Where It All Started
I was born in 1965 to a family of hurt, rejection, and abandonment issues. My mom came from a very religious home where they lived by many rules and laws. My dad came from a very strict Orthodox Jewish family. They had to elope to avoid the conflict of religious ceremonies. I began my life in confusion over my religion and beliefs. Both of my parents rebelled against their religions leaving me with no real foundation. Both my mom and my dad were spending all their waking hours, while not working, drinking to fill the void that they had in their hearts.
My brother John, who was about five when I was born, had already the warning signs of a very confused and damaged child. My sister Lisa, who was exactly thirteen months to the day older than me, was already on the road to being a perfectionist.
I was born last. There were never any baby pictures taken of me, so I used to think and believe that I was adopted. I think my parents really tried to love me, but they had so much pain of their own. My dad owned a tv repair shop, and he worked all
the time, which left my mom with the responsibility of caring for very young children. I know that was tough, although she had help from my grandmother and her boyfriend.
I estimate that when I was about two years old, my grandmother, who we called “Nana” and her boyfriend “Papa Mac” started coming over. Also, Mom and Dad would take us over to their house. Usually, they would watch us for the weekend. I assume so mom and dad could go out and drink.
I have always been a strong willed outgoing person and because of that, I got in a lot of trouble. At the time, Nana’s boyfriend would discipline me for my wrong doings. The way he did it was unacceptable. He would sexually abuse me. He always did his “disciplining” in the bathroom with the door locked. My brother and sister would hear me scream, “no!” “stop!”, but they thought I was just getting a spanking. Not true; I was getting abused (sodomized) and having my childhood and my whole innocent self ripped, no, stolen away from me. I don’t know how long he would do this for, it seemed like hours, but I do know that I would just concentrate on something else, so that I wouldn’t feel the emotional and physical pain of what I was going through. I would disassociate myself from the present situation. I call it escape from reality, because that kind of reality is too much for a preschooler to handle. When it was over, I would totally forget about it. I would block it out like it never happened. It didn’t change how I acted. It didn’t change my friendliness to other people. But on the inside, mainly in my stomach, I became a very sickly child. I started biting my nails when I was around three years old. I started biting my toenails too. I bit them until they would bleed because I figured that if I hurt myself no one could hurt me. I also ate until my stomach would hurt. Again, if I was already in pain, then he couldn’t hurt me. It’s amazing that a young child could think that way.
This man died sometime when I was three. After he died I didn’t have to go through the physical pain anymore, but I had to live with the emotional pain. And there was so much of it, that I just became a very sick child. I would catch every germ there was. I got pneumonia twice and I started getting stomachaches a lot.
Finally, I told my mom about Papa Mac when I was five. She told me to quit making up those lies, and that she never wanted to hear that out of my mouth again. So from that point on, until I was thirty, no one ever did. I totally blocked it out of my mind, like it had never happened to me, but my insides never forgot. They trembled in fear day in and day out. My destructive behavior continued. I continued to bite my nails until they bled and instead of biting my toenails I just ripped them off until they bled.
Well all I remember about the ages of four to ten was just being sick all the time and lying around and watching a lot of television. My mom would give me chocolate milk shakes to cheer me up. The best thing that ever happened to me was when I was ten years old. I went to a church camp with a friend of mine, and I accepted Jesus Christ into my heart. I had no idea what I was doing, but I believe I was sincere about it. I know that at that moment I was saved, but because I had to go back home I got lost in the shuffle - spiritually speaking.
