Negative Nelly

I usually know almost exactly how I feel. The problem is, I just can’t tell anyone.

Meg Abot, Princess in Love

In my case, this is so true. I do know how I feel most of the time… if I told anyone about it, they might see the issues that I work so hard to hide. I recently had a bout with this and wanted to write about it. It’s another thing that I really need to work on. I will explain this more in detail as I go along with this entry.

The are two sides to my personal psyche. There’s the positive and sometimes strong side that people see then there’s my ‘Negative Nelly.’ I was programmed on a daily basis by Jack A. to feel like the most worthless, ugliest, and un-loveable thing on the planet. I didn’t even classify as a person. I was a thing. A possession to be used and treated at the whim of the owner and there was no force or rules stating that I had to be treated fairly and justly.
In this case, the owners were Jack A., Kim, and when she got bigger – I also belonged to Suzie. I didn’t belong to myself and any identity that I should have had and developed during those years of forced possession, were lost and hidden from me.
The end result is my ‘Negative Nelly.’ I will give some examples. Aside from what I was made to feel by my ‘owners’, I was too fat, ugly, and without any talents what-so-ever.
Now, it’s a constant mental battle between my positive and negative selves. If I get invited to something by a friend, it’s not because that person truly wants me around, it’s because they feel sorry for me. When I look in the mirror, I don’t see my attributes, I see my faults (even if they are figments of my imagination) in the wrinkles around my eyes, the extra pounds I need to lose, and the things that I wish I could change about myself. If I make friends with someone, they will eventually turn on me and sabotage some aspect of my life. I am a horrible mother, wife, and friend. My artwork is never good enough and could always be better. My own mother didn’t want me and wouldn’t protect me so why would anyone else want to do so? Along those same lines, my own mother doesn’t want to know her granddaughters so why would anyone else want to step in and be there for them?
These are just scratching the surface and it’s not just an ‘every-now-and-then’ kind of problem, these are daily struggles. It’s not just a once a day thing either… it’s everything. If I cook a meal for my family, it’s never good enough. When people ask me the question:

How are you?

… there is always a negative response or thought that comes to my head before the:

I’m __________. (wonderful, beautiful, excellent)

The bubbly side that people see and hear is forced. I know that I’m not the only one that struggles with these problems but I know that if I said half of the things that I feel and hide, someone might literally have me committed.

I am working very hard to silence ‘Negative Nelly’ though I’m not sure how or even where to start…

‘E’

I am going to give some background to Jack A. that I’m not sure that I have ever given before.

~Here is my introduction to a man I will be referring to as ‘E’!
E was Jack A.’s father. From what I understand, E was a very sick and twisted individual. From the stories that I have heard of him raising his own children, E would make the things that Jack A. has done to me, pale into a simple slap on the wrist. I only remember going over to where he lived a few times. The first visit, I was maybe three or four years old and then the second, I believe I was ten. It was before Suzie was born. I actually believe that Kim was pregnant with my sister at the time.
Aside from E, Jack A. had four siblings. Heather was first, then his only brother David, Wilma, then Jack A., and finally the youngest sibling Liza. I will probably broach those stories another day.
It was an older home that was built sometime during the 1940s. It was small and looked like a box. The roof was slightly slopped inward. You could tell that it needed a new roof and many more repairs. When the house was new, I can image that it was white but when I saw it as we pulled into the driveway, most of the paint had flaked off and it was a spotted and cracked primer gray. It had a small, raised, concrete porch with only enough room for a single chair. It had a very short slopping ramp leading up to the porch instead of stairs. Even that was in disrepair from so many uses. It leaned to one side and boards were either loose or missing. I felt weird when we walked in. It almost immediately made me want to turn tail and run away like so many of the things in my life have. I asked to go wait in the car but was immediately told no of course. The inside of the house was small and the walls were the same primer gray that the outside had faded to. It also had old, original, wood flooring (that people pay thousands of dollars for in current society). It badly needed to be shined and restored. In my memory, it also had the same gray color that the rest of the house had but I know that is probably just a child’s memory and not necessarily how it really was.
E had a lot of medical problems and they had caused several complications throughout his life. He had two separate blood clots that caused two surgeries where they had to amputate both legs. He had lung cancer due to smoking for most of his life. So, he was always connected to an oxygen tank. He also lived with his mother because he needed so much help and constant care.
Of his mother, I remember a short and haunched woman with gray and black hair. She wore skirts and old knit sweaters. She smelled of a mix of dust, mold, and moth balls. Her skin was the same color as the house. Thin and faded like the years had literally worn her down much like sand will on stone in a river. She was also very old fashioned in that she believed that you wait on your men and a woman’s place was in the kitchen. She had an old paddle that hung on the wall, and on it there was an engraved quote that read,

