Posts Tagged ‘death

07
Sep
09

today…such sadness

I know I didn’t write about this when it happened, but today we bury a beautiful little girl *SIGH*. Let me back up and tell you what happened.

Tasha was sleeping on her Mom’s bed, her mom was out of the room for about 5 minutes, evidently in that time Tasha woke up, crawled to the window to look out, must have fallen and got caught between the bed and the wall and suffocated *SIGH*.

She was my daughter’s fiancee’s niece and my daughter and her fiancee were pretty much raising her, so we are ALL grieving and heartbroken. It just goes to show you how fragile life is, and how fast we can lose someone we love.

Tasha was such a happy baby, so full of life, so beautiful and ALWAYS smiled. She was just 16 days shy of her first birthday when she passed away. How UNFAIR is that?!?! She never got to live her life, she never got to have a birthday….I will never understand why a baby has to die. It hurts so much, it hurts when you hear of ANY child dying, but when it’s one your close to, it rips your heart out of your body.

I am tearful and sad, heartbroken. And the viewing/wake is at 5:00pm today. I DREAD seeing her in her little casket, in her little cream colored dress they picked out for her. She will look like a sleeping angel I just know it.

Ok, I have to go, I have my 7 year old in the shower, then I have to shower and get ready…. ūüė¶ I DREAD THIS. God, why?

R.I.P. baby girl….you are with the Angels now. You will not be forgotten.

tasha

 

25
Jun
09

holy shit…..

First Farrah, now Michael Jackson….I am in total shock here. Damn………

07
May
09

Q AND A time….(a LONG post)

Well, since I woke up in pain I figured I would write my first question and answer blog. I am STILL taking suggestions, so if there is something you want me to write about, just comment and tell me! The first question/suggestion was from my dear friend Butterfly¬†(read her blog, it’s intense and awesome). She said:

Hi V,

If you’re taking requests, I would love to hear more about how you came to be you. What you used to do for a living, how you met your ex-wife, how you came to have a child, how you met D, all that. :-)

Butterfly

How I came to be me. Well, the story of my birth…how I came to be is that my “Dad” (the abuser) married my mother when they were both 19 years old. From what my Mama tells me and what other people have told me, he was a cheater from the beginning. Mama stayed and stayed, she put up with his cheating for years…then one day she was working (She was an ER nurse) and she met a beautiful man that¬† had moved¬†to Louisville from Athens Greece just a few months before…he was enchanted with my Mama, he begged her to see him and finally she gave in. She tells me she honestly fell in love with¬†this man Dimitri…she told me she felt no guilt being with him after all “Dad”‘ did, but this wasn’t a one night stand like “Dad”, it was true love. She ended up pregnant and she told my “Dad”. He begged and pleaded with her to stay, he apologized and Mama gave in to him–she stayed. He swore to her he would raise this child as his own. Mama believed him. This baby was born January 24–that baby was me.

Even though she had promised “Dad” she wouldn’t see my Papa again, she couldn’t stay away from him. So the times he was gone on business Mama and I stayed with Papa at his apartment and as I grew and grew Papa loved me more and more. I remember his love, his warmth, his smell…the way he would hug me…kiss me, the way he would say my name in that thick greek accent. I was happy when I was with him. I felt safe from “Dad” the one who promised to raise me as his own, only he didn’t love me, he was abusing me from the time I was a baby. When I was with my Papa, in his apartment, in his arms I was safe. I was safe from “Dad”, safe from the world. My Papa loved me.

When I was almost 5 years old my Papa got sick, he was diagnosed with brain cancer. I remember my Mama crying when she found out. I remember going to spend more and more time with him–I also remember watching my beloved Papa waste away……….

I remember crawling up in his hospital bed, not long before he died. “Dad” had beaten me pretty bad–I was so sore. Papa noticed–he couldn’t speak, he was too weak, but I saw in his eyes, he knew, he knew. I could see the pain…the anger. He was mad at “Dad” for hurting me, and he was mad at himself for having to leave me..

