My Story
From birth until the age of 11 I was raised by my mother and father, and grew up with two older sisters. My fondest memories during those times are mainly focused on religion. Every Sunday and most Wednesday evenings were spent with our church family. It did not matter where we lived we always had an extended family of church members. We participated in most, if not all, church activities. I was always a bit of a tomboy, because my father was my hero and I wanted to be just like him. However, although I would make a fuss (if the truth came out my tomboy reputation would have been ruined) I always loved dressing up for Sunday service except for the tights. Every night before preparing for bed my family gathered, and we had bible study. Everyone, even I, was able to give their view on the verses chosen. I learned more about the bible and God during these times than any other. Remembering back to those times I know that the first eleven years of my life was the closest to God I ever felt.
The summer of my eleventh birthday my life was forever changed. My father was no longer my hero, and I cursed God with every curse word I knew. Yes, I was naive and eleven so God basically heard "damn" and "shit", but I know He knew my heart was screaming worse words then I even knew existed. For me that summer until my eighth grade school year was the longest time ever created on earth. There was no end that I could see, and no salvation at the end of the journey. I was already baptized several years earlier, and for me what was happening had to be God punishing me for something. You see that summer my father began molesting and raping me. It wasn't until a very dear friend, a school counselor and a principal had told me it wasn't my fault, and I wasn't in trouble that I finally told my mom. My father had convinced me that I would be in trouble, and even worse should I ever tell. I have very few memories from my fifth grade year until my eighth grade year that don't revolve around court, and the months of hell I had experienced. We no longer had a church family, only a few church friends, evening bible study had disappeared, friends were few and far between, and every day I bared witness to the pain I believed I caused. The fond memories I do have from those times all happened during the Junior High years. I had soccer, band, my on and off again boyfriend, my two-four friends (depending on their moods and mine), a little bible, and the one person who made my life much more confusing. I do however have several memories of all the faces of those who once claimed to love me either as family, friend, or through God no longer being there or looking at me with hatred. The memory of looking at a man who resembled my father (he still had the snake skinned boots) looking at me as if I was a stranger. I have the memory of hearing those talking around me at the court house about how the little boy across the room was my brother, and a sister on her way in the strangers belly beside my brother.
I want to share with you about two of my fond memories: a little bible, and the one person who made my life much more confusing. I have been asked over and over again how I handled all that had happened to me. I always knew the answer but never truly answered it. I didn't want to admit the two reasons I was able to survive. I had shut down emotionally, and I refused to fully open my heart, emotions and feelings to anyone. Speaking openly about these two fond memories was like letting someone see your deepest darkest secret. However, today I am stronger and would like to share it with you.
My little bible was as big as a 1/4 of a wallet sized photo, but as thick as the edge of a full sized cleaning sponge. The outside was a metal cover with the look of a bible, except on the binding it had a little notch opening just big enough for a necklace chain. Inside was little sheets of paper each one laminated protecting each bible verse. You placed your thumb at the bottom of the pages rolled them out exposing all the pages from their metal jacket, but they were safely locked to the bible by a single piece of metal going through each page. You could go through the verses pushing each one gently back into the covering. I repeated this process over and over again never looking at the versus only the blank back side of them. I questioned and cursed (by this time my vocabulary was a little more expanded) God with every blank page. Every time I began to feel anything I would do this until I was able to function as if all was right in my world. One day prior to my deposition I was doing this ritual, and I noticed for the first time a yellow streak going across the back of one page. I quickly looked through the others to see if there was more. Not one other page had a mark of any kind. I sat there just looking at this mark wondering why after all these times I had never seen it before. I carried this bible with me at all times since it was given to me when I was in Kindergarten. I finally for the first time in years turned the bible over and read the verse. Acts 18:9-10 9"Don't be afraid. Continue speaking. Don't be silent. 10 I am with you and no one who attacks you will harm you, for I have many people in this city." I agreed with this verse, but not in the way I should have. I simply told God to go to hell the only harm left for me was death. I blamed God and myself for all the pain, for all of the loss my family was put through, and for all the hatred I felt towards everyone. With all of this that verse never left my mind, and helped me repeatedly repeat the horrible acts my father did to me. That was the last time I remember holding the little bible, but the bible and the verse are forever etched into my memory.
