"Dancing in the Rain"

I have always loved the Rain.

Mother told me I had my days and nights confused as a baby, and she took me for a walk when I was impossibly fussy, even in the Rain. Perhaps my love for Rain began then.

As a child, I had no friends. I had school mates, and we played at school. But no one ever came to the "Haunted House" to play. There were so many secrets, and chaos ruled the "House".

My few memories are of loneliness, fear, a sense of betrayal and feelings of sadness. I had no imagination. As I look back at that time, I believe I stayed in a dissociative state much of the time.

When it rained, I lay on the top back of the sofa, looking out the window, watching and waiting, for what, I do not know. The rain soothed me. The rain held me in it's arms and I felt safe. Rain became my true reality.

Sarah~~~

Dance in the Rain!

"The truth about our childhood is stored up in our body and although we repress it, we can never alter it. Our intellect can be deceived, our feelings manipulated. our perceptions confused and our body tricked with medication. But someday the body will present its bill, for it is as incorruptible as a child who, still whole in spirit, will accept no compromises or excuses, and it will not stop tormenting us until we stop evading the truth".

"Rainbows"

Rainbows appear during the rain
Just like I do, during the pain.
Rainbows change a dreary day
Just like I try to make the bad things go away.
Sometimes Rainbows are ignored and not seen
Just as I am.


M~

"The truth about our childhood is stored up in our body and although we repress it, we can never alter it. Our intellect can be deceived, our feelings manipulated. our perceptions confused and our body tricked with medication. But someday the body will present its bill, for it is as incorruptible as a child who, still whole in spirit, will accept no compromises or excuses, and it will not stop tormenting us until we stop evading the truth".

Another Small Step to Understanding "US"

I have a rather large, framed professional, photograph, of my Sister and me, ages 3 years and 4 years old. On an impulse, or perhaps it was my "gut" feeling compelling me to do so, I took the photograph to therapy with me today.



One can tell so much from a photograph, or so I learned from my Dr. today. After looking at the photograph for several long minutes, Doc (borrowing nickname from Susannah) asked me what I "felt" when I looked at the picture. I told him I honestly had no "feeling" about it. I explained that I felt no connection to either of the little girls in the picture. He asked..."no connection to this picture of you?"....I answered no, I don't feel any connection. I then proceeded to tell him that I saw something in the eyes of the oldest child...which would be me. Doc said "so do I". He asked me to tell him what I saw. He said he was curious to know if I was seeing what he saw.



The eyes of the oldest...me...appear sad, frightened and without the innocence you would expect to see in a child so young. The eyes appear to be in a deep abyss of pain. There is just too much fear hidden in those eyes. My Sister is smiling in the picture and appears to be a happy 3 year old. When I relayed this to Doc, he said "that is exactly what I see".

Doc told me, if he took his Psychologist "hat" off, he would see two pretty little girls, one smiling (my Sister) and one not smiling (me). He went on to explain, that in his professional opinion, my Ego had already "splintered" and the child we are seeing in the picture, is one of the "others". It was frightening to hear....but still allowed me no connection to the little girl in the picture. No one "inside" was talking...for once. No one stepped forward to "claim" the identity of the girl in the picture.

The age of the little girl, fits with the final separation of "the parents". The "Mother" had taken on her role of physical abuser. The "Dad" was seeing us at visitation on Sundays. Taking all of this into consideration, my conclusion is this. The little girl was suffering physical abuse and neglect at the "Haunted House", and sexual abuse, during the visits to the "Dad". But...who is she? What is her name? SHE must be the identity holding the memories, painted in black, which I need so desperately to continue on my Journey of Revelation and oneness of Spirit.

Next week, during our session, Doc and I will color and draw pictures. Art Therapy is an excellent way to express one's self without words. I pray it works. Stay tuned to the "Haunted House"....................


"Hug a Child today"

"The truth about our childhood is stored up in our body and although we repress it, we can never alter it. Our intellect can be deceived, our feelings manipulated. our perceptions confused and our body tricked with medication. But someday the body will present its bill, for it is as incorruptible as a child who, still whole in spirit, will accept no compromises or excuses, and it will not stop tormenting us until we stop evading the truth".