Children are to be seen and not heard.

I don’t doubt that she used that paddle on her children however, I remember her being very kind and tolerant of me. She made me a plate of chocolate chip cookies and let me help her with a jigsaw puzzle. She didn’t have a television and when I asked why, she said:

‘Cause it’s all a bunch a nonsense and it’s useless information. If I need to know somethin’, I get me my paper every mornin’!

I think, had I have been born into a well adjusted family with regular get-togethers and holiday traditions, I would have loved to sit and talk with her about how it used to be. I remember a very sweet lady.
At some point in the visit, Jack A. took me back to the room where E stayed. He couldn’t get out of bed and lived out his days in a rented hospital bed. He had this thing that looked like a swing with a harness that allowed him to be lifted and moved from his bed to his wheel chair without having to have someone physically lift him.
E was a large, round man with pasty, translucent skin and a military style hair cut. I think at one point, his hair was a pale blonde but by that time, it had also washed out to gray. I wonder if all things turn to gray over time… if that’s the natural color that all things end their existence in.
If I remember correctly, he was almost blind too but I’m not certain about that. When I walked into his room, I was immediately hit with the smell of something similar to a hospital and at the same time it had a dirty smell. Like someone who hasn’t ever taken a bath in their life. Upon entering that room, I was compelled to shrink to Jack A’s side in hopes of being protected from the fear I felt.

I would like to state before I move forward that I had no idea what E was capable of. I was never made aware of the bad things he’d done in his life until I was grown and he had been buried for more than fifteen years.

I don’t remember the conversation during the visit or even the reason for the visit. I do, however, remember being asked to sit at the end of the bed to tell my ‘Papa’ what it was I was learning in school. Being told to make sure I was a ‘good girl’. The connotations of what he said and how he said it made my skin crawl. To this day, I can still remember it. It’s that creepy feeling you get when you walk into an old abandoned house with lots of cobwebs and spiders as big as rats.

This is my memory of E and the brief encounter with him. A few years later, he died. In my quest to find relatives from my past, I had the chance happening of coming across Jack A.’s older sister, Wilma, on Facebook. In speaking with her and discussing things, I found out the things that E had done to his children. I don’t have specific stories but more so glimpses into the types of things that he did to his children.
Wilma spoke of being sexually abused by her father and as her brothers got older, E would force them to watch what he did to them. She said that E had told her brothers that it was in order to teach them about sex. Wilma said that as her brothers matured and if E saw that they were getting aroused by the activities, then he started making them participate.
Jack A. didn’t have to continue his father’s … what’s the proper phrase? I’m not sure there are words to encompass what E did and then Jack A. perpetuated. But, I think this is how, or one of the ways, that people like them are created. This puts a whole new meaning on learning from example.

I think all of this came up today because I went to visit with a ‘cousin’ of mine. She’s David’s (Jack A.’s brother) daughter. I haven’t seen her since I was seven or eight years old. In discussing some of the things that we both experienced, she did tell me that fear does die. Hers died when her father died of a heart attack a year ago as kids. She was actually the one that paid for his funeral.
I honestly can’t see why she would want to. She said it was for closure for herself. I guess I’m just not the type of person that can forgive the things that were done to me.

Others . . .