One person helped me in a way that I now realize no one else could of. It was my first real homosexual relationship. This relationship was not about sex; in fact we never had sex. She was the only person who could really make me laugh, smile, cry and feel. I had everything figured out as long as I could not feel anything, but make others believe I was normal I would survive. I had the perfect laugh, smile and overall expressions down until she came into my life. There were times I wanted, almost craved, to be by her so for those brief moments I could feel safe feeling all the emotions that I bottled up so deep. Then there were times, especially during court, family problems, basically any time I needed to not feel so that the things going on in my life couldn't hurt me, I would do anything to make her angry so she would stay away. She was my superman and my Kryptonite all in one. I knew I was in love with her, but I convinced myself that it was my fear of men because of my father that I was feeling this way. I feared most of all that by allowing me this relationship would hurt my family. I refused to hurt them more than I already had. I did things just to make her no longer want to be near me, and something’s in an attempt to make her go away forever. I finally succeeded! I returned to my mask, turned to heterosexual relationship after relationship, and alcohol. I never did drugs because while witnessing others using I noticed emotions and they were uncontrollable. My emotions were the one thing I had control of since I was eleven, and I wasn't losing that. I never drank alcohol to the point of being drunk. I drank often, and enough to relax without losing that control.
My junior year of high school I got pregnant with my on and off again boyfriend since fifth grade. I found this immediate love for a child I had not held nor seen an uncontrollable feeling, but different from the love I had for her. I was terrified! This child who was not born was not someone I could simply make go away. I learned quickly how to dig deeper, and control my feelings for all but this child. I realized that for the first time in my life since I was eleven that I had a purpose. My purpose was to be a mom, and protect my child from the world that was destroying me. The first time I truly said a prayer for eight years was the moment during labor and delivery when the nurse said my child’s heart rate was dropping, and we had to do an emergency C-section. I told everyone to save him, and prayed for God to take me. I told God how it was not this child's fault I was the sinner. It wasn't until I held him, this beautiful child, in my arms that I confessed what I believed was my sins, and begged for forgiveness. I didn't feel any different, but at least I wasn't cursing God for a change. Although I was still very angry at the church family I no longer felt I had, and upset with my mom for returning to them I remembered my memories from birth to eleven. I decided to give all religious upbringing of my son over to my mom. I couldn't stand to walk through the doors of that church, but it is amazing what an uncontrollable unconditional love will allow you to do.
I got married not to my sons father, and not because of love, but because I was supposed to. I said all the right things and controlled my emotions, and did what was expected of a young woman with a child in today's society. It was not a good marriage, and lasted six months. I met someone else, graduated high school, and got married again. I didn't love him the way I had loved her or my son. I knew that he did not love me the way a husband should love a wife, but we had a good marriage. We had two children of whom I felt that immediate uncontrollable unconditional love for. I attempted to bring religion into their lives. My husband would not attend church with us, and I often felt the judgment of each church member as I entered with three kids, and no husband. I tried to teach them at home the way my mom had in our evening bible studies. I was determined to not disappoint my family or God as I had in my past. I attempted to be the wife and mother as I had been taught to believe the bible instructed me to be. Throughout it all I truly only controlled the one thing I had controlled since I was eleven, my emotions. I believed we had a good marriage. He did not lay his hands on me out of anger, and I did my best to be submissive. It was not the love I craved, but I grew to believe it had to be some kind of love. After eight years of marriage he admitted to me that he was still in love with another woman, but would stay with me for the kids. I in return admitted that I believed I was bisexual if not homosexual. We agreed to continue with our good marriage. We made it until eight months before our twelfth anniversary. The last year of our marriage was the hardest, and most emotional I had ever been. My oldest son was dealing with depression. I was united with my brother and sister from the court room the day my father was sentenced. I spoke to my father for the first time since I was eleven, and was able to let him know I forgive him. Although he will not be in my life I know what happened is between him and God. I was misdiagnosed with a tumor, and told I would need a hysterectomy. My husband drank a lot, told me I wouldn't be a woman, threaten to kill himself and harm me and the kids, and claimed I was mentally cheating on him with my family. Then he asked me for a divorce. It was a difficult year.
