These writings are taken verbatim from my journal as dated. 

Please excuse the language, which has since then changed. 

It is possible to speak of what has happened to me without swearing, for myself, I learned that I swear in an effort to avoid my feelings. 

I no longer have a need to avoid who I am.

October 28, 1992

The ways I am still affected by my abuse:

    1. Absolutely terrified to trust, to allow anyone to know all of me (Don't trust)

    2. I repeatedly isolate myself when I am hurting (Don't talk)

    3. I am afraid (fuck-terrified) to let others know how needy/vulnerable I feel. What if my guts are wrong and I am setting myself up to be used?

    4. Don't allow others to see me cry, they won't be guessing they will know that I am human and therefore vulnerable. My pain is just that my pain.


    1. a sexual thing

    2. Keep it fat, unattractive, but there is always some sick S.O.B. that finds even fat unwashed slobs a turn-on. Men can be pigs.

    3. Amazed and proud of the adult. Even though I know a lot of what lies ahead I will go through this one more time. I want so much to heal to be loving, nurturing and intimate with all parts of that strong, courageous, little survivor and incorporate her with the happy, joyous, bubbly, vivacious, child that lives and strives so hard to be part of the adult. Come be with me the best is yet to be.

    I am finally grieving, crying as I write and it has a certain joyous quality to it. Finally, finally the damn is showing leaks and the self-sufficiency to know that I could make a beginning as God is with me and will lead me in strength and the knowledge that I need not stay there in the past. My tenacity hangs on to the belief that I have the right to be happy and that I no longer wish or will allow past events to keep me struck in that shameful shit that was done to me.

    If it is necessary for me to go through the anger, helplessness, terror and memories of physical pain again and again until I learn and believe that I am whole for once in my life. I will go to any lengths. Even the vague memories, vivid flashbacks, sensory questions are just dragons to be faced and easier than the vague and constant anxiety and stress of waiting to deal with my history of sexual abuse.

    I will no longer survive I WANT TO LIVE LIFE IN THE FULLEST SENSE THAT GOD PLANS FOR ALL OF US. No more mere existing, surviving, breathing in and out, putting on foot in front of the other.

    I want, need to skip, dance, enjoy the sun, soft breezes against my skin, to revel in my ability to love and be loved on all levels. I have had glimpses of these things and lived them; so the knowledge of how joyous, sorrowful, free, soft, warm a loving relationship can be keeps me hanging in there in the belief that it will happen for me and some very special when I heal myself or maybe as part of my healing journey.

    Thank you, God, for being with me this day and all of my days. May I do Thy Will each and every day in the sure knowledge that you carry me when I am unable to be here for myself. May victory over my tribulations give witness to your strength, love, caring, nurturing and protection that you share with me as I need and continue my journey.

    October 29, 1992
2. Honour What I Had/Have to do.

    Coping - How I remember it
                  How I still do it
                  How it affects my life

    I remember first of all holding tight to the metal rungs of that bed. Gritting my teeth wanting so much to scream out. Why are you hurting me God it hurts so much when will this stop Please Please don't do this but never uttering a sound and gradually I numbed myself, my body didn't feel what was happening and I stared at the wall to my left and became part of that wall, a white textured wall, hard with little holes where all the precious parts of me could be tucked away and kept safe I could retrieve them when it was over.
    How many times did I split off, numb my body, repress, repress, refuse to voice what I felt, thought, wanted?

    I didn't remember for over eight years after it ended and spent ten years stuck in rage of "How could God allow this to happen to me?!?" and would swing into it wasn't that bad others had it worse. What a poor sick man he is and what a weak ineffectual woman she was not to have protected me.

    I was/am super alert, always needing to know what was happening around me. If I am always aware of where people were at physically, mentally and emotionally then they couldn't surprise me. I learned to walk and move as silently as possible, I could escape quickly always knew several avenues of escape.

