Transformation

I've had an interesting life. I've done things, seen things, caused things that people shouldn't experience and think of as normal. I've suppressed a lot of it by living life day by day, not thinking in the long term. But the sad truth is that I can blame only 17 of 31 years on being short changed. The other 14 years I've chosen my own roads.

I was a foster kid, anyone that has read my previous blogs knows this. What you may not know is that I am a survivor of incest. My father molested me until I was four, the only reason he stopped is because I told my biological mother and she turned him in. It was back in the early '80's and times were different. While the court system was on our side the normal, judgmental society of my mother's support system wasn't. Her church ostracized her for the accusations. No one wanted to believe that one of their 'brethren' could do that. I have a lot of broken memories from that time in my life, so far back that my biological family has expressed surprise that I can recall it. In my home I had two sisters, both older. I loved my mom, she was the earth, the moon and the stars. She was the best mom any kid could want: when she was ok. When she wasn't ok my sisters and I were in foster care and she was in mental institutions.

I want to make it clear now that I am not writing this as a plea for sympathy but rather to give people an understanding of why I am this way. I'm not happy with the way I relate to the world but am trying to change.

The bond with my family was strong and beautiful, but tainted. My sister Heather is my other me. She knows me and understands and loves me in a way that no one else ever will. To this day I know if I talk to her she will never judge me and will always know what I mean because we are the same.

What happened in the case of my father sucks. His name is Gordon Prentice Palmer and he molested me since I was a baby, most likely. It's not just that I KNOW this, it's that I remember it. It was always there and it really hit me in full force when I began having vivid flashbacks at 14. The thing that kills me is that for years, until I was in my 20's, I thought that I testified against him bravely in court. But the reality is that what really happened is when they sat me, at 4 years old, on a stack of phone books and swore me in in court--I froze. They took me into the judge's chambers and interviewed me. They decided I was an unreliable witness. He got out of it, got a new girlfriend with kids. My mom got committed to psychiatric care again and my sisters and I ended up in foster care. Again. I destroyed my family by telling the truth.

For awhile my sisters and I were in the same home. But I was a wild child (imagine that) and eventually I was too much for them. They sent me away.

I ended up in a home, Judy and Bob were the parents there. I was there for roughly two years. They were a great family from the distance, big holidays where we all got spoiled, three natural kids, three foster kids. I was pretty happy there. I was seeing a councilor-- Connie Callahan, I still remember her name. There are a ton of photos from that time in my life of me smiling with a pinata or an Easter basket. But what you don't see in the photos is that their teenage son was molesting me. Every day in the middle of the day everyone still in the house took a siesta. And everyday he would wait until everyone was sleeping and come find me. I guess I was used to it, it took me over a year to tell. I think I remembered what had happened to my family when I told on my councilor and I was afraid of bad things happening. This I also remember vividly. I can't remember what he looked like but I remember the things we did. His name I think was Kevin.

Eventually I told Connie. My protector.

If you want to know more stay tuned...it's happening on my time.;

What happened next I'm sure is cause for a class action lawsuit. She told my social worker ([Janet Ford, I will NEVER forget that name.] When my sister Heather and I revisited a later social worker [Katie Brown] and heard she drove off a cliff and died we REJOICED and I don't feel bad for my joy to this day) and my social worker told the family. At the age of six she made me face his parents and 'admit' my accusations. They chewed me up on side and down the other, told me how ungrateful I was and sent me to sit at social services until they found emergency placement for me. And they did.

Where I ended up killed my hope for religion possibly forever.

The home I ended up in was super religious. And their idea of punishment would be alienation. What I mean by that is they would make me sit under tables or in between beds and walls to make me realize that I had fucked up. I would watch them treat their kids like gold while I would be punished for the same behaviors by being islolated enough that I couldn't interact but close enough that I could see how they treated their own kids. The dad didn't like me because every time he saw me I had to pee. I have to assume he made me really nervous.

But my relationship with god was forever screwed because of my association with them.