I don't get it

I know my posts are reverting back to negative, but I've still a few issues with which I'm still struggling.

#Gottaletitout So the bitch robbed me of 30 years. THIRTY YEARS!! I spent the past 6 months on top of that trying to make things right, even though she wronged me. I even apologized for treating her badly at times in my teens. And she STILL shuns me?

Now, I couldn't care less about her ass. Not anymore. I so want to kick her pompous, high and mighty, lying, molesting, abusing ass. KATHLEEN NORMA WALTERS, you hear me?? You had your chance to have things be OK and have me let this go. Now, I will vent all I need to to get myself over what you fucking did to me, once and for all.

Step Outside, bitch. Please, O please let me kick your holier than thou ass.

As for my birth mother, same to you. What did I EVER do to you? I burped in front of you once, and thirteen years later, you're still silent and will have nothing to do with me.

Foster family #2, whom I won't name out of respect, even though they never showed me any respect, no love AT ALL or a place in their family beyond a paycheck for them, same to yall as well.

ALL OF YALL CAN KISS MY FUCKING ASS. Why the hell did I even bother wasting my time trying to reach out; to apologize for things I haven't even done? To gain peace for myself; to get some peace that each of you robbed from me.

I'm forty fucking two and have no idea who I am, what to do, why I'm here.

As of right now, when my youngest child is grown and gone, so am I. There just is no sense anymore in struggling every day, fighting the exact same fight every day, trying to dodge the exact same demons, crying the same old tears.

I'm done, tired, wasted, finito. Pffffffffffffffft.

D-O-N-E. Fuck it. No one gives a shit what I have to say anyway.Sphere: Related Content

Well

So the letters I've written; the olive branches I've extended were all time wasted. I really have no family, except for my kids. I have no mother, no father, no aunts, uncles, siblings, cousins. Sure, they're out there; related by blood, but not a single one of them wants anything to do with me.

What I cannot figure out is that I've really done nothing wrong to any of them. My birth parents, my adopted mother, my siblings, my foster families. I've even apologized when they were in the wrong and I wasn't, and I'm still shunned and without them. Then my adopted mother deactivated her facebook today because I happened to 'like' a page she liked. Well shit, I've 'liked' around 1,000 pages so far; it was bound to happen.

I realized tonight whilst walking my dog, and of all times while she was taking shit, that there is no purpose here on Earth. We're born, we do whatever it is we do, and we die. And in the meantime, we ruin this beautiful home we call Earth. And that's it.

Oh yea, we rape and molest and beat down, beat up, hurt, abuse and kill each other. Some purpose.

So here I am at 42, trying for 42 years to find my way, to have a mom and dad for real, brothers, sisters, a family to call my very own, and I'm denied by those very people who are supposed to be mine.

Why?? Am I really such a loser that for real no one wants me?Sphere: Related Content

WIP

Book is in the works.Sphere: Related Content

No woe is me, but still...

My birth parents never wanted me. My foster family didn't want me. The woman who adopted me only wanted me for her punching bag. I have no friends. My kids have as little to do with me as possible. Lately, every time I have to talk with someone, I'm called stupid or a dyke. I'm not stupid, and am as far from a dyke as one can be. I love men. They don't like me.

I'm like the plague which everyone goes out of their way to avoid.

I don't get it. Am I really that much of a fucking loser? I feel like I was born with 'hate me' on my forehead.

What am I even doing here then if not one single person gives a shit?

Excuse me, I'm going to go eat worms whilst I ponder this dilemma.

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This is the letter

So, the following is the letter I sent to the woman who adopted me and molested me. I did forgive her eventually and realized that in spite of the bad shit, she actually did try to be a good parent to me. It just took me 40 years to realize that. I never did hear back from her, but what is surprising is that she regularly posts to pages and statuses on facebook about love and light, forgiveness and healing and so forth, so I don't understand why, when she was the one who was actually in the wrong, she couldn't bother to acknowledge my reaching out to her. Shrugs. Oh well... here's the letter:

June 8

Jacqui Odell

• Kathy,
  
  I've done a lot of searching for you. As well, I've soul searched a lot before contacting you. I confirmed this was you so I know my words are going to the right person. I hope you will read my words with an open heart and an open mind, as I've learned to do myself, finally.
  
