Letting It Out

Jillian Michaels had a post today that I responded to and realized that I needed to write and let it all out.

Her post was:

Up for a challenge? Look into the mirror & ask yourself what it is that you have always wanted to say or tell someone,but haven't had the courage? Share it here & then speak your heart,be vulnerable,& take a chance by saying it to the person the message is intended for. Could be about love, forgiveness, making amends, expressing your needs... The only way to have greater happiness is by knowing greater vulnerability.

My response to this was:

To my brothers and sisters... you all did the wrong thing when Wayne died and you didn't call me and left me out of his obituary. I am his sister. I was the first born daughter. You all disgust me with your hatred and posturing. You took away my chance to say goodbye to my brother. I intend to be happy and healthy the rest of my life whether you like it or not. I intend to succeed. You can all go to hell.

And then I realized I wasn't finished and wrote this:

One more: Dad, you abused me and pretended like it didn't happen. Mom, you LET it happen. You were in the room when this asshole started abusing me! How DARE you treat me like I was your property. How DARE you treat me like I didn't matter. How DARE you lie about me to everyone else. I continue to succeed despite what you and everyone else has done to me. My accomplishments are MINE, not YOURS! I am succeeding because I REFUSE to be defined by what you did to me. I am ashamed to say that I came from you. You assholes. You unbelievable jerks.

I was a precious child, and I am a beautiful, honest, hardworking woman. I have accomplished more in my life than you will ever know. I have just finished my first year of college at the age of 55. I finished with a 4.0 GPA. I am a member of Phi Theta Kappa, an International Honor Society. More than that, I was HONORED as the Most Enhanced Member at Sunday's (May 1, 2011) induction ceremony. I am a member of the Honors Academy. I won a literary competition and am now a published author. People look to me as a leader, and I will be the President of my chapter of Phi Theta Kappa.

You have no hold on me, any of you. When you CHOSE to abuse me, when you CHOSE to turn your backs on me, when you CHOSE to lie about me, it was YOUR loss, not mine. Your hatred turns against you. What you do to someone else has already been done to you. When you abuse someone, your body reacts. Your body kills itself... sometimes it happens quickly, but sometimes it happens over months or years. The body will not tolerate what you have done because your spirit will not allow it. Look in the mirror and see how what you have done has backfired in your own bodies. I hope you are happy with yourselves.

As for me, I will continue doing what I am doing, and I am finishing college. My husband, sons and I will be moving our family when I am done. We plan on having a beautiful life. I have never taken any help from any of you. I don't need your kind of help. I only permit honest, hardworking people in my life, not those who try to justify their bad behavior on some supposed slight, some sense of entitlement or some righteous indignation. I pity you. You will never feel fulfilled. You will never feel loved. You will never have enough possessions to fill the emptiness in your soul. Come to think of it, I was really blessed by your absence. Thanks.

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

Cockroaches Analogy

It has been my pleasure to read all the hate mail and comments that have come my way as a result of telling the truth about my father and the abuse I suffered at his hands. My extended family has shown themselves to be nothing more than cockroaches, who skitter away when light is shined upon them. Let it be known here, that I do not run, and I do not hide. I do not shrink from a fight and never have, especially when truth is on my side. You may not like the truth, and you may not want to hear it, but it doesn't make it any less true.

Let me recap some of those hate messages for you.

1. I received hate mail from my youngest sister, telling me to "get some help you sick f**ng B**ch". I'm sorry you don't know how to spell those words and have to use symbols to help you out. I believe the words you were looking for are "fucking bitch".

Here are the definitions from dictionary.com:

fuck (fŭk) Pronunciation Key
v. fucked, fuck·ing, fucks

v. tr.

1. To have sexual intercourse with.
2. To take advantage of, betray, or cheat; victimize.
3. Used in the imperative as a signal of angry dismissal.

AND:

bitch

   /bɪtʃ/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [bich] Show IPA Pronunciation

–noun

1.	a female dog.

2.	a female of canines generally.

3.	Slang. a. a malicious, unpleasant, selfish person, esp. a woman. b. a lewd woman.

4.	Slang. a. a complaint. b. anything difficult or unpleasant: The test was a bitch. c. anything memorable, esp. something exceptionally good: That last big party he threw was a real bitch.

