Dissociating Doesn't Have to be Forever. Hope is Real.

I have some goals I'd like to meet, and counseling is helping me move towards those goals.  One fairly simple sounding one is to be able to read the Bible without being triggered, having flashbacks or dissociating.  That's not an easy thing for me.  I can't just turn all that off.  The ways I have to turn it off are to shut emotions down again and go into robot mode, or to not read the Bible.   I can listen to it being read in church, and it's now only occasionally a problem.  When I read it or someone reads it to me personally then it becomes some sort of a weapon aimed at me.  (And it's not the sword of the spirit bringing much needed conviction to my life.) 

My pastor read Matthew 15:10-20 to me in our last counseling session.  He thought it would be a comfort to me; instead it was a major trigger and I zoned in and out and had flashbacks too.  It was really weird to have so much going on in my mind and yet a kind of nothingness going on at the same time.  I was able to listen and hear what he was saying pretty well, considering.  I learned something surprising, the flashbacks and all the other involuntary things are not "my" evil coming out of me or a lack of applying Philippians 4:8 properly(think on those things that are lovely etc).  It is a result of evil done TO me.  Along with this idea that I think has finally sunk in, came the statement.  "You can't separate your body from the rest of yourself."  That surprised me.  For the last two years I have been reconnecting and it has been a rough transition.  I have kept separated for most of my life, but I know it's not a good long term solution.

From the time I was young I would go into a dark little room in the corner of my mind until it was safe to come out.  Most of the time the room was dark and my "inside me" would just curl up there for a while.  Other times it was a whole nother beautiful world where I was the hero and I was surrounded by friends who were family to me.  I didn't dare go there too often because I think it made me smile or something that made things worse for the "outside me", and when that happened I would be jolted back to the outside.

As a child, Spock was my favorite Star Trek character.  I studied him nightly with every episode.  I practiced in the mirror complete facial control of emotions and ultimately successfully suppressed involuntary emotional responses.  It took practice, but I was motivated.  This complete emotion control was necessary to shorten the beatings and lectures at home.  A lecture doesn't sound bad, but it is when you have to stand perfectly still, but not too still, and have the correct facial expression at all times for 45 minutes or more.  If my stance shifted or my expression wasn't correct; then I would get another spanking for the "offence" I was being lectured for.  If I was lucky I would only get three sets of "spankings".  You would think I would be quite good at standing still by the end of 6th grade, since that was one of his favorite tortures.  Making me stand facing the wall for the 45 minute recess while he told me what I had to do to get off the wall.  Talk about controlling my facial expressions and just leaving my body.  I was good at it.

As a teen I added in Data from The Next Generation to my studies.  I didn't do so well with modeling Data.  He wasn't inconsistent enough, but it was still helpful.  For most of my life I've done this thing called dissociation, but didn't know the name for it until this past year.  Dissociating is what allowed me to stay sane and function.  This separation is my default and that's why I dissociate so easily, it removes me from what causes me pain.  It separates "me" from my body and mind.  At this point it is no longer a help.  It has become a hindrance and gets in the way of comprehending truth, dealing with current events in life, or being able to read the Bible.  Increasingly I am gaining hope that I can relearn everything, and be whole again.  Someday the old tapes will be completely destroyed and new ones in place.  Right now the old ones are being overwritten, but they still leak through pretty strongly.  What's awesome is that I recognize when garbage leaks through, or someone else recognizes it; and I am in a place where God is busy writing over the old tapes through friends, sacraments at church, Psalm singing and my pastors.  

Psalm 121:1

I lift up my eyes to the hills. 

From where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.

The Lord has sent help and a whole lot of it.  I may not be able to look at v7 right now without problems, but someday maybe I can.

Update and letter writing

We have moved once again, but this time it is to the land I've always dreamed of. Some day we will have horses and cows, but for now we have chickens and too many dogs. The children are settled in and enjoying life. My child who has caused my many tears has made a great effort to be a part of the family again. My marriage has yo yo'ed back and forth under the stress; but it has settled into familiar patterns again. I'm not sure if that is good or bad:) Anyway we are determined to remain married and to enjoy it. Some days it's more work than others.