  First, I want to thank you. In raising my own children, I've come to realize how much you gave, how much you tried, and how much you brought to my life. I never thanked you for anything because my mind was closed. I gave you so much grief during my teen years; more grief than the average teen. I've learned that we all make mistakes; no one is even close to perfect, and we must always try hard to forgive and to take care of each other when we can. I no longer hold any hate or grudges towards any living being. Life is far too short and sometimes too hard for anyone to make it that much worse with the petty crap. However, myself I still do not forgive for being such an ass to you.
  
  Second, one of the last things you told me was that you were sick of the roller coaster. I was on the same ride and wanted off as well, so I took the easy way out. I just didn't even bother trying to work things out. I gave up someone who really meant something to me, however, it took a lot of growing up for me to even see that.
  
  My kids have made me realize just how much you did for me and I just really wanted you to know that yes, you did make a difference in my life. I have some really good memories, and I often recall my teens. I could have had it so much worse.
  
  You never really gave up on me, even when I'd long given up on myself. I learned so much from you that I still use on a daily basis.
  
  I've done some stuff that I'm so not proud of, and "I'm sorry" will never cut it. I'm quite aware of that. Please just know that I carry the weight of my actions and always will, and I'm well aware that I've caused you a great deal of pain and trouble. I regret that I didn't control myself or carry myself as you had taught me.
  
  You have my appreciation for everything you tried to do, and did do, and I wish with all I have that I had handled things differently.
  
  You do not even need to acknowledge this, however, I would be thrilled to hear from you should you decide to answer back. If not, I understand, and really hope my words to you can one day mean something good for you.
  
  You made a difference and you were appreciated. I was just too stupid to see things, and I'm so sorry.
  
  Jacqui

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Thanks, Jaycee Dugard

Thanks for making me realize today that absolutely no one gives a fuck what I have to say. I'll do everyone a favor and shut the fuck up, and I'll do myself a favor and save my energy trying to help someone else.Sphere: Related Content

One more challenge

I have one more challenge, chapter, hurdle... whatever you want to call it before I can completely close my book of my past life.

So, whenever there is someone whom many people don't like, or pick on, friends or loved ones of that person will usually tell them: "It's not you, it's them; they have the problem".

Well, here, that doesn't apply. At least, I don't believe it applies yet.

Being rejected by my birth father, then my birth mother, then being tossed around in foster care getting my ass beat, being treated like pond scum, and then being sexually abused and knocked into walls really fucked me up. However, I've forgiven them all.

What now weighs on me is why won't any of them even acknowledge my existence?

I found my birth mother when I was 19, days before I went into the Army. She embraced me, then rejected me, tried again, and 14 years ago, rode out of my life for good.

The woman who adopted me and sexually violated me and who was great at throwing me down stairs, into walls, and being extremely cruel to me decided that she was tired of being on a roller coaster, as she called it, meaning, she was tired of me trying to heal. Sometimes I'd be OK around her, and sometimes I wouldn't. Finally, in 1998, we said farewell. I reached out to her a month ago, after finding her on facebook and told her thank you, that in spite of the bad times, I realized she tried to be a good parent, and I did have some cool times. I have some really good memories of where we lived, the neighborhood and my teens, thanks to her.

She never acknowledged me.

The foster family I was with from the time I was 3 up until I was 9 has nothing to do with me anymore, even though we did keep in semi contact for 2 decades after I left their home.

I have exactly one friend. One.

Before I go any further, I am NOT contemplating suicide, and this is NOT a woe is me post. I'm merely stating how things are currently in order for me to work through some shit.

I have 4 children. One loves me, one, we do not speak too often, and the other two don't appreciate me, hardly help me out and generally ignore everything I try to teach them. Honestly, I do not know if they would care if I was gone one day. Not a single soul on this Earth appreciates me or anything I do. Fact. I can only think of one person who would care just a little were something to happen to me.

That leads me to me, then. It MUST be me. But, I am a good person, IN SPITE of all I've had to endure in my 41 years. I really am. I'm kind and considerate, helpful, I actually give a shit about others, I don't go out, I don't drink or bring men home. In fact, I might get a little twice a year. I do not bother anyone, and I only talk about my shit in this very blog. So what is it about me that drives people away??

If you are reading this and happen to know me, please do let me know why you don't like me and don't want me around. Because inquiring minds wanna know.

Shit, this mind needs to know.

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After 41 years... P E A C E

I wrote the letter I've been pondering writing for 12 years last night. It was very short, hopefully sweet (enough), to the point and I'm really hoping for a response. If not, I did write it and I can truly say I'm OK with my past. No one owes me anything, I do know how to forgive others, I need to work on being able to forgive myself, and there are no more grudges. The nightmares are gone. I finally know what peace is.

