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Monday, March 29, 2010

re anonymous 3

I got a comment from an anonymous reader of this blog asking me to give dates for the things that happened to me. I can only answer that with this, I have major holes in my memories, and serious trouble with timelines. Most of my memories gravitate around ages 4, 8, 10, 12, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, and a couple of scary things in my early 20’s. Not all of the abuses I suffered were at the hands of the same person or people. I was raped by strangers, mentally and verbally abused by parental figures, starved or kept in a constant taste of hunger by step parents, raped by step brother, and also by other boys, family members, etc. The worst of what I lived through for me was the terror, the physical abuse, and the fear of never knowing when dad would be the bad dad or the good dad, or if the brother was going to be the bad brother or the good brother. The brother took up where the father left off when the divorce happened. Living in constant fear of being hurt made life a living hell for me growing up. The people in my life who hurt me and won’t accept that they did can kiss my ass at this point. It is no longer about what was or was not done. My life is about trying to learn to live in the now and not in the past. If you, anonymous, would look at my answer to someone else’s comments on a different entry, you would see that I take responsibility for my part, not defending myself, not telling, not giving up. I found a way to survive, splintered, angry, hurting, but alive and trying to get myself to a point of living in the present.


  1. The more I think about the person who asked me to put dates to the things that happened to me, the more angry I get. I can't be sure who it was that posted the comment, but the idea that I would even want to remember dates for things that were so awful is ridiculous. I don't want to remember the events, why would I recall the dates? I don't know the date, but if you want a detailed memory, try this: An apartment on Alicante in La Mirada, the living room, brother begging sister to let him do it, just a couple of pumps he says, ew gross, no, no, no, then I am on the sofa, pants pulled down as he inserts his crooked nasty looking penis into me, pumps a few times, pulls out and comes on teh couch. I think he was on acid, he did a lot of that back then, but that doesn't excuse it. so I was 12 and he was 15. It was late summer. It was gross. he left his spunk on the sofa for me to clean up. Now are you happy? Does it make you feel better to know I can recall some times, approximate times of year, that things happened? Would it make you feel better to know that I don't remember one good night's sleep on Cullen St. because the brother or Mike or Chris would come and torture us with hot sauce, and just hit us, or fuck us in the ass every night in my memory? I doubt it was every night, but to my damamged mind it was. I slept 4 or less hours most nights of my life except living with my partner, now my ex. With her I could sleep. I still find sleep an unsafe place, thankfully there are lots of good drugs for making me sleep.

  2. You totally misinterpreted the dating request. I just wanted you to put the date of the entry itself...the date you wrote it, not the date of the occurrences.

    Take a deep breath, sweetheart. I'm not out to make things any harder for you.

  3. the date I post is on the blog automatically.

  4. Thank you. It seemed some of the earlier posts lacked that auto-dating. No worries. Keep up the good work! It must be hard, no doubt. But surely healing.