I have over 50 tomato seedlings trying to grow. I think they are too spindley. Hopefully they will thicken up over the next 4-5 weeks. Onions: I have planted a whole bunch but I don't really know what they are supposed to be doing above ground.

I haven't been back to counseling since the counselor wanted me to write a letter to my dad; I didn't have to give it to him, but still it wasn't something I wanted to do. I guess I'm a chicken because I told her I didn't want to but haven't gone back since, to face her with it not being done.
She wants me to blame him for not being able to trust him and tell him about what was going on at school. I don't blame my dad. I blame the teacher and I blame my mom for being my "Mommy Dearest". I was screwed up, but my dad was the only one who was there for me without being needy himself. He may have talked to me too much, but for the most part he let me stay a child. No such luck with my mom.

I'll call tomorrow and make an appointment again and stand my ground against letter writing to my dad. Easier said than done. When I get mad I cry and that makes me mad and then I cry...I think she will make me mad.

A Little Girl's Story

A long time ago there lived a little girl, who was hurt by the things her mother said. She knew her mother didn't really love her because she never smiled at her unless she did something especially good. The little girl knew that as long as she kept being good and working hard that her mother would smile at her and like her for at least that moment. She lived for the smiles and the nice things her mother said when she did a good job. Most of the time she just tried to stay out of her mother's way. She learned to walk quietly, play quietly and never cry even when she was hurt. She had an invisible friend that she talked to and played with. Eventually her mother became angry and told the little girl she couldn't talk to her invisible friend anymore because it embarrassed her. So the little girl stopped talking to her friend out loud and holding hands. Her invisible friend went away because the little girl wouldn't play anymore and pretended the invisible friend wasn't there when other people were there. The little girl was sad that her friend left her alone.



The little girl also had a dog and loved that dog for many years. She talked to her dog and cried and dried many tears in her dog's coat over the years. She was careful that her mom never knew how much she told her dog or how much she loved her. She never did get her friend back but instead she created a whole group of people for a story that she told every night when she went to bed. The story lasted from the time she was five years old until she was twelve. By the time the little girl was twelve she knew that no one would ever come to rescue her and so she ended the story.



The little girl needed rescuing. She needed it for a long time. But who rescues little girls who don't look hurt? No one. When the little girl was eight years old she made her mother angry and her mother told her she was leaving and never coming back. The front door slammed and the little girl cried for a long time. She finally climbed up on the couch to look out the window to see if her mother was coming back. There on the porch sat her mother. The little girl decided that she needed to learn all she could about cooking and cleaning so she could take care of things when her mother left someday for real. She worked very hard for a long time. Her mother was never pleased with anything she did, it was never good enough. The little girl was growing up on the outside, but was growing old on the inside. When the little girl was ten she realized she could never make her mother happy with her and gave up trying. She did what she always did and worked hard, but she had lost hope. She did what she did to avoid the screaming and endless lectures; but of course it wasn't good enough for her mother. She learned so well to hide all traces of emotion from her face and body. That wasn't quite right, because it brought down new tirades and harder beatings. So the little girl adjusted and learned to keep the expression on her face that her mother expected her to have during the screaming sessions. She learned to cry enough and at the right point to satisfy her mother that it hurt enough when she was beaten. The little girl went through a stubborn phase where she refused to cry and declared that it didn't hurt. That didn't last long and it really hurt the little girl. She learned to cry even when she was still able to take it, because it would stop sooner if she cried just right. She never told her daddy about anything her mother ever did or said.



When the little girl was eleven she had a teacher who was kind to her and said nice things to her. He picked her to help put up bulletin boards. That had always been the most envied classroom helper job in school. But to the little girl who didn't look so little, it became the most dreaded. She did tell her mother that she didn't want to go to school anymore and wanted to tell her daddy that she didn't want to go but her mother forbade her to say anything. By the end of the school year the little girl was a shadow of herself. She still hasn't found the rest of her. She says the rest of her has been killed and the remains will never be found. The little girl's wishes are for the teacher who hurt her to be punished so he can't hurt anyone else again.

