CHAPTER 1

The Pink Candies

I was raised on a farm, and our first home was quite far from theroad. As a little girl, I felt that the farm was my world, and I did notsee beyond that.

I remember sitting in front of the TV and watching The FriendlyGiant. Afterward, my brother and I would play hide-and-seek. In ourkitchen we had one cupboard. It was one of those cupboards that stoodby itself and had a few doors and a few drawers to store our cutlery.I remember climbing the cupboard, opening the door, and finding asmall bottle of pink candies. I took it, jumped off the cupboard, and ranto hide behind the couch. Then I tried to open the bottle to eat thosepink candies. I finally got the bottle open and ate all the pink candies,after which I hid the bottle under the couch. I did not think anythingabout it; I just went off to play with my brother. The day went on, andwhen it came to suppertime, I ate. But I felt very tired, so I went tobed.

Later that night, I guess my mother found the empty bottle andwoke me up. All I remember is that she tried to get me to throw up, butI couldn't, and I fell asleep again. Please remember that I was a child,so I really didn't understand why my parents were upset with me. Iwoke up in the hospital the next morning, tired and in a bed that hadwhite bars all around. A Catholic nun was looking at me. I didn't seemy mother or father around, so I went back to sleep.

A few days later, my dad told me that the "pink candies" I had eatenwere actually children's aspirin, and they hadn't been able to wake meup fully. They'd had to rush me to the hospital to have my stomachpumped. My father asked me why I had eaten the pink pills, and I toldhim I had eaten them because Mom was mad at me. I told my fatherthat I had wanted those pink candies and had been determined to eatthem all. My father explained to me that the pink pills were only usedwhen someone was sick. He explained that eating all those pink pillscould have made me really sick—or could possibly have killed me. Icould have ended up in the hospital with all those machines attached tomy little body. The doctors had pumped my stomach as a precaution,because my mother had found the baby aspirin bottle empty.

There is another event that I recall from my childhood. It was in thefall, and I was in my father's black, two-door Dodge car. My motherwas driving us to see our father at our second farm across the river. Mybrother and I usually had to sit in the backseat, but somehow that dayI had convinced my mother to let me sit in the front seat beside her.I remember looking out the passenger-side window and thinking tomyself how easy it would be to open the car door while my motherwas driving. I could jump out and see what would happen to me. Atthat point in my life, I wasn't scared of death. I just wanted to get awayfrom my mother so she would stop hitting me.

At that moment, I grabbed the door handle and pushed the doorwide open while my mother was driving. She started screaming at meand told me to close the door or else she was going to punish me. Ilooked at her and said, "Bye, Maman," and jumped out of the car.

I grabbed the passenger-side window, which was still up, and heldon. I remember looking down, watching the road pass underneath myfeet as I was dangling. I was thinking, If I let go, I can be free from mymother. She won't be able to hit me anymore. I thought I would just fallon the grass, tumble a little bit, get up and brush myself off, and startrunning away from her. Then I would be free of her and make a lifeof my own.

While I was hanging on to the window, my mother slowly stoppedthe car, pushed herself across the front seat, and asked me to come backin. I looked at her while I was still holding on to the window. The doorwas still wide open, and I said to her, "As long as you promise me youwon't hit me or spank me." I looked her squarely in the eye, waitingfor her answer, as there was no way I was going back into my father'scar until she answered. I knew what she had done to me before, so Iwaited for her to speak.

Finally, she agreed that she would not touch me or spank me. At thatmoment, I let go of the side window, landed on my feet, walked to theback of the car, and got into the backseat. My brother was crying, andI moved to sit behind my mother so she couldn't touch me. She startedthe car, and we drove to meet my father at the second farm.

When we arrived, she opened her door and pushed the driver's seatforward so my brother and I could get out. We ran toward our father,who was waiting for our arrival. That day, my mother kept her distancefrom me while I went to play in the field with my brother.

At suppertime, my father took me for a walk and asked me whathad happened. I told him I wanted to run away because I was tired ofmy mother always spanking me for no reason. I told him that if I scaredher enough, maybe, just maybe, she would stop hitting me. My fatherlooked at me with sadness in his eyes and told me he would speak tomy mother. He would tell her to leave me alone.

After that, my mother kept her distance for a long while, but bywinter, the spanking, hitting, and verbal abuse started again. Thatseason, the farming industry was not doing very well, so my fatherhad to find a winter job to be able to pay the bills. Our mother wasnot working as a teacher at that time, and she decided to stay home forthe winter. I remember her telling me that it was now time for her tospank me for what I had done to her in the fall on that day when I'djumped from the car and hung on for dear life. That was a very long,cold winter for all of us. I remember our Christmas being very quiet,and we did not get many Christmas presents from Santa.

Now that I am writing about these two childhood experiencesfrom an adult viewpoint, I realize that my actions were a way of gettingback at my mother. I had been at a point in my life where I had stoppedfeeling. A child who is being hit pretty much every day becomes sadand feels that no one loves her or is there to protect her.

