The School Years - Silent Screams
When I was six years old, my family moved to Austin. My parents had been told by "professionals" that I needed to attend the Texas School for the Blind, as they did not know what to do with me in Perryton. Our move also allowed my parents to get a new start; farming was not going well in the early '50's.
Life in central Texas began poorly. New students at TSB were required to have a blood test, so my father took me to a doctor. He did not go in with me, and I still don't recall everything that happened, but he recently admitted that he could hear me screaming all the way out in the car where he was waiting. The doctor was quite frightening, and had little patience for children. He kept sticking me with the needle, and holding me with an iron grip. I threw up and then fainted. At that time I had another split, and Candy came into existence. For some reason she is five rather than six, and she has chosen to remain that age. I am finally able to tolerate blood tests, but it has taken years to get to this point, and I still have to lay down for the procedure or I will get sick to my stomach and faint.
When school began, I had a new environment to understand. Here I was among other blind and partially sighted children, and my visual impairment became so commonplace that I could, and did, forget about it. It was also the time when I first began to learn about the values of the institution. During second grade, I was punished for some minor infraction by being locked in a dormitory room with open windows in winter with no jacket. As I was to find out, this was insignificant in the larger picture.
As the years at TSB passed, I learned more and more about that place which I still call a concentration camp for blind kids. The superintendent and principal alternated holding morning "chapel" in the auditorium, and they would present commentaries on everything from current events to school policy. They would preach about morals, and once when a teacher intercepted a love note between students, they read it during the assembly. We, of course, were expected to concur with their views without question, as it was continually drummed into us that we owed them our allegiance. After all, they ran the school, all the teachers spoke reverently about them (probably out of fear), and they led the morning prayers at the end of the assemblies. They made their own brand of Christianity, that to which the school effectively adhered. Could people that believed in America and God be wrong in what they did? We didn't even question the situation; we thought it was normal. We accepted their authority as school and religious leaders as matter of factly as we accepted the A-bomb drills which were also a mark of those times. Such incidents resulted in my distrust of authority, and my feeling that I had been spiritually violated.
There was a dentist that took care of the needs of the children at TSB, and I had occasion to use her services in the third grade. Dr. Poole seemed like a nice person, although I didn't much like the taste of the "strawberry" flavored liquid she had me drink. Several hours later, my mother had to literally carry me from the office to the car. Since I was unconscious, I don't know what they did, other than to perform poor quality and unnecessary fillings as verified later by another dentist, but what would take hours? I am still uneasy about dental work, partially because of this, and partially because because of the associations with the flashbacks and oral sex.
There were a variety of punishments meted out to those who broke the rules, although no one was quite sure what the rules were, as they were never explicitly stated. Students were locked in linen closets. Boys were "sentenced" to "walking the pole" for many hours. This involved carrying an iron pipe, 1 to 4 inches in diameter, behind the neck with both arms draped over the ends of the pipe, while walking up and down the sidewalks around the dormitories. Students caught smoking cigarettes before age 16 were forced to eat cigarettes and cigars and then drink hot salt water until they vomited. There were lesser punishments for less significant offenses. The dean of students had the task of making sure that students had their rooms in order. To do this he would open and paw through the drawers containing their personal belongings. If he found the arrangement of the contents not to be to his liking, he would simply upturn the drawer, dumping the contents on the floor. These inspections took place while the students were elsewhere, and on a random basis. There were separate stairways for boys and girls, and if a student was caught walking up the wrong stairway, he or she might not be able to go to the next "party." These parties were held twice a month, and students were watched by teachers who were vigilant to ensure that students did not dance too close or kiss. At the end of the party, students were allowed to run back to the sidewalk in front of the girls' dormitory and engage in any behavior short of rape, and this was often the scene of molestations which went unremarked and unpunished. Even the simple matter of walking down the hall or the front steps of the building while holding hands or drinking from the same water fountain as your girl or boy friend was grounds for disqualification from the next party. All of this, and more, took place among blind children, watched by teachers who had normal vision; these teachers not only did nothing to stop this barbarity, but actively participated in it. The parents also went along with these policies. Looking back, it seems unbelievable that people would tolerate either being a party to such actions or having their children harmed, but it all happened without anyone even questioning its propriety.