Help Me Prosecute a Sexual Predator

I talked to a lawyer, actually went through a small string of them, this past summer. What it comes down to is that I have great info and diaries but without someone else with a similar experience it is not a case that can be won.

So it's left up to me to either hire or be my own P.I. and find other victims/survivors of this scumball of a teacher that was mine in 6th grade in a well-known christian school in the good ole state of Missouri.

He's been in other states too. Anybody out there? I'm running out of prosecution time. He's taught for over 20 years and even been a principal and it's always been in christian schools.

I'm not asking for vengence. If you want that it's between you and God. I don't want him to continue to hurt children. My class was the second year he taught. I've learned a lot lately about sexual predators and even at his fresh out of college age he was very good at what he did. With hindsight I can see his techniques, and they were not those of an amateur. I don't believe he has stopped and statistics will back me up.

Please help me to stop him for all the children he must have already hurt and those that are his future or present victims.

Do I fellowship with sinners?

I hope so. Jesus did.

Does it matter when a sin was committed as long as it's repented of? Ohh, you did what? Was that before or after you were saved? As if we're the judge whether that has been forgiven or not. Here's a great example I read somewhere recently online but forgot where. I think it was only a story. I don't have it all right, but I have the basic gist of it.

There are two men who were both in jail and were saved. One of the men murdered his wife and the other robbed a store. Parole day came and they both got out. The wife of the man who robbed the store had gotten involved with some other guy and now wanted a divorce. She divorced him.
Both men went on to be faithful and involved in a local church and after a while felt God leading them into ministry. The one time wife murderer asked and received counsel from his pastor and was encouraged to go to seminary because "brother, all your sins are under the blood". The second guy was really relieved that the guy who murdered his wife got the pastors approval and blessing to go into the ministry. So he goes in to talk to the pastor. The pastor asks him about his divorce and whether it was before or after he was saved. Verifying that it occured after salvation he told him he was disqualified from the ministry. "What do mean, disqualified? I didn't kill her. She divorced me."

Yeah, that makes a lot of sense doesn't it? He should be free to remarry, pastor and live the Christian life a forgiven sinner like the rest of us. How many people did Paul have killed before he was saved? God forgave him and used him greatly. Paul never forgot where he came from, but he didn't allow it to chain him in the past and keep him from loving God and serving him in the present.

Sometimes I feel chained to the past. In a way I am. My past influences my present and my plans for the future. It's all connected. I'm not sure how to disengage from the past. The abuse I suffered at the hands of my teacher has affected me my whole life, even though I didn't remember the worst of it until fairly recently. It influenced the type of men I was drawn to or repelled by. My experiences drove my parenting practices. I had a big push with my kids on sneaky child catchers who seemed really nice, but just wanted to steal them away from mommy and daddy and hurt them. We watched Chitty Chitty Bang Bang with them at age 3 and used that to teach them. The teaching paid off.

Someone tried to get my 5 year old son at the park one day. He was playing in the sandbox and a man came up and talked to him. He told him he had some candy for him if he would go with him to the bathroom. My son said he wasn't done playing yet, he'd go later. The man walked down towards the bathroom. When he was almost there my son jumped up and took 2 steps towards the bathroom, did a 180 and ran straight to me. (I was on the way to him) He was so proud of himself for tricking the child catcher.

So yeah, that's one good thing that came out of my abuse. That's a great thing, but I think God could have used a different method than that to get me to teach my children about the "bad guys who look good". Romans 8:28 is a hard sell for me. It's kinda like getting hit with a baseball bat to get your attention when a "hey you" would have worked just as well. Faith,Trust, Understanding, I wish I could understand. I push it down and pretend everything is ok. It's not. Eventually it comes back because it refuses to stay pushed down. What do I do with it?