GOD Lives - Emma Grace

GOD lives, in "all" of us.

I began praying to die when I was very young. I wanted no time on this Earth to allow sins to blacken my Soul. I tried to be a good girl, always. I learned all the prayers.....in fact I prayed all the time. All I wanted was to be with GOD. HE did not take me back to Heaven. HE must have his reasons.

Now I live with a sinner. Susannah.......oh she exasperates me! I pray for her Soul. I live with Anger, a very loud mean person. I live with Rage, a vulgar, terrifying entity. I wanted to go into the Convent and become a Nun. Mother laughed at me, with that particular haughtiness of her's. I pray for her Soul. The Guardian tells me to let these people be. They have a need to express themselves, the only way they know how. That I must be patient, things will work out for "us". When the Guardian speaks, you listen. His voice is compelling and his is very wise. He has protected "us". I am grateful to him.

God grant us the serenity to accept the things we can not change,

The Courage to change the things we can.

And the Wisdom to know the difference.

Yours in Christ,

Emma Grace +

"The truth about our childhood is stored up in our body and although we repress it, we can never alter it. Our intellect can be deceived, our feelings manipulated. our perceptions confused and our body tricked with medication. But someday the body will present its bill, for it is as incorruptible as a child who, still whole in spirit, will accept no compromises or excuses, and it will not stop tormenting us until we stop evading the truth".

From Darkness to Light!

Being a patient in a Psychiatric Hospital for three months has it's good side and not so good side.

Not so good side - well you become attached to the people you see every day. The Medical Staff, the Group Therapists, but most of all the other patients. After living each day, spending each evening with people who have spilled their life story and have listened to your life story, it is extremely difficult to let them go. They become your family.....no better than your family, they love you and you can feel that love. I still miss them. I still pray for them and always will. They were there for me and they helped to bring me into the Light.

The good side.....my in-patient stay literally saved my life! That may sound a bit "over the edge", but it is completely true. Without the knowledge and life skills I learned there, I know in my heart, I would not be here today. I would have committed suicide.

As soon as you are admitted the Nurse takes your picture. Now there is another reason for this, other than for ID purposes....but I will tell you the additional reason at the end of tonight's writing. Then you are shown to your room. There are two people to a room. I lucked out and my room mate was a wonderful, jolly woman.

The schedule every day is as follows: Up at 7 AM. Breakfast at 7:30 AM. First Group at 8 AM. Now the Groups are intense. Let me see how many different groups I can remember....you don't have each one every day. The group you do have every day begins in the Gym. Everyone sits in a circle, presided over by a Mental Health Tech. This Group is called "Feelings Check". One by one around the circle each person gives one "feeling", relating to how they are feeling that morning. I must stop here to tell you Fear and Fine are NOT feelings, per the Psychiatric Community. Fear is defined as either "Face Everything and Recover" or "Fuck Everything and Run". Fine is "Fucked-up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional". If you do not feel like sharing, you just say pass or check. You can not even imagine how difficult it was for me to come up with a feeling, those first few weeks of my stay! It wasn't that I didn't know the definition of the feelings, I just could not connect myself to a feeling....... Additional Groups were Cognitive Therapy, Loving Confrontation, Learning to Trust, Art Therapy, Relaxation Techniques, Visualization, Family Role Playing, Gym, Connecting to Your Higher Power, Connecting with Your Inner Child...oh there were just so many. There were also specialized Groups such as Eating Disorders, Survivors of Sexual and/or Physical Abuse, well you get my drift.

I loved all the groups and learned so much! I learned it was OK to say NO! I learned to climb a 20 foot wall! I learned to walk on two wires, strung between two telephone poles, I learned to jump from the 20 foot wall to a trapeze! I learned to Trust. I didn't do these things alone....my "family" helped me, and lovingly pushed me all the way.

