Kadja Cries When She Sees This…

Even though I am grown, the little girl in me still has her triggers.  This song is one of those triggers.  However it is an important song and every word of it rings true. I can relate to Alyssa, but I was more fortunate. I lived to tell you my story. Please do not wait until it is too late to act on behalf of a child. You might be the only voice that can reach into the right places to save a life.  Please watch the video and don’t go off on religion because what your belief system is isn’t the issue here.  The genre of music you prefer is also not the issue here.  The message of this song is an important one. It was then, and it is now.

I was abused at home and bullied at school.  I know the reality of such an existence and NO child should ever go through the things I have endured.  To this day I do not associate much with former classmates.  Why? They are triggers. They may very well be different people now, but the place and seeing them still triggers memories of a time and a place that made me stronger–but it also made me a very non-trusting individual in my later years.  Some of my classmates are friends, but there are those I avoid for a reason.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLh5vbBLpxI

Anyone Else Sick of the Westboro Baptist Hate Group?

Members of Westboro Baptist Church have been s...

Members of Westboro Baptist Church have been specifically banned from entering Canada for hate speech. Church members enter Canada, aiming to picket bus victim’s funeral (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Let’s see, we all know their utter hatred for any and all things outside of their own micro bubble–like the military, homosexuals, and anyone they feel truly entitled to cast the first stone at in the sin department.

Given their activity, I am starting to think that the Supreme Court needs to be investigated and given psychiatric evaluations for ruling that their hate speech is protected speech.  I truly question their competency to be fit for the bench in light of this. Anyone else would have been under federal investigation by now and CPS would be involved with as to how they are raising the children–and their speech would definitely NOT be protected..

I’m sick of this lot  and their self-righteous Pharisee like attitude.  They are no better than the bullies I actively crusade against and what makes my blood boil the most is that the government actually protects this homo-phobic, racist  ilk.  Yes they are racists! I’ve no seen one person of anything beside Caucasian descent in their pictures and videos.

I have a wonderful idea, and I’m sure it will go over like a lead balloon.  Why not drop them down in the middle of Syria or Iran and see how brave they are then?

Appropriate for this bunch of looneys...

Appropriate for this bunch of looneys…

The true face of emotional child abuse/neglect...I wouldn't be surprised if we and up having another "Waco" over this lot...

The true faces of emotional child abuse/neglect…I wouldn’t be surprised if we and up having another “Waco” over this lot…

 

Samantha’s Diary… ***Some DS Fan Fiction I’m playing with***

As a little girl, I remained in a Boston private school for girls, thanks to the generosity of Roger Collins and Elizabeth Stoddard.  They have been like surrogate parents to me in my absence from Collinsport for years. Roger always said that I wasn’t facing reality by avoiding going “home”.  But which place was or is home? Is it the house where my mother, Claudette tortured me for the first seven years of my existence, or Collinwood, which was my shelter from many of her storms?

Then there was that place in the mausoleum.  Willie doesn’t even know of it, I think.  I would sneak into there and dream I had a guardian angel watching over me there.  At least I knew my mother would never set foot in the cemetery.  I remember dreaming about that faceless dark angel with a calming voice.  He’d carry me through the woods, teaching me about the birds and trees and such and the sun always shone there. In short, this entity was the phantom father I created in my mind, I suppose.  At least the shrink says as much to me.   I’ve written many songs about filling that gaping hole in my memories as well as my chest.

I somehow learned to write with penmanship from a time gone by. I won awards for it and I still prefer my quill to a fountain pen. I mastered math in my head long before I had access to a calculator.  A large part of me wants to return, and another side of me totally dreads this.  I keep having dreams of a duel, people dying, voices calling my name, and for what purpose? The worst ones are of me drowning in another time and place when I was still quite young, a long dress weighing me down as if it were a ship’s anchor, and something cracking my skull and knocking me out after struggling to come back to the surface.  I always manage to wake up shaking and sweating after those. I fear water so much! Why me? Did my mother damage me so much that I cannot tell what is reality from fantasy any longer?  I’m wondering if the dreams are symbolic.  Whatever. It doesn’t matter at this point.

I know it is time to return to Collinsport.  Elizabeth and Maggie have begged me for months.  I suppose it is time to revisit the grave of the child I once was, and can never be again.  Sometimes an infected wound must be thoroughly drained and cleaned before it can heal.  Hopefully it will not leave a scar that is too noticeable.  At least it is what the one familiar male voice says to me in those damned dreams I have every night as of late.

