Makin' a comeback!

Soooo......I have only posted twice on this blog, and then I took a REALLY long hiatus. Now, I'm making a comeback! (I hope?) I have been pretty down in the dumps the last month or so, as far as my state of mind is concerned. I have been seeing a counselor again for the last couple of months, and doing this work has been a lot harder than I had anticipated. When I first started going to counseling again back in October, I felt really motivated to give it my all. My counselor gave me some writing assignments, and I did them every night for the first couple of weeks. I felt like I was finally climbing out of the valley that I had been stuck in. Then, I found out that I was pregnant. We were actually trying, but it usually takes us at least a few months to get pregnant. This time I got pregnant within a month. I was so excited, and felt such a sense of euphoria about the pregnancy that I almost wanted to quit counseling, because I felt like I was doing so well. Then, the "morning" sickness kicked in. With both of my last two pregnancies I lost 20 lbs. from being so sick. I was doing pretty well mentally at the beginning of the pregnancy, but the more sick I became the less motivated I was to do anything around my house. I am a very all or nothing type of person, so my house is either perfect or quite disastrous. I discovered that the state of my house and my motivation level start to affect my self worth. I feel that so much of my worth comes from the type of wife, mother, and homemaker that I am. So... when I am not cleaning, cooking or doing anything productive it makes me feel worthless. The main reason that I didn't want to do these things was because I didn't feel good. I began to take Zofran, an anti-nausea medicine, and started to feel a lot better but my mood and lack of motivation didn't really improve. I felt pretty depressed. A sink full of dishes seemed like an insurmountable task. I was able to entertain and take care of my kids needs, but that is about it. On the days where I was out of the house, I felt a lot better emotionally, but it wasn't enough to keep me from hitting those lows as soon as I got home. I started to find myself daydreaming about suicide. It sounded like such a relaxing alternative to the pressures of laundry, bathrooms, dishes, and cooking. I would imagine myself slitting my wrists in the bathtub, and finally being at peace. I knew these weren't rational thoughts, and I had no intention of acting on them, but the fact that I kept having them was really beginning to scare me. Some new memories had surfaced during counseling of abuse that had taken place when I was very small, and they were very difficult memories to deal with. I guess sometimes death seemed an easier task than wading through the pain that came with uncovering new horrors in my past. I finally told my counselor that I was feeling very depressed and having suicidal thoughts. I DON'T WANT to kill myself!! My unborn baby and my children are the most important thing to me! I don't think anyone but God, and possibly(haha)my husband could love them the way I do. That is why these thoughts were so scary to me. I told my doctor, and he prescribed a prescription for anti-depressants. I went and filled the prescription that same day, but I haven't started taking them yet. Just getting that prescription made me feel so much better. The last two weeks have been such a huge relief. I feel like I am starting to become my motivated self again. My mom gave me some Lavender essential oil to use, and that actually seems to be really helping. It also just helps that I told a few people, so now I don't feel so isolated in my own thoughts. I haven't had ONE suicidal thought since the day I got the prescription! I had counseling today, and I feel like I had a major breakthrough. My counselor did a visualization exercise with me that really seemed to make a difference in how I have been feeling. She had me visual myself going down into a dungeon in a castle, and finding my five year old self there. She had me rescue her, and make a safe place for her. Then she had me ask that girl how it felt to finally have her emotional needs finally taken care of. She had me write with my non-dominant hand on a piece of paper, and respond the way that I felt my five year old self would. It was a very eye opening experience. She/I wrote that I would have done anything to be loved and that it felt so good to finally have that loving feeling so genuinely and purely reciprocated. (Not in those words, pretty advanced for a five year old.) She felt that safety and protection equals happiness. I put her in a safe place, my heart, and she will be there forever. I feel so empowered and productive to finally help myself at a time where, I see now, I was helpless!! Breakthroughs and high hills are the best! Hope they keep coming my way, cause I needs me a comeback!!