Ok this is hard, I have to take a break, crying too much…

*SIGH* Ok. Let me get through this part…I knew if Papa were healthy and strong he would have grabbed me up at that moment and taken me away from the abuse, from “Dad” and protect me and love me with everything in his body. Unfortunately he died a few days later, with me and my Mama at his side when he took his last breath……..For awhile, I was mad at my Papa, for leaving me, leaving me alone with “Dad”. I was scared, I missed my Papa, I missed the love, the unconditional love, the safety. My abuse only got worse–and my state of mind went to hell when “Dad” took my puppy that Papa gave me from me, my Frisky. That was the only thing left I had of my Papa and he took it. Anyhow, my abuse got worse, I got angrier. I started cutting myself when I was young, I remember when I was 6 thinking of what I could do to die…how I could kill myself and be with my Papa. I took a bottle of aspirin. The only thing I got for that was puking and a horrible ringing in my ears for days. I drank drain cleaner and ended up in the hospital for a couple of weeks…I kept living no matter what I did, so the cutting started to feel alive, to release the anger.

I was also being abused by a neighborhood “Christian” man who would tell me as he fucked my 6 year old body that GOD told him to do it. The abuse from this neighborhood man didn’t go on everyday, but at least once a week, I remember trying to tell “Dad” saying “Daddy, this man is hurting my butt.” What did “Dad” do? He told me to shut the fuck up and quit trying to get attention. So I had NO safe place to go. I was abused by this “Christian” bastard and by my “Dad” who was suppose to protect me. The abuse from “The Man” went on until I was almost 12. I was also passed around by my “Dad” as a child whore to his pedophile friends. I was a fuck toy to so many people. My life was filled with sex and tortures…

As I grew the abuse from¬†“Dad”¬†got worse and I grew into a teenager, it turned into a sick obsession. He thought he was my “lover” *shudder*. My suicide attempts and cutting got worse. I was holding in so much rage, so much hate. In my freshman year of high school, I had a teacher that obviously didn’t like me for some reason and grabbed my arm, jerking me out of my desk. Wrong move–I evidently let out some of my rage on her and hit her…knocking her a few feet back. I don’t remember it, my best friend Kev was in the class with me and told me what happened. The only thing I remembered was being in the principal’s office, with my Mama and the cops there. They ended up putting me in a psych hospital for a year. At first, it was great–I was away from the asshole who was hurting me, I felt safe. I was still clammed up and wouldn’t tell any of the therapists about my abuse. “Don’t scream, don’t tell” , “Dad’s” mantra I was made to repeat kept going through my head, I couldn’t tell. One day one of the therapists I really liked came into my room, he told me he understood, he knew I just wanted to be loved. I cried, thinking he really understood. He started to touch me–my face..my arms, my legs, my cock. *SIGH* I wanted love so bad I let him do things to me. I let myself think he loved me. Many nights he would come to my room and do things to me, get me to do things to him. He made me think he cared. I was a stupid teenager, who was so abused, so angry, so needy and vulnerable and he took advantage of me. He molested me just like “Dad”, he used me. I told him I loved him–did he tell me he loved me back? No. He told me I couldn’t have him and to stay away from him. He broke my fucking heart and made me feel even more victimized. Another person to abuse me. I knew then I had a neon “Abuse Me It’s OK” sign over my head….

