Serenity

2-15-17                SERENITY

I apologize in advance that this is all over the place. I had went to my special reading/Writing spot and emotions came pouring out. There’s a lot of errors, but it is raw and directly from my journal. I feel that I was able to stop hiding these things from myself. To forgive and actually let go.  This is a long post, because I did fill my entire journal that day. I feel free.

Alis volat propriis

I haven’t written in a while, but I guess you can consider that as a good thing. I feel like a whole new person. I guess I kind of am considering i’m now Kelcie Renee Shandy. Pretty cool huh? I never thought in 100 years I’d ever get married, I always thought that I would die young. Something tragic would happen to me in my life of unfortunate events. I didn’t ever picture my future, but it’s bright.

 I’m actually proud of  myself. I’ve had so much self growth in my career and not only that but just myself in general. I don’t see myself as a victim anymore, but as a Conqueror. I conquered my shit life I was handed and turned it into everything I’d ever wanted. I never had a good role model in my life. Someone to look up to, that I aspired to be, so I created my own. I am not Weak, I am Strong.

I guess being strong is the only choice you have when you grow up with an alcoholic father, Psycho, (but good) mother, and a grandfather that molests you every chance that he gets. On top of everyday life. I don’t have pity for myself and I don’t want others to either. I am a Conqueror.

I’ve never really written about any of this. I did make a “special” journal growing up, that I wrote all of my horrible/tragic incidents in. In blunt detail. But I tore it up, and threw it out. I don’t want to remember. I block these things out, putting these memories into an old box shoving it to the back of the closet and only bringing it out when you need a reminder. A reminder of who you are, how you became who you are.

I sometimes wonder how my life would have been had it been “normal”. Not being assaulted from the age of 4-10, maybe 11. Something like that, who keeps track anyway. If I didn’t witness my unstable mother try to slit her wrists in the kitchen when I was 7. If I didn’t have to visit my dad in jail every couple weeks when I was in first and second grade. If I didn’t picture scenarios in my head. How to escape.  Escape from the rapist, escape out of this small town, in the middle of nowhere. Escape from the Cabin in the middle of the woods where he’d take me. If i just had the courage to tell somebody, anyone. I don’t know why but I couldn’t. It’s hard to work up the courage to do it. What will happen? Will my family be mad? So I never did. Until I told my childhood best friend.

We were inseparable back then. We told each other everything. So I told her. A weight off my shoulders, a breath of relief. She told her mom, her mom told my mom, and so that’s how it went. Of course, my mom didn’t believe me. Or maybe she did, maybe she didn’t know how to process this, how could she have missed it? All of the signs.. they were there. How do your parents react? React to this news? Their daughter, their flesh and blood, a creation of them. Was being hurt, feeling scared, and stripped of her innocence Well the only logical explanation of course.

“You’re lying.” My dad said I was a lying bitch, and my mom was an attention seeking cun*. “lets sweep it under the rug, we don’t have to tell anyone. Another logical response. I wasn’t lying. I was scared, hurt, lost. I wasn’t myself. Lost in my head and numb. I moved out shortly after, I moved in with my best friend, i needed space. I needed parents. Her parents took me in, her mom always making the best family dinners, taking me on vacations. I was apart of a family. If it weren’t for them I don’t know how I would’ve made it.

One afternoon at school, during recess I remember walking out of the bathroom to see my grandma, my dad and two police officers walking towards me. He turned himself in, and now I had to go the station to tell my story. They took me to a children’s center. There weren’t any police officers there, just a therapist and maybe an undercover officer. The walls were all white, white couches, white tile. White everything. “Everything you say will be recorded, everything you say will be used against him in court.” SO MUCH PRESSURE. As an 11 year old that’s overwhelming. I froze. They asked me questions, I lied. I told them I can’t remember, I was sleeping, I gave no detail. They let me leave shortly after, and I got dropped off at my friends. Her mom said it was time for me to go home, we have to go to my house to confront him. Confront this evil. We slowly drove down the street and it hit me. I saw him, he was getting cuffed, put into the cop car. It wasn’t my first time seeing someone arrested. I’d seen my dad cuffed many times. More than I can count. I’m frozen, I cant move. I can’t get out of the car. We make eye contact, for a split moment, his eyes cold and dark. To this day I still shutter thinking of it, because I can picture it so vividly. Like it was yesterday.