Memories

I am going to tackle the scary subject of sharing my memories about being sexually abused. I have had distinct memories my entire life of three main occasions where I was molested by my step-father. I remembered more of the abuse when I started going to counseling. It is hard for me to admit to myself that new memories are real. I remembered those few occasions so vividly that it was hard for me to believe I could have forgotten something so significant. So, I will start by just sharing the stories of abuse that I've always remembered. The first memory that I have of anything inappropriate taking place was when I was five. I've figured that out, because we only lived in our town home for the first year that my mom was married to my step-dad, and I was five at that time. He led me upstairs into my mom's bedroom, and asked me if I would like to see what makes boys and girls different. I didn't really understand what he was talking about, but I said yes. He made it sound really interesting and fun. He then explained to me that he was going to show me what was in his underwear. He said that it might be scary looking, but that it was something nice. He compared it to a friendly dragon. (Pretty freakin' creepy, if you ask me.) He showed me his penis, and then asked if I wanted to touch it. I said, no. At this point, I had a bad feeling and was getting pretty scared. I don't think that I had ever seen a man naked until then. He calmed me down, took my hand, and made me touch him. Things get pretty hazy and unclear at that point. I know that at least one sexual act took place. The next thing that I remember is sitting on my mom's bed crying. He was in the bathroom washing his hands, and talking to me. He had his clothes back on, and he walked over to me. He sat me on his lap, and told me that he was sorry if he had scared me. He said it was going to be okay, and I believed him. I snuggled right into the chest of someone that had just stolen a piece of me, and cried. I don't remember him asking me not to tell anyone, but I was scared to say anything to anyone. I thought I was going to get in trouble. I don't know how long I waited to tell after the incident took place. We still lived in the town house, so it couldn't have been too long.  I was sitting at the breakfast table with my mom, and no one else was in the room. I started to cry, and told her that I had seen Daddy's front private parts. She then called my step-dad into the room, and asked him (in front of me) what I was talking about. He said that I must have walked in on him going to the bathroom. I didn't protest. That was the end of that discussion. I didn't have any other really clear memories of abuse taking place after that until I was probably nine. I think I was nine, because that was the year that our family started renting a small cabin a few hours north of where we lived. We rented the cabin for several years after that, but I know that it was that first year because my little sister was VERY young at the time. We had arrived to the cabin very late at night. My step-dad must have carried us while we were sleeping, and put us into bed. My mom, for some reason, was sleeping on the hide a bed in the living room, and my little sister and I were sleeping in the only bedroom with my step-dad. I don't know if he had come in there after my mom fell asleep, or if that is how the arrangement started. I woke up to someone grabbing my hand, he took it and put it down his pants, and placed my hand around his genitals. I asked, "Is that your thumb, Dad?" I knew what it was, I don't know why I asked that, but I was SOOO scared. He told me to shut up in the meanest voice. He then made me rub his penis. I was crying, and kicking him, so he started pinching my legs really hard. I don't remember much after that. I pushed my little sister all the way against the wall. Almost to the point where she was in the crack between the wall and the bed. I didn't want him to do anything to her, so I just tried to lay over her, so that I could protect her. I remember hearing him start to snore, and I was still laying there wide awake, holding onto my Little Little Babe-um for dear life. (That is one of the many nicknames that I have for my little sister. I'm sure, as a mother to be, she must really love it!) Sorry, I gots to have something light in the mix, or I just may CRACK! Anyway, back to my story, the next morning I tried, in a not so clear way, to tell my mom what had happened. I just showed her the marks on my legs, and told her that he had pinched me, and that it REALLY hurt. She called him into the room, and asked him why he had pinched me. He told her that I was kicking him in my sleep, and that he had pinched me to try to wake me up, so that I would stop. He said that he hadn't realized he had pinched me that hard, and said he was sorry. My mom told him he shouldn't have pinched me, and left it at that. My cousins came up to the cabin later that weekend, and I told my cousin everything that had happened. She remembers me telling her even more than what I remember happening, so there must have been more that took place. She was the first person that I had told the whole story. (She is still the first person that I confide in to this very day. I call her my Editor in Chief, because I read her my blog entries before I post them. Thanks E.I.C. for your NEVER ENDING Support!! I love you!)  