My father set out to attain one goal: to break my will. So did he? Back then I would have argued that he most certainly did NOT break my will! See how much spunk I still have in me? Just listen to the angry voices in my head! I might be sitting down on the outside, but I’M DEFINITELY STANDING UP ON THE INSIDE! Read the rest of this entry »
When did it all begin?
When did I enter your supply chain?
When did I become a commodity, a disposable object
not for sale but for use on demand,
with or without pay?
When did I become your toy
to imagine as prey,
to stalk, hunt down,
toss around and torment
with or without warning? Read the rest of this entry »
As boyfriends go, grades 5 to 7 were my Golden Girl Years. Artie was it. I felt a little attraction toward him—especially when he gave me gifts. But it was miniscule compared to his pursuit of me which included regular pleas for me to ‘help’ him with his homework.
Artie was my only designated boyfriend before I went to college at age 16. In fact, I arrived at college without having had one single date. This doesn’t mean I was oblivious to boys. Here’s my annotated true confessions list of boys Read the rest of this entry »
There’s this boy in my life. He thinks he’s my boyfriend, and he won’t go away. He’s a bother and a pest. Constantly pushing the limits. I think he’s coming to our school because someone (his grandmother, who takes care of him?) wants him to be turned into a well-behaved young man. Not a chance, if you ask me. Read the rest of this entry »
Short answer: No. Nothing you say or do will change this family rule. The other answer always freaked me out and embarrassed me. No, because bodily contact between women and men when they dance and are not married to each other mimics sexual intercourse. The first step down the path of moral destruction. Read the rest of this entry »
Daddy, Mother, Elouise. Until I started blogging, I was interested mainly in the meaning of my name. Now that I’m blogging I’m getting questions about the way I use other ‘names’: Daddy, my father, and Mother. I’m also thinking again about my name. Does it matter? Read the rest of this entry »
Of all the things I listed in my initial observations about Part 1, one troubles me most–my inability to blame Daddy. I’m used to blaming myself, or at least wondering whether I’m to blame for things that happen to or around me. This seems to be one of my favorite default modes. However, given the nature of the air I breathed back then, I’m surprised at my internal response: Read the rest of this entry »
For years I knew Daddy’s beatings and rules didn’t give the full story about how I was groomed to be a victim. Yet I’ve never spoken publicly about the full story. I didn’t have a clue how to talk about it safely. Besides, who would believe my report? Especially if they knew my father. Read the rest of this entry »
It took more than beatings and Good Girl Rules to groom me to be a victim. It also took small, calculated and uncalculated, direct and indirect intrusions on my body, my spirit, my mind and my emotions. I call it the air I breathed.
Beatings have a distinct advantage over the air I breathe. Read the rest of this entry »
When I read through my list of survival rules, my heart sinks. By age 7 or 8 I’ve found a way to do what Daddy wants me to do by explaining it to myself my way. For all my supposed independent thinking and determination to be my own person with my own will and my own voice, I failed. Or did I? Read the rest of this entry »
Telling the Truth 