I was lucky enough to be a day student because my parents lived in Austin. This did not make me exempt from these punishments. To compound my unhappiness, I was resented by many of the students who were "warehoused" at the "blinky" by their parents. It was an atrocious situation, as many families didn't even want their blind children to come home for Thanksgiving, Christmas, or Easter. They would have left their children at TSB all year if they could.
Then there were the gratuitous inflections of harm. One day, for example, during sixth grade, six of us were learning how to cane chairs, and we heard Mr. Edwards grinding on something in his office. This was not unusual, so we thought nothing of it. When he emerged, however, he came over and burned each of us on the arm with the large knife which he has been grinding on and which was hot from the abrasion of the grinding wheel. This was a sighted teacher hurting blind children. Other teachers simply screamed at children, demeaning them in front of their peers. I can still remember Mr. Kopecky screaming so loud that the fluorescent lights rattled.
During these years, the abuse at home continued. My most vivid memories are of my mother bursting into the bathroom while I was taking a bath. I clearly remember the "thwack" of the doorknob hitting the wall. She would yell, "What are you doing? Are you playing with yourself? Why are you red down there?" Then she would touch me. This continued until I was 13, when I asked for some privacy. She was taken aback, but she did not protest. I have taken showers ever since.
My dad would often berate me for not helping him with whatever he was doing out in the garage, so I would dutifully go out there. He would make no effort to show me what he was doing or what he wanted me to do; he expected me simply to figure it out and do it. To think that a visually impaired kid could see well enough to sort out such things was ample demonstration of his lack of understanding. He would nonetheless continue to ridicule me for hanging around the house and not helping him. Sometimes he would start yelling at me, and threaten to whip me with his belt. He would yank it out of his pants, and I can still remember it popping as it went through the loops. I don't remember his ever actually hitting me, but he is a very big man, and he can be quite intimidating. In later years he would tell me on a daily basis that I would always have to do more, work harder, than everybody else. Why? He never said just why, but it was clearly because he felt that I was not as good as everyone else since I was visually impaired.
Both at home and at school everything was sexualized, and boundaries were violated to such an extent that I had no boundaries of my own and no real sense of autonomy. I fled into books, both in print and recorded, as they were a refuge which could not turn on me. Later I would use amateur radio as my means of escape into another world. These solutions, however, further increased my isolation.
My family returned to Perryton each summer to work on my grandfather's farm. During one of these visits when I was 11 or 12, I was raped by my cousin. I remember him grabbing my arm and dragging me into a bathroom, saying, "Come on. We're gonna f***." Most of the rest of that memory is from the vantage point of a corner of the ceiling. Although I have had memories and flashbacks of that experience ever since, it took years before I was willing to say that it was abuse; before that, it was just "something else," but not abuse.
Then my grandmother in Perryton died. I was devastated, and terribly afraid. People could not understand why I seemed to be taking her death so much harder than the rest, and I could not explain. I had a premonition that my life was about to change, and it did.
During my teens, my body began to change. I developed breasts, I had little facial hair, and my skin kept its softness. I became very self-conscious about my bodily changes, and I tried to keep boys from noticing, especially in the locker and shower room. While most could not see well enough to tell, some could, and their comments encouraged others to tease and confront me. I had always abhorred fighting, but now I had to learn to defend myself. I learned to pop towels, and after a few boys felt the sting of my towel, they all decided that it was better to leave me alone, except when they could gang up on me. When that happened, I was beaten and worse. Where was the teacher? He was careful to be somewhere else and let the boys do what they wanted.
My situation was complicated because I still had my little secret; I still felt like a girl. I knew that my anatomy was generally that of a male, but my identity simply did not match. I had to keep this a secret at all costs. Then when I was 14, by happenstance I looked at myself in a mirror after taking a shower, and I was appalled at how I looked. My body was not developing like that of the boys I was around, and I knew, absolutely knew for a fact, that I should have been a girl. I felt faint, and then terrified that someone might guess. I knew that I was in very big trouble, and I had no idea how to deal with it. I just knew that no one must ever find out. The stakes during the daily locker room ordeals had just gone way up, so I learned to be even less visible and more unobtrusive than before. On the other hand, I had a clearer understanding of why all of my friends were girls, and I understood that not only did I want to be around them, but that I wanted to be them.