She told me that what had happened was not normal. She was VERY ANGRY with my step-dad, and struggled to know what she should do with my secret. She did end up telling her dad, but she doesn't remember how clear she was in her description of what was going on. She could have said, "My cousin's dad is really mean to her." I don't know, we were around nine years old. That is a lot to figure out. Anyway, her dad (my mom's brother) felt that it wasn't his place to get involved with whatever was going on in our family. My mom and her siblings were raised to AVOID confrontations at all costs. Especially, negative ones. I wish my uncle would have taken her seriously, but I have never been upset with him about it. I don't think he fully understood what was happening to me. He is a wonderful man, and I know he would have never wanted any harm to come to me. I feel badly now for placing such a heavy burden on my cousin who was so young at the time. Although, I was glad to finally tell someone. We didn't really talk about it again after that, until I was in junior high or high school. I'm so proud of her for being so brave about telling an adult a secret that she knew wasn't the type to be kept. I know it was very scary for her, and she thought that after she told, I would never have to worry about that again. Sadly, that wasn't the case. The next vivid memories I have of abuse taking place occurred when I was between the ages of 10-11 or 12. I started developing breasts at around age 10, I believe, so the rest of the incidents occurred sometime during those ages. We moved from that house when I was 12, and I don't remember any other major sexual abuse after that time. I remember standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom brushing my teeth when I was around 10, and my step-dad came up behind me. He pulled my nightshirt tight behind my back, and told me that I was getting boobs. He seemed really excited, and this really scared me!! That night I woke up to him putting his hand up my shirt. I was so scared, so I just kind of laid there while he felt my breasts, and pretended that I was asleep. I don't remember him leaving the room, but I know I would lay there and cry after he left. After that I was terrified of falling asleep at night. I would often sit in my bed in the dark reading with a book light that my mom had given me. This new pattern of me waking up to him standing over my bed touching my chest happened a few more times after this. I wanted to believe that there was no way that my Dad could be doing this to me, even though I could see his face. I split him into two people inside my head. Dad during the day, and this bad version who comes into my room at night. I tried to pretend that someone was sneaking into our house at night just to do this to me. I would also pretend that my step-dad was a sleepwalker, and didn't know what he was doing. Or, that he had mistaken me for my mom. I even made up the weirdest story in my head one time...he had dropped a button in the dark onto my bed, and was trying to feel where it had landed, so that he could pick it up. Sounds crazy, but I just didn't want it to happen, and I didn't want to believe that it was him. After he had done this a few times, I got up and went looking for him. He was laying on the floor in our living room, reading his scriptures. I asked him if he had just been in my room. He told me to go get my ass back in bed. (This was one of his favorite things to say. It was even one of my sister's first sentences. "Get yo ass een bed.") I started to HATE him then. I finally realized that even though I still loved him, I hated him too. He WAS the one who was coming into my room, he knew it was wrong, and he wasn't going to stop. He had also been treating me a lot different during the day, over those last couple of years that the abuse went on. He would call me a slut, if I played dress-up or put make-up on. He would lose his temper with me very easily. He also called me other demeaning names on several occasions. I finally found the courage to go to my mom again, and tell her what was going on. I told her that my step-dad had been coming in my room at night, and touching my chest under my shirt. She told me that I should start locking my door at night. I said, "Okay." (People may wonder why I wasn't locking my door at night to begin with, but I was very afraid of the dark, being alone, silence...everything. I think I was also in denial about what was going on. The next two houses that we lived in didn't have locks on the doors.) I still don't know why she responded the way that she did. She claims to this day, that I never told her once about any of the abuse that was happening. I remember telling her, or at least trying to the best of my ability, on three occasions. We moved to another city not long after I spoke with my mom, and I don't remember any other sexual abuse taking place after that time. I didn't try to talk to my mom about the abuse again until I was fourteen, and then not again after that until I was eighteen. I had always thought of my mom as the "perfect mother." She started to fall from that pedestal that last time that I tried to tell her. I felt liked she loved him more than me. It was the ultimate betrayal for me!

