My History

I don’t want to trigger anyone. I do want to use this open diary as a safe place for myself and everyone else to share our honest thoughts. Mine aren’t always good but they aren’t always bad either. I am struggling a lot that’s for sure. I read back on my entries from 2007 and realized that I’m right back where I started. I know that’s not a good thing. I am worried too. I am trying and I won’t give up.

A little bit of history for all who don’t know me but want to maybe jump to conclusions. My mom left me and my two brothers when I was about 3. She was molested by her father and her mother just up and left. She had no idea where she was and just recently learned she is still alive. My mom also lost one of her sons, my brother Eric to sids when he was just 5 months old. She never recovered from that and never sought help so I understand how she might just give up. I understand because I can’t imagine that kind of pain. I left the USA and my mom behind with my dad and two brothers when I was 7. We immigrated to Canada where my dad’s dad owned a farm. We started a new life there. I missed my mom immensely although I have no recollection of most of my childhood. Just a few snippets here and there. All I can remember is the pain of having such a deep hole in my heart of having something missing. Anyways my dad remarried when I was 9. I was so excited to have a “new mom” someone to love me. My stepmom had two daughters and To my disappointment my stepmom never did really like me much no matter how hard I tried. I was a straight A student to the end of high school. But I was never “good enough” I was thrown out of the house many times and told not to come back. I was psychically And emotionally abused and The hardest part was my dad was a fixer. He wanted everyone to get along so he never really heard, he liked to sweep things under the rug and pretend everyone was ok. I remember the one time I was thrown out of the house, I quickly grabbed my brothers shoes and jacket as it wasn’t that warm and it was night time. It was dark. We lived in the middle of nowhere on a farm and a desolate highway. must have been a godsend though because as I was hitchhiking to anywhere a cop passed by and continued on to the next town which is about a 40 min drive away. Well I guess I was still there on his way back and he saw me again. He picked me up asked me where I lived, I told him right down this dirt road as I was hitchhiking right by our fruiststand sheltering under our sign on the side of the road. Anyways he made me get into the car and wait in the car while he went and talked to my stepmom. He said if he saw me out there again he would be reporting to child protection. When I walked into the house both my stepsisters shielded their eyes from me as they didn’t wanna look at me as it was all my fault. My step mom was silent. That was a scary feeling so I went to my room to wait for my dad to return home. I knew he would understand and listen. Little did I know, he would come home, open my door and demand that I apologize cuz I almost ended their marriage. Life had always been hell but it was worse after that. I remember pitching a tent outside in the middle of winter cuz I just couldn’t stand to be inside. My room was right beside the bathroom and the wall didn’t go all the way to the ceiling so I could hear everytime my stepmom was in there puking. She was an alcoholic and not very nice. Anyways after I accidentally cut myself one day when my dad was putting up the satellite cuz we didn’t have tv for years only vhs to watch. Well he had a good signal so I guess i got excited and was banging so hard that the window broke and I accidentally cut myself. When I was cleaning the glass and taking it to the garbage I cut my arm on purpose with a piece of glass. I can’t even tell you the relief I felt in doing that. From then on, my self destructive ways Just never left….just changed forms from time to time. Things got bad when my brother moved out ( he was the only one who really got me) and so I asked to be moved into a foster home as at this point I was cutting and overdosing just so I could escape and be admitted to the psych ward. My parents agreed to let me go to a foster home and it wasn’t any better. There aren’t many good foster homes. I have many stories of that also. That’s for another time. That’s all I’ll say for now as this post is already long. Just wanting to share some of my story in the hopes that I won’t feel ashamed to open up again.