatment.  Human bites.   My niece's mother even asked mother about them, after my brother was dead.  Mother got quiet and said "he must have been bitten by a dog when he was little" and then changed the subject.  Mother is never quiet about anything, unless she's feels the need to hide something.
If my son's fiancee ever asked me such a question, I would be shocked... appalled even, and would want to know more... I would want to know what had happened if I didn't know already.  And if my son had such scars since "he was little" I would know why, and how!
As it is, I have heard mother threaten to cut my brother's penis off nearly every time he was in trouble for any reason.  On more than one occasion, she even took his pants down, and held a knife to the base of his penis and made him beg her not to cut him.

How can she expect forgiveness for that?

Most of the family makes excuses for her.  They say "she's sick, and doesn't understand what she's done". That "she doesn't remember anyway, so what's the point in holding a grudge".  Or they say "so what, she's your mother, you have to forgive her."

No, I don't.

I'd like to.  I'd love to forget the awful things she's done.  I'd like to have my mother become the loving person she claims she was.  I'd love to erase the past, and be able to start over.

But I can't.  No one can.

And now, I'm a mother myself, determined not to be like mine.
The only way I know to do that is to remember...  to check my behaviour against my memories of my own childhood and stop myself when I find myself falling into her behaviour patterns.

I yell allot.  I've gotten quite a bit better over the years, but I still do it too much.   It's hard not to blame her for that.
Every time I yell, I remember... because it's the only way I know to break cycle of abuse.
Even when I yell, I don't call names... I don't put my child down, and try to break her spirit.  Nor did I put down my son.
but when my daughter covers her ears, and cries... when my son would cover his... the anger I feel towards her grows again, and forgiveness is that much harder to find.

My children are unable to give me physical affection unless they ask, because if I am surprised by physical contact, I tend to lash out.  I threw my son to the ground once, when he leaped onto my back without warning... he was only 4, and I was devastated, even though he said he was unhurt.  I could see in his eyes that despite not being physically harmed, the incident hurt him emotionally.  I can't help but blame her for that too. 
He never did such a thing again, and that saddens me more than I can express.

So, I ask again, how do you forgive ongoing abuse?

Even living 3500km away from her, and not having talked to her face-to-face for 7 years, I still feel, sometimes, like I live under the cloud of her hatred, and abuse.  
Especially when family tell me that I have to forgive and forget.

I try to pretend now, for the most part, that I haven't got a mother... try to pretend that she's dead and no longer a part of my life.  But my family... her family won't let me forget, or pretend for very long at a time.

Forgive and forget?

I can't.  I won't.

Friday, February 18, 2011

About Me (chapter 1)

I was born in Northwestern General Hospital in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, on Wedensday, April 16, 1969, at 5:30 am (or so) to a 16 year old girl by the name of Susan.  I weighed 9lbs and 5 oz.
Susan wasn't the typical teen mother.  She had actually PLANNED for me.
I half-jokingly say I was a spite-baby rather than a love-child, as so many kids born in the 60's were.
Susan didn't want a baby to love, or to offer her unconditional love as so many young girls seem to think they'll get if they make a baby... Susan wasn't that naive.  She wanted a baby so her mother would kick her out of the house, and she could get welfare.  It didn't work.
Instead, Nanny all but kept Susan under house arrest until I was born.  According to Susan, Nanny shoved adoption papers under her nose as she laboured with me, insisting that I must be put up for adoption, even as she was bleeding almost to death. (she required a blood transfusion, she had lost so much blood)
Susan refused to sign those papers.
My biological father, a man by the name of Arnold, was refused access to me... Nanny didn't want him to 'interfere' with her plans for me, and I'm sure Susan feared that he would try to take me from her, but my aunt, my mother's sister Lorraine, told me she called him when I was born, and snuck him into the hospital to see me... he held me for a few minutes even, before Nanny caught them, and sent him away.
Three months later, Susan finally called him herself, and graciously allowed him to visit me.  I didn't see him again until I was almost 9 years old.
Susan met another man around this time, and became engaged just about the time of my first Christmas.  She also got pregnant with my brother, Kenny, whom she named after his father, Ken Sr.  They were married on Valentines Day, 1970, and my brother was born on Sept. 12, that same year.
According to Susan, I was potty trained by the time I was 13 months old, and was changing Kenny's diapers by the time he was a month old, and I was 18 months.  This unusual behaviour was attributed to the fact that Susan generally had better things to do than to take care of her children, a pattern that continued and began to include physical, verbal, and emotional abuse as we grew up.
The marriage was over well before I turned 3.  Susan met Steven around that time.  He was a "bad boy", just out of jail where he had spent much of his teens and very early 20's.  He and Susan were into drugs like heroine and speed, and he was prone to express his anger in violence, though he never harmed Kenny or myself in any way.  It was Susan who earned his ire with her wanton ways.  On numerous occasions he returned from work to find Susan hanging out with hookers and pimps, while Kenny and I were left with one of Susan's aunts, and at least once, he caught her giving head to the drug dealer who lived next door, so she could get her next fix.
Around the time of my 3rd birthday, Susan got pregnant with my sister.
According to family lore, I had had an imaginary friend from the time I was born until I was 3.
This friend is attributed with my learing to read by the time I was 3, as well as telling me things that I couldn't have otherwise known, such as when people were coming to visit, and the like...
At the time that Susan became pregnant, this imaginary friend left me.  Apparently, I told family, when asked, that she was gone to be my new sister, and that mommy had a baby growning in her belly.  This was, of course, well before Susan knew herself that she was pregnant.
My earliest memory is of Susan, her belly big with Janie, giving herself a fix of her drug of choice.
Susan of course, denies this, and swears that Steven forced her to accept needles in her veins... my memory gives the lie to that.  Susan swears that many of my memories are false, but I have many doubts as to her verasity, due mostly to the fact that I bear scars that she gave me, as do Janie, and Kenny, but also because many other people remember as I do, and deny her version.  Only she remembers things her way.