Only now the dreams are getting stronger, and the voices more clear.  No matter how many psych meds the doctors put me on or how many gigs I do just so I can pass out and sleep after the ambien, they are there…They are waiting for me…It’s only the voice of that dark angel that doesn’t torment me.  All he says to me lately is, “Perhaps you should reconsider this endless journey you are on and come visit your family.  You are every bit a Collins now even if not by blood.” he says.   Funny how Roger and Elizabeth keep reminding me that they do  consider me thus.  There I go–talking like he does.  Dammit I am truly done for the night–until those dreams start-up again…

—S.R.T.  April 3, 1990

Remembering the Monster

Part of Kit was terrified, and another part told herself that nothing would come of it.  Karen had knocked the crap out of her again after getting into a fight with her dad yelling, “This was your fault! If you weren’t here–” and she stopped as she reached into her purse next to her in the car and pulled out that damned pistol again.  She put it up against Kit’s head but Kit stared straight ahead. This was a child who had been down this road, in the darkness of the night with that gun at her head so many times, she simply didn’t give a shit anymore. In her mind, at least it would end if Karen actually did pull the trigger. As she felt the barrel against her left temple she stared up at the moon.

The air was cold since it was January and the stars seemed to be very bright. Kit loved looking at them. She often wondered what it would like to fly up into where they were.

“Are you listening to me!?,” Karen screamed, “You had better be listening!”

Kit then looked at her and said, “Nothing scares me anymore. Not even that gun. Not even you. Either do it or let me go live with Mom.”

The gun was now pressed against her forehead.  The barrel was cold and Karen’s hand was shaking as Kit stared into her eyes.

“Stop looking at me damn you! If you go to school one more time and tell them–”

“You’ll what?! Blow my head off? Do it. I told you I’m not afraid anymore. I don’t care!” Kit yelled as she kept staring straight into her eyes.

The now 13-year-old was quite resolute in her statement. She saw no way out of the house of horrors so she began to stand up to the monster.  That monster was Karen.

Karen threw the silver pistol back into her purse, started the car and sped off with Kit still inside. She took her across town to Jack’s house.  She then reached across the seat and opened Kit’s door.

“Get the hell out of here and go inside! If you say one word to Jack I swear I’ll–”

“Whatever…Same old crap!” Kit said to her as she shut the door and began to take a step back.

With that Karen peeled out with such force that Kit was knocked down.  The child got up, dusted off her jeans and went to the door. It took a long while for  her to go to sleep, and her sister-in-law was asking what had happened but Kit only responded, “With Karen what doesn’t happen?”

The entire family felt powerless to help the child.  The only way Karen stopped hitting her was when her mother got wind of it.  Her mother delivered a personal message via her aunt down the street.

“If you touch Kit or my son one more time, Bitch, I’ll kill you myself.” was the message.

Kit would not find out about this until she was in her 20’s but often wondered why during the last six months of Karen’s life she tended to just storm off when things got tense between her and her dad.  She didn’t even bully Kit during that time other than to scream at her once in a while. Kit got to where she would tune her out.

When Kit entered her cell she would look at the green shades and cringe once in a while. She would then look at the wall she decorated.  She put up a red tartan bedspread on her wall for an accent wall and then covered it with Beatles and Bay City Rollers posters.  She also had a huge poster of Paul McCartney and Wings on the other side of her room.

On the other side was her doll collection.  She had Native American dolls, Japanese dolls, the first Revlon doll ever made and a lot of other antique ones–which got sold out from under her little by little  after Karen’s death–along with her TV because her dad said, “You don’t need this stuff anymore.  He then replaced it with stuff Karen had–which she didn’t want.  She worked for her things and now they were taken from her one day while she was at school.  He gave the stereo she did babysitting  for to her brother and then gave her Karen’s which pissed her off totally.

While Karen did have a better one, she wanted no reminders. She liked her white one. She paid for it with her money. Now her brother had it. She had a 19” black and white TV she liked watching. He put Karen’s 9″ portable color TV in there.  That also pissed her off–especially since it had to be sent for repairs every time she turned around.  However one night she was watching and a video from the  year prior came on.  It was “Mull of Kintyre” by Paul McCartney and Wings.

It would be that video that would spawn her desire to see other places.  She loved how the kids in that video were having fun down by the fire on the beach–something she never got to do.  As thoughts of the monster began to fade a bit at night, those thoughts were replaced with new ones–and when the green shades came down, it marked a new freedom for Kit.  It was at this point she picked up a pen and began creating new worlds, new people and dreaming of a new life.  She had never seen mist  rolling in from the Ocean and longed for it…One day she would, but for now, the video had to do.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K5626WzsfMw

This was the video that started that journey for her so many years ago.  The open land and the beach…The smiles on people’s faces…These were the things that she loved to see on TV.  And later in that year–1978, she would find out what a “normal” family was…She would realize then how abnormal her life had been and it would also make new thoughts churn in her head as she pulled out her pen and paper.