---

Please make sure you use the correct vernacular when attempting to insult me as a result of your denial. And also, if you do not intend to be subject to public ridicule in the form of a rebuttal, show some courage and let me reply directly to your email. Cowardice does not earn respect.

2. This same person sent hate mail to my husband, which is unforgiveable. And she did it twice. Let me answer those for you now.

Holly, I am not mentally ill. It is common for the family of the abused person to lash out when the truth is revealed. Your comment for my husband to keep me on a leash shows exactly how little you know about the bond of marriage. Although, having your own marriage fail, I can see how you would have no knowledge of such a bond.

As for your comments about us never even thinking about going to Minnesota or Chicago, let me say this. Nobody made you custodian of either place. You do not own it, you do not rent it, and you have no say over what we, or anyone else does with their lives. We will go where we please, when we please. There have been many times when we have been to both places and never told any of you we were there at the time, because we chose not to deal with you. Not seeing you in the future is no hardship on us. We chose this a long time ago.

3. Then there was the nastygram from my nephew, Joseph. To him, I say this. Joey, you're nothing but a spoiled punk without an authentic thought in his head. I'm glad you're out of my life, as I am glad that your alcoholic camera-whore sister, Nicole, is out as well. I choose not to have your influence in my life or that of anyone I love.

4. Then there was the nastygram left on my blog, from this Janet character, telling me all about how she and her mother LOOOOOOOOOOOOOVED my father and he was the "grandpa they never had". I'm glad for you. I'm glad you had to wipe his ass and clean up his vomit, as well as listen to his tired old stories of heroism of yore. As I remember, I thanked you for doing so at the wake. I would have signed his sorry ass over to the state and let them deal with his care. And that's the truth.

You wanted to know why I came to the funeral. To make sure the bastard was dead, of course. And also to see people that I knew I would never see again. I accomplished that. I established contact with the only "real" people I know, who are keeping in contact with me through letters and phone calls. All that you accomplished by writing your comments were to show that you did not know the true nature of the man. He was more than demented. He was vulgar. He was several different people, depending on who you were to him. Look it up in any book regarding sexual abuse. The abuser generally seeks one person out, and tries to cover for it with others. The victim is generally abused further from family when the truth comes out. Read the story about Ronald Gene Simmons, who murdered his own family, including his daughter that he had an incestuous relationship with, and a receptionist who had rejected his advances. This is the same kind of person my father was. When his hands were around my throat, choking me until I submitted, he was not the "grandpa" that you came to know. I cannot tell you how many times he backhanded me down a flight of stairs and then told everyone "she's so clumsy... she ought to be more careful". It was well known by the elders in the family what he was, and several of my cousins and my Uncle Jerry know of his abuse and intended abuse toward others. You are not family, and as such, your comments do not count. Even if you were, your comments do not eliminate the truth. Denial serves no purpose and attacks on me do not work.

As a result of all of these nastygrams, I will continue to tell the truth, only more so. It matters not to me if it disrupts anyone's version of reality. The fact is, that the only people that matter to me are the ones that accept the truth. Any comments to my blogs will continue to be moderated and shot down. Any comments to me or any of my Memphis family on Facebook will result in reports of harrassment and further written revelations. I have no qualms about pressing charges against people who have done me wrong. Wanna try me? My father was lucky I didn't have him prosecuted.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Paczki Puta Tells The Truth About Her Father

I thought that I would finally tell all about my father. Those of you who are squeamish should get off this blog right now. And for those of you who refuse to believe the truth, God help you.

My father was a good father to me while I was young. I remember idolizing him, thinking him the most handsome, smartest, "bestest" dad in the world. But that was until I got to my teen years. My father turned into the worst kind of predator, and betrayed me in the worst possible way.

When I was about 14, I started to notice my father watching me. It was to the point of making me very uncomfortable. He would watch me change my clothes, through a slit in a door that wouldn't close all the way. I was becoming a young woman, and was astonished at the changes that were happening to me. One day, I was standing in front of a mirror in the bathroom, and was shocked to see some marks on my breasts that I had never seen before. I called my mother into the room and asked her what they were. She said she didn't know, and called my father into the room to look at me. Here I was, naked to the world, and she was calling him into the bathroom! He took a look at my breasts, and said "oh that's nothing... nothing that can't be taken care of through massage". And he put his hands on my breasts. I was horrified! I looked at my mother, who turned away and left the room, with my breasts in his awful hands! He told her that he would "massage" my breasts every night so the marks would go away. They turned out to be stretch marks, but he took that opportunity to start the abuse he had been planning since my body began to develop from a girl to a woman.