I'll end chapter one here.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Dirty Laundry

Some months ago, I posted a Facebook Note titled Dirty Laundry.  That post was copied from a "conversation" between myself, my sister, and our birth mother (with a couple of others added in for spice) where much of our family dirty laundry was aired... I honestly don't think that Facebook was the proper forum for the things that we said to each other but I felt at the time that the cruel things she was saying to my sister needed to be refuted in the same forum in which she was saying them...  it started like this...

Susan had been attacked by one of her "rescue" dogs and posted an album showing her injuries


 oh gowd mom that's aweful, i had no idea. i hope all goes well but find some way to get assistance to get rid of that monster.

Janie was trying to show some daughterly concern here, as you can see


The previous owners knew he was a time bomb and they are just glad it wasn't them it happened to..............I will make sure that they don't get away with what they did to him and to me. I am just trying to heal right now................................SueP.S. I extended an invite that still standsand I am looking forward to very much, but you need to know that it is a smoke free home and even the woods are pine and too likely to start forest fires in a pine forest. Just so You Know that. If you smoke you have to carry an ash tray even for the ashes. I have one of those from Amsterdam by the way. It is against the law to even put your ashes on the street over there......I think that is amazing...........Love you Rachel........Sue (Your new meant to be Friend)

Susan totally ignored her post


Wow they actually admtted that ?! well I'm no lawyer so I have no clue what ur rights are in this matter... I will be praying for you! And I would never think of smokng in ur house ever, you will come to find I am veeeerrryyy respectful and considerate. I will buy a mini ashtray ; ) and I'm not a big smoker anyhow : P can't wait! And definetly meant to be, u seem awsome sue : ))

I wish I had my ride now I would have really liked to help u out : ( I hope someone goes out to see u soon .


I am very self sufficient and I like to care for everyone else, but thanks for the good wishes as I will as always make out just fine as long as I have the good thoughts and wishes of the people who care about me... It gives me the strength... I need to get by. Believe me, I thrive from the love...

Your new Buddy,

Susan....XOXOXO and more Hugs.........See You Soon.....Come and Relax at my Home...................

Susan has never CARED for anyone else in her life, including and especially her children but is very good at sucking people into her self-delusion of humanity


rachel u sound sent from heaven. i wish u could go help her out. she's in rough shape and i'm worried about her. her daughter janie. and thank you for being so kind with my mom she needs more ppl like that in her life. we all do.

I missed one post here by Susan, before I could copy it, as Susan deleted these posts and then blocked both Janie and I after my final post.  The gist of her post was that Janie needed to mind her own business, she accused Janie of trying to interfere in her life and friendships, and attacked Janie's recent attempt to get to know her biological father.  Susan claimed in the missing post that Janie's father had molested her... "I caught him putting his cock in your tiny baby mouth"... it was a fairly long post, filled with venom and guilt-tripping.  I couldn't resist the urge to defend my sister, as I've done for most of her life.


 Janie, I really don't know why you bother... she still doesn't believe that Ian McDonald molested me... and she loved me so very much that when I first told her (immediately after I had been screaming for him to get out of my room, get off bed, stop touching me, while she yelled at me to shut-up from her room) she called me a liar and a slut (I was nine, for anyone who cares) and accused me of "trying to drive the only man who ever really loved her" out of her life out of jealousy...

and think about it... she raised you? what a joke!