When I got out of the hospital, I met Kelli. She was so sweet and nice and she broke through my shyness. Kelli, Kevin and I started doing everything together. We were the best of friends—then I started having feelings for her, love feelings and she was feeling the same way. We started doing some things alone–getting closer, loving each other. One day, we decided to “do it”, both of us virgins..(I do NOT consider being molested taking my virginity). We parked my truck in a secluded place one day after school and we made love for the first time….and I got her pregnant that day *SIGH*. When she told me, I wanted to do the right thing, I loved her. So we told our parents, of course they were shocked, her Dad hated me for getting her pregnant, but we finally got them to sign papers so we could get married. We got married got our own little apartment. We would go to school during the day, then Kevin would drive her home while I went to work. Kelli and I were young, but we were happy and mature for our ages and we both wanted our baby. I remember being in awe thinking that a life we created was growing inside of her. In her fourth month, I came home from work and she didn’t greet me as usual at the door. I called out for her–nothing. I went into the bedroom and saw her lying on our bed, blood all over. She had miscarried and hemorrhaged, she was dead. I screamed and grabbed her, tried to “wake her up”, I prayed, I begged….*SIGH* I called the paramedics and sat in the floor by the bed, with her blood all over me, holding her limp hand until they got there. I lost my child and my Kelli…the first person to really love me was gone.

At her funeral, I was devastated…then her father came to me and told me it was MY fault she was dead, if I had kept my “dick in my pants” she would be alive. I felt even WORSE and after the funeral I was sitting in Mama and “Dad’s” house, he was in the living room with me, I cried and said “I just want to die…I can’t take this”…what was “Dad’s” reaction? He said “If I get the gun, you promise to do it….” If he would have gotten that gun out at that time I would have blown his fucking brains out then killed myself!!!!

A few months after Kelli died, I met Jennifer. She was sweet and nice, she pursued me, I said no many times, but she was persistant. Finally I agreed and we went out. I know now I was rebounding from Kelli, from the pain, so I think I thought Jen was nicer than she really was. Long story short, I ended up marrying her when we turned 18, not long after our graduation. Kevin begged me not to marry her, he had bad feelings about her. I didn’t listen and went through with it. On our wedding night, a night when you should be making love, laughing and making plans for the future, I was alone and she left me to go out with her friends. It never ended. Jennifer turned into the devil’s daughter. She was verbally and physically abusive to me. She caused me to have stitches many times by hitting me with things. She cheated on me–she was just cruel. She said mean things to me…let’s just say things she did to me were horrible. We had sex¬†a total of 4 times during our¬†7 year marriage. We had been married for almost 2 years when I got tired of being monogamous to someone who was fucking anything with two legs. I played a gig with my band one night and this girl who was like a groupie of mine flirted with me, I said to her—“Wanna fuck?”. She of course said yes, I took her outside to my truck, and that is all it was, a simple fuck. A few weeks later she’s at the club telling me she’s pregnant. GOOD GOD. But me being an upstanding guy, I told her I would be with her through out the pregnancy, I would, of course, help her with our child. I had to tell Jen what was going on, her reaction? “As long as I don’t have to touch it you can play Daddy all you want.” , fucking cold bitch.

On August 30th my daughter was born. I was in delivery as she was born…my Melody, I was in love. The¬†nurses went to hand Mel to her and M (Mel’s Mom, not going to put her full name) said “I don’t want it, I am not ready to be a Mom, I don’t want it.” IT?!?!?! How can you call a child IT? So at 20 years old I became a single father….I left Jen a few years later (she never helped with Mel anyhow) and it was just me and my baby girl…we were happy, except for “Dad” obsessing and still abusing me *SIGH*….

I was working my way up in my company (software company). I started working there when I was 15 and stayed. I worked my way up from gopher, to sales, to network administrator to finally a VP!! I was so fucking proud of myself. I was making good money, I had a nice home, a beautiful daughter. The only thing was, I was a heroin addict and STILL being abused by my “Dad”.

I started doing heroin when I was 15 to kill my pain….Now don’t judge me and say I was a horrible father for doing heroin. Yes, I was an addict, but my child NEVER saw me do it, she NEVER did without ever! My Mama would keep Mel on the weekends and I would binge and binge, heroin and as much alcohol as my body could stand.