My secret? Forgiveness. 1,000%. Forgiveness.

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Against All Odds

When I was 1, my birth mother strapped me into a stroller and pushed me into a lake, claiming the wind took me. I survived. When I was around 4, on a visit with her to The Cape, we were sitting at the very edge of a steep ocean facing rock cliff and she pushed me from behind, claiming a man more than twenty feet away did it, even going so far as to commence to yell at him for doing so. I survived. From the time I was 5 up until I was 9, I endured several per week beatings with various objects, including- but not limited to- belts, shoes, wire hair brushes, fists. I survived.

When I was 10, I was sexually abused by a lesbian who for whatever reason wanted to adopt me. She did adopt me, and for 6 more years, constantly physically and mentally abusing me, bashing me, belittling me. I reported the sexual abuse, but she smoothly lied her way out of it. I took her shit until I was 16 and then just had to leave before one of us got killed. I survived. When I was 18, I foolishly accepted a boat ride date with a much older man who raped me as soon as we were out on open waters. Unbelievably, he actually brought me back home. I survived.

I have survived a lifetime of abuse in every form, heartache of mammoth proportions, and extremely mean people who even to this day attempt to make me jump over the edge and end it all. I survive and will survive because I refuse to let anyone else win when it comes to my own life.

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Step Outside

I have begun to write this book- again. Completely new direction. If you'll go to amazon and search "Why was I adopted", it will read sort of like that. The pictures will be hand drawn by my younger daughter.

I fully anticipate this book to be cliche. Some much repeated phrases and sayings are actually true and I plan on showing just how they do work.

This book will be very short, very direct, very honest, not sweet and to the point. You wanna know how to get over it? Read the book. Step outside your box and join me in moving forward with your life!

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OVER IT

About a week ago, I realized I can think of my past and feel much less pain. I'm over letting this run my life. Took me 30 years, but yea.... I've arrived.Sphere: Related Content

Finally!

I made it a couple of weeks without thinking of the abuse. AND I got a clue. That's all for now, I have the headache from hell.Sphere: Related Content

Throw out your life trash!

Since I don't blog at a certain site anymore, I've kept 99% of my thoughts to myself for many months. But sometimes, we just gotta let shit roll. So for 30 years, I played the victim game, but didn't really realize it. I was molested when I was 10, and for 30 years, the "it was done to me" syndrome ruled my life. I let it because I didn't know any better or any different. I had a few good years here and there, but for the most part, it's been hell. What I realized after talking to someone else who had been through something similar was this: What victims need is acknowledgment from our abuser about what they've done to us. Most of us never get it, yet we wait for it. And wait for it. And wait some more even. And it usually never comes. Well, a month ago, I got it. Finally. It was my EUREKA moment. This woman lives a few doors down from me and is going through a nasty divorce. Her husband is a lawyer and a PI, and to hear her tell it, everyone in her entire life has done her wrong. Could be- I wasn't there. It got so bad a month ago, when she cornered me in her apartment for 4 straight hours not letting me hardly get a word in, that I finally stood up, grabbed her trash can and dumped it onto her floor. The look on her face was priceless. I said, hold up, wait for it. I picked up a piece of trash and said this is so and so. I picked up another piece of trash and said, THIS is so and so. and so forth. I separated about 20 pieces of trash and told her to name each piece of trash, give an example of what they did to hurt her, and then throw it out. She was hesitant, but got on a roll real fast. This is [INSERT NAME HERE] and they did [INSERT WHATEVER THEY DID] here. Woman was yelling as she was doing. And she did that to every piece of trash until it was all back in the trashcan. And she got it. The proverbial light bulb went on in her head, and she got a clue. Like I did. Throw out the trash. Go through each piece, evaluate it, and if it is trash, throw it out and be done with it. Ten years ago, I had like the 20th confrontation with the woman who adopted and molested and abused me. The best she finally gave me was this: I suppose it COULD have happened... I just don't remember it. I'm like, yea, ok, you can't remember sticking your finger up my ass, or your tit in my mouth, or any of the other repulsive things a 30 year old woman could do to a 10 year old child. Give me a break, right? So, I broke ties with her. The last contact we had was on 9-11 on Yahoo when I asked her if our mutual friends were OK. I got ugly a few years later and ratted her out to GLSEN, The Rockland County Historical Society and other places I found her to be associated with. She moved the next year out of state and I quit bothering. I still have nightmares several nights a week, and I still can't take a shower [ I bathe], and I got issues and problems, but I'm finally learning to let the grip she had over me for so long loosen. One day, the noose will be gone and I'll be able to breathe. But I no longer sit around waiting for the words which will never come. That part of my life is done, and I'm not.Sphere: Related Content

Don't I deserve a chance too?