Needless to say, she was quite put out by my response...  here is hers


I got 200,000.00 and not one cent had anything to do with you and you don't now nor never have had any claim to one cent of it. I have nothing but my home which I owe $120,00.00 on it and since there is no mortgage insurance, when I die, it will revert to the people who hold the mortgage. Why should I pay for insurance that would allow you and your sister to collect from my death, as I would expect the both of you to try and figure some way to have me killed.

Thomas got $1,500.00 because you cried that he needed clothes for school and you spent his money on drugs and cigarettes while he spent all his time alone or with a single friend because you would rather spend your time smoking and legally you had to do it in another room, so that is where he spent all of his time. No wonder the child has no social skills.

Thruthfully, and thank God I never got to know him or even hold him once. You did toss him beside me on the Elliot Lake Transit, once and scared the crap out of him wondering who the person was that you dropped him beside. How cruel a thing to do to a child who had no clue who I was and Me who would have given my right arm to be able to touch and hold him but I couldn't scare him any more than you already had by dumping him on the seat beside, as far as he knew could have been any one because he had never layed eyes on me before that.

I have now and had then, absolutely no reason to feel anything but pain for the poor child who's mother dropped beside a stranger and for the stranger who would have killed to be able to hold and comfort him but I couldn't even talk to him because he had no Idea who I was and I could do nothing but cry for all the lost time that I missed because I was not good enough to be his Grandmother. If he did he probably would have run screaming from me because all of the shit his poor excuse for a Mother had filled his and any one else's head who would listen to the poor hard done by child who never left home until she was 21 yrs old and probably had gotten a better offer someplace else.

You didn't think of me living in a roach infested one room hole in the wall, until it was the only place you had to run to. I took you in every time you had no other place or no one else to take from, and all you could talk about was the vacuum cleaner that you stole from one of your friend's who was foolish enough to befriend you. The only time you ever contributed to the rent I paid to keep a roof over your head whenever you needed one.I am trying like hell to hold on to the only thing that I have ever had, and what you would take from me in a heart beat. I have been sick most of my life because I bled to death giving birth to the other ungrateful vermine who also ran from the sinking ship.I understand that you had to disown me in order to be accepted by your Grandmother that you ran to probably to try and get from her what she was giving to everyone else except the devil's spawn, who she used to hurt me when nothing else worked, but you and your sister were glad to turn on me to be used by her against me.I am sorry for nothing except for the children who never were allowed to know the Grandmother who would have killed for them. They will have the rest of thier lives to decide what they want to do because I never turned them away the same as I never turned away their mothers, when I had every right to and should have to save myself from the both of you.

I hope that you still have each other, because you will never have me to kick around again. I am hanging on with my life to the little I have left after trying to buy love that I never had and found out that I could not buy.

How much did you get for the only thing that you bought for Thomas in my name? (I would bet my life that he never knew that any thing came from me anyway)it was just something that he resented because we were trying to give him some phisical exercise, because he spent all of his time alone in his room away from his mother who wouldn't even give up a filthy habbit like smoking cigaretes to spend some time in the same room as her only son.I feel so sorry for the child who has no one except for a mother who prostitutes herself on the internet for midnight booty-calls, but has no money to buy her son clothes for school, and tries to make me feel guilt for it as if I am the one spending the money that you would never have if he was not handi-capped.

You are almost 40 yrs, old and have nothing but a Son whom I am so sure that you resent and will try to make pay like you tried to make me pay for his mother having nothing but him, who she will never deserve to have.

It cost me thousands of dollars just to get to know you, after you found out that there might be some money in it fir you. If Thomas didn't have you to spend it for him, he would have gotten more than he did, becaise i knew that you would be the one spending it for him.Jon was smart enough not to let his mother know about the money that I gave to him and told to spend it having himself a good time, and that there was no strings attatched, all he had to do was enjoy and that is what he did. I never even heard from him after the initial thanks Grandmother. It was you who told me that I should never have given him anything, and not to let him suck me in any further. he never got to know me either because of a mother who fed him shit abuot me too.I have changed my facebook to I Have No Children, and since my Son died, I haven't had any, and that is the way I want it to stay. You and your sister didn't want me to fight for you when you were in the ccas and if I had known, I would have followed your wishes and possibly I would have someone to love right now. You can't even leave me have a stranger who I met over the internet, you twisted piece of trash.

In spite of you and your sister, I will have a life one day, and I have given up trying to bring either of you into it. That is the way I want it to stay. I have no children, and don't want any. Please just stay out of my life and my friendships with strangers that I meet on the internet, and I will do you the same favour. You deserve the Daddy that you have and I am done trying to protect you from him and any one else . Just please forget that I am alive, and I will do you the same favour..... I will try to find the disc that you want from me and I am sure that I will never see the BlackBerry that I asked to have back, but I am sure you can get a buck or two u=or a pack of smokes or something equally as important to you.