Anything or anyone who looks like him fills me with terror. It wasn’t as a relief as i thought it would be telling. You could feel the tension in my family. Because of me. My parents fighting grew worse, if that’s even possible. My grandma became distant, my aunt broke. Turns out she was also a victim, he molested her for her whole life. His own daughter. After hearing this news I remember, a flashback, even now writing this. We were in the woods riding four wheelers, he would touch me inappropriately. I asked him why, why did he do this, when would he stop? He told me when I hit woman hood and get a boyfriend that it would stop.  He said you aren’t the only one, he did the same thing to someone else.But I got older and older and became used to it. By the age of 9-10 I knew what was happening. I wasn’t stupid. It’s not normal. But I didn’t take initiative to stop it. Why? I don’t know why. When it happens since you can remember it becomes normal. I was trained, my mind was morphed into believing this happened to everyone.

It all started at the age of 4. My parents worked a lot, (my mom did, my dad was too drunk to take care of me). He was my babysitter, he took me for long weekends, he’d take me up north and do fun things with me. He was the only one in my life that paid attention to me, and there was no fighting. Except me, fighting myself in my head. I finally got the courage one day. The courage to escape. I pretended to have an asthma attack, so my mom would come get me. I was going to tell that night I was, but i chickened out. After that I started refusing to go anywhere with him. I’d had enough. I wanted to be normal, to lose my virginity with my true love. But it was too late. He kept calling the house, asking why I didn’t come around anymore, why I was avoiding him. My mom told me that I was hurting his feelings, because I was ignoring him. Why didn’t she see the signs?

After everything, I grew very close to my other grandparents. There was so much tension between both sides of the family. My grandpa livid wanted to kill them. Kill them both. My grandma for “allowing” it to happen. It never occurred to me that that could be true. How could she allow that to go on. She spoiled us, with money, buying me stuff whenever I wanted. To cover her pain and her guilt that she constantly felt allowing her husband to take her 4 year old granddaughter into the other room and do these disgusting things to her while she “slept”. How do you not feel someone next to you being lifted out of bed? How do you not hear the sobs and body once they’re put back. Fucked up I know, but that’s how my family was.

Everyone deserves second chances right? In this case far more than that. How can you allow your husband to put their hands on a child? How can you allow your husband to put their hands on you. If it wasn’t physical abuse you were being tormented mentally. You kind of get used to it after a while. It becomes normal to hear your mom being called “bowling ball”, “Whale”,”Fat Cun*.” It’s a normal night in our household if the cops got called. We’d be having a family dinner (my brother, my mom and I) someone would say a joke and we’d laugh, belly laugh until my mom is snorting and we all can’t breathe. My dad would come in screaming, he’d lose his shit. My mom said it was from his accident (we’ll get to that later). Why do I still talk to him? Why haven’t I cut him out of my life? I ask myself this, and its one simple answer. I think everyone needs somebody. No matter the awful things they’ve done. I’ll never forget, but I can forgive.

Having a great Dad figure in my life caused a lot of heartbreak. As long as my boyfriends didn’t hit me I considered it to be a great relationship. Even if they were in and out of jail, sold drugs for a living, cheated on me constantly. Jails didn’t scare me, It wasn’t weird to visit a loved one in jail, it didn’t bother me. I grew up visiting my dad in the local jail my whole life. I remember getting pulled out of school once every week to go visit him. Waiting in line to have our time with him. They’d lead us down this damp musty hallway, all white cinder block. We’d come to a room with 6-7 glass windows, the men would come out in their blue jumpsuits, and take one phone and wed take the other, communicating back and fourth through a phone and a glass window. I didn’t know what to say to him. I’d never actually sat down and had a conversation with my father. What do dads and daughters talk about? He had his own way to show affection. Not by hugs, and I love you’s, but he’d always say “see ya next year.” He’d send me drawings of my favorite animals, turned out his “dad” side only came out behind bars. Or when he was away from the bottle.

My Papa, hated him. He’d tell my mom every chance he got “leave him, he’s a low life loser.” “grow up.” My mom was under a spell, he’d apologize over and over in his letters, he promised that he would change. Get his act together. But he never did. He said he couldn’t lose his family. So my mom backed out, she backed out of several divorces already paid for, because she was so brainwashed and believed everything this manipulative man said. How could she be so selfish? How could she let her kids be around that kind of environment? Witness their grades dropping, confidence fading, witness the abuse. They were victims too. Even if not physically, mentally. By everything you’ve read by now i’m sure you’re thinking “why stay in contact with him at all?” The truth is he’s my dad. Even though he peed on one of my favorite barbies, Called me a bitch, a liar, or had my mom hold me down so he could “beat my ass til’ it’s grass.” He is my dad. The only one I know. He did dad things sometimes, like take me to the daddy daughter dances, make me breakfast every morning before he left for work. He wasn’t always bad. He’d wake me up on weekends, with his fresh mug of coffee, and my hot chocolate, we’d watch Mickey Mouse. Until his ride got there. Not speaking, but it was bonding. It was special to me.