This is like the 6th week I've been in bed. I have no energy, motivation or the desire to do anything, or even to care. My meds quit working. Which sucks because I'd finally found one which did work. They all do.. for awhile. I was hoping this wouldn't quit because I've tried most of them.

This is weird to say but I did better when I was homeless and had nothing. And going back to that is appealing to me now. Live in my jeep in a field somewhere with nothing more than what I need in there.

The world doesn't need me and I damn sure don't need it. I need myself and I need to all the way back to square one and start from there. And square one of that happy 18 month old baby smiling, carefree.

And then there's my kids. God knows I got all my love for them, but I'm not fit anymore. But for some reason, DHR thinks I am. They've been called to my family twice and twice they let them stay with me, knowing I was deteriorating rapidly.

I'm at rock bottom again and I don't have faith in anything or anyone anymore.

Yea, it's up to me to save me, but the help is not forthcoming. I deserve it too, don't I?

Don't I deserve to be happy too?

Don't I?Sphere: Related Content

On issues

Regarding issues, disorders, I have a slew. Every time I check my symptoms against characteristics of certain mental disorders and issues about being abused, I lack just 1-2 symptoms.

With all the issues one must deal with after being abused, why does it still happen?Why are our children still being hurt? Why isn't more being done to not only protect our children, but also to help both children AND adults who need it?Sphere: Related Content

Dear Gayla,

Please leave. As I respected your wish, you should respect mine.Sphere: Related Content

It makes sense

Why nothing makes sense to me. I can't find a purpose because there is no purpose. I don't believe in God because there is no god. Makes one want to take the easy way out and ask why bother.

I don't know if I really believe it- it just makes sense.

I'm at an impasse both with this book and my life. I'm waiting to hear back from an interventionist, who, much to my chagrin, was supposed to get back to me days ago and didn't, about going into treatment- long term treatment for my mental illnesses, disorders, addictions and issues.

Gosh, but I'm messed up!

So I went straight to the top. I contacted Ken Seeley for help from him. I believe in Ken and feel he's the best, and really, when trying to help yourself, shouldn't everyone have the very best?
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Time to Quit?

I feel like I'm not important enough to ask for help or to get it. So I'm not going to. After calling twice, and actually speaking with someone, and then not hearing back from anyone, the silence lets me know I'm no one to anyone and have abandoned my idea of moving forward to a better life.

So be it, the messages came loud and clear from many. How many times do I have to ask, and be ignored before I finally get it? I mean, my whole childhood and adulthood has been like this. Silence and judgments.

Even when I do the right thing it doesn't work for me. So I'll quit bothering anyone, and remain keeping to myself in my little apartment. That seems to work best for everyone else and for me.

I tried to make my life work for the last time. It's just not in my cards to have a better life. I mean, if I can't get even one person who is in a position to help me when I obviously, duh, need help, why bother?

Right? What else is there to do but wait for whatever. My bottom line is I reached out for help many times over the years and never received what I needed to "get over it", like so many people love to tell me to do.

I think I'll just become a meaner and more nasty person and talk about others. It seems to make millions of others feel better, so I believe I'll give it a try.

Hmmm... who to get back at first... anyone who has ever talked about me, shunned me, judged me is fair game since they took it upon themselves to fuck with an obviously in need of help person.

Watch out world. The bitch has awoke.Sphere: Related Content

Scenario for the know it alls

your young child visits a friend and comes home visibly distraught.

You find your child has been violated.

do you tell your child to get over it; that they're giving you a sob story?

Would you ignore and belittle and talk about your child behind their back or would you do everything you could to help them get through it?

That's what I thought.

when one is violated by the very parent in whom they're supposed to trust, and the police and child protective services refuse to act because the abuser lied, then where does that child go? How is a child supposed to heal, or get over it, like some people love to preach when the very people who are supposed to help, don't?

I would love it, LOVE IT for those who think we're supposed to forgive and forget to answer honestly how that is supposed to occur. God forbid any of you or your children have to endure what millions have, and because you haven't, who are you to say what to do?

Some children are lucky; they have people to whom they can turn and get the help they need. And I'm sure everyone will agree a child who has been abused needs help to move forward.

I'm asking- if that help was never given, if a child was violated by their own parent, and there was no help offered, what then? Why must that child bear the burdens alone and then be expected to KNOW HOW to move forward by themselves.

