The Journal Entry (standard:drama, 1994 words)
Author: Lori	Added: Nov 13 2008	Views/Reads: 2919/2047	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A woman enters therapy to try and overcome her past. Her first "homework" assignment is to write about the first 13 years of her life.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

did as children. I'll tell you what I can remember, and about at what 
age it happened. 

I don't remember my brother's birth. Seeing as how he's only 11 months
two weeks younger than I am, it might be amazing if I did remember him 
being born. I don't remember falling out of my baby bed, okay jumping 
out of my baby bed, when I was a little over a year old and busting my 
head so bad I need two stitches. I don't remember when my brother got 
Eagle Eye lye all over him and some on me. I don't remember my dad 
falling through the porch floor with my brother in his arms and calling 
him a pain in the butt. A pain/sore to me, at that age, was a Bo Bo. 
That is the day I started calling my brother “Bo Bo.” It's been 
shortened over the years to just Bo. 

I do remember something from the time when I lived with both my parents.
Momma and daddy went out for the evening for some reason. Probably to 
escape my brother and me. We had a black babysitter. She was a friend 
of a neighbor or something. When she was putting us to bed, her 
boyfriend came into the house. He walked down the darkened hall to my 
parents room. All I remember is one minute I'm safe in my parents' bed 
and the next I'm screaming bloody murder because I see a shadow on the 
wall of the hall which terrified me to no end. The babysitter had to 
call my dad home to console me because I freaked out. 

It seemed like forever before I feel asleep in his arms. Momma says it
was a few hours. This is my first actual memory and I couldn't have 
been more than three and a half or four. Momma doesn't remember how old 
I was either. So I can't be sure of the age. We assume the only reason 
I remember it so vividly is because I was so young and it was the first 
time my parents were away for any length of time. 

About six months before my parents split my brother and I watched a
movie with my aunt one night. It was about witches and warlocks. My 
mother begged my dad to make my aunt turn off the t.v., but dad said we 
could handle it. The next morning my mother woke up to the smell of 
smoke. She found my brother and I on the back porch with a fire going. 
We had lit the black trash bags they kept there, were dancing around 
them, and singing “We're burning the witches!” Again, this is a story I 
love because it shows how creative we were at this young an age. 

(Just want you to know I stopped here for three days. It got too hard to
remember and emotions were coming to light I didn't want to deal with.) 


I don't remember my parents' divorce. There's a story about the first
weekend Dad came to pick us up, but I don't remember it. Momma said I 
had looked forward to going and was excited about seeing Dad again. 
When he walked in my grandparents' house, I was waiting by the door. He 
ignored me and went straight to my mother. Momma said it hurt me so bad 
being rejected by him that I wouldn't go when it was time to leave. Dad 
begged me too, but I was in protective mode even back then and refused. 
My brother did end up going through. 

When Momma introduced the man she was to married, and the man who would
raise us, I remember bits and pieces of it. I called him my boyfriend 
too. I thought since he was in love with Momma and wanted to marry her 
he wanted/loved us too. I started calling him Daddy not long after the 
wedding. My brother has refused to give him that title and has always 
called him by his name. 

The next five or so years are a haze. I can remember bits and pieces of
it, but I don't remember how old I was when they happened. Some I've 
never told another living soul. 

The abuse with Gray, the next door neighbor, started first. It wasn't
long after we moved in across the street with Daddy.  He was 12 or 13 
and I was about six. The first couple of times it was forced in a way. 
He would tell me he loved me and wanted to show me how much. He wanted 
to make me a woman and he would be my man. He would love me as long as 
I would do things for/to him and let him do things for/to me. It was 
never about me, always about him. I went so far, got scared, and then 
he started to restrain me. He would take my hands in one of his and 
hold them above my head. He would lay his body on top of mine where I 
wouldn't get free and then abuse me. 

The first couple of times I would just lay there and cry. After a while
I would just submit and let him have his way. I would close off my mind 
to what was going on around me. When it was over, he would leave me and 
I would eventually come out of it enough to go on home. 

In public he didn't know me. In private I was all he wanted. To this
day, I'm still attracted to men who shun me in public and adore me in 
private. 

There were times I was abused by three cousins. I don't remember how old
I was, but I was already giving “it” to Gray so I figured what could it 
hurt. 

I remember a time where being abused got me into trouble. I was about 10
and we were down at my grandparents' for some occasion. A couple of my 
cousins brought their three wheelers to ride. We went inside the 
pasture to ride in open terrain. The cousin I was with got “lost” from 
the crowd and was in the middle of “it” when we heard a whistle. It was 
my Uncle Danny calling us back. The smaller ones, which included me, 
weren't supposed to be on the three-wheelers because they didn't want 
us hurt. Daddy was livid! I couldn't tell him why it took longer to get 
back then everyone else, so I got a spanking for being late and for 
leaving the crowd. 

Momma walked in on another cousin and me. We were in my bedroom and I
was doing something to him when she opened the door. I don't remember 
why my cousin was at our house, but he was sent home not long after it 
happened. She never talked about it and I didn't say anything either. 
She just told Daddy Mike had to go back to Houston. 

I don't want to do this anymore. The shame, guilt, and pain are too
great. 

© November 10, 2008 by Lori 


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