Thomas, You are always welcome in your Grandmothers home, but I won't hold my breath till that happens. Just remember that I do love you for whatever that is worth to you.....

Sincerely and for ever, Grandmother

 I address/rebut many of her statements in one of the next posts, meanwhile...

Another post by Susan directed at me as I was typing the following post
Forget that you know who I am just the way you did until recently. All I want from either of you is not to know you!!


oh, and here's a few more points... Jon didn't tell me about the money you sent him, because he didn't want to tell me he was begging from you... unlike you, I wouldn't take anything from my kids that belonged to them, and he well knows that...on the subject of you "loving" Thomas... I heard on speaker-phone while I visited with Nanny, you say that you can't stand Thomas, any more than you can stand Alysha... and you wonder why I don't want you to have contact with Lilith LMAO! I'm curious, too about the sexual abuse claims against Steven... why is it you've never held anything negative back about anyone in your pitiful life, but you waited almost 40 years to tell anyone about this? (aside from blurting it in court, when it was designed to serve your whims, of course) Nanny, Sharron, Lorraine, Frankie, Danny, me... none of us heard a word about such a thing until Janie got in contact with him... strange coincidence, I think...You claim your mother was abusive, and such a horrible person, but every time you decided to leave our toys and furnature behind during a midnight move, you were always able to go to her for more, weren't you... funny that...

In spite of you, I have two beautiful children who I adore, and who I know love me...In spite of you, I have peace in my life...In spite of you, I like the person who I am, and so do the people who call themselves my friends...

Actually, you know, I learned alot of what I know about parenting from you... I learned not to beat my kids...I learned to pay my bills so I wouldn't lose the roof over their heads, and so I could feed and clothe them, so they wouldn't have to shoplift to eat...I learned not to leave them for days on end so I could go shooting pool and partying...I learned not to call them names, (like 'vermin') and destroy their self-esteem...I learned that telling children "do as I say, not as I do" is hypocritical... there's alot of things I learned by your negative example, too bad you didn't learn the same lessons along the way. I decided at a very young age that I wouldn't be like you, and I think I've mostly succeeded... I'm not perfect, not by a long shot, but I try, and I'll keep trying, I'll keep learning from my mistakes (and yours) for as long as I draw breath.

and one final word... you're sorry for the wrong thing... you shouldn't feel sorry for the children who will not have the chance to know you, you should be sorry for the children who did... for the way you treated them, and especially for Kenny... you know where the responsibility for his death lies, even if you can't admit it to yourself, everyone who knows you, knows the truth too.

P.S.actually, I didn't pretend not to know you, I pretended you were dead, until recently, I only stopped pretending because you have been so ignorant and cruel to Janie, and felt the need to point out a few things... if you keep your word, and ignore us, you won't have to worry about me rubbing the past in your face any more

Her reply was typical, calling me a liar and trying to use my being overweight to hurt me


Have a nice life. And like I said!!! Forget that you know me like you always have when I needed you and I will do the same. For someone who is so sure of herself you certainly can't stop running off at your fat lying mouth, Be happy and leave me out of your life amd everything else. That is all I want!! Do You think that you can handle that??? I don't know nor want to know you, so back the fuck off and I will continue to do the same. Apart from the scars I will have no problem forgetting that you came from me........................

And I replied quite simply, because I didn't think anything more needed saying


you reap what you sow

Once again, she didn't like that... truth hurts when you're a person like she has always been


Don't you understand English?? Forget me and my email and anything else that may connect you to me in any way, and I will be quite happy reaping whatever I sow, will you? Sow? You wil eventually pay for all the things you have done. What goes around Does come around and you have yours comming around any time now.....Both of you......Happy Reaping.................:-)

I wish Janie had refrained from making this comment, because it probably would have ended here if she hadn't


thanks darlene now everyone can be sure just who is what and what is what. i love you kiss that sweet lilith monster for me and jon too if u can. lol


Everyone who knows either of you already know "what" you are and I am ashamed to admit that I am responsible in any way for either of your children having to live out their lives with such wonderful cyber whore Mothers. How many men have either of you found and moved hundreds and thousand of miles, uprooting your children to be with someone that you met over the internet??? And Janie having to move so many times because your photo is in all the stores that you used your autistic son to shoplift with, to feed yourself I guess LOL. At least Thomas has a trade that his mother taught him to keep himself fed when his cyber whore mother is somewhere else doing crack or smoking cigarettes and Pot. Thomas was actually doing well under the care of foster parents who helped him to become more sociable and to realize that there is more to life than living alone in his room with his legos. I wished like everyone else that they would have kept him from you for his own good. He had a wii from his grandmother until his mother pawned it for cigarettes and drugs. I believe what your boyfriend said that you are a crack whore and use your son's handicap money to smoke and do your pot and crack. Anyone would be sick, sucking up all those drugs and it proves that you still have some conscience because you are sick from stealing from your autistic son so you can keep doing crack and smoking pot and cigarettes. Have a great life and forget that I am alive the way you did until you got the smell of the money that I have none of by the way which should make it easier for you to forget.