For all you know it alls, and there seems to be quite a few, I welcome and challenge you to answer me ... No reasonable solution refused. This is in my own best interests as a call to gain knowledge. Sphere: Related Content

My Story

Yesterday, I received an email from someone who started a new site. She invited people to share their stories and offers help to those with a past like mine. This is my story- the really short version, and then I'm off to make that phone call...

http://www.letgoletpeacecomein.org/

Over the years, I have written my story so many times in the hopes of healing, but that hasn't occurred as of yet. With each new re-write, there's always the hope that now, perhaps this time, it will come. My name is Jacqui Odell, and here is my story.

My mother, Helene, was a teen and met a 30-something married man named Jack with children. I was born a year later and was named after him, even though he informed her he would not leave his family and did not want to be with her... or me. The last contact they had was when they were sitting in Helene's car and talking it over. I was on his lap, and when they were done, she said he looked at me, said "cute kid", passed me to her, left the car, and effectively left our lives. She was 19.

I stayed with Helene for 18 months until she decided to choose to put me into foster care "until she could come back for me".

She never did; I stayed in foster care until I was 9 and was adopted by a lesbian child molester.

The first family in which I was placed actually loved me and wanted me. I would have no story at all had they been permitted to adopt me, but they weren't. I was with them for about 2 years and then was placed with another family where the mother had just lost foster twins and vowed to never get close to another foster child. Unfortunately, I was the next one and she was very true to her word. I was hugged once in that 6 years, and never told I was loved... ever. I endured near daily beatings, and was otherwise ignored. I had nothing of my own save for a Winnie the Pooh bear which was a hand-me-down, but I held it everywhere I could. I was constantly hit, shunned, ridiculed and never was made to feel a part of that family. After a few years, I didn't want to be, and, after 6 years, the decision was made to place me elsewhere. I was given a choice of Monday or Wednesday. I chose Monday. At 9 years old, I was already beat down from life and couldn't wait to leave.

I was placed with my third foster family but only lasted nine months. They tried, but I was so screwed up and they were a good family and weren't ready to handle someone like me.

I then met my nightmare, Kathy. Back in 1980, gay wasn't a widely used or known term, however, had she disclosed she was gay, the adoption shouldn't have taken place. She never did own up, and a few months after we met, she molested me. The molestation occured three times until one night, she found me awake and it stopped. Her abuse promptly turned to physical and emotional torment. This went on for the next 7 years. When I was 13 or 14, I reported the sexual abuse but she lied her way through it and nothing happened. Things swiftly went downhill from there and I no longer cared for anyone or anything except for my dog, Misty. Kathy and I constantly fought, and after a few years, it escalated into 2 way physical fights. I'm small, 5'4" and she's over 6' but sometimes, she was no match for me.

I left her house before I graduated high school... and before I killed her.

I tried to make things work with her and tried to get her to confess... just for my peace of mind. Acknowledgment is something which is very important to victims of abuse. We wish desperately for our abusers to own their abuse. She went so far as to say the molestation "could have happened"; she just didn't remember it. After the birth of my second child, I ceased all contact with her.

At 19, I joined the Army and gradually began to show signs of mental deterioration. My birth mother and grandmother both suffer from mental illness, and my own began to manifest. I started drinking heavy when I was 17 and continued to drink for years until I got married in 1991. (That marriage lasted less than 3 years). While in the Army, I slept with every man who would pay attention to me, for obvious reasons. I needed and craved affection and attention. My time in the Army ended when I got in a fight with my tower Chief and, due to the fact that I was pregnant, I couldn't be reassigned into another job and had to be discharged.

After my marriage ended and my ex-husband got custody of our two babies, I totally lost control. I drank, didn't work, lost 70 pounds and became very depressed. I became pregnant with my third child, and after she was born, got a job which lasted for 9 months. I became pregnant again and lost that job, but found an excellent job which I'd managed to hang onto for 11 years. I did get fired once, but they allowed me back.

In March 2005, I had a major breakdown; my worst and took 6 months off my job. I went back and lasted two days but ended up having to quit and filed for disability. In the two years it took to get on disability. I lost my car, my hone of ten years; pretty much everything. I almost lost my kids. I still to this day believe they'd be better off away from me, but anyway...

During that two year wait, I went back to my job but was fired again, this time for good. I tried suicide the night it happened, which happened to be my youngest child's tenth birthday. I didn't care about anything at all. I still do not and wish for death every day. I have suicidal thoughts every day. Something holds me back; I do not know what.