I only have a few great memories of him, but they make me smile still to this day. He took me up north with him and my grandpa, we’d wake up early and go fishing. I was about 6 years old. I caught a huge fish, my dad was so proud. He took my picture and he showed it to everyone. I’d help them cut the fish up to fry for dinner, my dad would always cut the eyeball out and put it in a plastic baggy for me to play with. (gross I know). But having that time together, and bonding, I hold onto that memory. I hold it tight. As we got older those memories, became just that. Memories. It was very seldom we did anything together. He did however get invited to Cedar Point with a group of friends from work. He took both my mom and I. The day started out great, we got there without a blow out argument on the way, and rode a few rides. After a while that feeling crept up on him, he had to have a beer, so he went off and said he’d meet us later. Evening hit and the park was going to be closing, we spent hours looking for him. Looking in every bar in the park, my mom frantic. We went out to the car, there he was. Passed out, but safe. Him passing out was a blessing. If he didn’t pass out it was back and fourth all night. “I’ll pound your head in.” “Fuck off and die.” The insults were never ending. Finally he’d fall asleep, leaving my mom to bask in her misery muttering under her breath. She’d head to bed, and it would start all over again. It would start over the stupidest things, she took the covers, he stinks, shes a fat ass. They’d bicker for an hour or so, then they’d fall asleep, but for some reason this night they didn’t.

My mom had said something that really pissed him off. The fighting got louder, more aggressive, physical. I’d go into my baby brothers room and find him under the covers, a blank, sad, scared, stare. I’d grab my brother and we’d head to the park down the street at wee hours into the night. We’d stay here for about 10 minutes and head back home. Usually things would be calmed down, but not this night. We walked into my dad holding my mom up to the wall by her throat. Her eyes begging with mercy, and the first chance she gets tells me to call the cops. My brother’s screaming ” MOM” “MOM” tears coming down his cheeks, I grabbed the house phone and dialed 911. The cops take him away, a victory. But my mom is not grateful. She is angry with me. Angry that I made a bigger deal out of what was “nothing”. Screaming at me upset, now she can’t pay the house payment, our water is going to get shut off, she can’t support us on her own. So she turned to our grandparents.

One cold winter night my dad had one too many and locked us all three out of the house. No gloves, no coats, just our Pj’s. My mom took us to the neighbors to use their phone to call my grandma and grandpa (rapist one). You see they were so involved in our lives, always there. My other grandparents lived 60 minutes away, so they helped as much as they could. We moved in with them, my brother and I for a few weeks. They paid my parents bills. Every eviction notice, every utility notice. My parents couldn’t support themselves let alone 2 children. I didn’t mind growing up without money, until i got older and realized how immature and irresponsible they were.

I started doing drugs and drinking, leaving every weekend. I did anything I wanted to do. My dad didn’t care and my mom was too gullible. I had a lot of demons inside me that I had to Relinquish. Drinking and drugs numbed it. Numbed the feelings, numbed the cravings. I didn’t truly realize what an impact all of this had had on me. I was lost. Trying to find myself, wanting to be saved. I didn’t realize how much the assault had affected me, mentally and physically. I was scared, I was scared to have sex. (sober) With anyone, I would cringe at the thought of having sex with someone not under the influence. Be forced to feel. It was painful. The thoughts, all of the flashbacks, hot breath, mint mouthwash. It was too much. So I pulled back. I rarely had sexual relations sober, until I met my husband. He was different. He is compassionate, he is caring. He didn’t frighten me. I feel at ease around him. He is respectful. A true gentleman. He enjoys my company and the feeling is mutual. I never thought that I would get married, not ever. I hadn’t seen a healthy marriage, so how could I have one?

But I was wrong. So Wrong. I can have it all, I can Heal, I can Conquer, and I can Thrive. With the right mindset anything is possible. With the right support system you can Overcome anything. With the right partner, possibilities are endless. If I can overcome these things, you can too. This was raw, this might have been hard for you to read and i’m sorry if that’s the case. But it needs to be heard. My story needs to be told. Open your eyes, see the world differently. Talk, Talk about things with your kids. Be aware, Be aware of any small signs. I hope my story encourages anyone else  that is going through or went through anything similar to come to peace. Accept your story as it’s written.

I Believe you.