What an asshole. What a fucking asshole. I hate him to this day. And I'm glad he's dead.

Just as promised, he abused me nightly. He would wait for everyone to go to bed, and tell me to stay up. He would take me in the downstairs bathroom and put his hands on me, and it didn't end there. My father thought he was a great hypnotist and tried to use that crap on me. It didn't work. One day, I came home from school (I was in high school at the time and my first class was at 7:00am) and went upstairs to take a nap. He came in the room and tried to give me suggestions as I lay there, trying to sleep. He thought he would "hypnotize" me into submitting. As he whispered "you're getting sleepy" in my ear, I shot my eyes open and said "I'm AWAKE!!!" He left the room. But that didn't stop him. He would overpower me, get on top of me and shove his dick in my face. Mind you, it wasn't even large and definitely nothing to be proud of. Then he'd run his dick on me until he had an orgasm. Other times, he would shove my head down on his dick and force me to suck it until he orgasmed. Then there was a time when he brought home a porn film for me to watch with him so I would know how to please him. It was the worst kind of betrayal. I heard the cheesy music start, and I said "I don't want to watch this" and left the room. I used to wonder why he didn't do this crap to my sisters instead of me. Why ME??? What the hell had *I* ever done to deserve this??? NOTHING!!! I never had a boyfriend and didn't know what was happening to me or why. I wanted it all to stop, but it wouldn't.

It got to the point where I wouldn't wait for everyone to go to bed anymore. I went to bed early. I stayed in bed. I went out and stayed out. I did everything possible to limit the amount of time I had to spend with that asshole. I looked for a way out and considered suicide. Then I met my future first husband, and realized that he might be able to help me get away from my father and that abusive situation. My mother? Oh she hated me. She would hit me on the back as I walked up the stairs, hit me when I came around a corner, shout nasty things at me, scream at me. All because this fucking asshole she married was abusing me. What... did she think I was her COMPETITION???? I hated him. I still do. She would scream at me to pack my clothes and get out. I heard that all my young life. I swore to myself that when I was 18 years old and I knew they couldn't bring me back, I would leave the first time she screamed it at me and never come back. That's what I ended up doing.

One night, I came home from my future first husband's parents' house, and my mother was in a snit. She started screaming at me. She was telling me that I "couldn't go" over to "that boy's house anymore. He will come here." I said we were getting married. We had just decided it the night before. She started screaming again "oh you are, are you? Where's your ring!!!" What should have been a joyous moment was nothing of the kind. I wanted the screaming to stop, so I turned to go up the stairs to bed. She started screaming at me again, to go pick up my brother from work. I stopped in my tracks and for the first time, I realized that I couldn't stay there anymore. I was the family nigger. I was working full-time, paying "board", doing the cooking, the cleaning, the ironing, "servicing" my father, and being told I "couldn't" go out on dates unless my sister Cheri wasn't on a date. NO MORE!!! My mother's screaming never stopped. She screamed to pack my clothes and leave. I went back up the stairs, put on my coat, picked up my purse and keys, walked back down the stairs, waved "bye" and walked out the door. My mother was screaming "get her keys". I left anyway. I went over to Bob's parents' house, where he still lived. We called his parents, who were on vacation in Wisconsin, and asked for permission for me to stay, since I had nowhere to go. They were very nice to me and allowed me to stay as long as I needed to.

The next day, I went to work, in the same clothes that I had on the day before. My plan was to go to my parents' house after my mother left for work, and pick up my things. I went there, and found a note on the table in my mother's handwriting telling me to "come home and we'll talk". I turned the piece of paper over and wrote a letter on the back of it, so she would know I'd seen it. I told her that I wasn't coming back, that I'd had enough, that I'd been told one too many times to go, and I was gone. I took my clothes and my stereo, which was all I owned, and left.