Sometimes I would go on 2 and 3 day binges–no one would know where I was–Kevin would come find me somewhere in Louisville or up in Indiana in drug houses, fucked up out of my mind. I wanted to kill all my pain, from all my abuse. The abuse from “Dad” that was still going on. The abuse I could tell NO ONE about. When my divorce from Jen was final, I really kinda went crazy. I had what I call my “whore” days. I was living a totally gay lifestyle, men only. I would go to gay clubs, fuck in the ‘back rooms”, no names, no staying over, no regrets. I just wanted to be high and fuck without emotions. I had an AIDS scare after about 3 years of the circuit lifestyle and that stopped the “whore days”.

I met Jaysin…a wonderful guy and lived with him for 2 years. He loved me, I loved him. Unfortunately fate wasn’t on our side and we weren’t meant to be together forever. He got offered a job in Dallas, TX, an offer he couldn’t refuse. He begged me to go with him, but I couldn’t leave my GOOD job, uproot my child, leave my Mama…so we split amicably with many tears. He still checks on me every now and again. ūüôā

So again, I was alone….I went through a few boyfriends and girlfriends then met Carol. She told me I was the love of her life, she left her shitty husband for me…we lived together 8 years. I got off heroin when we moved in together, my life was turning around, then I got those¬†three fucking words that would change my life forever. “You have cancer.”

I think Carol thought I was going to die (well they told my family I had 6 weeks when they found the leukemia) so she stayed….through the heavy chemo to kill off everything in my body, the bone marrow transplant, the months in the hospital, the pneumonia, the staph infections….*SIGH* I told her she could leave, it would be ok and I would understand, but she said she loved me and wasn’t going to leave me….

I went into remission, then about 6 months later it was back–she stayed but it was never the same. She would only touch me if she had been drinking, made me feel like I was shit. Like I was unattractive, like I was a big nothing, but still, I stayed. She promised to take care of me until I died. Yeah right, she took care of me by cheating on me numerous times, until I couldn’t take anymore and I left her to move back to Kentucky with my family……

I swore I would never fall in love with anyone again, not seriously. I was sick, I was fighting terminal leukemia, rounds of chemo and radiation. Then they found the 2 small growing cancerous brain tumors. My Papa’s tumors? I don’t know, but it was more chemo and more radiation and more fucking meds. I felt ugly, shitty, unattractive, unloveable…then on that day in May, I met D on deviantart, we got married on August 9th 2006, the anniversary of my Papa’s death, he was there, he wanted us to marry on that day. I felt it and I know it…he was there with us.

The rest is history I guess. I am still here fighting after they gave me 4-6 months to live years ago. My body IS slowly shutting down, I am on home hemodialysis three days a week because I am in kidney failure, my gastro system is slowly shutting¬† down…I’ve had tumors removed from my kidney, my throat….It sucks, but I am fighter…and I am stubborn.

I just found out one of the tumors in my head is growing again, my seizures are getting really bad again…so next monday I start radiation YET AGAIN, 5 days a week, 35 rounds. I get to be fried to a crisp again….They wanted me to do chemo but I have refused. No more chemo. If the tumor doesn’t respond to the radiation, then I guess it will just grow until it or the leukemia finally takes me out. NO MORE CHEMO!

I am loved and I love. I am abused, I am sick, but I am here and I am glad for that.

WOW, this ended up being long, but hey you asked how I came to be. I could have made it even longer and got into more detail, but enough is enough. ūüėČ

Thanks Butterfly! I hope this is insightful….not too boring! haha

As I said, if you have something you want me to blog about, just put it in a comment!

I’m out to try to sleep again!

28
Mar
09

ryan moats detained for running red light while mother in law is dying in hospital..

This REALLY pissed me off. This police officer pulled NFL player Ryan Moats over for running a red light (with hazard lights blinking), as he was driving his wife and his wife’s grandfather to the hospital where her mother was dying of breast cancer.