Good-Bye FOR EVER,


Susan Leslie

Seeing as Janie was the one most attacked in the previous post, I don't blame her for this one, even though all it did was fan the flames


u r the one with hep c u dirty past junkie whore too ugly inside and out now to whore around for crack ur fawking dillusional once again. you know i never wanted to be anything like you but i was already addicted to pot when i moved ...out at 21 becuz u demanded that i recieve welfare and hand it to u. i went to school instead. the vaccuum cleaner i assume is the over 100 thousand dollar set of bag pipes u let ur ex bf beat me and toss me around my room to get back from him so you could steal them from me to pay rent cuz once again we were evicted. because they thought u were a prostitute with all those men in and out all the time, but infact you were mostly just smoking ur dope with them leaving me to grow up in a cloud of it even though you gave it directly to kenny everyday since he turned four. when i moved out of ur hell hole i found out ur pot smoke was helping me eat and sleep which i couldnt do till i finally gave in and tried the pot u sold amber my bf and roommate.See Moreone more thing all that money u got from the government for hep c suppossedly from a blood transfussion 41 years ago, u'd be dead long ago. u got hep c doing needles with joe after i was born.

This next post is from the mother of my niece (my brother's daughter, Alicia) and one from Janie directed at Krissy I Ignored them as I was writing my final post


feel better now that all that laundry is aired out? sorry, couldn't resist. interesting read though, i suppose.


hi krissy how's things i hope well. i don't even know why we don't talk. i miss u. why dont you tell us all about her sons penial scars and lets figure out how that happend we know it was because "he was retarded useless piece of shit boy, but was it self hatred or done by the sick twisted dilluiosion so and so???

The Final Word(s) after which, Susan deleted these posts, and blocked Janie and I, as well as Krissy and Rachel


you truly are totally insane.  You couldn't keep your word, so here's a few more of mine...
Of all people, you are the last one who should be throwing stones, from your glass house

