My time

It’s all about me for once!

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  • Real shit

    Therapy can help anyone if they are wiling to put the work into, just like life is! I started seeing a therapist when I was 14 years old. I had situation where a man forced his hands where he shouldn’t, and since I was underage, it was called child molestation. I didn’t feel that was what they did, but law requirements call it that. When I started seeing the therapist, I wanted to help the man not get into too much trouble. I didn’t tell anyone at first because I was scared and embarrassed. Until I was put in another situation that could have been worse. 

    I had left school late, can’t remember why, and walking in the rain. I had stopped under an awning when a familiar truck pulled up and asked if I wanted a ride home. Mind you, I grew up in a small town, twenty-three hundred population. Everyone knew everyone in that town and you couldn’t get away with much, gossip is like a wildfire for us small town folks. B, we will call him, senior in high school, on the football team, and I knew him and my brother Ben hung out once in a while.

    I made the decision to get a ride, feeling uneasy but knew it was the other situation that could be “trigging me”. The therapist kept telling me that, even after weeks of no issues. That changed quickly when he missed the turn. I politely told him he missed the turn and he laughed and said, I know where I‘m going, relax”. I tried telling him my dad was waiting for me, I was already late getting home as it was, he will be worried. Nothing I said made him turn around, instead he parked at the public pool, unzipped his pants, pulling out his on-eyed friend, grabbed my hair and forced my head down. I fought with everything I had, ended up head-butting him in the face and ran like hell.

    I ran all the way home, took a shower and went to bed. I didn’t tell anyone, I didn’t know what to say or if some how I could get into trouble. I was willing to get into his truck, I could have said no. I guess you can say, that’s when the depression really hit me hard. I no longer wanted to hang out with friends, missed volleyball practice, missing assignments at school, etc. This went on for a few weeks when finally my parents had enough and demanded I tell them what was going on with me. 

    I wanted to just avoid all boys and ignore it all together. I didn’t see my therapist much after that, I hated going to court and having to see them again. I just wanted it all to go away and everyone just leave me alone. I don’t remember what happened to either of them. I felt guilty about the charges on the first boy, but they did force themselves after I made them stop. Yes, I felt guilty for pressing charges on the first guy, it was so close to the second situation with B that made me spin out of control. 

    I didn’t consider the first boy to be charged with “molestation” more of a “you know better than to touch young girls, you’re dad is going to beat your ass”. Me expressing my concerns were unheard, no one cared how I felt about what I put the boys through. Yeah, I said that, I could only think of what the boys (17 and 18) were going through, not myself. What their future will look like, did I screw them up?

  • Me vs Brothers

    I was always a daddy’s girl at heart, but wanted to be just like my brothers, my mother had other plans. She always putting me in fancy dresses and tell me not to get dirty. That was torture for me. There were times I made her happy and wore the damn dress. Then there were times, probably more, that I would get it  dirty just so I wouldn’t have to wear it.

    The boys were never forced into dresses and made to sit while getting their hair curled. What I did not know then, that I would always be treated differently than my brothers. All my growing up, I had my mom tell me how I should act and dress and my dad telling me girls don’t mow the grass or work on cars or do boy things. Even our times to be home, boys could stay out past dark at the same age I was, but I couldn’t. I would always get upset and ask why, my dad would simply say, “because you’re a girl”.

    Those four little words would burn through my skull, just rage. If I ‘m anything I am tenacious as hell and will try to prove them all wrong. I’m not sure when my dad finally gave up and just let me be round and help the guys with stuff, but I loved it! I remember helping my dad and a friend of his tear off shingles off our roof. I can’t remember who helped my dad but he wasn’t used to girls helping either. He was always watching me and telling me to be careful, like I’m fragile. At one point I decided to take a break and sat on the edge of the roof to dangle my legs. My dads friend came up from the other side of the roof and yelled, “get away from edge, you’re going to fall”. I turned around thinking he’s talking to my dad, when he comes to me and picks me up. My dad walks over the placed his hand on his friends shoulder and said “she’s fine, she knows what she’s doing.” The man stood there, I can still see his face, he looked confused and tried saying something else when my dad cut him off and said, “she’s always helping me around here, I trust her.” That right there I will always remember. My dad trusted me to help him and he finally accepted me for me. 

    Allow me to explain, as a little girl, I had been told “No, because you are a girl” so many times it makes my blood boil, just like it did when I was younger. I hated my dad for a long time for him saying that to me all the time. Even if he was being truthful and honest, no explanation needed when he said that. I could never argue that and that’s what drove me crazy. He was right, I was a girl, and things are different for us. 

  • It continues…

    That was not the reality though, the first time he walked right up asked, “where are the boys?”. He didn’t seem happy at all, then he took the sledgehammer from me and told me to go inside. I did and went right to my room and cried. He wasn’t happy I was out there doing what I could, he was upset the boys weren’t there. I felt like he didn’t want my help, only help was good enough from the boys. That didn’t stop me from doing it again the next day and the next. Every day after that I would be out there busting the concrete to the best of my ability. Every day dad came home, if the boys weren’t doing it, he told me to go inside. If the boys were actually helping he never said a word to me. 

    I guess that’s when it became apparent to me that if I wanted to be like the boys, I had to be with the boys! Nick and I were always closer than me and Ben. Nick and Ben had their rooms in the basement right next to each other. You couldn’t put two more people that were complete opposites together. Ben, first born and “the favorite one”, was calm quiet and took after my dad with building and fixing things. Ben had a Lego city he kept in his room, eventually make-shifting a door to keep Nick out and from destroying the city. 

    I don’t know why they didn’t have doors, but Ben made a door, out of a piece of wood my dad in the yard probably, and placed a padlock on it. You think I‘m lying, ask Ben, he will tell you! Ben and Nick fought a lot due to being complete opposites and their rooms next to each other. Nick was hyperactive, always on the move and didn’t want to slow down for anyone. 

    Nick was more my friend because he did all the exciting things, while Ben played legos. Nick and I always had a good time, shooting Barbie’s off the ledge in the living room, climbing trees, shooting Bebe guns. It was always an adventure with Nick, even sneaking out of the house at night just to walk around and hide from cars, it was a game to us. We never did anything too bad, but we were always pushing the limit, especially our parents limits. 

    I don’t recall the age I was, but I remember telling my parents I love them before bed. My dad would say “yeah, me too” or something close to that. One night I told them good night and told my dad he had to say the words “I love you too” before I leave to go to bed. I pushed and pushed him to say it. First time, I’m pretty sure he made me cry because he yelled at me to go to bed. But every night after that I would say it to him and wait for him to say it back. 

    One night he did it, he actually said the words “I love you too, now go to bed”. In that moment I was so proud of myself. I broke my dad’s habit, and he finally expressed his love with words. My dad was always caring and loving, he just couldn’t express his feelings until now. My mother on the other hand was an emotion disaster. How could two people be complete opposites and be in love? They don’t, it was all a lie. We will get into that later.