I moved close to my family, got a job, and restarted my life. Then I ran into her....the one person who I have ever truly loved. Things in life finally felt right. The church family had matured since I was eleven and accepted me and my partner. My children were getting baptized. Then I learned the hardships of being homosexual. The family member whose property I was living on shut off our electric when he found out I was in a homosexual relationship, I lost my two youngest kids because of no electric, and then got served to fight for custody of my oldest. All because I was finally with someone who I loved, and who loved me. My partner was paying child support, and doing whatever was asked of her by her ex in order to see the child she raised from birth, her son. She then had to choose between our love and her child, because the law doesn't recognize a child's lifelong parent relationship. Again I cursed God and God Answered. Church family, family, and friends surrounded me. I questioned God about my beliefs, and I was sent to a website www.godmademegay.com which stated exactly how I felt.
My answer was simple: God NEVER left me
Proof
I was abused, I lost my father, my church family, friends, and my family was in pain
God sent me strength in Acts 18:9-10
I shut down emotionally
God sent me love and a person who made me feel those emotions
I pushed that love away
God sent me unconditional love I could not push away
I was in a loveless marriage
God sent me two more wonderful unconditional loves, family so I could finally heal and support as I began again.
I was determined to never be in a loveless relationship, just be a mom, and was lonely
God sent me love
I was battling within myself and against prejudice
God sent me words of encouragement
I will follow God and write, listen, and learn.
This blog exist because God has NOT forsaken me and I am made in his image. I am not perfect. I am a mom, a daughter, a church member, a sister, an aunt, a niece, a cousin, a Christian and I am a Lesbian.
Say what you will but let me say: Yes, I forgive you
The summer of my eleventh birthday my life was forever changed. My father was no longer my hero, and I cursed God with every curse word I knew. Yes, I was naive and eleven so God basically heard "damn" and "shit", but I know He knew my heart was screaming worse words then I even knew existed. For me that summer until my eighth grade school year was the longest time ever created on earth. There was no end that I could see, and no salvation at the end of the journey. I was already baptized several years earlier, and for me what was happening had to be God punishing me for something. You see that summer my father began molesting and raping me. It wasn't until a very dear friend, a school counselor and a principal had told me it wasn't my fault, and I wasn't in trouble that I finally told my mom. My father had convinced me that I would be in trouble, and even worse should I ever tell. I have very few memories from my fifth grade year until my eighth grade year that don't revolve around court, and the months of hell I had experienced. We no longer had a church family, only a few church friends, evening bible study had disappeared, friends were few and far between, and every day I bared witness to the pain I believed I caused. The fond memories I do have from those times all happened during the Junior High years. I had soccer, band, my on and off again boyfriend, my two-four friends (depending on their moods and mine), a little bible, and the one person who made my life much more confusing. I do however have several memories of all the faces of those who once claimed to love me either as family, friend, or through God no longer being there or looking at me with hatred. The memory of looking at a man who resembled my father (he still had the snake skinned boots) looking at me as if I was a stranger. I have the memory of hearing those talking around me at the court house about how the little boy across the room was my brother, and a sister on her way in the strangers belly beside my brother.