You deliberately got pregnant at 15, because you wanted to spite your mother... how many guys did it take?  how many abortions before you decided to keep me?  how many after me before Kenny?  how many before Janie?  You've admitted to 3 between Janie and Kenny, and I've now heard about several after Janie before they finally made you get fixed...  all that before abortion was "cool"....and how about the time Steven took your teeth?he was at work, earning money to support YOUR children... only Janie was his... he bought you those teeth, but took them back when he found out you were sucking the cock of the drug dealer next door.  Wasn't it stuff like that every time he hit you?  Finding out you were screwing around on him... or that you'd left your kids to go hang out with hookers and pimps at the bar down the street?  how many tricks did you turn during those years?And of course, there's the fact that Janie was born addicted to herion... the slow growth, and brittle teeth she has... not to mention the mental and emotional issues she's had since birth are known symptoms... I SAW you shoot yourself up, you of my earliest memories, you with your big belly, with a turniquet, and needle in your arm, riding the big wave... remember how it feels?... I sure remember how it looked.  On that subject... Kenny had ALL the markers for FAS, every one of them.How many times did you beat and berate him for being a boy? How many times did you threaten to cut off his penis for him?'Sucky Baby Susie" you'd call him... always thought that was weird, using your own name to humiliate your son... and yea, I know I joined in, but I was just a kid, following what my mother was doing... what's your excuse?  Kenny got joints for his birthday one year... I think he was two... I remember people bringing two joints each to the party... everyone thought it was so cool, all your young male "friends", that you let your son "entertain" by getting stoned, and walking around bumping into things, and falling down... yeah, really funny, but you blame that on Danny and Frankie... you blame them for introducing you to pot... what a laugh... you admited you were smoking when you got pregnant with me, but Danny was only 9 when I was born, and Frankie was 10... a little young for introducing an older sibling to anything, I think most would agree.You blame Ken Sr. and Carol Richer for us ending up in Childrens Aid in Montreal, but it was you who abandoned us at the welfare office... we sat there all day... our mother had walked out, saying we were no longer her responsibility... I think the quote was "you won't give me money, you keep them" as you walked away.Each of our fathers would have gladly taken us... Steven was doing fostering at the time, they found him quite easily... and he helped find Arnold... only Ken Sr. held out, because you'd assured him that if he took your son (who you've repeatedly said you never wanted in the first place) that you'd hunt him down and kill him... not because you loved your son, but because he was your property... You talk about Janie throwing her son at you on a bus... what about when you dragged me across the island of Montreal to Dorval...?  Remember what you did there?  You wouldn't tell me where we were going, or who were were going to see... when we got there, and the door opened, you said "here's your daughter, I'll be back later" and you walked away, leaving me standing on the doorstep of a man I hadn't seen in my memory... a man who you implied was dead,  every time I asked about my father you would start singing... "a little girl was waiting for her daddy one day, and when it was time to meet him, she heard her momma say, come to momma darling, and please do not cry, daddy's gone to heaven, way up in the sky..." that song is in my head every time I think of him, and now, he really is dead without me ever getting to know him... After you got us back from CAS, you started up with the child-molester, Ian McDonald... he beat you, hit me, molested me, right from the first day in our home, you stood by my bed and forced me to accept a massage from him, because I complained my back was sore, and that was why I wasn't asleep when you got him home... it was my lower back that was bothering me, but it was my breasts he spent his time trying to massage... remember, I was wearing one of your old, streched out dici bras that didn't fit you anymore, by that time...  I stuck a knife in him one day, I've no idea what he told you about it, but it was after you had called me a slut and punished me for lying about him molesting me, and I had realized that never again could I trust you to help me... it was alot of years after that before I stopped being afraid of you, but that's the exact time I stopped having any respect for you...You went away to Mexico for your birthday... you were supposed to be gone for two weeks, but you hurt your mouth smoking dope in the bathroom of the plane... broke your teeth... ha, those damned teeth again!  John McPeak stayed with us for those two weeks, which was ok... he was cool, never hit us, there was food on the table every night... but then he had to go away to work, and we were left alone except for some visits from a couple of your friends (including Carol Richer) until after Easter... Jan 10 is way more than 2 weeks from Easter, no matter how early Easter comes in a given year... John McPeak came back in time for Easter, and planted money in lieu of eggs and chocolate... he was a genuinely good guy, too bad he wasn't your type... the nice guys never were, were they?  Oh, and regardless of what stories you might come up with now, he WAS good to us, and never did anything to hurt us, unlike Ian...  unlike any of the men that came into my bedroom after you fell asleep... ever wonder how many there were?  Ever wonder how many men you failed to even try to protect me from?  How many did you accuse me of trying to steal from you?  Do you remember?  I do.I just stopped telling you about it after Ian... I slept with that knife after Ian... does that make you proud?  or were you actually sending them to me all that time?  you couldn't satisfy them, so sent them to have a shot at me?  I certainly wouldn't put it past you... you did try to sell Janie, after all...Did you know that my children have to ask to get hugs from me?  that they have never been able to throw themselves into my arms in surprise, because if I don't know they're coming, I push them away... my therapist says it's because I was abused and beaten and molested as a child... it's become part of my instinctive responses to push all unexpected contact away for fear of additional abuse... I have severe arthritis in my lower spine from impact injuries... you're the only one who has EVER hit me there... you used to put your boots on when you'd gotten me down, and then kick the crap out of me... I have scaring on my ribs, legs and arms, from blunt-force trauma, that shows in x-rays... there's a picture at Nanny's that shows the mark of your sapphire ring on my upper lip...but no, you were never abusive, were you... you were the perfect mother... what a joke...No one in this world scares me any more... not since I was 24 and realized that you sent me away at 14 because YOU were scared of ME. I've NEVER hit you, though you surely deserved more than a few beatings from me... I did leave nail marks on your legs that day you tackled me on the lawn and you tried to beat my face off the pavement... the LAST time you laid hands on me because I fought back... but even you would have to agree, if you weren't so delusional, that those marks were self defence... of course, you told the entire family that I had hit you... that I had started the whole thing... funny that, I got asked when I got to Nanny's what my side was, and they believed me... wonder why?  the patches of hair that were missing, and the nail marks on my head and ears helped alot there... thanks) THAT was why Nanny demanded that you give over custody, not the money she might get from baby bonus, or any excuse about registering me for school, it was so I would never have to go back to you... she would have taken Janie and Kenny too, but you needed to keep your welfare cheque, and wouldn't hear of it... probably would have been glad to get rid of them, if not for that monthly cheque... good thing you got so sick before Janie moved out, isn't it?  right from welfare to disability!!  good for you!As for the subject of money... according to your story, that money has EVERYTHING to do with me... isn't that how you claimed to get HepC? the blood transfusion when you were giving birth to me?  you are so full of shit it's surprising that your eyes aren't brown!  Wonder what the government would do if I went to them and told them the truth... think they'd ask for the money back?  could you give it back?  you got HepC shooting drugs with dirty needles, and you know it well.   Oh, and I don't want one red cent, never asked, never came sniffing, never will... I wish I could give you back everything you have ever given me... not that there was much, after the DNA... mostly bruises, cuts, welts and tears, but I'd return them all, if you were worth my effort... don't worry, you're not

