I have put off writing this section as long as I can. I spent time working on some of the technical aspects of the site, trying to learn some Java, comparing editors, collecting links, etc., but now I have to do the really hard part and write about what has happened. I think other Survivors will understand.
Some of the material may seem confusing because of the complexities of my life. You will find that there are several threads which have run through my history, and I have tried to weave them together in such a way that you get a picture of the overall tapestry. I am finally beginning to appreciate just how extraordinary my time has been, and how lucky I am to have survived it.
I have felt conflicted about just how much to tell. I have decided that it is my story; I lived through it, therefore, it is mine to tell. The shame that I used to feel was only the shame that my abusers would have me feel, and I know now that shame belongs only to them, that I was and am innocent.
This story is not complete. There are some events which I have chosen not to discuss yet, and some which I mention only vaguely. When I am ready, I will write about them, but I have more processing to do before then. In addition, I know that I still do not have a complete memory. Since we developed good co-consciousness, a lot of memories have returned, but some alters have chosen not to discuss certain things with the rest of us. In addition, there may still be other, as yet undiscovered, alters who have more of our memories.
The Early Years - Confusion and Fear
One of my earliest memories is sitting in my mother's kitchen in Perryton, Texas, listening to "When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bop, Bop, Bopping Along" on the radio, and wondering why I am not treated like the other little girls. I had a boy's name, but I didn't understand why. Later, of course, I would understand that I was a little boy, but at that time, things just didn't make sense. I knew that I had better not speak of this. I don't know how I knew, but I did. Perhaps I had said something which I still don't remember and been rebuked, or perhaps it was just the beginning of the unspoken, but omnipresent harsh conditioning of the West Texas culture which made conformity to role stereotypes mandatory. I was uncomfortable, and very confused.
Later I met the little girl next door. She became my best friend. I became even more confused since I could clearly see that there were differences in the way she and I were treated. I loved playing with her. We would make up games, and talk, and talk some more. Although I was not treated like her by our parents, she accepted me as being like her. It was the last time I would know that sort of acceptance for many years.
We lived on a farm, and I have some memories of that life, the animals, and the garden. Our dogs were not friendly, and the horse and cattle seemed immense. While I did not care much for the smells and activity around the animals, I loved the garden and the smells of my mother's kitchen. This was continually overshadowed by things I found upsetting, like the way chickens were killed. My mother would put their necks on the rim of an upturned bucket, step on them, and pull their heads off. The chickens would flap around for several seconds, trying to fly, and throwing blood all over. While these sorts of events may be commonplace for farm life, they frightened me.
Soon I went to kindergarten where I quickly felt out of place and even more confused. The other children seemed to pick up things more quickly and understand more. I was badly shocked to find that they had much better vision than I did. It turned out that I was legally blind. I had had no idea about this, although my parents knew, nor did I have a clue about the myriad implications of my disability. I was so shocked and perplexed that I tried to pretend that it was not so, and I lived much of my life trying to not be blind, hoping that no one would notice. Even to this day, people generally don't know unless they see me read or notice that I don't drive. At the time, however, I felt even more isolated. It is a terribly distressing feeling to know that other children are able to see and do things that you simply can't figure out. The teachers knew that I was trying, but they felt unprepared to help a blind child, and they advised my parents to take me to Austin to attend the Texas School for the Blind. I will write of that experience in the next section.
Before we moved to Austin, we lived in the same town as my father's parents, who were also farmers. I spent as much time with my grandmother as I could. She was a wonderful, kind hearted woman, and I always felt safe around her. I still remember the time I spent in her kitchen, enjoying the smells and safety of her pantry, and her marvelous cooking. Even when we took lunch to the men in the fields I felt safe because I knew she would protect me. I wasn't really sure what the threat was, but I knew that she would not let anything bad happen to me. When I was not included in the play of other children because I couldn't see, she comforted me and found things that we could do together.
My first splits happened during these years. I did not really understand it then; all I knew was that there was an outside person whom the world saw, and who did what was expected of him, and inside people who were protected, and who must never let the world know they existed. I still had no idea of the sexual abuse which was happening. I have flashbacks, both visual and body memories, about it, yet I continue to have huge gaps in my memory. It may seem strange that I wouldn't know, but consider the context. I was a visually impaired child in a rural setting where people were not accustomed to dealing with blindness, and where they and I collaborated in the denial of its existence. In addition, I was doing everything possible to hide, and to deny, that there was anything amiss with my gender identity. In that time and place, many things were simply not talked about, and breaking the silence was discouraged, even on minor issues, by physical punishment as well as by using guilt and shame. But the most important factor, one which would continue for many years, is that I simply didn't know that there was anything different about my life. I thought that the lives of others were also filled with these strange, unpleasant happenings, that they were just a part of life. Others sometimes have difficulty understanding how isolated people with disabilities can become, or how unaware they may be about aspects of their environment that others take for granted, but it does happen, and it is one of those nasty little secrets which no one wants to admit or discuss. This combination of stressors is probably what led to the initial splits. My youngest alters, as well as my core person, are from this period.
EMAIL.