A week later, my clothes were still in my car, when I got a call at work, from my father, telling me that they had taken my car while I was at work because they "pay the insurance on it". I talked to Bob and told him what happened. I asked him to take me to my parents' house after work so I could get my clothes. He agreed. So we pulled up in front of the house, in Bob's brother's truck, and I opened the trunk of "my car" and started taking my clothes out. As I did, I was converged upon by everyone in the house, including my mother. I took the keys to "my car" and threw it at the people in the yard, telling them that if the car meant so much to them, TAKE IT!!! Bob and I got in the truck and left.

A week or so later, I got a call from Aunt Shirley, asking me to come over and talk to her and Uncle Jerry. I did. They wanted me to go live with Busia, my grandmother, for the time being. I did. For a month. Then I found an apartment and moved out. I didn't make enough money for the rent, so Bob moved in with me and we got married a week later. There were 7 people at my wedding: Bob, me, his parents, his brother and a family friend. That was it. No ceremony, no music, no pomp and circumstance. I wore a green plaid dress that I had worn to a wedding. It was over quickly. Bob's parents took us out to dinner and they made a big deal out of it all. I remember there being champagne, and Bob's mother wore her mink stole. I never felt more special. THEY made me feel special. They gave me the love that my parents should have given me but denied me. It was December 14, 1973. I was 18 years old.

About a week after that (must have been around December 21) I got a call from my mother asking me to come for Christmas Eve, stay the night and stay with them for Christmas Day. I told my mother that I couldn't come. I had responsibilities now. I had married the Friday before. All hell broke loose then. It was a feeding frenzy that I wouldn't wish on anyone. There were constant phone calls to the place I worked, and my father would come there, trying to disrupt my workplace and get me fired. I finally told them to leave me alone... don't call me and don't come there. I was an adult and I was going my own way. My father told me I was dead to them.

The abuse... no, it didn't stop there. My father would come to the first house that Bob and I owned, during the day and try his bullshit again. I told him to get out. It got to the point that I had to pretend I wasn't home. I wouldn't answer the phone. I changed the phone number several times and kept the doors locked and the window shades drawn.

Bob and I divorced 7 1/2 years after we got married. I finally felt like I could make it on my own, and did. But the abuse didn't stop. I was invited to go swimming at my parents' house... my mother invited me. So I went... and what happens? My father comes behind me and unties the top of my bathing suit. I yelled at him and he laughed. Oh, it was all SOOOO funny, wasn't it? No boundaries. I tied my bathing suit again, and he untied it. This time I told him to keep his fucking hands off me. My mother was sitting right there. She didn't say a word.

I knew that I was going to have to get farther away from them than just Richton Park. When Steve came into my life, I knew that he would be good for me, and moving away from Chicago was what I was going to have to do. So I did. I moved to Memphis. I realized that I had to keep my sons away from my father, since I didn't know if he had "atoned" for what he did to me. So I kept them safe in Memphis. They grew up knowing what had happened to me. There are no secrets here. My mother and I made peace about 8 years before she died. We got close, but we never talked about what happened.

After my mother passed away, I got a call from my father, telling me he was ready to let go of some of my mother's jewelry, and he wanted me to come to Chicago to help take care of that, as the eldest daughter. I foolishly thought he actually wanted to be a father to me, so I went. And I went alone. I was very mistaken. He didn't want to give away my mother's jewelry, or have me there for any reason except that he wanted to see if I'd help him get his dick to work again, since he had his prostate removed and had all that radiation. I told him I was the WRONG person. He started telling me about the times that he had abused me and how those were "good memories" for him and he hoped they were for me too. I told him in no uncertain terms how what he did to me FUCKED ME UP for YEARS!!! He didn't say anything, but looked down. But that didn't stop him from trying to stick his tongue down my throat. I sat there in astonishment. He sat there in his living room at the condo, with his head hanging, and cried because he had taken Viagra and his dick just looked at the floor. I left in the middle of the night, and resolved to never stay in the same room with him again, much less under the same roof. I went home to Memphis and told Steve and the boys what had happened. If we had all been in Chicago, I'm sure my father would have been killed by my husband that night. As it is, I am settling for knowing that we have a very JUST God. He doesn't get mad, he gets even. He got even in the very best way. He took away my father's use of his dick. And since my father thought he was so smart, God took his brain later. Rest in peace, asshole. Good riddance.

And so... as a tribute to my GRANDfather... who was the only true father I've known, I sign my posts with...

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Addendum April 7, 2014:  I found out recently that I was not the first one to be abused by this awful man.  I sincerely hope I was the last.