Painful questions**trgrs**

I stare at my palms and see the sweat gleam in the light and occasionally drip off my hands. Breathing is somewhat uncomfortable. My heart feels squeezed and seems to be working overtime. My stomach is tied up in knots. I ask myself is this worth it? Should I be dragging up the past again? I can't believe that I thought I was dealing with things so well, when all it takes is a TV show or reference to abuse in a book for me to have a hard time. I deal with it by not dealing with it. Is that what I'm supposed to do? Is "dealing with it" wrong? Is ignoring it right? Am I the problem in the here and now? How does one just get over it?

Where is justice? By not actively pursuing justice am I in some way allowing him to continue to abuse others? Am I responsible for what he possibly has been doing for the last 3 years? Or does it go back even farther? Or am I just being stupid right now and I'm not in any way responsible?

I am doing what I can right now in this very difficult blog to be found by others who were abused by their teacher/coach/principal. He has had many roles in various christian schools across the country. I want to stop him from continuing. He hasn't repented or even acknowledged any wrong doing when confronted. I only need one person to stand with me to stop him. If that's you; then please contact me. (I'm working on fixing my email--it's a spam magnet) I think it's fixed now :) Please use either The Journey of Grace or Abuse in the subject line, that way I can find it in my email.

Why I'm Not Sweet

I don't usually yell, but I get intense. I can't be sweet. I'm only sweet when I'm am extremely angry or scared. ie "Yes, Mommy Dearest" with Joan Crawford.

My sister and I were at my aunts house for Thanksgiving or Christmas one year and all the family was there. "Mommy Dearest" was on TV. I'd seen it before and knew what I thought, but didn't dare say anything. My sister was about 8 or 9 and she was my mom's darling. Well, everyone was in the living room talking and kinda watching the movie. After a while my sister turns around to my mom and says, "Mommy, she's just like you." My mom was so ticked, my aunt tried to get details and everyone else was aghast that the cute one would say such a thing. Great peace-maker and keeper of the status quo that I was, it was up to me to save the situation and deny the likeness when questioned about it. I said it was the hair that reminded her of mom, not how she acted. What a lie I told.

I started a story when I was five and kept it going until I was twelve years old. In my story I imagined myself in a Robin Hood kind of role and rescuing all who needed help. Somehow I just knew even when they said they didn't need me, that they really did. I think I had telepathy for the scared ones, but when I was younger I didn't know the word. In my stories they always thanked me for saving them and for not listening when they said they didn't need me. I wished I had my own Robin Hood type character to rescue me. Like the characters in my story I was too afraid to answer truthfully that I needed help. I would say one thing with my mouth while screaming in my mind what I was too afraid to whisper out loud. Where was my rescuer? Why couldn't he hear me? The noise in my head was deafening.

Who else was abused at either school or church by someone in authority?

Sometimes I obsess on a topic. Right now it's back to really wanting to find others who were abused by the same teacher who abused me. He has been a teacher, girls basketball coach, principal, and taught various subjects in the middle school grades. I last saw him in the office of the Christian school where he was currently teaching, 20 years after he abused me.

I really didn't plan on writing this tonight, but sometimes I just can't get it out of my mind. It helps to write.

I wonder if there is anyone else out there blogging or reading blogs who thinks they were the only one. I may have been one of his first, but I doubt that because he was too good at it. He was in his early twenties at the time.  Did you all know that the state this happened in has lifted the statute of limitations on rape? I could get him now if someone else came forward too. If we come together we can stop him, but there needs to be more victims of his found.

He looked me in the face and said he didn't know what I was talking about. But when he walked into the office his usually red face turned white and the color drained instantly.(I thought that only happened in books) He recognized me although he denied even that. I don't know what else to do. The lawyer said I needed someone else to come forward before there was a case that could be won, even though he said I had very credible testimony.  I have since found out that lawyer is considered a BJU lawyer.  I found out some other things too that I can't share here.