One of my first posts was entitled ‘Sanctuary’ and that hinted at a dog.  I am a dog lover and despite that post, loved that dog and the dogs I have owned since.  The dog from the ‘Sanctuary’ post was named Turk and he… sadly to say… was not the brightest of K-9 companions.  However, there were many times that I would sneak away to the corner of the yard and just talk to Turk.  There was a corner of the yard that had landscaping and within that landscaping was a hiding spot.  It wasn’t visible from the game-room door.  Even if it were inspected closer, you couldn’t see me hiding inside.
During the time that we lived in that house, that was my haven within Jack A.’s home.  I took great care that he wouldn’t find it and take it away.  Back then, I didn’t know what he was… I didn’t know the extent of his (for lack of a better word) evilness.  Something inside told me to keep that spot protected.  It was like a small cave and I can’t describe how I got to it because that information is lost in the labyrinth of my mind.  I remember crying many times… sobbing even… talking to Turk and he would sit there wagging his stub of a tail and he had a dopey grin on his face.  Accepting everything I was telling him.  Licking the tears from my dirt streaked face.
Turk was a Doberman and he was such a clown.  He would get in ‘the pose’ when he wanted to play.  Front end down, rear stuck up in the air.  His nub just wagging at 90 mph to nothing.  Waiting for me to throw the ball.
I felt and still feel horrible for blaming the ‘bite’ on him.  He was my best friend, beyond a shadow of a doubt.
When we moved from that house, we moved outside of the major cities and I was given another dog.  His name was Spot.  He was a blind Australian Shepherd.  I still remember Jack A. telling me that he picked Spot for me because of his disability.  Jack A. told me that because of Spot’s birth defect, his previous owners would have had him put to sleep.
I am going to back up slightly to a certain point of time.  I had already started school in a new city.  Suzie was approximately two years old.  I had gone to stay with Kim’s mom…  Her name was Ruth… during a school vacation.  My Grandma was being secretive.  She had a smile on her face the entire 1 and 1/2 drive.  I asked her what was going on since she was acting different than what she normally did.  She wouldn’t tell me.  She just had this smile on her face.
We pulled up to our gravel driveway.  I jumped out of the car and opened the gate to the front porch.  There was this little (very little) white puppy, with two blue eyes, running around.  I squealed! Danced up and down.  Scooped this puppy into my arms and kissed him.  I carried him into the house and with tears in my eyes, thanked Jack A. and Kim for this new best friend.  I notice immediately that there was something wrong with Spot.  He kept running into furniture when in the house.  I looked at Jack A.   I asked him what was wrong with Spot.  He told me that with Australian Shepherds, sometimes they are born blind.  Spot had been born with two blue eyes and that meant that (according to breeding) he had been born blind.  Upon closer inspection, I found that there was disfiguration in his eyes.  Where there should have been normal spherical shapes, there were squares.  Lopsided squares that showed there was something different with Spot.
I didn’t treat him with any difference.  I just decided that he needed extra attention.  Extra love.
I taught Spot how to walk without a leash.  I trained him to walk next to my leg and to listen for my voice.  He learned to keep his side pressed to my leg as I walked.  When he got older (Suzie was three and I was thirteen) Jack A. surprised my mom with a second dog.  She was a blue-tip great dane.  Her name was Bess.  The story that I remember from Jack A. was that Bess had been abandoned.  Her owners didn’t want her.  Kinda like Kim didn’t want me.  She was a protector.  Strong but soft.  She gave the best hugs… and she was tall enough to make eye contact with me.  This story is about Bess.
There was a day where Bess got sick.  Bess got so sick.  She laid down and wouldn’t get up.   Her stomach swelled.  I sat outside with her the whole time.  With the exception of running inside and telling Jack A. that Bess was sick.  He looked at me without flinching, telling me that we didn’t have the money to take her to the vet.  Without knowing that he meant to let her die in the backyard, I went back outside.  I sat beside her.  I coaxed her from the shed (where I had slept for a week when ‘grounded’) to under her favorite shade tree.  She laid there, breathing shallowly.  In and out.  Eventually, she stopped breathing.  I cried and went to tell Jack A. about it.  Animal control came and loaded her into their truck.  I screamed inside.  Screamed and screamed and screamed at the confines of my mind that it wasn’t fair.  That someone should notice something wrong with Jack A.  He let Bess lay there and suffer until it was time for her to stop breathing.
I remember the flies.  The flies congregated around Bess after she died.  I chased them away.  I was angry at Jack A.  Somehow, this instance with Jack A. was almost as hurtful as some of the beatings he inflicted.  Bess was helpless like me.  She was left to die and for whatever reason I survived.

