What Is My Purpose, a survivor’s story

 

What Is My Purpose?
Dedicated to those who experience lost innocence.
Like just about everyone, I often ponder, “What is my purpose in life?” I certainly didn’t have it easy—pretty far from it to say the least. Early in life I bounced around from place to place, sexual abuse, suicidal attempts, and the shame of living in foster home, always wondering, why me? What did I do to deserve the pain I had received? I have asked the invisible presence for many years, looking for answers that I don’t realize have been revealed to me. Please don’t get me wrong because with all of the bad there was also some good memories.
I would say I’m a spiritual person rather than religious. I believe that Jesus is the Messiah, that he died for our sins, and He rose again. I believe in the Holy Spirit, and I believe the Father, Son and Holy Spirit are One. It wasn’t until I allow Him to lead me, did I begin to heal. You would never know it now by looking at me that I grew up in tragic circumstances. Let me start at the beginning of my lost innocence.
I am five. Life is wonderful. I live with my mother and my stepfather. At the time my mother was pregnant with my little brother, Christopher. I had cool clothes (or so I thought), and I had a record player with all the Disney Read-Along’s (I knew everyone of them word for word). I had a complete furniture set for my dolls. Really want more could a five year old girl ask for in 1980?
The memories are vivid. I’m wearing my Wonder Woman Under Roos. The walls are either a deep forest green color or they are curtains. The bed sat high and I’m scared because I’m so far off the ground. I think I remember the headboard being wrought iron. I can still smell him. He smelled musty like old people, his hands wrinkled with time. I can felt his touch, and then he grabbed my little hand to touch him. This was something new. Thankfully beyond this point my memories have never been revealed from my subconscious. I just see myself there. Time passes it’s our little secret, that was until my stepfather was tickling me and I moved just right, and said, “Do it like Grandpa.” (This man was not my grandpa, just a family friend who my parents left me with when my mother was in the hospital delivering my brother). Shocked, my mother called the police. Along with them came a social worker with CPS. I scream and cried for my mommy. She was crying too. “It will be OK, I will see you soon”.
She tried to console me with words because the social worker wouldn’t let her touch me. I didn’t want to go with this strange black woman. (The first time I had seen someone of a different skin color). Strangers were all around me. I stayed with a family, but not my own. A safer place for me to be, even though I felt safer with my mom.
Daddy comes and picks me up. I love my daddy and stepmother. They take me far away from my mommy. My transition was scary I start school, but sometimes instead of being in school we would take trips to a big city. In my child’s mind the Space Needle in Seattle reminded me of a space ship from Battlestar Galactica which was one of my favorite TV shows. I’m in a room by myself with a man in a suit. “Why does he keep showing me cards that have weird black shapes on them?” I think to myself. I’m so confused.
I remember man in a black dress sat behind a tall desk. He asks me to come sit by him in the chair, but first I have to stand with my hand in the air and repeat the words that the guy holding the book, that my hand is on. People starring at me and it makes me feel uncomfortable. Now that I think about it, this is probably where most of my anxiety of speaking in front of people came from. My chest tightens and I feel as though there are a ton of bricks on it and then I start to cry. I feel embarrassed because I can’t hold my emotions in. I still have this problem today.
“Do you know the person over there?” as the man in front of me points towards a table.
“Yes that is Grandpa.” I say innocently.
The mean people ask me question after question, I think, to see if I’m lying, boy did I show them. I was smart and answered all their question right. For one night stayed in a hotel. It was exciting because I had never done that before. I didn’t want to get Grandpa in trouble and the strange people promised me the next day I could see my mommy. I thought I would be able to go home with her. I couldn’t and that made me so confused.
From the time the court case ended until the age of 13, I was molested by eleven different men. Most of them were family members, the people in my life that should have protected me. I have vivid memories of each different person, in the beginning of our encounters. The memories are like movie clips that roll through my head. I can never feel any pain or show kind emotion. It never changes. It may be different touching, different hands, some smooth, some coarse and some wrinkled with age, but I can smell each one and it is always something similar. My emotions are blank, my feelings descend deep into the crevice of the abyss that my mind has created . My own father was the last one who molested me. I was so afraid of having to go to court again that I pleaded and pleaded not to tell anyone when two of the encounters were found out. I didn’t want to get into trouble, even though I know now that it was never my fault, but a sickness inside these men that I will never be able to explain. To this day there are only a couple people that know the identity of each one of them. I’m not completely sure why I have never brought all of them to the surface, it might very well be because it has been so long that I don’t want to dredge up the past. Most of my abusers have died, the others I don’t care to find. My father is the only one that I care to have a relationship with and it is very guarded.
My saving grace was I remained a virgin up until the encounter with my father. That encounter came so close to taking that away that I choose to give my virginity to a young men a year older than me about a week later. Years later I discovered why I had made that decision, because finally I could control something in my life.
At age fourteen, after being accused of molesting my own brother, by a lady that was my brother’s babysitter, (AKA The evil one) I had my first suicidal attempt. This one event trigger a long time notion that I didn’t fit in anywhere technically I was an orphan. I always had the feeling that I was a burden to people. I lost my identity, if I ever even had one.