I want to share with you about two of my fond memories: a little bible, and the one person who made my life much more confusing. I have been asked over and over again how I handled all that had happened to me. I always knew the answer but never truly answered it. I didn't want to admit the two reasons I was able to survive. I had shut down emotionally, and I refused to fully open my heart, emotions and feelings to anyone. Speaking openly about these two fond memories was like letting someone see your deepest darkest secret. However, today I am stronger and would like to share it with you.
My little bible was as big as a 1/4 of a wallet sized photo, but as thick as the edge of a full sized cleaning sponge. The outside was a metal cover with the look of a bible, except on the binding it had a little notch opening just big enough for a necklace chain. Inside was little sheets of paper each one laminated protecting each bible verse. You placed your thumb at the bottom of the pages rolled them out exposing all the pages from their metal jacket, but they were safely locked to the bible by a single piece of metal going through each page. You could go through the verses pushing each one gently back into the covering. I repeated this process over and over again never looking at the versus only the blank back side of them. I questioned and cursed (by this time my vocabulary was a little more expanded) God with every blank page. Every time I began to feel anything I would do this until I was able to function as if all was right in my world. One day prior to my deposition I was doing this ritual, and I noticed for the first time a yellow streak going across the back of one page. I quickly looked through the others to see if there was more. Not one other page had a mark of any kind. I sat there just looking at this mark wondering why after all these times I had never seen it before. I carried this bible with me at all times since it was given to me when I was in Kindergarten. I finally for the first time in years turned the bible over and read the verse. Acts 18:9-10 9"Don't be afraid. Continue speaking. Don't be silent. 10 I am with you and no one who attacks you will harm you, for I have many people in this city." I agreed with this verse, but not in the way I should have. I simply told God to go to hell the only harm left for me was death. I blamed God and myself for all the pain, for all of the loss my family was put through, and for all the hatred I felt towards everyone. With all of this that verse never left my mind, and helped me repeatedly repeat the horrible acts my father did to me. That was the last time I remember holding the little bible, but the bible and the verse are forever etched into my memory.
One person helped me in a way that I now realize no one else could of. It was my first real homosexual relationship. This relationship was not about sex; in fact we never had sex. She was the only person who could really make me laugh, smile, cry and feel. I had everything figured out as long as I could not feel anything, but make others believe I was normal I would survive. I had the perfect laugh, smile and overall expressions down until she came into my life. There were times I wanted, almost craved, to be by her so for those brief moments I could feel safe feeling all the emotions that I bottled up so deep. Then there were times, especially during court, family problems, basically any time I needed to not feel so that the things going on in my life couldn't hurt me, I would do anything to make her angry so she would stay away. She was my superman and my Kryptonite all in one. I knew I was in love with her, but I convinced myself that it was my fear of men because of my father that I was feeling this way. I feared most of all that by allowing me this relationship would hurt my family. I refused to hurt them more than I already had. I did things just to make her no longer want to be near me, and something’s in an attempt to make her go away forever. I finally succeeded! I returned to my mask, turned to heterosexual relationship after relationship, and alcohol. I never did drugs because while witnessing others using I noticed emotions and they were uncontrollable. My emotions were the one thing I had control of since I was eleven, and I wasn't losing that. I never drank alcohol to the point of being drunk. I drank often, and enough to relax without losing that control.
My junior year of high school I got pregnant with my on and off again boyfriend since fifth grade. I found this immediate love for a child I had not held nor seen an uncontrollable feeling, but different from the love I had for her. I was terrified! This child who was not born was not someone I could simply make go away. I learned quickly how to dig deeper, and control my feelings for all but this child. I realized that for the first time in my life since I was eleven that I had a purpose. My purpose was to be a mom, and protect my child from the world that was destroying me. The first time I truly said a prayer for eight years was the moment during labor and delivery when the nurse said my child’s heart rate was dropping, and we had to do an emergency C-section. I told everyone to save him, and prayed for God to take me. I told God how it was not this child's fault I was the sinner. It wasn't until I held him, this beautiful child, in my arms that I confessed what I believed was my sins, and begged for forgiveness. I didn't feel any different, but at least I wasn't cursing God for a change. Although I was still very angry at the church family I no longer felt I had, and upset with my mom for returning to them I remembered my memories from birth to eleven. I decided to give all religious upbringing of my son over to my mom. I couldn't stand to walk through the doors of that church, but it is amazing what an uncontrollable unconditional love will allow you to do.