All of this contributed to my sense of vigilance and unease. I had a secret to protect, yet I was faced with continual boundary encroachment and feelings of danger on all sides. This was complicated even more because TSB had many of the qualities of a cult. There was a leader whose authority was unquestioned, and followers who were intent on protecting him and implementing his plans. There was constant surveillance by peers and teachers. There were established rituals (institutionalized activities) which I am still uncomfortable discussing. For now I will simply say that it was a place filled with evil people. When I am able, I will write more about this.
When I was in the tenth grade, the authoritarian constriction became too tight, and some of us rebelled. We drew up a petition and occupied the superintendent's office for a while. The petition did no good, but our activity scared the teachers and finally got the attention of the parents. The teachers were afraid that if it all came out that they would lose their jobs. The parents knew something was very wrong, and called for a state board of education investigation. That investigation ultimately led to the ouster of the administration, although some of the teachers were elevated to the vacant positions. Meanwhile, it was clear to me that me life at TSB would be quite unpleasant since the teachers focused their fear and anger at me for my participation in the rebellion. I decided to attend public school for my last two years.
I had made virtually straight A's throughout my time at TSB. Whenever I brought home a report card, my father would look at it, and if there was a B, he would say more than ask, "What's this B doing on here." From that, I learned that A's are all right, and that B's were BAD. Public high school was clearly different. It was six times larger than the entire Blinky, everybody could see well except me and one other student, and there were new rules, new activities, and many, many new things to learn. My grades dropped to B's and C's and I was working far harder than I had ever had to work. I was able to get out of physical education (to my great relief), and I learned how to play the role of a teenage boy by watching all sorts of boys and what they did. In a way it became very easy to do this, but there was a terrible cost in the denial of my true self. I was happy beyond description when I graduated in 1965 and could leave there.
Before I move on to the next section, I should mention that I had no siblings. I have always wondered why my parents had no other children, but I have never gotten answers which ring true. My speculation is that it has to do with my mother's unhealthy notions about sex and affection. The house where I lived was a silent house; hardly any conversation took place, certainly no casual chats. There were very few (perhaps two or three) photographs. My parents did not hug or kiss or hold hands. It is a wonder that I was conceived. Although they had listened to the radio when we lived in Perryton, there was no music in our house in Austin except when I played the piano. Practically the only sounds were generated by the television in the evenings. That house was a place of fear, nervous silence, and coldness.
I believe that my parents love me, and that they did the best they knew how. Both were from rural environments, and neither was well educated. My father worked very hard at construction jobs which were often out of town, and my mother tried to take care of us in a new place where she initially knew no one except parents of other blind children. I believe that they simply did not know much about parenting, and though they had good intentions, this nevertheless resulted in abuse and neglect. I consider it likely that they were raised in a manner similar to the way they tried to raise me, and that they simply carried on unhealthy practices they learned from their own parents.
I had many splits during these years. The most significant of these was an alter who called herself "nothing." She is eight years old, although she has memories of most of the years at TSB. She has been the most self-destructive of any of our alters, but finally she is cooperating with the rest of the system, and she has chosen the name Stacey. She had felt trapped in the science room at TSB, so last year I went back to Austin, and went to TSB to get her out. It was spooky being back there. The building had undergone a complete renovation, inside and out, but when I walked in the door, I had a strong body memory of the old, familiar smell of the place. I went to the science room, which bore no resemblance to the old room, and left with nothing as she was still calling herself. She tried to kill us on the way home to Kansas, but with a lot of work she is now functioning in a healthy and constructive place in our System. The other alters who were created during those times have found their positions, and they are also valued members. One alter, Lisa, occupies a special place. She was created when my grandmother died. She has many of our memories of our grandmother, and she carries much of the same warmth and goodness which we found so endearing.
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