It was an early July summer night, I was sixteen when I had my second time having a full on act of sexual intercourse. My foster mother allowed me to go to the carnival to hang out with my friends. The week of the 4th of July was filled with a traditional parade and rodeo, and for most people after attending both of these events they would headed to the carnival that was set up on the town’s baseball field. I had gone before so it was nothing new. As I started, home I meet up with a guy that my previous foster family, knew and considered him to be a member of their family. He was twenty-seven. He asked to walk with me home, I thought nothing of it—I mean I knew him. Next thing I remember is we were in a dark alley, he was kissing me and taking me down to a patch of grass. I couldn’t say no. I can’t seem to say anything. I didn’t know if I resisted if he would hurt me, or kill me. I was so scared. I have mentioned this encounter, but I have never told anyone his name. I have always been afraid of the consequences of ruining someones life by sending them to prison (even though they deserve to) and the idea of going through a trial where defense lawyers try and make it seem like one is lying. I had convinced myself that because I verbally didn’t say no, then it had be consensual, it couldn’t have been rape. It has taken me many years to make myself believe that it was just that.
Several relationships and a marriage at eighteen with a looming divorce six months later, I found myself pregnant at nineteen by a married man. Regardless of who her father was, I felt she was my miracle baby. I had believe the doctor’s when they said I probably would never have a baby. Boy were they wrong I turned out to be a Fertile Myrtle. Knowing that I was always going to be “the other woman,” I decided that I had had enough and started dating a new guy. One night after not seeing him for about two weeks, he pulled up into my driveway. It just so happened that my daughter’s father was there visiting, we had been discussing how we were going to co-parent her. This new guy swore up and down that we were sleeping together. We hadn’t, but to appease the new boyfriend, I left with him, and left my daughter’s father there at my house. I think I actually asked him to stay until I got back. That small voice in my head, knew something wasn’t right.
As soon as we pulled out of my driveway, I had his hand print across my face. This was the first time any man had put his hands on me in anger, though it wouldn’t be the last. I was so scared and confused. He drove to a motel parking lot, where he proceeds to rape me. I couldn’t fight it, I had to protect my daughter so I didn’t say a word I couldn’t. I tried distanced myself from him but about 3 ½ -4 months later he found me. Not wanting any problems, because I was home alone, I invited him in. At some point I decided to go to the basement to switch laundry. I didn’t realize he had followed me down there, next thing I know I’m being pushed onto a pile of laundry. Again, I had to protect my daughter, and again it took me years to make myself believe it was rape.
By this time I trusted very few people. I had gotten myself in another bad relationship with a drug dealer who was also a pimp. I thank the Lord daily for his protection I was never forced to participate in either nor did I ever engage in those activities by choice. I had to protect my daughter. The last night we were together, he came home high and accused me of taking his money, which I hadn’t, in anger he proceeded to choke me almost to the point of passing out. Out of fear I let this man lie next to me and tell me how sorry he was. I didn’t want anything to happen to me for my daughter’s sake. The next day I went into hiding until I could catch a ride with my landlady down to Sacramento.
Things didn’t last long in California. I was doing great, I had two job offers in the first week I was down there. After a falling out with my step mother’s boyfriend I felt dejected. I didn’t fit in again, so I ended up moving back in Washington. To start my life over with just my daughter and myself.
About three years, and one baby later, I met this wonderful man. He was with someone else and I had learned my lesson about married men. We had a unspoken, no flirting understanding. A couple of months later, when he was no longer in a relationship, he moved in with me, initially as a roommate. He hasn’t left my side for almost fifteen years. We did have one incident that could have very well been the end of us when I found out he had slept with someone else one time when he was working away from home in California. Not that I’m making excuses for him, but our relationship was not very good at all. My own insecurities from my past had a lot of affect on us. He has been making up for it ever since.
Fast forward,to eight-years ago. I began a renewed relationship with the Lord. One that has brought much healing internally. There are a lot of questions that will never be answered. Each little milestone has come at just the time I was suppose learn from it. The two biggest obstacles that I continue to struggle with are that can find beauty in everything, yet I still struggle see it in myself, and allowing myself to feel worthy of the life I have right now.
I was given a wonderful opportunity to come back to college. On the second day God would reveal to me what my life’s purpose was to be. My instructor told me to think outside the box and think about becoming an Art Therapist. This would combine the two fields that I was interested in: Art and Human Services. Everything started to fall into place. One of the few colleges that has an Art Therapy program is in Seattle. I don’t have to ponder any longer what my life purpose is. God opens the right doors and closes the wrong ones.
I have lived through all these struggles with a strength, compassion, and insight, that everyone but me could see. Then the Lord opened my eyes. The healing is an everyday process, but I understand why I went through it. So that I can help someone, before it gets to the point where I was, and I’m okay with this. If I can help just one person with the story of my survival, and yes my life can be a testimony for someone else, then I have fulfilled my life’s purpose. I believe the Lord has big plans for me and I give myself to him to lead my path.