to my
Survivor Page
This Little Angel has become my friend. She has helped me with this page immensely, just by being here with me. I would like to thank the person responsible for creating her. She has brought warmth to this otherwise saddening page.
In creating this page I am hoping to raise the awareness of the people around me. There are children everywhere, and adults too, being terrorized by vicious people. Their hurtful words and misplaced anger ruin lives every minute of every day. Sometimes they even murder their innocent victims in an attempt to right themselves.
My dream is to stop the violence that plagues this country and others and to bring awareness to a problem that has for to long been swept under the rug.
This is my story.
The very first memory I have as a child is a chilling one. My mom has told me that I was 18 months old at the time. We lived in an old farmhouse in a tiny remote town in Colorado. I remember being carried in the house by my mom. It was dark and very cold when we walked through the house. We stood in the doorway leading to the living room. There sat my father, slumped down in his old, over-stuffed chair. He was only a silhoutte, the only light was coming through the heavy curtains pulled over the big picture window. In one hand was a bottle of his favorite whiskey. In the other hand was the usual Camel cigarette. I remember how cold and how scared I was, too scared to even cry. Throughout my life, from childhood on through my adult life, this is the picture I see when I think of my father. I know it seems impossible for me to remember things from such a young age, but there is no other way I could have gotten this single, vivid image. It is my true memory.
The violence in my parents relationship started almost immediately. My father was raised in an abusive home. I believe he was frustrated with his life and troubled by the burdens of having a family when he was still in college. I believe he was also haunted by his upbringing. He is an alcoholic, a lot of abusers are.
My father rained terror on my older sister, my mother, and I for a total of 9 years. I remeber holding my breath when I would hear him coming up the walk. I was paralyzed in fear, just waiting to see what kind of mood he was in. It was an everyday occurence. It didn't matter where we were or who we were with, he was always an explosion waiting to happen. We never knew what would set him off. Maybe dinner wasn't ready on time, or he didn't like what we were having. Maybe my sister and I were being to noisy, or mom spent too much at the store. Maybe he just had a bad day and needed someone to take it out on, or maybe he was just drunk. We just never knew.
I remember many fights breaking out. I remember the horrible words spoken to me and my sister. I remember being literally paralyzed with fear so that even when told to go to my room I couldn't. I simply couldn't move, and for that I would be punished worse. Kicked with a cowboy boot or hit with a belt, but still I couldn't move.
Eventually I escaped. I escaped into the recesses of my mind, becomimng totally numb. I couldn't see anything or hear anything. It was almost like turning inside out.
At this time, we lived in a small mountain town in Colorado. My father was well liked there. I was 2 when we moved there and when my parents divorced I was almost 5. Despite the fact that my fathers temper got the best of him, even on our camping trips with friends, no one ever reached out to help. It was too easy to ignore. No one wanted to get involved. It was a private matter!
Even the police did little or nothing to help. I remember on more than one occasion, the sheriff coming to the house after one of his rages to take pictures of our house and the bruises on my mom. I can't remember anything ever happening to him, short of "a good talking to" by the local police. They were all well-meaning, but what they didn't realize is that we paid for those "talkings".
Finally, my parents divorced and we thought we were safe. However, my father continued his abuse of my sister and me. He continued to drink, and still does. The physical abuse stopped when the divorce happened and for that I am thankful, but my father continued his emotional abuse. I can't count how many times I heard over the years how worthless I was and what a disapointment to our family. I can't remember how many times I was "disowned" by him. What I do remember was I finally stopped it. I grew into an adult, an although I could have done a lot better with my life thus far, I grew to like myself. I finally realized after several abusive realtionships of my own, that I deserve better. I finally figured out that I don't have to prove my worth to anyone.
I continue to have contact with my father, though he is not a major part of my life. I have moved on from this abuse that filled my childhood and even my teenage and adult years. My father is still drinking, though maybe not as much, and he is still abusive, though not physically. He is a lonely man now, who misses his family and wants to know his 6 grandchildren. I feel sorry for him because of the emptiness that he feels and that can never be filled. He still does not acknowledge the hell he has put all of us through, but I don't ever expect him too. Some of you may think I am crazy for still being in touch with him, but no matter what he is still my father. Maybe it is because I have a Dad that I am secure with now, a real Dad who loves me for who I am. Maybe it's because I know I don't have to prove anything to him. I don't know for sure. What I do know, is it doesn't pay to hate! Hate weakens the soul and sickens the mind. It only hurts the person harboring the feelings. It has taken me all of my almost 25 years to go through all of these things, and more, and learn to get past them. It was well worth it.
Though this is a brief history on just the childhood side of my experience with Domestic Violence, I hope I have enlightened you. If I can raise just one persons awareness of this horrible problem then I have served my purpose.
Thank You for visiting.
My Tribute To Lane Frost
For more about Me
My Cherokee Pages
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