When my father said I could have died if they hadn't pumped mystomach, my little mind thought, I wish I did die so that Mother would stophitting me. After the pill incident, my mother didn't hit me for a periodof time, but unfortunately it did not last. I was around four or five yearsold when all this happened to me. I remember my parents putting lockson the cupboard so I could not open the doors, but I still did not feelany love from my mother, even after I came home from the hospital.As a child, I was lonely and just wanted to be loved and heard, but I didnot get that. I felt sad and wondered what I had done to my mother tomake her hit me all the time. She never reassured me that she did, infact, love me.

I am a mother of four daughters, and we always communicate ourlove to each other. In every conversation I have with my daughters, overthe phone or face-to-face, we say, "I love you." We long ago agreed thatif anything were to happen to any one of us during our day or week,our last memory would be of our love for each other. We would not feelguilty because we had not conveyed our love to each other. It wouldgive us peace of mind, because we all would remember the love. Howmany of us wish we could'a' or would'a' said I love you to that specialperson in our lives—dad, mom, sister, brother, sister-in-law, father-in-law,or other relative—before he or she passed away? My daughtersand I agree that saying these words gives us the peace of mind that weare loved. When was the last time you told someone you loved him orher and truly meant it? What are you waiting for? Call that person andsay, "I love you." Wait to see or hear that person's reaction. You will beamazed by it. It will make that person's day!

CHAPTER 2

Raped at Eight Years Old

This was when my life as a young, innocent, virgin child changed.I remember it like it was yesterday.

My little sister Gracie was being baptized that Sunday afternoon.She had been born in August, and children were usually baptized afew weeks after birth. It was a cloudy, warm day, and everyone was atthe house—my aunties, uncles, and cousins. I was wearing my favoritefake-leather, pullover, brown dress over a crisp, white blouse, and mySunday shoes.

As my mother was dressing my sister in a white christening gownfor her special day, one of my older cousins, Mitch, kept bugging meto come outside with him. Now, understand that this cousin had beenbugging me for weeks to come with him because he had something toshow me in our farmyard. I kept saying no to him, because I could notunderstand why he wanted to show me something in our farmyard. Ilived there and knew that there was really nothing new in the yard,because my father would have told me if there was.

That day, Mitch asked me again and grabbed my hand to show mewhat he wanted. As we were walking toward the back of the house, Iasked him, "What do you want to show me?"

He answered, "Just follow." He grabbed my hand with quite a firmgrip.

Finally, I got upset and pulled myself away from him, said that thisdid not feel right, and started to walk away. As I was walking towardthe house, Mitch ran to me and grabbed my arm and said, "You'd bettercome with me, because no one is going to believe you when I am donewith you."

I was scared, and the look he gave me was very frightening, so Igave up and followed him. We arrived at one of the grain bins in theyard, and he looked around to see if anyone was watching from thedistance. Then he pushed me onto the ground and said, "Don't move."I fell to the ground and saw how angry he was toward me, and I wasscared. I prayed that someone would come and save me and take Mitchaside and explain to him that his intentions were not acceptable, butno one did.

He raped me repeatedly, to the point where I felt nothing. I askedhim to stop, but I was not heard. I remember looking to the sky andasking God to protect me and love me unconditionally. It felt like aneternity before Mitch finally got up and told me not to move untilI could not see him in the distance. I realized as I was lying on theground, numb and speechless, that my life had been changed forever.At that moment, I put all my faith and love in God's hands. As I lookback through time at that moment with forgiveness for the people whohurt me, I see that I was healed and became the strong young womanI always knew was in me.

At that time, I looked around for my cousin, and he was nowhere tobe seen, so I got up off the ground, dusted myself off, and started to walktoward home. I felt sad, betrayed, dirty, ugly, and empty. I walked veryslowly back to the house. When I walked into the house, my mothercame up to me to see if I was okay. I looked at my cousin Mitch andthen at my mother, and I said, "Yes, I am fine." After that, I went intosurvival mode. I kept to myself all day, as I felt very sad and lonely.

Thereafter, every time my cousin Mitch visited us, he would rape merepeatedly, whenever he had an opportunity. I was eight years old, andhe was thirteen. This went on for a year. After a while, he avoided mecompletely, and I said to myself, "Finally, he is going to leave me alone."

However, Mitch's family stayed overnight at our house, becausethey had moved to the big city and needed a place to stay when theycame to visit the farm. One night, Mitch's brother Gus started tothreaten me. He said that if I told his parents or mine, no one wouldbelieve me because I was a bad girl and my mom would spank me. Gusthen started to rape me repeatedly. I was nine years old, and this wenton until I was sixteen years old.

All of this happened in my parents' home, while my parents wereupstairs with his parents. The bedroom door was always locked, andmy brothers would knock at the door to see if Gus was there, but hewould cover my mouth and tell me to shut up or he would kill me if Imade any noise.