 

Sarah Was Alone…

I have been lying here on the cold ground around here for a very long time.  I don’t remember why I was put here, but I remember I was being hit again and again all because I wanted a glass of milk.  Why would anyone leave me out here? I am only seven. I don’t understand them.  I thought Mommy and Daddy wanted me and loved me–Oh wait! Daddy is gone.  He wasn’t there. It was someone else who was there with my mom. Mommy said my daddy was not coming back and if he did, she’d leave with us again.

I don’t remember much after being hit on the head the third time. I think I was crying and went to sleep.  I had to pee but couldn’t move and I was having this weird dream.  I was looking down at myself but I wasn’t hurting anymore.  I was so afraid that I was going to be hit again but nothing happened.  Not for a while.  I felt like I was flying and saw a light, but I couldn’t leave my baby sister there. It didn’t feel right so I stayed.

Then I saw Mitch, my moms boyfriend come in. He started yelling things I couldn’t understand and had Mom take my baby sister out of the room…I watched him shake me but I didn’t feel anything. He was saying some bad words too, but he did say he was sorry and started crying.  I’m not mad at him. I just don’t understand why he sent me here. I don’t understand why Mom let him hurt me all the time either.  I know she got mad because I wouldn’t say he was my daddy at school so she hit me too sometimes over it.  I still don’t understand where my real daddy was and why he didn’t come.

Mitch turned on the big light and I saw blood on my head and nose.  My eyes were open but I couldn’t blink and my lips were a weird bluish color.  I think I threw up at some point too before I was in this place watching everything. Mitch put me in a blanket and a bag and put me in the truck while Mom kept crying.

I am glad you’re close to me now because talking helps me not to feel so lonely out here.  It’s like you can’t see me yet but I can see you.  You come out here a lot, picking flowers. I think we might be in the same grade. I want to play but I know you can’t seem to hear me so I’ll just keep talking and hope someone finds me soon.

It’s neat to watch you play, Little Girl.  I like watching people do things I couldn’t do anymore around here but there is a neat thing about this. I don’t feel stickers in my feet or bugs crawling on me.  I’m in a place where you can’t see me well but I can see you.

I’ve seen it rain and such out here a lot too.  The trees are pretty when that happens and the birds come out. I’ve seen it snow a lot out here too.  I think I’ve seen 10 springs and 10 big snows!  It’s all so pretty and I don’t have to be afraid here.  You have blond hair like me! And you like dolls too! That’s neat!  I do miss Mom but not Mitch. I wonder where they are. Why don’t they come back for me?  I’m in a blanket not far from where you are.  Maybe your mom and dad will come find me and get me out of here soon.

Here come’s someone! It’s a man!  Is that your dad? Man he’s tall.  Wait, he’s getting closer to me.  Can you see me?  I’m right here? Please don’t leave me again! I’m so tired of being alo–wait! He’s sending you away and looking down. He’s saying “Oh my god!” or something like that and pulling out a little black thing he’s talking into. Now he’s crying. Why? Oh wait…He saw my teddy bear. It’s really dirty.  I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make anyone cry! Honest–I–wait…

I can hear a bit now…Not much…

“Look Sheriff, you need to come. I found–”

Oh can’t make out the rest but he’s still here, crying and looking down where Mitch put me. Now there is a lady but he yelled, “Get them out of here! I’ll explain when the sheriff gets here!” and she left with you and a younger kid really quickly. He kept looking at my teddy bear, but he didn’t touch it. He just stood there crying. Why? I’m not hurting.

shallow grave teddy bear

Oh please don’t cry! I’m really not hurting now! I’m just glad to not be alone…That’s the worst thing–alone at night even though I don’t feel hurt and such.

He’s been here crying for a long time and praying too.  My grandma prayed a lot!  Now there are other people here.  They have brushes and such and tweezers, shovels…All kinds of stuff and a yellow tape. Why can’t they just get me out of here?  Wait.  Maybe they are trying.  The older guy is shaking his head.

“Who would dump their kid out here like that?” I heard him say.

“Mom and Mitch would.” was my response but he didn’t hear me.  None of them hear me.  Wait! This one older guy said my name–another guy with a badge.

“From what the grandmother told me years ago, it could be Sarah Hawthorne.” he said.

“That is my name! He knows my name! I”m so glad! Someone sees me and knows my name!”

Wait! There’s that light again and it looks like it’s gonna rain, too.  Hey! I see Grandma and two other people with her!  One’s in an army uniform! He says he’s my daddy!  The other one is an older guy. I think I’ll go with them now!  I’m just glad someone found me so I’m okay!  Thanks for hearing me! I am so happy now!  Bye! I’m not alone anymore! You’ll be alright now so don’t cry, okay?!