I got married not to my sons father, and not because of love, but because I was supposed to. I said all the right things and controlled my emotions, and did what was expected of a young woman with a child in today's society. It was not a good marriage, and lasted six months. I met someone else, graduated high school, and got married again. I didn't love him the way I had loved her or my son. I knew that he did not love me the way a husband should love a wife, but we had a good marriage. We had two children of whom I felt that immediate uncontrollable unconditional love for. I attempted to bring religion into their lives. My husband would not attend church with us, and I often felt the judgment of each church member as I entered with three kids, and no husband. I tried to teach them at home the way my mom had in our evening bible studies. I was determined to not disappoint my family or God as I had in my past. I attempted to be the wife and mother as I had been taught to believe the bible instructed me to be. Throughout it all I truly only controlled the one thing I had controlled since I was eleven, my emotions. I believed we had a good marriage. He did not lay his hands on me out of anger, and I did my best to be submissive. It was not the love I craved, but I grew to believe it had to be some kind of love. After eight years of marriage he admitted to me that he was still in love with another woman, but would stay with me for the kids. I in return admitted that I believed I was bisexual if not homosexual. We agreed to continue with our good marriage. We made it until eight months before our twelfth anniversary. The last year of our marriage was the hardest, and most emotional I had ever been. My oldest son was dealing with depression. I was united with my brother and sister from the court room the day my father was sentenced. I spoke to my father for the first time since I was eleven, and was able to let him know I forgive him. Although he will not be in my life I know what happened is between him and God. I was misdiagnosed with a tumor, and told I would need a hysterectomy. My husband drank a lot, told me I wouldn't be a woman, threaten to kill himself and harm me and the kids, and claimed I was mentally cheating on him with my family. Then he asked me for a divorce. It was a difficult year.
I moved close to my family, got a job, and restarted my life. Then I ran into her....the one person who I have ever truly loved. Things in life finally felt right. The church family had matured since I was eleven and accepted me and my partner. My children were getting baptized. Then I learned the hardships of being homosexual. The family member whose property I was living on shut off our electric when he found out I was in a homosexual relationship, I lost my two youngest kids because of no electric, and then got served to fight for custody of my oldest. All because I was finally with someone who I loved, and who loved me. My partner was paying child support, and doing whatever was asked of her by her ex in order to see the child she raised from birth, her son. She then had to choose between our love and her child, because the law doesn't recognize a child's lifelong parent relationship. Again I cursed God and God Answered. Church family, family, and friends surrounded me. I questioned God about my beliefs, and I was sent to a website www.godmademegay.com which stated exactly how I felt.
My answer was simple: God NEVER left me
Proof
I was abused, I lost my father, my church family, friends, and my family was in pain
God sent me strength in Acts 18:9-10
I shut down emotionally
God sent me love and a person who made me feel those emotions
I pushed that love away
God sent me unconditional love I could not push away
I was in a loveless marriage
God sent me two more wonderful unconditional loves, family so I could finally heal and support as I began again.
I was determined to never be in a loveless relationship, just be a mom, and was lonely
God sent me love
I was battling within myself and against prejudice
God sent me words of encouragement
I will follow God and write, listen, and learn.
This blog exist because God has NOT forsaken me and I am made in his image. I am not perfect. I am a mom, a daughter, a church member, a sister, an aunt, a niece, a cousin, a Christian and I am a Lesbian.
Say what you will but let me say: Yes, I forgive you