I truly wish Janie had respected my wishes about you having contact with my son, but she was young... she still thought then that you had redeeming qualities... she was wrong, and I forgive her completely, but you hurt my son with your guilt-trips, so why are you so surprised that he only goes to you for money?  he doesn't come to me for money... but he does come to visit me... we have, absolutely, had our problems, unlike you, I am able to admit that I wasn't the perfect parent to him, but I tried, and as he's grown up, he's come to understand that... I didn't beat him, hardly ever hit him after he learned to talk, as a matter of fact, and I made sure he always had milk in the fridge... he didn't grow up on nothing but peanut butter, bologna and kraft dinner like 3 kids I can name... I did indeed uproot him to come to Alberta, and I don't regret it in the least... Jon spent more quality time with his father in the first year after I came here than he did in the previous 5 years... he didn't know how to read when he got here, after grade 4, but the school system here was so much better for him that he was reading at a grade 9 level by the end of grade 5... they tried to tell me he was learning disabled in Ontario, and they wanted to warehouse him, but here they TAUGHT him instead... surely you've read his poetry?  his spelling leaves something to be desired, but he CAN write, and he's GOOD!!!  And sure, there were boyfriends, even a couple of one-night stands that I brought home during his teens... but he certainly wasn't exposed to them constantly from his infancy like 3 other kids I can name... I never cheated on his father, and I had already told Ed I was leaving, and asked for a divorce, before I even chatted with the guy I came out here with.  And best of all, my coming here limited the amount of contact Jon could have with you.  Nope, no regrets at all.As for Lilith, she'll never know you... never know the guilt trips, never know the emotional and verbal abuse... she'll ask about you, I'm sure, and I'll tell her whatever she wants to know that is age appropiate... she'll never WANT to meet you...

For years, Kenny was the only one of your children who would tolerate you, and you got him killed...yes, that's right, I'm finally saying what everyone in the family who knows the details thinks... you agreed to trade drugs for a dog, then decided to keep the dog, but the drugs were gone... you moved out, leaving Kenny holding the bag, when he got beaten as a message to you, you told him it was his problem and then he was dead!! does your delusion really let you keep denying your responsibility?For how you treated him, I will never, ever forgive you.

I can picture you now, howling out your hurt over the nasty "lies" I've told here, but in your heart, you know that every word is true, screaming, and probably throwing things at your dogs, kicking them for trying to comfort you... I know you... like you never cared to know me, and now, never will. Pray all you want, call out to all the gods that have ever existed, you will never find true peace until you can admit to yourself at least, the person you've always prided yourself in being... you've never cared for anyone or anything that didn't give you something in return...You need healing in your soul, and I truly hope you can find it, but I doubt that you ever will because admitting who you were/are is too horrible for you to contimplate.  I don't hate you, I pity you. 

From here on in, no matter what I see you write, or hear that you've said, you won't have to worry about hearing from me. Pretend I am dead, and I'll do you the same favour... even if you don't, I still will, I don't need your poison in my life.

Every word I wrote is the truth as I remember it... and this entire post is a perfect example of the kind of life I have had.  As I mentioned in the info for this blog, it gets graphic

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

RAGE (reposted from my Facebook Notes Jan.16/11)

RAGE...  so discriptive for such a small word.  To anyone who has truely seen it in action, it sends a chill down the spine, and raises goosebumps on the skin.  Even those who only think they understand it, fear it... dread it.

It's a Monster that lives inside me, it's home created by an abusive upbringing.

For a time it lived nearly free, able to rise at will and attack, often for little-to-no cause...
until, at 13, I beat a drug-dealer senseless, leaving her to be hospitalized with several bones broken in her face...
I don't remember the attack, beyond my vision washing red with her in my sights... until I was being dragged off her by a friend, and hauled away before the police could arrive...

I became afraid of The Rage, and began a lifelong struggle to bind the Beast...
ignoring my irritation, swallowing my aggrivation, choking on my anger...
What I didn't realize was I was feeding the Beast even as I chained it with cobwebs...

Then my baby brother was killed.

He suffered most from my ire, as we grew up, (sisters and brothers being what they so often are, and we were,) though probably he deserved it least...
He deserved even less to die as he did... our own mother at ultimate fault.

The chains I had applied to the Monster snapped like the cobwebs they were constructed from, and the Rage ran free.

It had grown, oh how it had grown!  And so had my fear of it.