    I remember him standing behind me rubbing himself against the outside of my jeans as I stood doing laundry at the wringer washer. As he began to undo my pants and work them down over my hips I put my hands into the wringer.. it took them to my elbows and just kept rolling and rolling as he pushed himself against me and still the safety didn't pop so I finally screamed, "Daddy! Daddy! Stop it! Stop it!" It was still what seemed like an eternity before he realized that it was the washer as he was caught up in his sexual frenzy, pulled back and unplugged as it wouldn't turn off. I can't remember how he got the rollers released but I do remember his "It was an accident, remember it was an accident!" (many years later, I was to remember that he used a 2X4 left over from building food storage bins to release the rollers - the memories surfaced in a traumatic situation, for me, yet, in a relationship that, at that time, was new and felt fairly safe.)

    I learned to go to any lengths to avoid him, pretending I was asleep when he crept into my room in the darkness of the night -- actually I was awake the moment he touched the door knob. Not hearing him call me if there was any reason to suspect he wanted to use me.

    As I got older I'd know that I could play along with his bargaining for "No beating, if you're 'nice to me after'. "Sure! (fuck you and try to and nothing will happen). {My thoughts, at the time of the original writings -- All men are fucking fools, thinking with their little head, can be lead around by it if they think they can put it somewhere warm, wet, tight. -- Fuckers want the hard - firm - young package and don't give a fuck about who I really am, always looking for the best package, not the best possibilities as a human being}

    I learned to manipulate and control men sexually.

    Early in my remembering I was stoned on MDA. I stood in the bathroom staring into my eyes and saw all the ugly, ugly memories. I remembered how I was his "Sapphire", bright and beautiful. I took up a razor (two sided) and started to experiment on what those razor cuts would feel like against my skin. Nick, nick, nick, slide it all over, caress that pretty face, make it so that no man will ever want you. God, what ecstasy that was imagining that no man would ever want me would never be able to hurt me ever again in any way. To this day I do not feel comfortable if I feel I look good.

    Obsessive Compulsive, Over-eating, Anorexia, Bulimia, I have done all of these gone to 273 1/4 pounds, dieted healthily for two years then spent one year eating very little or eating sugar and the binging, vomiting, laxatives and back up just before my last admission to psychiatric ward.

    Intimacy - avoid it or confuse it with "sexual is closeness", know otherwise but continue to use it to meet other needs.

    Humour - definitely a big one for me. See the humour in everything, laugh rather than cry. Cynicism keeps others at a distance.

    Zoning out - TV, books, nature, music, food, sex, sleep (a real good one)

    Suicide attempts -
1) 16 attempted O/D with every prescription drug and booze - vomited for two days - lost job, kept pregnancy (Cassandra Lynn)

2) 21 attempted with 30_06 (Fucker jammed)

3) Considered
    a)    40oz of Scotch and slashing jugular arteries
    b)     Hanging self
    c)    Walking off BC Ferries at Active Pass in the night most of 1992 to September

October 30, 1992

    My memory of being sexually abused as child.

    There are so many it is hard to be really positive of what was the first time but the one that is most often remembered is:

    We were living on Galiano Island, when you come off the ferry at Montague Harbour, the main road from the harbour which ended at a "y" if you turned left it was the second piece of property on the left.

    We have a cow, chickens (a chicken coop that there is something weird about but now now). You came in the front door to the living-room, on the right was my pa (I'm not sure whose bedroom) straight through to the kitchen beside it another bedroom with a W/C with entrance from the kitchen and one of the bedrooms. Not sure which, remember sitting on toilet and dad  and drunken friends fucking about with loaded 22, the sound and the realization that it had gone off and was embedded in wall (more powerful and I'd have died then). An addition on back, deep freeze, mice running in families, we kept guinea pigs and rabbits out back. To the right was our vegetable garden and further to the right was a workshop or what must have been a studio (lots of windows with trees that danced in starlight and wind). Further up the back was a big green meadow and a hill that was beautiful to sit on and gaze over the house to the world that lay beyond. Between the house and studio were sheds and chicken coop.

    One night mom and dad had been away drinking. We were in the studio sleeping (all three sisters on a double bed so we were tiny.. Dianne (youngest sister) could talk so I am 7-8 years old). I hear him coming and there is no place to hide he is at the only opening all that glass and nothing opens no place to hide he has found me.

    He undresses me saying it is too hot for clothes rubbing his fucking cock against my bum, stroking himself and then me I beg him to stop and he turns to the others and their cries I want him to leave us alone and knowing it will hurt I tell him to leave them alone, "Alright do whatever!"