Now I can understand a cop pulling someone over for running a red light, BUT, he got them in the hospital parking lot, he PULLED OUT HIS GUN on them, when he was told the mother in law was dying what did he do? Well, instead of letting Ryan and his wife’s grandfather go on up to her bedside, he berated him for almost 16 minutes! Ryan pleaded many times for the cop to just let him go up, that his mother in law was dying “right now”. A nurse even came out to tell the officer that she had already coded three times. What did the officer do then? He kept on yapping about “attitude”. WTF? Like HIS attitude was any better. He should have WALKED Ryan into the hospital, verified that his mother in law WAS dying and then let him be with her and his wife, he could have written him a ticket and gave it to him later, whatever. But noooo, he just kept yapping even after he was TOLD the mother in law’s death was imminent, that she was dying RIGHT THEN. Of course, she died while that officer detained Ryan and the wife’s grandfather outside in the parking lot. Which means Ryan didn’t get to be with his wife and mother in law AND his wife’s grandfather (the mother in law’s father)missed being with his daughter as she died of cancer.

I am INFURIATED. Being someone who is terminally ill with cancer, I cannot imagine a cop stopping one of my family members who was trying to get to ME if I was dying. How insensitive can one person be? Now this is just MY opinion, but the cop was a third year rookie, he should have KNOWN better than to act this way, I think he was on a power trip AND I can’t help but wonder if he was racist. I mean how¬†many cops draw a gun on someone for running a red light? COME ON!!!¬†

The cop has issued an “apology”. What a crock of shit, he issued a statement that his attorney probably wrote for him. He is on “paid probation” pending an investigation. FUCK THAT. PAID? He took away a moment that Ryan and his grandfather in law will NEVER get back. He kept them away from her bedside as she lost her battle with cancer. To me that is unforgiveable. He should be fired. You can DAMN WELL bet if that would have been HIS mother dying, he would have ran red lights to get to her too. Here is his “apology”:

“I wish to publicly and sincerely apologize to the Moats family, my colleagues in the Dallas Police Department, and to all those who have been rightfully angered by my actions on March 18, 2009. After stopping Mr. Moats’ vehicle, I showed poor judgment and insensitivity to Mr. Moats and his family by my words and actions. With great remorse I accept my responsibility for adding to their grief in an already difficult time.

“I have attempted to reach Mr. Moats to express my personal condolences directly to his family and my regret about my actions. While these efforts have been unsuccessful so far, I hope we can talk soon.

“Again, I am very sorry for what I did and ask for the forgiveness of all those touched by these unfortunate events.”

First off how NICE to have an attorney try to do damage control for you. Secondly you tried to contact Mr. Moats? I HIGHLY doubt he would want to speak to you after what you have done to his family. You caused so much more grief for them. For what? A fucking ticket for running a red light. I think you, Officer Powell are an insensitive SHIT, who should lose his job. You have been on that job for THREE years, and certainly you know right from wrong. What you did was WRONG, plain fucking wrong. Maybe one day YOU will be detained by a loud mouth officer that can’t shut up when one of YOUR family members lay dying. I am so disgusted by this.

See the video for yourself:

Part One:

Part Two:

I’m out….

04
Jan
09

MRI Results, Autism And The Death Of Jett Travolta…

I AM Autistic And Proud!!

I AM Autistic And Proud!!

Oh God, how painfully sad that Jett Travolta passed away. I feel so bad for John and Kelly–I could NOT imagine having to bury one of my children, it would destroy me. People are wondering why John didn’t admit his son was autistic (he was, I am PROUDLY autistic and I know another autistic when I see them), well he didn’t admit it because his “church” (I say that loosely) the Church Of Scientology doesn’t recognize autism, so John couldn’t very well admit his son had something that his church would frown upon. He would have been marked by the “church” as a¬†“degraded being”.¬†They (The church) believe members can cure themselves by working harder on the church‚Äôs teachings (uh huh riiight). John says he had Kawasaki syndrome–yeah when he was TWO. The syndrome normally affects children under the age of five and only last a few days. It is highly doubtful that Jett suffered from that disease for 14 years.