I have addiction troubles, anger troubles; I have trouble with everything. Sometimes I don't shower for weeks. I can't get out of bed for weeks. Over the past ten years, I developed bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, major depression and minor OCD. My OCD is counting. I can't function anymore and don't really try.

My abuser owns me. She controls me. She's there in my dreams, if I shower (which is why I rarely do anymore; I just don't go out anywhere). She controls every aspect of my life and I'm tired of letting her. No matter what I do, she's there.

Every single day, I am convinced I don't need to be here. I serve no purpose and am an inconvenience to everyone. I'm ready to go, but am making this last ditch effort to lift myself out of this and live- rally live instead of existing for 39 years.

So here I am....Sphere: Related Content

Not going well

I have serious doubts this 'book' will ever see the light of day. It's just not going well. There's only so much I can write about before it becomes repetitive. And since I began writing, I have deteriorated. My mind, that is. I don't know what people are interested in; what they wish to read or learn.

I'm watching an interview on Michael Jackson and over the past 2 hours have realized just how much he and I had in common. There's such a childlike quality about him due to his own past; a past very much like mine. I wish we could have been friends. Perhaps we could have helped one another.

I realized today I need people to take control of my life even though I hate people controlling me more than anything. How strange, right? That Kathy controls every facet of my life. I don't allow it willingly, but still, she does. That's not the kind of control I'm talking about though. I need someone to manage my money, my life, my doings.

40 years old and I still need someone to hold my hand. Pathetic.Sphere: Related Content

Rage

It never, ever goes away, and the triggers become more and more frequent and debilitating. It only will end with death.Sphere: Related Content

Different, but by how much?

I wonder nearly every single day of my life how different it would have been had I not been subjected to child abuse. I know I would still be working, and be happy about it. I hate being on disability. It sucks not having that purpose. I likely wouldn't be addicted to gambling, which has gotten me in a lot of personal trouble. I don't think my mental illnesses would have manifested, but if they had, I might have been able to cope with them better.

I blame everything on all the abuse I had to endure. I blame everything bad in my life on those who stole my childhood. I'm a 10 year old trapped in an adult body.

I also often consider committing a crime just to go to jail where I won't have to worry about anything. 24/7 in a jail cell won't bother me.

Think of all the time I'd have to write.Sphere: Related Content

'Gayby boom': Children of gay couples speak out

How about from another perspective; from the children of gays who have to deal with ridicule at school, who are molested by their gay parents? Why do we never hear of this as news? If anyone is interested in this as news, have I got THE story for you!

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Bouncing

I realize that I am going back and forth, and adding a few snippets from my present life, but I want to get everything possible down for edits later. Some details of my life I remember just a few times; others play themselves out night after endless night. It is what it is and I cope as best I can. Sometimes, I can't cope at all and that's where the suicidal thoughts come in. And they come often.

I have PTSD from Kathy's abuse of me. I could have dealt more easily with just the physical and emotional abuse, but the molestation is what messed me up. That's what I have nightmares of.

She's there when I sleep, when I eat, when I shower, so I sometimes don't shower at all while I'm in the throes of past horrors. Sometimes I do little but smoke and sleep for weeks on end.

Still other times, though not as often, I feel OK and ready to face a new world.

It doesn't last long and before I know it, I'm five steps back down the ladder of life.

I have not been able to forgive this woman. I am pretty much unable to forgive anyone who willingly and knowingly hurts someone else for their own selfish agendas.Sphere: Related Content

The first months

Of course, I do not remember my first 18 months with my birth mother. I only can tell what was told to me by her. I believe most of what she told me because a- she hates a liar, and b- her schizophrenia sometimes clouds her memories. I can relate...

So it was me and her, and her boyfriend- now husband- Dougie. Dougie was great to me. He treated me like his own and treated Helene- still does- wonderfully. I do not know where he was this particular day, but Helene took me in my stroller to Sylvan Lake, just about a few hundred yards from her apartment. As she told it, she was sitting near the edge of the lake on a cold and windy day when all of a sudden, a huge gust of wind carried my stroller right into the lake- with me in it, strapped in, upside down.

She didn't rescue me. Instead, she relied on others around her to get me out. She said all I did was laugh.

This incident I do remember- very well. I was around 4 and Dougie took me and Helene to Cape Cod for the weekend. Helene and I were sitting on the edge of a ledge, propped up against a metal rail. This all happened so quick, but I remember it like it played out for hours. I felt a hard push against my back, immediately followed by someone pulling me back. Next thing, Helene is screaming at some guy who was like 20 feet away that he almost pushed her kid into the ocean. It was a long, steep drop against rocks.

