I don’t know where to start… I guess I will start with I am just a nobody girl, well woman now. I grew up the youngest of three girls of a single mother, who was divorced from my philandering father. I was always different than my sisters. They had dark curly hair with blue eyes and I had blond straight thin hair with green eyes. I was sensitive (according to my mom – too sensitive) and they were loud, she was always screaming, so I just kept everything inside until I cried. My dad was the Disneyland types that only showed when it was convenient for him. My oldest sister wanted to be an only child always told me I was adopted because I looked different and of course I was sensitive and insecure from practically birth so I believed her. Pretty much every one else joked that I was the Milkman’s Daughter. I actually joked about it too. I look nothing like them, buy my mom insisted I was hers and she was perfect, don’t ya know. Living up to her expectations, well we can just get to that shit later.
Since my mom was single we went to daycare growing up and that is where I remember my first trauma happen to me. It may not sound like much, but it made me not trust men. My dad not being around probably didn’t help matters. I always had health issues and constipation was on the top of that list. I was about 4 years old when I was at this daycare of a husband and wife, they had two boys and my sisters and I would go there while my mom was at work. Everyday after lunch, my sisters and the boys would get to go outside and play and I would have to go and sit on the toilet until I pooped. First of all, who the fuck can poop on command? Second, I had a shy bladder. I still have a shy bladder and don’t like to pee in a public bathroom, sorry over share, but its true! The last part, the husband would stand guard and watch me. So there I was posted up on the toilet, pants down, feet dangling and this huge man laying in front of the door, facing in so he can watch me. Now what do you think that did to my little brain. I never went and this happened everyday.
My counselor said me not going it me saying NO. So in my four year old little brain, that was me trying to get my control. Apparently when my mom found out that is when she took us out of there. I am not sure if that was why. I am pretty sure that was around the same age I tried to kill myself for the first time.
I tried to jump out of the moving car. She had the child locks on. No one ever knew until this year.