I respect everyone’s beliefs, even if I don’t understand or like it. I do have a problem however, with religions who won’t allow their members to seek medical care. God gave doctors the knowledge because He intended us to USE them. I frown upon religions who push their members out because they don’t agree with one thing or the other. I had an uncle who was a Jehovah’s Witness, and I saw with my own two eyes as he turned his back on his two sons because they grew up and left the “church”. That is not religion and it surely isn’t within God’s teaching to love your fellow man, but I digress–My point of this was that if John had admitted his son had autism, he could have treated it, helped Jett, helped others. He could have put another “famous” face on autism, but he chose to ignore it. That is sad. Now don’t get me wrong, I am NOT condemning John or Kelly, it just makes me sad that a person would allow a religion to dictate their whole life. I feel HORRIBLY bad for them, my heart goes out to them and their daughter. I wish them peace and strength. I cried when I saw Jett had died, because as I said above, I can’t imagine the pain of burying your child. I feel for them.

Now onto my MRI results. When I went for the CT scan of my tummy on Friday, the lady that was doing my CT scan was SO very nice and I was asking her if it might be possible for her to get me a copy of my MRI report. She said “I can do one better, I will burn the images of your MRI and the report onto a CD for you.” Wow, how nice. I will put a few pics here so you can see my spine haha. Anyhow, the MRI shows that I DO have a herniation in the C6-C7 space of my neck (that is near the shoulder blades). My spine is also straightening where it should be curved, that is being caused by, and I quote from the report, “Massive Spasms” in my neck area *SIGH*. My pain is getting worse every day, the weakness in my left arm is so bad now, the numbness is worse. I don’t know how much more of this pain I can take. It IS the worst pain I have ever felt in my life (and that is saying something, because I have been in some major pain), the pain is CONSTANT, I get NO relief, even the narcotics aren’t helping me. They have to do something. They just have to. I called my doctor and left a message that I had the report, I am just waiting on him to call me back and I guess we will go from there.¬† I have to see the surgeon tomorrow for the report on the CT Scan of my tummy to see if there ARE adhesions and what we need to do. *SIGH* If it is not one thing, it’s another in my life. I am really tired of it.

Oh an update on the donations to get me into pain management. So far lovely people have sent 180.00–that means I am just 70.00 shy of my first visit. Hopefully I will get that soon, I really need it, so bad. So thank you to everyone who HAS donated so far. I appreciate it more than you can imagine. It means everything to me.

Ok I am going to shut up now, my arm hurts too bad. Write more later!

OOPS–I forgot to include my MRI images…D’oh. I blacked out my personal info, such as my SSN and things like that.

spine3spine1spine2spine4spine6

15
Dec
08

Just some random blabbing…

cancerYes cancer SUCKS. I am in some of the worst pain I have ever been in, thanks to having no good pain meds to help me *sigh*. I will survive I guess, but days like this make me want to just be put down. I need to clean my apartment, I need to finish baking and making my candies for Christmas, but I can’t seem to muster the energy to do a fucking thing. I am sitting here on dialysis right now, feeling drained (no pun intended). I am getting dishearted, knowing there is no way I can afford my pain management doctor, knowing that the government is really never going to give¬†me my disability and medicaid. It is all so frustrating. I try to keep my chin up and keep going, but it’s getting harder and harder. My family and friends call me the “Energizer Bunny”, because of my ability to keep going¬† (for some strange reason), but this engergizer bunny is running out of oomph.¬† All I want to do these days is sleep, but then I get into so much pain that no matter how exhausted I am, I can’t sleep because the aches and the constant throbs of burning pain keep me awake. It’s such a cycle of bullshit.