I forgot about that for years, but now, during the bad times, I always wish she'd succeeded in killing me. It would have saved me years and years of pain and grief. I always wonder why I'm still here, and why the pain is still as fresh as the very first day.Sphere: Related Content

Children being saved

Yes, I'm making this particular moment about me.

Hayley Donathon, Elizabeth smart, many others, found safe and alive; rescued from their abusers and kidnappers. That makes me happier than almost nothing else.

Why couldn't anyone choose to save me?Sphere: Related Content

Query

I queried my first literary agent today. I fully expect to be rejected, but isn't everyone? I'm just getting started.Sphere: Related Content

Thanks

So even though this book is how my past experiences have (mostly) negatively affected my life, there are some positives from my past which I try hard to hold onto. It's not always easy; inevitably, the horrors of my past ooze relentlessly from the back burners of my mind, never allowing me to forget.

I would like to take this time to thank Kathy. In spite of her physical, emotional and sexual abuse of me, she did manage to leave me with some good memories and experiences. Whatever her motives, she did take me in when no one else wanted me. Since I'll never know what her true motives were, I have almost, almost convinced myself that she actually wanted a child to love properly. It just didn't quite work out that way.

She made sure I never went without anything I needed: Clothing, food, shelter, etc. She took me clothes shopping twice a year, I never went hungry, and we lived in one of the most affluent towns in the USA. God, I wish all that made up for the bad, but the bad just too much outweighs the positives I'm trying so hard to establish here.

I went on trips, she took me to Broadway, New York City; she made sure I was social without overdoing it. Thanks to her, I've been to the Virgin Islands, The Netherlands, France and Spain. I had a chance to go to Africa and England, but I opted to stay home alone for the month she went to Africa because I needed to be away from her, and I moved out before I graduated high school, so I missed my graduation trip. By then, I didn't mind. I was free.

Free, but not free. I'll delve later.

I just want to thank Kathy for the good she actually did for me. She tried hard, in spite of the evil things. I was always where I was supposed to be on time, I went to the doctor, dentist and had what I needed. For that, Kathy, I must say thank you. I know you tried. And it could have worked out fine had it not been for the other...Sphere: Related Content

Until I can figure out to permanently adorn my blog with a header, I'll have to use my logo in each post.

I want to focus on my issues. I have many. They are as follows, in no particular order because they're each equally bad.

Trust, abandonment, paranoia over what people say, even though some days, I really don't care what people say.

I trust no one because no one has ever been there completely for me. People have always had their own agenda, and always used my issues and disorders against me.

Abandonment issues mean I will never be in a relationship, ever again. I'm done because they all have either left me for someone else, or just left.

Anger. No, not just anger, but pure rage, and I cannot control it. I rarely have ever spanked my children; only a handful of times in 17 years. The last time I did, I lost control and ordered my son to call 911 on me. When the police showed up, I offered my wrists and demanded they cuff them. They didn't. When my son was asked what he wanted to happen, he didn't want me to go to jail nor did he want me to be away from him. I still cannot figure that out. I wish I'd had that choice when I was a kid- many many times I would have opted for them to be taken away and me placed elsewhere.Sphere: Related Content

The Blame Game

So for years, I've been told-repeatedly- to get over it, take responsibility, and so forth. My answer has always been this: What, exactly, shall I take responsibility for? For being born to a single, mentally ill mother and a married father, neither of whom wanted me? For not being wanted by anyone? For molesting myself?

Yes, for 30 years I have tried to blame myself for some of my life and my past, but to be quite frank, none of it is my fault, and you're damn skippy I blame a lot of other people. So much so that I believe I'm within my rights to sue the shit out of some people. Unfortunately, there are stupid statues of limitation, and even though I actually reported the fact that Kathy was abusing me, no one believed me; they all believed her lies. And now I'm fucked and stuck in this bogus thing I have to call a life.

So no, I refuse to take responsibility for any of it. I was a young child and they all were the adults.Sphere: Related Content

History

I stayed with Helene until I was 18 months old at which time she opted to put me into the foster care system "until she could take care of me". This lasted until I was 9.

My first family was the DiGeronimos. I do not remember them, but I did meet them again in 1978 and they were real nice. I've been told they wanted to adopt me but they were only licensed for foster care so I believe that is where my life was destined to take the nasty turns it did. I stayed with them until I was 3. I have some pictures of my time with them; a young, flame haired girl helping to load the dishwasher is my most memorable image.