One little story...then it's off to bed for me.
I have always felt intuitive, or psychic or whatever you might want to call it. As an example, when living in Texas I would "know" when there was something wrong at home.....and 9 times out of 10 I would right. Often, a person, whom I had not seen in many years, would suddenly flit into my mind and I would wonder how they were, where they might be. Then within weeks, sometimes months, I would run into this person...it was bizarre! I learned, as a patient, to always trust that "gut" feeling inside. One night, late at night, I was sitting in the lounge writing in my journal, and a guy walked in. I had never seen him before. I saw that he was wearing the creepy hospital bracelet on his wrist, so I knew he must be a new "admit"....or is commit...lol. I got this "feeling" about him.....he scared me and the hairs on my neck actually tingled! I wrapped my journal up and got out of there as quickly as I could. The next day, in one of the groups, I had to hold his hand. OMG! It was terrifying, horrible and I felt this huge rush of disgust. Now I am a very compassionate woman. Feeling this way about him did not feel Good to me. I scolded myself for it. That evening when I met with my own Therapist, I related the story and my feelings to her. She looked at me and said "Sueann, this patient may be a gift to you, and you may have something he needs desperately". I thought...oh yeah, easy for you to say, you aren't feeling what I am, you don't have to hold his hand in Group. To make a long story short, this guy did not share anything about himself for two weeks. It was maddening, it made him even more frightening to me. So in Loving Confrontation Group, I asked him if he wanted to share his story with the Group. He said no. I went nuts! I started yelling at him, asking him why he was there if he wasn't going to talk, telling him how much he disgusted me...I was completely out of control......and I had no earthly idea why I was acting this way. After the Tech calmed me down, this man, who had been silent for so long began to tell his story. He was forced to be here, because he had been arrested for child abuse...oh wait there is more....he had been accused of raping his 4 year old Daughter! He claimed he had no memory of doing this act, that he loved his Daughter and would never hurt her. So there you have it. His gift to me......he spoke the words, he shared his story and it hit home like a tornado. My gift to him, well, he later admitted he had raped his Daughter...he confessed...and was now ready to begin his Journey to Recovery.

BTW...the second reason the Nurse takes your picture upon admittance, is to compare it to the picture she takes of you the day you leave. In my case, the pictures looked like two different people. The one taken of me on the day I arrived looked like a very old defeated skinny, raggedy old woman. The picture of me on the day I left was of a happy, strong, determined woman. The Nut House ain't so bad............................

Thanks for visiting the "Haunted House"!

"The truth about our childhood is stored up in our body and although we repress it, we can never alter it. Our intellect can be deceived, our feelings manipulated. our perceptions confused and our body tricked with medication. But someday the body will present its bill, for it is as incorruptible as a child who, still whole in spirit, will accept no compromises or excuses, and it will not stop tormenting us until we stop evading the truth".

The Phone Call From Hell!

About 12 years ago, I received an unexpected phone call from my Sister. I will never forget her angry words "I just called Mother and now I am calling you!" "I was reading the paper today and found an article." "The story is about Adult Women Survivors of child sexual abuse!" "That's what happened to us!" "That is the family secret!" "Why didn't YOU tell anyone?" "You were the oldest!" There were more angry outbursts from her and then she just hung up.

I was living in Texas, with my then Husband, who was recovering from brain surgery and a large stroke. I had no one to talk to about the disturbing phone call. I truly thought my Sister was having a breakdown. I had no idea what she could be talking about! I decided to call Mother and learn what my Sister had said to her.

After speaking with Mother and finding that she "had no idea" what my Sister could be talking about, I sat alone in the dark, trying to remember my childhood. I was shocked to discover I could not remember much of anything. Of course I remembered the beatings at the hands of Mother, and living with my Grandparents. There were so many "blanks", so many "buried" memories. It was if I had not had a childhood at all.

Soon after the phone call from my Sister, I began having anxiety and nightmares and difficulty in sleeping. I was tired all the time. It was effecting my job and my ability to take care of my husband. I was falling apart. I made the decision to contact the EAP (Employee Assistance Program) at work and make a request for a confidential meeting with a representative.

The day I was to meet her, was fraught with anxiety. I had no idea what I was going to tell her. We met in an office alone. Immediately the tears started flowing and I blurted out there was a possibly I had been sexually abused as a child. I explained about the phone call, the nightmares, the anxiety and the inability to sleep. She gave me the phone number of a therapist, working primarily with Adult Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse.