I have discovered since I started this blog that I am not so alone, there are so many out there like me, it makes me feel a little bit braver about opening up about my abuse. I am also finding other people like me that are sick with cancer or other catastrophic illnesses, that too makes me feel less alone. I am in a league at Pogo and I know of two other guys suffering from cancer, one suffering from the same things as me, CML that has spread to the brain. It was weird when we started talking the other day and he was telling me all his problems, I thought “WOW, this guy understands, he has the same shit that I do.” It does feel nice to be able to talk to someone who really DOES know what it is like, to be in so much pain, the seizures, the awful headaches, the feeling of blah-ness, being so tired, the affects of chemo (YUCK). I am going on my 10th year of fighting CML off and on, they say the life expectancy is 9-10 years, so does this mean I am in my final bit of life *sighs softly*. Part of me wants to go so bad, to finally be out of pain, be away from the awful medications and treatments that keep me alive, but the other part of me looks at the ones I love and wants to hold on so tightly to life. It’s such an inner struggle sometimes. Sometimes I feel like I could just lay down in the bed, pull the covers tight around me and will myself to die and just…go, and somedays I do want that. Is that wrong of me? I would never want to hurt my loved ones, but damn, when I am in this level of pain, the promise of peace and no pain seems very appealing to me. I want my pain meds back, I want a tiny bit of my quality of life back, please God. *SIGH*

On a lighter note to end this blog—Did anyone see the video of Bush getting the shoes thrown at him? Muahahaha, it made me laugh so hard, I am going to post it here. Look, if you are a Dubya lover, fine, but don’t bring it on my blog ok? Thanks. ūüėČ For the ones who feel he is a chimp idiot like¬†I do and haven’t seen the video, here you go!

Now on to one other issue that I find funny. Have you guys heard of the “Parowan Prophet” Leland Freeborn from Utah? He says the US is going to break out into riots right before Christmas¬†because of Obama’s win for presidency. He also says Russia will take advantage of the riots and nuke us, killing more than 100 million people. Freeborn is a survivalist, who has a huge stock of iodine for the nuclear bomb that is going to hit us haha. He says he was in a plane crash in 1975 and was in a coma for 3 weeks, to go to “the other side” and come back a prophet. Riiiight. Hmm–these “prophets” amaze me. Most of them end up with egg on their face from being so horribly wrong.¬† I will just say, if we survive Freeborn’s prediction, will we make it through 2012? That is when the cult leader Wayne Bent (who claims to be the son of God) says the world is going to end. Of course he was wrong in 2007 saying the world would end on Halloween haha.

30
Nov
08

When I Learned To Never Tell…

I am warning you all now, this is a horrific account of my abuse, if you are an abuse survivor, take care reading, it made trigger memories. For others, this may sicken you, but I have to put these blogs out, I am tired of holding all of this inside. It’s time to TELL, to heal. *take a deep breath*

I was five, almost six years old. I had a beautiful puppy, I loved him so much, his name was Frisky. Oh he was so frisky, he loved me to chase him around the backyard, he loved tripping me, licking me all over my face. We were best friends. He made me happy! He was very special to me…I told Frisky my “secrets”, I knew he would never betray me, he watched me cry, he felt my pain. He would sit across my thighs and just be there for me. I know he understood.

One day “Dad” called me into the garage. I knew he was going to hurt me again, he loved to take me into the garage, he had a table especially for me, he would string up my legs, put things in me, do horrible things to me. I started to cry as I walked towards the garage (It was a detacted garage, more like a huge building in our backyard), Frisky followed me, even though I tried to shoo him away. We went into the garage where “Dad” was waiting for me. He grabbed me, starting hitting me over and over in the face, the head, the back with his fists.