My next family was the Cannistras. I'd only been with them for months when they moved from Mohegan to Poughkeepsie to a small 3 bedroom house. The parents still live there and I have very sporadic contact. I've visited and called over the years, but there was never any connection. In fact, my memories of my time with them are harsh, at best.

I was a scapegoat for everything wrong in that house, and the spankings and punishment were frequent, cruel and severe. I had my face held down in my own shit when I couldn't climb out of my crib to get to the bathroom. I was spanked with bare hands, slippers, kitchen utensils, a wire hair brush; that beating was so bad I literally could not sit down for a few days. I had to stand in my classroom and was, pardon the pun, the butt of jokes.

I was an adorable child, as you can see by the photo. All the parents in the neighborhood wanted to know why Sandy Cannistra was so cruel to me. I didn't find out until I was around 25 the reason why.

Before I came along, they were fosters to twins. They lost the twins, and Sandy vowed to never get close to another foster child again. I came along, and she remained true to her word. She kept my curls cut short like a boy, always dressed me in the most unattractive used clothing, and never hugged me save for one time when she accused me of something she later found out I didn't do. From the time I was a baby up until I was 11, I never once was told I was loved; I was never hugged, kissed or nurtured.

I was so desperate for someone of my own to love!

Something just hit me...

OK, ever since I was sexually molested by the lesbian who illegally adopted me, I've searched for years in vain to try to figure an angle I could use where I was to blame so I could actually move forward from that horror. Could it be I actually allowed Kathy to molest me because I was so desperate for attention and affection?

I'm getting triggered so will that end here for now.Sphere: Related Content

CAST OF CHARACTERS

The following are the people in my life who will be referred to in this book and who, at some point in my life, have had a direct impact on my life:

Birth Mother: Helene Guerierre formally of White Plains, NY and now residing with her husband, Doug in St. Augustine, FL

Birth Father: Jack Nethercott of Port Chester, NY

The DiGeronimo Family of Mahopac? NY (foster family)

The Cannistra Family of Poughkeepsie, NY (foster family)

The Ross Family of Warwick, NY (foster family)

Kathleen Norma Walters, born in Syracuse, NY, formally of Grandview-on-Hudson, Nyack and White Plains, NY currently residing in Cranston, RI
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What I hope to get from this book

To be upfront, no one has asked me to write this book nor has anyone really asked me many questions about my past. As soon as I begin to detail some of what I had to go through, I see the inevitable eye glaze and stop talking and change the subject. It seems no one wants to hear it, so I've been pretty much keeping it all bottled in for my entire life... except that is, in words. My words are my life, my hope, and maybe my future.

My words help me sort it all out; sort out as much as I can, but to date, there hasn't been much to find by way of answers at all. I know my words help others, so that is a plus. I hope to go it one more by way of this book in the form of awareness, education and hopefully healing... healing for myself and for the countless others affected by abuse.

I also hope to change my beliefs. My beliefs are as follows:

I believe I was born at the wrong time. This is due to my birth mother choosing to be with a man who was married and who had children, thus, I wasn't supposed to be here.

I believe that because I was born into that situation, my life is cursed and that I do not deserve anything good. I am aware and accept the fact that I had nothing to do with their choices, however, I am also secure in the knowledge that some must pay for others' choices, and I am one of those someone's who must pay.

I believe I am not worthy enough to be cared about. This was drilled into me from a very early age on up until about 5 years ago. That is when I ceased to bother with any relationships save for my children. And even my children do not respect me. Why? Simply because I have none whatsoever for myself.

Those are my 3 main beliefs. I hope fervently that by the time I finish writing my last word of this book, that I can honestly look back, ask myself what I was thinking, and come to the conclusion that I was wrong on all counts and post new outlooks.Sphere: Related Content

Introducing Jacqui Odell

I was born September 18, 1969 to Helene Mayer and Jack Nethercott as Jackie Mayer. My father was already married with two children when he was with my mother and refused to leave the marriage. Jack had sporadic contact with us up until I was 18 months old at which time, the tied were forever severed in my mother's car. They were talking, and I supposedly was on his lap. He ended it all with "cute kid", passed me to her, left the car and that was that.

I stayed with Helene until I was 18 months old, at which time, she elected to put me into the foster care system where I stayed for 8 more years until she could make up her mind if she wanted me or not.

It was a not, but I often think of the fact that had she decided sooner, my life would have been so much better. Hell, it couldn't have been much worse; death would have been better than what I had to live through for 18 years.
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