Finally, when I was sixteen, I told Gus to piss off (fuck off ), as whathe was doing to me was very wrong. He looked at me and started tolaugh and said that I was a loser. I felt helpless, used, disrespected, dirty,and empty. I recall that in third grade I hit one of my male cousinsbecause I was so emotionally and physically hurt. I would react that waywhenever any boys bullied me. I hated boys and men for a very longtime. I did not trust any man, my family, or any of my relatives. I did tryto reach out to my grandfather, but he could only help me so much.

Looking back today and knowing what I know, I believe that if onlyone person—anyone—had given me support or listened to me, maybemy life would had been different. I always wondered if my motherknew. As a mother myself, I have taken the time to get to know mydaughters, and if I were to notice changes in my daughters' behavior,I would take my daughter aside and ask her what is going on. Mydaughters know that I will be there for them, as I always have been.They know I love them very much. Children do not lie. They are themost honest, innocent beings. Not getting support or understandingfrom my parents—and most of all, my mother—was very sad.

As a child, you look to your parents for support and protection,and I was not protected at all by my mother. My father is and was anawesome father, but he was very busy with the farming and workingaway from home during the winters. My father had no clue what wasgoing on with me. My mother took care of the house, but she alsoabused me every chance she had.

When you read my story, you can understand that my self-esteemwas destroyed and that I was just existing. Every time I reacted ordefended myself, I got a beating from my mother. When my fatherwalked into the house after work and heard me crying, my mothertold him that I was a bad girl. I was constantly shushed, put down, orspanked by my mother, grandmother, and relatives.

How would you feel? What would your morals be like if you hadexperienced what I had at a very young age?

CHAPTER 3

Junior High andHigh School Years

Junior high was quite the experience for me. My cousin Guswas still raping me every time he had a chance until I was sixteen. Myyears in junior high were not great, as my self-esteem was extremelylow and peer pressures were very hard on me. I rebelled a lot in juniorhigh and had no drive to do well in school, so I just barely passed mygrades. Girls were mean to me, and so were the boys.

Then I got involved in sports. Volleyball was the sport I chose to doas a way to get away from home, away from my mother's temper andabuse. I enjoyed my classes in physical education, because I felt reallygood about myself afterward, as I excelled in them. This class gave methe drive to keep living and to look at life in a different way. I hopedthat I could do something for myself that no one could take away fromme. Sports kept me going in life, and what was going on at home didnot really matter. I had a sport that I enjoyed playing, and I was part ofa team that did not judge me.

I did not really care about my other classes, as I felt they were veryboring, and there was no incentive for me to excel in classes other thanmy physical education class.

The bullying started in junior high and continued until I graduatedfrom high school. There was one particular girl in my school, whom Ihad known since first grade, who bullied me until tenth grade. I reallycould not understand why she treated me that way, as I had never doneanything to her. In a small town, there was only one school for thecommunity, and it went from kindergarten to twelfth grade, so thestudents you started with in first grade would most probably be withyou until graduation.

As Annie kept bullying me in school, the other girls caught on andstarted to bully me as well. They called me names, pushed me around,tripped me, and broke my skipping rope. I felt that I had nowhere toescape from the bullying, because I was abused at home by my motherand bullied at school by these girls.

How did I handle it? Well, the only way that made sense to mewas to walk away from the girls whenever they tried to bully me. I wasreally tired of defending myself, and I just shut down emotionally andignored them. That was why I got involved with team sports: becauseAnnie was very, very lazy, and I knew that sports were not her thing.I felt safe when I played team sports, as she was not around to bully mewith her little group of girls.

By the time I reached high school, I was very much involved inteam sports, but of course my controlling, abusive mother always madeit difficult for me to attend my after-school volleyball practices. Being arebellious teenager, I told her that I was only allowed to play one sport ayear, and volleyball was the sport I'd chosen, so she couldn't argue withme on that. Thank God, because that was my "out." What I liked aboutvolleyball were the weekly, after-school practices. Being in a smalltown, we only had enough girls to form one team, and it consisted ofseven girls, so I had the opportunity to play all the time. Not once wasI benched. That meant that we all had to be in great shape, because weonly had one player as a spare. My volleyball coach was the one personwho encouraged me to do my best, and I did just that.

I played well, and I felt that I was finally being recognized as botha person and an athlete. My father came and watched me play at myhome games, but my mother never supported me in any of my games.To be honest, I really did not want her there anyway.

I thought that being involved with team sports in school wouldstop the bullying, but unfortunately it didn't. My last year of school wasthe worst year of my life and the hardest in every aspect—emotionally,physically, and mentally. One afternoon during lunchtime, I was walkingout of my class, and a girl named Donna decided to kick me betweenmy legs from behind. I fell to the ground with great pain between mylegs and almost passed out. I could not get up from the floor. Donnasaid that I deserved it.

I looked at her with a confused expression, as I had never doneanything hurtful to her. I slowly got to my feet, even with the painbetween my legs, and went to the locker room to check on myself, asI felt something running down my legs. I thought that maybe I wasbleeding. As I walked to the locker room, I asked myself what hadprovoked Donna to do such a thing to me. I still question it today.