Do you remember his tie always flapping in the wind? Do you remember his anger? Did you cry too?
I think his kids are through college now. So this won't screw up their college days if we go after him now. He denied it all and was very angry. Don't you remember how he looks when he's angry? I don't think he's stopped. What little girl has he hurt this school year? I'll be the name and face on this as much as possible if you'll just help me do what has to be done to stop him.

My life: The Short Version

Should I start at the beginning? I'd like to skip the first 33 years of my life, but it's part of the journey. I'd like to have skipped it the first time around.

I was born in 1972 (that sounds like a long time ago).
In order to protect the innocent and the guilty I don't think I'll use names of people and places.

• I went to the baptist church my father grew up in from the time I was born until sometime in first grade.
• My parents put me in christian school for preschool at age four. My younger sister started at age two.
• We changed churches when I was in first grade to attend and later become members of the baptist church that had the school we went to.
• I remember several things about school and church--some good and some very bad
• I worked hard from about age 5 until I was 10 to get my mom to like me---it didn't work
• I remember my dad putting my sister and I in the car in our pj's with blankets (I was probably 7 or 8) and him driving to where my mom worked and just weeping in the parking lot. He thought I was asleep in the back seat, but I was watching. I saw my mom coming out of a darkened furniture store that we had sat in front of for a long time. She was supposed to be doing inventory. You don't do inventory in a dark store. She had said "everyone" was working late. Apparently it was just her and some guy.
• 4th grade--I remember my dad picking us up from school and sitting in the car and watching for some guy to leave our house. My sister wanted to know what we were doing. She just didn't get it. My dad didn't think I did either.
• In 5th grade I gave up trying to please my mom. Nothing I said was right. If I opened my mouth I got in trouble. I couldn't carry on a conversation with her, no matter how hard I tried.
• 6th grade was the worst year of my life. My teacher molested and raped me repeatedly. I began smoking the last day of school of 6th grade. Suicide attempts were many in the years to come.
• 7th grade- I was scared to death of my male teachers. No shit. One of my teachers asked my dad why I seemed to be scared of him. He didn't know and no one asked me or at least I don't remember being asked.
• 8th grade-- I ran away from home for a few days. Some guy tried to follow me one night. I hid in the middle of some very prickly bushes to get away. Scared me too bad for me to travel far. I ended up calling my youth pastor late one night and he and his wife came and met me and we talked for about 3 hours. (Actually he had just been replaced but he's the one I knew and trusted at the time) I was still very suicidal. When I ran away I was choosing to run rather than hang myself from the train bridge. I was afraid of dying but hated living. My mom was totally out of control and scared me real bad.
• 9th grade-- My mom and sister and I moved out of state; my dad was to come later. By this time I learned icy control and "the stare". I could emanate hatred and a coldness that none could withstand. I used it to control the beatings my mom gave to my sister. If my sister had been a pain to me; then I'd let my mom beat her to a point before I'd stop her. I was still deathly afraid of my mother and would sleep with a baseball bat under my bed and a knife under my pillow in case she tried to kill me during the night. To piss her off I would answer her ever so sweetly "Yes, Mommy Dearest". I wanted her to come after me so I could kill her in self defense. I told my dad that she left us all night and had nighties in the trunk of the car. (This was true) She also made us sit out in the middle of the yard with no shade in the hot afternoons (temps were over 100) while she talked to her lawyers. I would call my dad collect from a payphone at the grocery store and beg him to get me. I finally told him that if he didn't come get me that I would take the car and drive through the mountains to get home. (I was actually planning on going the long way through Texas) He came and got me. I guess the thought of a 14 year old driving through the mountains did the trick! My parents divorced that year and my dad remarried the next. This is also the year I saw my old 6th grade teacher again. He was coaching a rival schools girls basketball team and was at our school for a 3 day tournament. Day 1 I saw him. He seemed a bit nervous to see me at first. Day 2 and 3 I laid in wait for him with my knife ready to kill him as soon as he was alone. The best chance I had was when he was with his wife and son. I wouldn't kill him in front of his son. There was God's grace in preventing me from acting on my plan.