Building a Sketch ~ Thought I would do something different.

Reblogged from The FireBird: Random Musings:

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One of my sketches. Thought I would share.

Daily Prompt: 1984

Reblogged from The FireBird: Random Musings:

My biggest fear is a person... a man to be exact.  He was my stepfather.  There have been many an occasion where I was trapped in a house, not able to escape.  My nightmares were my reality, always trying to get away from him.
He always wore a hat.  A baseball cap to be exact.  When they were newly acquired, he would put a newspaper band around the bill of the cap to get, what he would call, the perfect arc.  

Read more… 376 more words

Affirmations: Week 21

My Week 21 Affirmation is that my intentions are aligned with my greatest good and are based on my values.  I have already posted what I consider my greatest good.  My values are in the following order:
1. My Girls
2. My Husband
3. Education
4. Career
5. Everything else… of course the order of importance is typically applied to what needs the most attention and the severity of attention needed.

My Week 22 Affirmation is I am confident even as I confront the unknown to be posted on January 3rd, 2013.  See you in the new year.

A Hollow Christmas

Have you ever noticed that around October, the shopping season actually begins to take off.  It starts off slowly and it starts to slowly build up to the major shopping event of black Friday.  Black Friday has become a separate and almost religious holiday in and of itself.  People go to the stores and fight to the death over the most coveted items just to hurry and wait in line.  I don’t have to mention that people are waiting in line for almost four hours and some times even longer.  This is all part of the holiday frenzy and once the black Friday holiday phenomenon is over, a quiet and stillness sets in.  The stores quiet down for a temporary lull until the day after Christmas.  In which, that day people flood the stores with their gift receipts to return the things they don’t want for the things they do want.  The sad thing is that most of these people will tell the person that gave them the original gift how much they loved it; too ashamed to admit that they returned the original gift.  What happened to giving and receiving and being thankful?  For it to mean something?
I remember being a kid… seven or eight years old on Christmas morning sitting in front of the tree opening Christmas presents.  I guess I received something that I didn’t like.  I believe it was a sweater.  I remember saying thank you without any real enthusiasm, setting it down, and moving on to opening the next present.  Things became quiet.  The next thing I knew was that Jack A. was standing over me.  He questioned me.

What, you didn’t like that present?

He said it calmly and quietly and I knew by his tone of voice that I had made a mistake.  Scared, I did my best to sink into the floor and disappear.  Of course this is impossible.  He went and sat back in his chair and told me to open the rest of my presents.  Which I did.  It was hard to get excited about any of the other presents because, as I opened them, they all felt like a bomb ready to explode.  After all of the presents were opened, Jack A. got up and came to tower over me a second time.  He handed me an envelope and told me to open it.  It was a polaroid picture of a fluffy golden retriever puppy.
I got all excited and jumped up and down squealing like little girls are prone to do.  Jack A. smiled and said:

We’re supposed to go pick him up tomorrow.

He proceeded to walk out of the room and came back to the living room with the phone in his hand.  He made motion toward the picture of the puppy which I handed to him.  He turned the picture over and dialed a phone number listed on the back of the polaroid.  It took a few rings before Jack A. gave his greeting.  All I heard from his end of the conversation was that we weren’t going to be picking up the puppy after all.  When he hung up the phone and said:

Until you can learn how to appreciate what you are being given, you will not be given any more presents.  So don’t expect anything for your birthday either.

I was sent to my room.  Kim and Jack A. took all of the presents I had opened back to the store.  I was left at home while they went to my Grandma and Grandpa’s for Christmas dinner and gift exchange.  I was not told what happened to the presents that I was given; nor did I ask.  I wasn’t brought home any dinner and I went to bed hungry.  Jack A. held true to his word that I wasn’t going to get any birthday presents.  I don’t even remember being told “Happy Birthday.”
From that point forward, I know that I was overly enthusiastic about what I got.  I stopped believing in Santa Clause that year because the Santa Clause presents that I opened that year were returned to the store.  Something that I took notice of as well was that my mother stopped getting in between my step-father and myself… It was almost like she started being a spectator at a bull fight.  I cried myself to sleep that night.  I cried until I could see the early rays of dawn peaking through my window.  Only then did I fall asleep.