I called and made an appointment for the following day, which was a Friday. I walked into her office that Friday afternoon and liked her immediately. She was warm with such a soothing voice and way about her. Through tears, I told her about the phone call and the things that had been happening to me since that call. At the end of the session, she took my hands in hers, and in her quiet voice said "I believe you HAVE been sexually abused. You are clearly Anorexic and I want to admit you to the hospital today." I jumped back, as if I had been slapped in the face. Who would take care of my Husband? I could not lose my job, I was supporting both of us! I thanked her, and said no, I can not go into the hospital, I have a disabled Husband and a job. She told me to think it over and if I changed my mind to call her. Sunday afternoon, after making arrangements for my Sister-in-law to take care of my Husband, calling my Manager, making sure there were groceries in the house, I packed a bag, drove myself to the Psychiatric Hospital and checked in. If I had known then, that this hospital would be my home for the next 3 months, would I have had the courage to go at all?

Next visit to the "Haunted House" - my struggle to find my "lost childhood".

"never miss the opportunity to hug a child"

Suppressed Memories - Beginning to Surface

The incest, perpetrated by "The Dad" began when I was four years old.

After my parents separated, "The Dad" moved in with his parents. He asked Mother for visiting rights every Sunday and she consented. I have to stop right here and point out that Mother, although still very terrified of and by "The Dad", was actually turning her two daughters, ages 3 and 4, over to this maniac still threatening to kill us on a weekly basis! WHAT kind of Mother does that? To this day I have asked her repeatedly WHY, WHY? Her answer, "so the two of you could see your Grandparents." WTF!

Soon after the visitations began, I showed clear signs of sexual abuse. My tiny vagina was inflamed and raw. I could no longer urinate without severe pain. I went for hours and hours without urinating, just to avoid the horrible pain. My Mother began taking me to one Urologist after another in an attempt to discover the answer to my problems. Not one of those Dr.s EVER mentioned a word about possible child abuse. Instead they catheterized a 4 year old, who had already been sexually abused by her parent! Adding more emotional and physical damage. One of the visits to the Urologist will be in my memory forever. We, Mother and I, were in his office. I was sitting on a potty chair, while the Dr. and Mother looked out the window to watch a Parade go by. The Dr. told me if I would pee in the potty, I could see the Parade, otherwise I was not allowed to see the Parade. I did NOT see a Parade that day. I cried and begged Mother to let me see the Parade but she sided with the Dr. I will never forget the betrayal I felt that day.

Many Sundays, "The Dad" just never showed to pick up my sister and me. Those would have been extremely happy Sundays except for one thing. Because Mother had bathed us, and dressed us in the nicest clothes we owned, she forced us to sit on the porch swing for hours, waiting for the Monster to show. She told us we would get dirty if she allowed us to come off the swing....Mother was a clean freak. When hours had passed and it was obvious "The Dad" was not coming, Mother would be furious! She would yell and scream about what a no good bastard he was. My sister and I held each other on the swing, knowing soon, her rage would be directed at us. It was our fault, we were such rotten brats, even a bastard like him didn't want us. Finally, when dusk settled in, we were pulled off the porch swing and pushed into the "Haunted House". Our "good" clothes ripped off and PJs roughly put on us, with orders to go to bed. I remember the two of us climbing into bed, crying, trying to muffle our sobs with our pillows. If we were lucky, she would not hear our cries. If our luck had run out, she made sure she "gave us something to cry about".

When I question Mother today about those visits to the Urologists and I ask her WHY didn't one of them recognize the clear signs of sexual abuse.....her answer is always "people didn't talk about those things in those days". Of course not, let's just keep it all a big secret, not embarrass the family, just let the child suffer! Let the child take on all the blame! Let the child grow to be an Adult who never had a chance for a "normal", emotionally stable life!

Whew, I am exhausted.....allowing Anger to "come out" always takes everything out of me.

Note: The above memories were suppressed until I was in my mid-twenties. And then if it had not been for an angry phone call from my Sister, I may have never remembered at all............


Thanks for visiting the "Haunted House" and please Save a Child!