From this I learned to crave acceptance, since I felt worthless. I also learned that my body was not my own, since everyone seemed to force themselves on me. I eventually allowed others to help themselves even though I knew it was wrong. I also learned to lie. I could lie easily since the whole perception that I was an innocent virgin was a lie and I lived it daily. The value of truth and honour were stolen from me as was the idea that I could do anything to help myself out of trouble.

The years it took to undo these lies left me face to face with some very harsh realities. The world is not always safe place. Those who should protect you may not see or refuse to believe your distress. Those you love will fail you. It may not be deliberate, but it will happen if they are around you long enough...because they are human. And you will fail those you love for the same reason. Only God can be there for you all the time.

I learned also some very comforting things...like...even if a gun was at my head I had the power to choose my responses. It was very empowering to realise that even if I am threatened with mortal violence, I had the right to decide whether it was best for me to cooperate or not. And if I did cooperate, it was a choice I made for reasons all my own and that left me with the same amount of control over my life I had before I was threatened. Letting people take the choice away through fear or manipulation only hurts me on top of whatever evil is done.

I learned I could be raped a million times and it does not change who I am, or what God put me here on the earth to do. It does not take away from my talents, and what people do me will not determine my worth as a person. It is what I do with what God gives me in life that determines my value. In other words, it�s a matter of keeping and caring for something to which God has already assigned value, other people�s perceptions and reactions have nothing to do with it.

My father's alcohol abuse also made a deep impression on my life. Some would describe him as an alcoholic during those years. Others would just say he drank too much. The facts are that when I was very young until I was just out of middle school my father was drunk as frequently as he could become so. Then he sobered up, and can now drink or not, it does not matter to him or anyone else. But at the time it was always trouble. Since he functioned to an extent, you really couldn't call him a full time drunk.

He was an angry drunk, when he was. He was also endowed with a very good command of the English language and knew how to use it to hurt people. He threatened (though never acted) violence to the point that my sister and I were terrified of him ("I�m going to knock you into next (or last) week."). He also was quick with the soul piercing insult ("If you had brains you'd be dangerous"). His voice was loud as thunder and he was always on the attack. It took me years to realise that this Hyde character was not my father, it was his personal pain let loose to run rampant by the act of drinking. The damage done to my psyche was long lasting and questions raised by this period of my life persist to this day. Sometimes we never know the answer to all the "why" questions, and eventually you learn to be ok with it.

Though AA would disagree with me, I know my father was an addict, not just an abuser of alcohol. I know this because of the dynamic which took place in our family and because he taught me to have an addictive personality. God preserved me from alcohol addiction, though I believe it was a close call, but I've struggled with food addiction. What I lived was parallel to what he lived. I do believe addicts can consume what they once were addicted to if they are truly cured (though not all become cured and those who aren't can't). To become cured takes alot of work and I have always hated "soul work." Seeing my father deal with whatever was inside to cause his dependency and then stop using alcohol as a drug gave me the inspiration to overcome my relationship to food. I can choose to eat; I am not driven to do so as I was in other phases of my life.

As a child though, I believed that Dad drank to deal with stress at home, thus it was partly my fault. I believed my father and mother did not like each other and my whole life was unstable. My mother was preoccupied with keeping Dad happy so he wouldn't drink and maintaining the unhealthy co-dependant cycle she was in, so she did not have the energy to notice how badly my sister and I needed emotional support. I knew I could never come home from school and know that people would help me with my problems, they had too many of their own. And I learned that my home was not a safe place to be, despite the fact that our parents swore they loved us.

I listened to the hostility which flowed from my parents and I learned the art of the cutting insult and have struggled for years to bridle my own tongue. I learned to lash out when I was angry or felt threatened emotionally, and if you ask my little sister she will tell you I was just as good as my parents at doing it. While I certainly am much better, and I have learned to walk away when my tongue is tempted to wag, I am sad to say I have not yet overcome this sin. I keep hoping that if I grown in wisdom and strength and personal peace I'll forget I have this nasty talent. I'll be fine for months and then in an unguarded moment something hideous will spring forth and show me to be a fool.