Out of the Dust: Part 2

Whenever Jack A. would find something to punish me for, he would get this smile on his face.  I know I have mentioned this before but there is something that I didn’t include.  He was someone that could make my blood turn cold… there was just something that changed when he would come home from work and he would close that front door behind him.
Like a coin there were two sides to him.  When he had to be around others, he put out this warm and caring persona that most people bought into.  He could fake a genuine smile and it would actually connect with his eyes.  When he would introduce his family (specifically me) to people, I would always be told that Jack A. talked so highly of me.  People bought into his strong hand shakes and friendly face.
When that door closed behind him, he turned into the complete opposite.  The smile mentioned would not meet his eyes and when I would look into them, I saw a real and in the flesh nightmare.  I would see my reflection in his eyes but it was the one that he would see.  The me that he saw was this vessel for his evil satisfaction.  I was an object for him to play with and abuse at his convenience.  I know that he would become aroused when he would punish me.  This was usually in correspondence with his smile for me.  His teeth were rotten and completely decayed.  The second that that grin would stretch across his lips… those blackened and jagged pieces would show… in those moments of my life I would try to mentally check out to protect myself as best as possible.  I knew in those seconds that there was no place that I could ever hide.  There was no way I could ever escape him.
A few nights ago I had this very real nightmare.  In it, I was talking with a therapist and telling her about being molested by Jack A. in the dream , I made the decision to tell Kim about what he had done to me when she wasn’t looking.
The memory that I possessed in this dream shattered every ounce of security I had in my blank and faulty memory.  This will make more sense later in this entry.
The things that I told Kim, trying desperately to make her believe me… were of being very small… being violated without choice… screaming and crying for Kim.  Screaming “No!, No!, No!” through my tears.
I have two daughters … and they have to both taken a piece of me into their personalities.  Aisha wears her heart on her sleeve and her emotions so close to the surface.  Clairy on the other hand has this cheeky and happy attitude and its her voice that I hear screaming in my head saying “No!, No!, No!” being raped of her innocence, shattering my heart and soul.  As much as it sounds like her, its me.  She took that piece of me.
It didn’t matter how I explained it to Kim.  She sat there shaking her head, disbelieving and sitting firm in her resolve that I was lying.  Like in real life, in my dream she went to Jack A. and told him every word that I had said.
I was then transformed into my toddler self running from that I was then transformed into my toddler self running from that bad and evil man.  Knowing that I would never get away.  In what seemed like seconds, I was caught.  He was towering over me turning my blood to ice with that grin.  I woke up with what sounded like a scream in my head but was merely a whimper in my throat.  My face was drenched in sweat and tears and a new realization dawned on me.
The memory on the molestation is real.  No longer something hidden from me by my subconscious.  It is no longer something that I can run from.

A Dilemma and a Question

Over the last few days I have been pondering this question.  Am I a better/stronger person in spite of Jack A. and Kim or am I a better, stronger person because of Jack A. and Kim?  Alexander Pope was the one that said “To err is human, to forgive, divine.”  For now, forgiveness is not in my future for Jack A. and Kim.  This may or may not change but inside this self-centered mentality is an unrealistic pride that circles around this question.  I do not, and at this time, will not give them credit for the person that I am today.  However there is this niggling thought at the back of my head that won’t let me forget that without the experiences of my life, I may not be where I am today.

I would like to hear your thoughts on this question.  Please let me know what you think…

A New Anger: Part 2

When I was at the consultation with the hand surgeon, I was having an extremely difficult time scheduling the surgery around my husbands work schedule so that he could be with me, as well as being home to help with the recovery.  Sadly, we couldn’t get a time frame that worked so I had to schedule it when he wasn’t available.