    He gets up and there is some greasy gunk he smears on his cock and pulls me to the edge and rubs against my bum and flips me over tries to push himself into me he gets angry and uses his fingers it hurts please stop stop and then he is on me I feel like I am being crushed my legs are breaking he is splitting me apart and it hurts so much but I can't cry out and scare my sisters.

    Dianne keeps asking "What are you doing Daddy?" "I'm just showing your sister how much I love her. Just like I love all you girls."

    All through that physical shit I didn't cry out, he stumbles back to the house and sometime mom comes and finds us huddled together, turns on the light, checks out the coverings, blood, white greasy shit (still hate the smell of petroleum based products, Rob (ex) would only get a light kiss until he had showered and cleaned all the gunk from his hands) (didn't realize that was where it came from until Ron and I were making love after he had spent the day changing the transmission on Brenda's Cougar and he sensed my distance and asked. We talked for hours and finally he just took me in his arms so very close, safe and loved. "That's enough, babe, don't say anymore. I can't bare it that you have been hurt so much; just let me hold you.") I know where it comes from now and I don't freak out on that smell.

    Anyhow, she sees all the evidence, goes back to the house, come morning and they are snuggled in bed together.

    Later, he draws me aside and tells me, "You are a bad girl and if you ever tell, YOU will be sent away!"

    If this is my first memory, what went on before and there are so many times where it was me alone. What do my sisters remember? Why didn't mom take us someplace safe?

October 31, 1992

To the Child Within

    I have come to honour you, to ask your forgiveness for all the walls I have built with which I thought would keep us safe.

    We listen to soft music, drink cool, sweet juice for you to enjoy, we are clean, warm, with our hair brushed back in a clasp, warm, fuzzy slippers, in a brightly light room, the drapes closed, the door locked, the smell of cedar rose incense fills the air, and a soft cuddly Garfield snuggled up to our left leg. I want so much for you to finally feel safe. If this becomes too much for you, we can stop, take a break or leave it for another time and just sleep warm and safe.

    I honour that you have survived. You were so small, so vulnerable, so pain-wracked, so hurt, so trusting, such a pretty, happy child that those horrible things were done to you.

    I honour all the smart, bright, imaginative ways you found just to stay alive. I love you, little one.

    I love that you never lost your wonder at the beauty of nature, sunrises, sunsets, the tenacity of one leaf hanging on till the first days of winter, you joy in noticing the first beds, the first flowers in spring, your awe at the beauty in clouds, sunlight, stars, the moon, your simple joy of feeling the sun on your body, cool water, a warm bath, a steamy shower, the warmth of a hug, the comfort of a gentle caress on your face, the soothing quality of having your hair brushed.

    I honour your ability to see the pain of others and even through your own pain you try to help as much as you can.

    I honour your simple gratitude for a meal eaten, shelter and you basic physical needs that I try to care for.

    I honour your ability to trust, love and want others in our life and ask you forgiveness for the ways I kept others away and for the choices I made in seemingly always finding people who would continue to hurt or use you.

    It is my hope that we will be able to come together and that in time, we will be able to do all the things you have wanted to do:
    roll in autumn leaves
    Feel the warm sand between our toes
    to squish mud in our hands
    gaze with joy at scenes of nature, rather than the sadness I have held onto
    to fly a kite
    to wear outrageous clothes or at least an attractive hat
    to look as attractive as possible and still feel safe
    to act childlike and not allow my fear of looking foolish hold us back

    This and so much more I owe to you and know that you deserve some little heaven on earth for the hell you lived through all these years and still kept faith that there were better things in our future if I would only allow it.

    Thank you for your strength and determination to stay alive come what may.

    Thank you for the glimpses of happiness and joy you bring to me when I least expect it and the lift in spirit and hope that accompanies it.

    May you always feel the caring, compassion, empathy, admiration, gratitude and love I feel for you. No matter what; you hung in there and your spirit and tenacity shone through.

    I love you. I love all your fantastic abilities, your humour most of all, your ability to find laughter through your tears, pain and terror. May we learn to bring together all your strengths, fun parts, joy, love, trust and go out into the world as a whole person. I'll keep you safe.