From this I learned another very brutal lesson. I can never trust someone�s loving, dependable exterior, I will sometimes be unable to discern what lurks beneath. I forgot this lesson once and ended up married to a man who verbally abused me and physically abused one of my children. Neither this man, nor my father "intended" to be loathsome. I know my father loved us and I believe at one time my ex-husband believed he did. But, loved ones, even those who would give their lives for us, will hurt us. Their personal pain can become a very ugly monster if it is not healed and if left alone too long it will hurt more than just themselves.

In the long run I learned that no matter how much it may appear to be otherwise, I can only control what God has given to me to control. The words and actions of others are not on that list. Only whether I chose to allow this to permanently damage me is for me to decide. People can call me all manner of things but I really do not have to believe them, no matter how well I think they should know me.

I learned that forgiveness is not easy but necessary to prevent you own life from becoming a mirror of the abuse foisted on you. Sometimes we don't deal with grief and pain once...as we grow and mature we have to deal with the hurt within our newer, more mature framework. Thus sometimes hurt needs to be healed and forgiven repeatedly; needing to do this does not mean you are spiritually bankrupt or without faith in God. Not doing this can cause you to jump off the path of peace and into a ditch.

Also I learned to have compassion (albeit from a distance in most cases) for those who have so much pain that they persist in hurting others. No I do not have to allow them to hurt me; but knowing what was under my father's mask and how it effected him taught me that often evil isn't inflicted with malice or intent. Knowing this makes forgiveness easier, if nothing else.

I'd like to say that only my homelife was tainted as a child, but sadly this was not true. Assaults continued over my whole childhood from everywhere. As an emotionally damaged child from an unstable home, I did not take the time to develop the personal preferences and graces necessary to "fit in" with the crowd. Because I knew there were truly important things to be doing, such as avoiding sexual abuse or emotionally parenting my sister, things like changing your appearance to match fads or watching the popular television programmes was not worthy of my attention. I was worried about "why" people had to be mean, and "why" bad things happened and "why" nobody trusted children and "why" the universe didn't just fall apart. No I wasn't dirty and I did watch television. But I knew what I liked and wore it. It both confused and hurt me that girls who wore dresses were picked on for doing so and watching "uncool" television shows in your brief periods of emotional bliss at home was something worthy of scorn. It made about as much sense as the rest of my life did, so I really didn't try to understand it much.

I tried to just read or draw, off to myself in order to stay out of harms way. It rarely worked out that way. The more I tried to avoid trouble the more it found me, and I was the schoolyard scapegoat and punching bag throughout my elementary and part of my high school time. Because of conditioning through sexual abuse and my homelife, I was unable to fight back. My lack of concern for boys, fashion trends and most popular music drew snickers throughout high school also, though usually I was not assaulted physically by that time. I sometimes found a few friends who were also outcasts. I still managed to feel alone in their company and often, in the end, they would betray me in some way and that hurt me more than the punches of the bullies. When men showed an interest, it turned out to be for sexual purposes (I was very slim with a large chest) rather than anything worthwhile so I rarely dated either.

Eventually I decided it was best to not bother anymore and I gave up. If they didn't want me around they didn't have to have me around. I began to only speak to those who approached me first and kept most people in the dark about who and what I was. I did not nurture my body either, as it was partially responsible for hurting me (I never would have had certain problems with a flat chest). People may not have known why they felt repulsed by my existence or felt is ok to use me as a sex toy but I most certainly did. I was, of course, not worthy of anything more. What I was learning from other places was being confirmed by my social standing.

These scenarios repeated themselves all my life outside of school, but eventually I learned it wasn't because I wasn't worthy that I was shunned. God showed me the truth of the matter. The whole basis for my rejection was the fact that what was important in my own life was not important to everyone else. What they valued had little or no value to me. They found this lack of conformity to be a sign there was something wrong inside me.

But just because it is so for them does not mean it is truly so. It isn't worth it to be popular because the crowd believes you to be something you aren't. Eventually you have to be honest with everyone about who you really are or you will have a very hollow and meaningless life. Eventually you ask yourself - Is what I hold dear worthy of societies rejection? When you believe that it is, then being an outcast is not a big deal anymore. It's not an easy lesson to learn by any means but I'd rather be hated for what I really am than to be loved for what I am not.

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