“Are you thinking of telling someone?” ¬†“No Daddy, no, I won’t tell, you told me never to tell Daddy, please you’re hurting me. Don’t hit me Daddy, please!”¬† He hit me harder, pounding me, as I curled up into a tight ball, trying to protect my face and head. “I will teach you to keep your mouth shut. You have been a bad boy, and what do bad boys get?”¬† “Punished…..”¬† “That’s right, bad boys get punished, you make me do this to you! Why do you have to make me angry?”¬† “Daddy please, what did I do? Daddy please don’t hurt me.” (There was never a reason truly, he just wanted to hurt me *sighs*). “I am going to show you what happens to bad boys who tell.”¬†

He grabbed my puppy, my Frisky. I was screaming, pleading with him to put my puppy down. I was sobbing and crawling towards him. “NOOOO” I was begging to him. “Don’t hurt Frisky, I will do anything, just don’t hurt Frisky!!!”. He held my puppy in front of my face, then he cut him, he cut him in the belly, spilling out Frisky’s insides, right in front of my face. I was crying so hard, screaming, I couldn’t believe he had killed my puppy! My best friend! He flung Frisky’s body down and grabbed me, pushing my face into…what had spilled out of my dog. I was vomiting violently as he started to rape me. It hurt so bad, he was especially brutal that day, making me bleed, raping me harder and harder. As he was doing that, he would say, “Are you going to tell anyone?”.¬† I couldn’t say anything, I was sick, covered in blood and other things, being violated, ripped apart. His voice was growling and low “If you ever tell anyone, I will gut you like that damn dog, you hear me?”.¬†I knew he meant it, if I ever told anyone, he would hurt me, he would cut open MY belly. I was petrified, I was in horrible pain, I was covered in the awful smell of my best friends insides, my own vomit. Yet “Dad” didn’t have a problem “getting off”. When he was done, my body was aching, he shoved me hard and I fell stomach down onto the garage floor and the blood. “Clean it up, or I will beat your ass again.” He walked out of the garage, leaving me there, naked, bleeding, staring at my beloved Frisky, dead beside of me. I reached out, petting his fur, sobbing. I cried so hard I made myself vomit again. I knew I had to clean it up, or I would be in deep trouble and I didn’t want to be hurt again. I got some rags in the garage and wiped myself off, the I went outside with a spade and dug a hole for my puppy, I went back into the garage and picked up his limp little body, I kissed his head and told him how sorry I was, sorry that he was my puppy, sorry that “Daddy” hurt him. I buried him in the hole by the fence in our backyard, then went about cleaning up the mess that was made. Frisky’s blood, my vomit and blood. I scrubbed and cried and scrubbed harder. I was so angry, I was so hurt, I was in shock.

I swore I would never have another animal until I was away from “Daddy”. I would never let another of my friends get hurt by him. I cleaned up everything, then went into the house. He was sitting there, so arrogant, so imposing, eating his lunch. “Go take a fucking bath, you stink! Don’t let me see your face again until you are clean.”¬† “Yes Daddy….”. As I walked by him to go to the bathroom, he grabbed my arm, “You know it is your fault that your puppy is dead, if you weren’t a bad boy, I wouldn’t have to do those things. You know it’s your fault don’t you?”. “Yes Daddy…” He shoved me and I fell to the floor. “Crawl, crawl like piece of shit you are, crawl to the bathroom you little bastard. Wash that horrible smell off of you, you sicken me.” I crawled to the bathroom, ran my own bath (WHY should I have to run my own bath at five years old?), I sat in the hot, hot water, wanting to scald my skin off, to get him off of me, to get the smell of my poor puppy off of me. I dunked myself under the water and tried to stay there to drown myself, but my body wouldn’t allow that. I washed and washed, I cried and cried. I wanted to die with Frisky. God why didn’t he just kill me too? Oh but he couldn’t! He couldn’t kill his fuck toy, his punching bag. Now he knew, I would never tell and things only got worse.

That is all I can write for now, I can barely see through my tears and it took me a long time to type this, the memories right now are killing me. I kept having to get up and move, shake off the feeling that it was happening all over again. I have to go now…




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