• 10th grade-- Life sucked. Friends needed help and I hurt so bad. I had a friend whose dad did things. To this day I don't think she told me everything.
• 11th grade-- I tried so hard to be a good Christian.
• 12th grade---ditto
• College life-- I was such a mess. I was angry, depressed, suicidal, and working so hard to keep God happy with me. I had a teacher who reminded me of my 6th grade teacher in how he looked and some quirks of movement. I could barely remember to go to class. I never remembered quizzes and tests. Pop tests are sure rough on the gpa. My freshman year was a fog. The only thing that "cheered" me up was the thrill in going to off campus parties with the trouble crowd. (I was at a conservative Christian college where unchaparoned, male and female together, spiked punch, smoking and a make out room were very much instant grounds for dismissal) Can you believe I talked my way out of it in the deans office?
• I was 19 I think when I saw my 6th grade teacher again. A friend that knew I hated him called and told me there was a rumor he was moving back to town and back to our school. I showed back up at church during the summer I was home. He saw me and wanted to talk privately in some other room. (Yeah right, I'm not 11 and 12 any more. I didn't stay stupid) He apologized if he had done anything. He said he had confessed it to his wife and she forgave him. (Even in the middle of the foyer at church with people walking around I was still afraid) He grabbed my upper arm and left fingertip bruises on it. Nice apology huh? We did talk for a little while. I told him if he ever touched my sister or anyone else I knew that I would make him wish he was dead. He followed me out to the parking lot. I put a car between myself and him and told him to back off and that my sister was waiting for me and if I didn't show she knew who to blame. I also told him that there were others who knew. He backpeddled and stopped being overtly threatening. He said he just wanted me to go with him somewhere where we could talk and get things right. (I'd bet anything he would've killed me if I'd gone with him. He would have had his fun first. I saw how he looked at me)
• My cult years-- Some would say it's harsh to call something that calls itself baptist a cult. You wouldn't if you experienced what we did. My dad always told me not to drink the kool-aid. I should have listened. I got started in that church my sophomore year of college and didn't get out of it until years later.
• Sophomore year at college-- I had settled down away from the wild crowd. They weren't to be trusted because someone was always going to "confess" something or other and got others kicked out while all they got was probation. You never knew when someone was going to develop a conscience. I was doing all kinds of good works to please God.
• Junior/Senior year-- The anger erupted again. I scared my roommates. They backed off, but I ended up in mandatory counseling for the rest of the semester and the next year. I got real good at giving all kinds of info about crappy stuff in my life, yet avoiding the real problems.  I went through one counselor, she sent me to someone who could help me more, that one wanted to send me on to the dean of students for counseling the next semester because I wouldn't admit to her that my dad had done stuff to me.  He hadn't, it was my teacher.  She just needed to ask the right question and I would have said everything.  She gave me a list of books to read that was all on the topic of sexual abuse and mostly incest.  I couldn't talk to the dean again, I was scared of him. It seemed like he could see right through me. So I stayed out the 2nd semester and got married in the summer and when I came back to school for my senior year I wasn't a dorm student anymore so no one came after me. I did look up the lady who counseled me last to tell her I was fine. I wasn't though. We were married for our senior year(Soooo stupid!!)
• After college-- We stayed in the cult church for a few more years. Traded it in for a more balanced Baptist church for about 5 years.  That one was still like the cult one, just nicer on the surface for a longer period of time.  Moved on to a Bible church for 3 1/2 years. Tried a Presbyterian church for a while, then on to a couple different Sovereign Grace churches and then another PCA church, a Southern Baptist church, then a Covenant Presbyterian Church(CPC) and now we're in a Communion of Reformed Evangelical Church(CREC).  The last two have been the best places for us.  Where we are now(May 2013) is a place of hope for me. (That's a whole 'nother blog post and then some)

I'll have to elaborate a lot more on our church moves because it's amazing how God worked and moved us and brought us and me specifically to himself.