Suzie volunteered to fly out and stay through the point of my recovery that I could take care of myself and my kids.  She flew out a couple of weeks early so that she and I could spend some quality time together.  I would say that almost from the moment she walked off the plane, it was just this wave of drama.

The girls were so excited to see their Aunt Suzie.  They gave her hugs and giggled and wouldn’t leave her alone.  In the first week that she was here (she was supposed to be visiting for four weeks in total), my husband, the girls, and I took her to a newly built mall in downtown that has glass roofs that are retractable.  They also have this huge play area in the food court where children can climb all over these somewhat life-sized dinosaurs.

I was doing my best to please Suzie and my husband at the same time which is impossible to do.  My husband has never fully forgiven her for the way she treated me and acted while she was living with us.  So, while we were at the mall, I was trying to talk to Conall (husband) about the argument and Suzie wanted to get food.

I told her to go and get her food but I stayed in the playroom while Conall and I were talking things through.  When Conall and I decided it was time to go, I had to go find Suzie since she never came back to where we were.  From the moment I walked to where she was sitting, it was an immediate attitude.  She was actually on the phone with her foster-father complaining that she was having to eat by herself.  Which, at eighteen, I would think that she would be able to eat alone.  I didn’t walk over to the food court with her because I was apologizing to Conall and making sure that he and I were okay.

Something my blood relatives don’t understand and resent is the fact that I will put Conall first before any of them with the exception of my one and only surviving grandmother.  Everyone else will come in last place when it comes to my husband.  Conall is the only person in my life that has ever been constant, stable, and supportive.  It never mattered to him how bad things got, he was always there unlike any of my blood relatives (including my mother).  This is why I was more concerned with my husband being upset than I was at Suzie being upset.  Suzie very much resents this.

When we were leaving the mall, she made it very clear that she was upset by ignoring my husband, the girls, and I.  Anytime she did talk to us she was very short in her answers.  This isn’t how an eighteen year old should act.  This was just the first of many issues that happened while she was here.

The next incident was a major one in my book.  She made my youngest daughter cry.  My youngest daughter Clairy is three years old.  Suzie was trying to get Clairy to help undo her car seat because she had a soda in her other hand.  If you ever had kids, you know that there isn’t a way to get a toddler out of a car seat with one hand.  Instead of setting down her cup on the ground or somewhere else and undoing Clairy’s car seat herself, she proceeds to berate her by saying “Clairy, you’re such a pain.”  Which, in a three-year-old’s mind, is the equivalent of someone calling her a name.  This wasn’t just someone… this was her Aunt saying this to her.  It hurt her feelings and doing what a three-year-old does best, she started to cry.  I was rounding the bed of my truck coming around to resolve the problem and passed Suzie (who was on her way inside leaving my daughter in the truck alone and still in her car seat).  I comforted my daughter and I told Suzie that her actions were unacceptable.  That to treat a three-year-old that way was wrong.  At eighteen, she needed to act like an adult.

I have always questioned where Suzie gets her money from since she doesn’t have a job.  She has an Apple MacBook Pro that (with upgrades) cost $5,000, an $800 Sony Camera, a $300 Fossil Watch, and many other expensive things.  When I questioned her on how she makes money, she stated that she babysitts and just saves her money.  I was very skeptical when she told me this.  She doesn’t work and has never held a job and therefore has never had to shoulder ANY kind of responsibility.  I stepped back from the situation and decided to give Suzie the benefit of the doubt.  I explained to her why it was wrong for her actions.  I walked her through what she SHOULD have done and I let her know that Clairly is only three and in the grand scheme of a life, she’s just a baby.

When I told Conall about how Suzie had acted towards our daughter, he wanted me to throw her bags in the back of the truck and take her to the airport to let her figure out how to get home on her own.  I explained how since Suzie has never had to have responsibility, she has to be taught how to handle it.  After talking to Suzie about what she had done wrong, I made her apologize to Clairy so that Clairy would understand that her aunt loves her.  Being three, Clairy didn’t want anything to do with it at first.  She made Suzie work at the apology.  Eventually, she had Clairy giggling.  There was still this part of me that wanted to smack her upside the back of the head because she made my daughter cry.