November 2, 1992
    What I lost
    What was taken
    What was destroyed
    What is the extent of the damage
    Things I grieve for
    Voice my pain
    How I feel about my loss

    I grieve for the childhood I dreamed of only, where parents love, cherished, protected, honoured their children as tiny human beings, not as their possessions or extensions of themselves to be molded, pushed, pulled, shoved around, beaten like clay to be all the things they wanted to be and had not been.

    I lost a sense of what is real. I still tend to discount what I perceive or will find myself asking someone else what did they just see, think, feel and if it comes close to my perception it is very gratifying to be validated. This is happening in about 90% of the instances that I ask for clarification or a reality check. Time to trust what I see, think and feel as being real for me.   

    What was taken:
    My childhood was taken, a sense of being safe, loved, valued, a belief that it was OK just to be. I believed that it was the way it was for everyone. Isolated (physically, emotionally and mentally), never bring anyone home, drunkenness, fights, beatings, secrets, always secrets even when there were black eyes and multiple bruises, "Everything is OK!". Going to high school at a school where the girls had to wear skirts during class (gym was a cop-out for me) and people asking what the marks were from, "I fell." When in reality, maybe I broke a glass or allowed my face to show what I was feeling and he would be into beating. It would be "Over the bed. Drop your pants". (Geezus, I had pubic hair and was menstruating since I was 11) and at first the army web belt was doubled and he got into it. The buckle would connect, the more I reacted the more he would lay into it. I would end up with the lash around my body, shoulders, arms, breasts, sides, right down my calves. I continued to have the notion reinforced "Don't let anyone know what you feel."

    What was destroyed:

    My belief that words and actions matched: "I love you" -- I am fucking your tiny little body. "I love you." -- I am beating a young female with her private parts exposed and so vulnerable.

    My hope that the world was a safe place to be part of. I feel like a mouse who moves around at night peering in windows always wondering what private hell they are living in. When I see that drapes are always drawn, I feel/believe that there is something awful happening that must be hidden. "As sick as our secrets."

    Extent of the damage:

    Christ, just look at my coping skills. Last night I heard my story and as she spoke, so raw, so courageous, so fucked-up, so new; my shit kicked in: "Don't Tell!" "STOP!", I got busy fighting the desire to run, Stuff, stuff, repress, centre, centre.

    I gave her a note saying "I've been there!" A hug, told her as recently as 2 months ago I was where she is at and gave her my number on the note and added to my list from other women.

    Talked with J** a bit but went off to bed and kept feelings to myself, splitting off, the ringing so I wouldn't have to hear or see the memories. I realized what was happening, validated that it was OK. That is 'her shit', I am dealing with mine, to stay connected and take care of my needs. Stay connected and asked God to allow me to sleep and s/he answered.

Things I grieve for : Losses

    Ability to see beautiful things about my childhood (they are there, it is just so hard to remember them at this moment)
    The core of myself

Voice my pain:

    Dear God, how is it that you allow such people to continue doing such awful things to children? I hate you daddy. I hate you mommy. I am so very afraid. I am afraid that the pain the crying the anger will never stop I am so afraid that I will never be able to hang in there through this I get so tired so very sad and feel so alone and terrified that I doubt my ability to go through this. When will it ever end?

How I feel about my loss:

    Angry: How much more, how many times must I go through this, how deep do I have to go, how long before I will be able to just be?
    Sad, life isn't fair. I did not deserve any of this shit.
    Angry, that I have to go back there in order to be reborn and bring myself up the way that I will be safe and whole, and loving and trusting, all the good stuff I want to share with others, but most of all with myself.
    Hopeful, I've been here before and each time I've come closer to being closer to accepting, loving, caring and nurturing the core of me and I know I'll come through healthier and happier.
    God is with me s/he has always enwrapped the most precious parts of me like a bulb it has been planted with bone meal it is settling in the cold ground awaiting spring's rain, warmth, sunshine, to grow. Bursting through the soil reaching towards the light and I will bud, blossom, give my essence for anyone who chooses to enjoy, for the moment, beauty and a wonderful scent, a sense of who (Pam) Dennice is. I AM WORTHY OF ALL THINGS.

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