I spent the first 6 months after my brother's murder in a fog... afraid to leave my house... not even sure what I was afraid of... Even the thought of taking out the garbage or getting the mail from the superbox left me curled up on the floor bawling and barely able to breathe from the intensity of the panic attack.
I needed people I could trust to be there all the time... to take me places, to shield me from the world...
They thought I was afraid of what was out there...
They thought they were protecting me...

But really, they were protecting the world from the Beast.

My mother sent me a letter just around my birthday.  I could hear her tears as I read it, thought she might actually be trying to reach out and finally be the mother I had always hoped for.
My grandmother sent me a bus ticket.

I made a trip back "home" to visit with my family during a lull in the horrible fear that had become a huge part of my life.
I found my grandmother blaming Kenny for his own death...
My mother had fallen into the habit of cradling the box of Kenny's ashes like a baby, swaddled in a blanket, totally unable to accept the responsibility for her part in his murder...
Most of the rest of the family seemed to have moved on... like he didn't really matter anymore.

I came home.
My boyfriend at the time, who had come with me as my shield from the world returned to find his mother  ill and needing surgery, and no-one able to care for his disabled father.  Without a blink, I stepped into the role of caregiver... the role that I had been forced to so often, that I actually believed it was my choice... I spent 3 solid days caring for my boyfriend's mother in hospital,while he cared for his father at home.

Just when every one was doing better, and his mom was ready to go home, I broke down...
I attacked my boyfriend for no reason I can remember... climbing over a table and trying to rip out his throat with my teeth...
I spent a few weeks in hospital... psych wards can be interesting places, and restful, if you're lucky.
I learned alot about myself, about the Beast, and I started out-patient therapy with a wonderful therapist.

The Beast still lives inside me...  it always will.

But with the help of friends, and my wonderful therapist the Beast wears a muzzle and leash, and it'll "go lie down in a corner" when it's told to.

It's still a dangerous Beast, but my Rage is tamed to my hand now.  As it should be.

7 years later - an Anniversary

My brother was murdered 7 years ago.

He was beaten and left for dead in a snow drift.
A month earlier, he was beaten and given a broken arm as a message for our birth mother... "pay up, or next time it will be worse."  She had accepted $1500 worth drugs as payment for a puppy her Rottie, Belle had had.  (Crossed with Staffordshire Terrier, the dogs were EXACTLY the type that a drug dealer would covet!)  She reneged on the deal by moving out of the apartment (and the town) she was sharing with Kenny at the time, leaving him holding the bag.  When she heard the dealers message, she told Kenny, "It's your problem now, don't bother me."

Kenny was pulled out of the snowdrift and brought to hospital with severe head trauma as well as various other bruises and abrasions.
He was a known drug-user, so his disorientation was atributed to drugs rather than the obvious head injury, and he was left to "detox" in the waiting room, propped in a wheelchair for nearly 24 hours... but, you see, the disorientation didn't get better with time, it got worse as the bleeding in his brain continued.  By the time the doctors realized their mistake, and transfered him to a larger hospital it was too late.  He died almost as he arrived at the Sudbury Hospital.

The man who beat him was heard to BRAG in a bar later the same night, that he would probably get off even if Kenny died, and if he did go to prison, he'd get 4 years not more, and be out in 2... He laughed that he was going to get away with murder... And he did.  He got the 4 years he predicted, and 2 years later, he was once again walking the streets where Kenny's daughter still lives.

Today is the Anniversary of Kenny's death.

He would have turned 40 this past September.

His daughter is going to be 12 in March.
She doesn't really remember her father.
She'll never know the kind heart he had... never know how much he loved her...
I hope she never realizes just how much she missed out on, because of one selfish person's refusal to accept responsibility for her own actions.

New Beginnings

I've been meaning to start on this for a while now, but things always seem to get in the way of my writing... I'm a procrastinator.  Even things I WANT to do always seem to get put on the back burner.  I know this isn't good, but I can't seem to change it, no matter how much I want to.  All I can do is keep trying.  And I do.

I've been suffering from depression for the last 7 years.  Perhaps even longer than that.  Probably longer...

My life hasn't been an easy one.  I've been through many traumas, and honestly haven't had alot of "good times", especially where my family has been involved.  I have decided that that is all going to change... actually, I've decided that I am going to change! 
To that end, I am starting this blog.

In this space, I will share my thoughts, my hopes and dreams, and many stories of my life traumas as a way working through them so I can finally move on with my life... this is going to be PART of my moving on.

If you don't want to know the details of my life, stop reading right now, because I warn you, it will get graphic.
But, if you can stomach it, maybe my stories and insights might be able to help someone else...

With Brightest Blessings of Hope and Love