Family Background

I thought I would start out by giving a little background on my family when I was a child. I was raised primarily by my mom. She was married three times. She married her first husband at a very young age, and had four children from that marriage. Her oldest was a boy, and then she had three girls. My mom got a divorce from her first husband after thirteen years of marriage. They were married in the Temple, and I know their divorce was really devastating for my siblings. Luckily, their Dad remained a big part of their lives after the divorce. My mom was single for a while before she met and married my biological father. They were married for about a year and a half. Just enough time to have little old me! My biological father emotionally and physically abused my mom, until she finally found the courage to leave with her five young children. I never met my biological father until I was six, and that was just for a short visit. (I think mainly a visit to try and get my mom to negotiate with him on lower child support. Which he didn't pay for at least 10 years, so I don't know why he bothered.) We never met again until I was twenty-one. Now, we have met twice and occasionally write letters or speak on the phone. I don't recall much from the first five years of my life. I remember a trip to the beach, I was probably two, standing in the ocean with my mom. She was singing a song about roller-coasters, and lifting me over the waves. I remember feeling so safe in her arms, even with the waves crashing in on me. I thought this was a dream for a long time, until my mom brought up the shared memory. I spent a lot of time with my mom's parents those first five years. My grandma and grandpa were such a source of light to me throughout my youth. Their home was my SAFE haven! I went there a lot on my siblings' weekends with their dad. I remember watching out the Arcadia door of our town house, as they would drive away to go their dad's house. I wanted a dad SO BADLY! My siblings would always get really cool gifts from their dad, and he would take them on trips all the time. They went boating and skiing, and I went to IHOP with grandma and grandpa. (Which I actually enjoyed very much! I'm a sucker for a Rooty-Tooty Fresh N Fruity!) My point is, I had some pretty bad Dad envy going on! My mom met and married my step-dad when I was five years old. He had been married once before, and had two sons from that marriage. My new step-dad had an interesting set of social skills, a dark sense of humor, and a temper that could be set off by a change in the weather. I thought he was the greatest thing that had ever happened to me! He was MY Daddy from the minute that he moved in. Unfortunately, he took advantage of my love and trust in the worst way possible. He began sexually abusing me when I was five, and the abuse went on for about six years after that.  When I was six we moved into a big, new house, and my mom announced that she was having another baby. My beautiful little sister, my step-dad's biological daughter, was born when I was seven. She was pretty much my EVERYTHING from that day on! We moved again when I entered the second grade. I changed to a new school that was built when I entered the fifth grade. I was VERY outgoing, and participated in chorus, drama, and band. I had a lot of great friends and some cousins that lived close by. I was pretty heartbroken when we moved about an hour away. I entered the eighth grade in a new school, and a new city. I made some friends in my ward at church during the summer, and I had a cousin who was in the same grade, so it wasn't too bad. We stayed in that house for a year. We lived there with a disabled woman that my mom took care of. After that ended on a sour note,(the lady never paid my mom for her services) we moved to a small patio home nearby. We rented that house for about a year, and then moved to another house nearby that my parents were looking to buy from a relative that owned it. I was able to stay in the same school district for the rest of my schooling, and made some wonderful friends. I dropped out of band in eighth grade, but continued to pursue singing and acting at school. I was also ACTING everywhere else in life, as well. Acting as though everything was fine, and using my favorite coping mechanism, humor. I laughed through life, so that no one would know how scared I was, not even me. I "dated" a lot in high school. (Which means I kissed a lot of guys.) I met my future husband my junior year in high school, but we didn't become friends until right before he left on his mission. I had a few jobs all through junior high and high school, and continued to work after I graduated. After graduation, I began a partying phase of my life that went on for a few years after high school. I still managed to hold a job, but I was quite the slacker at the community college that I "somewhat attended." My husband returned home from his mission in Feb. of 2002, and we were married in the Temple in April of 2003. My life began again! We had our son in 2006, and our daughter in 2008. My husband is the reason that I'm alive! I know I probably shouldn't say things like that, but he really helped lead me back into a life full of light! My mom is still married to my step-dad, and they own the same house that I lived in during high school. When I moved out, my step-dad moved into my old bedroom(he also installed the first lock that has ever been on that door), and my mom enjoys the privacy of her own master bedroom. My little sister lives there too, and she and her boyfriend are expecting their first baby soon. We live about 45 minutes away from my mom's house. My biological father lives about a half hour away, and we don't speak very often. My maternal grandma died from cancer in 2001, which was a huge blow to our whole family. My maternal grandpa lives about an hour and a half away, and is doing FANTASTIC! My husband's family is wonderful, and has adopted me right into their fold. My in-laws live 45 minutes away. They have five sons and 1 daughter, and have been married to EACH OTHER for more than 40 years! Don't know how I found such a normal husband! I'm a lucky gal fo sho, in that department! Anyway, there's some family background. I don't know if that complicates or clarifies, but at least you know the main players in MY Story! (I told you that I loved the Dramatic Arts!!) This was the easy part! I hope to post more really soon. I am going to tell my story first, and then I'll write what is on my mind as I hop back in the saddle of the mule known as.... THERAPY!! Giddy-up!