The Promiscuous Pig


Sounds like the title of a children’s book. a jacked up sort of way it is.

Experiencing an abandonment in my preteens, then being raped in my teens coupled with poor self-esteem because I was never good enough for my mother and stepmother…I viewed sex in an unhealthy way.  My parents NEVER spoke to me about sex…NEVER!  Plus it was the 80’s where big hair rocker bands had women falling all over them, when MTV actually played music videos of sex & drugs with provocatively dressed women being promiscuous.  THAT’S where I learned about sex.

In a sick way I was trying to “make” a guy like me and want to stay with me. I thought it would happen through sex and that was my “tool” to get them to stay.  Well they didn’t stay, in fact they knew how to “use” me to get what they wanted.  Then tossed me away along with the condom we used…IF we used one.

Are you now questioning in your mind “how stupid could she be”?  I wasn’t stupid, I was uneducated, no one invested their time in me to teach me nor make me feel valued.  I know my reputation was dirt by the end of my junior year of high school, but that didn’t stop my behavior.  Plus I wasn’t the only one.

I look back now through my life and can see that promiscuity played a huge role until 10 years ago.  Anytime I felt not good enough, insecure, break up with a boyfriend or divorced…the promiscuous pig reared is ugly head.

Besides a bad reputation, I suffered and still suffer for my poor choices. I never got pregnant but I did get venereal diseases.  I first contracted venereal warts, treatment at that time was slicing them off with a scalpel without numbing, then cauterizing with a small burning tool.  Also used liquid nitrogen to freeze and burn them off.  Basically PAINFUL!

Secondly I caught chlamydia, which was treated with antibiotics through a painful injection. Caught this a couple of times.

My life long mistake was genital herpes.  Caught this in my twenties and has been a humiliating, shameful and destructive disease since.

Why did I choose pictures of Jodie Foster roles as my top picture for this topic? Because 1. She’s my most favorite actress and 2. These 3 roles defined me psychologically. I was a young promiscuous teen who could have ended up as a prostitute, I had a dysfunctional family who didn’t teach me the basics in life about sex and I behaved many times as her characters did in those movies.

It wasn’t until I discovered and learned why I behaved this way that I stopped being promiscuous. Not until I was in my 30’s. Then I discovered Jesus and learned that God loves me no matter what I’ve done and He’s not ashamed of me. That through grace He understands, but that it doesn’t mean I can still behave that way without consequences.  I learned why my body is a temple, it’s the vessel God gave me to be on this earth and I am to treat this gift with respect and love. Not defile it to get what I want.  There’s so much more there, but I was redeemed and still am!

Promiscuity will kill you, emotionally and eventually physically through contracting a terminal illness. Whether it’s HIV or cancer from venereal warts, or severe depression which could be a life sentence of hell.

It’s a pig I no longer wish to put lipstick on. This pig has been sacrificed.

Learn more about teen sex and promiscuity at:


The Aftermath of Rape


It didn’t take long for the symptoms to hit me after that night.  I went through a myriad of emotions that came at me like a deck of cards beings flung towards my head.

  • Depression
  • Flashbacks
  • Insomnia
  • Guilt
  • Anger

I pulled away from my regular friends, the other cheerleaders, my dad, step-mom and baby brother.  I kept replaying the rape but recreating the end result of me kicking his ass.  I’d get to a point where I’d want to tell someone, but then remember that I put myself in that situation and it was my fault.  I’d become embarrassed to say it out loud.  Instead I internalized it and decided to not tell anyone.

I then began to act out which was later suggested was Borderline Personality Disorder, with symptoms of:

  • Identity Crisis
  • Emotional Instability
  • Impulsivity
  • Chronic Feeling of Emptiness

I started to hang out with different clicks that were considered risky teens, back then they were labeled “Mods” also known as “Goth”.  I would sneak out at night and go to parties.  Cut off all my hair.  Wear different clothes.  Then became best friends with an extremely emotionally disturbed girl.  We started snorting crank and dropped acid once.

Then before I knew it, two and a half months had passed and I hadn’t gotten my period since the rape…oh shit!  I had a journal, but I never admitted in it that I had been raped.  Writing it down made it too real and scary, but I did journal my concern of being pregnant and “what if”.  I had no idea who to turn to or where to go.

After a couple of weeks I came home from school and my step-mom was standing in the kitchen with the bitchiest look of hate on her face. She pointed to the table where my journal was laying.  Well shit.

No questions asked, no sit down calmly and talk and no empathy.  All she said was “I’ve made an appointment for you at Planned Parenthood. You better pray to God you aren’t pregnant. I mean how stupid could you be?  You will have an abortion. Go up to your room I can’t stand to even look at you.”

I now know that because of my changes in behavior she and my dad decided to search my room for drugs and found my journal.  Then, all I felt was shame, guilt, fear, horror and sick to my stomach.  But with a crazy sense of relief, because I was going to get the help I needed. At least I got the physical help I needed.

By the grace of God I wasn’t pregnant.  The Nurse Practitioner said it must have been stress related since I had my first sexual intercourse.  She never asked if I was raped, I would have said yes, but she didn’t ask so I figured she didn’t care.

After that day my stepmother hated me.  I became her little bitch in so many ways.  My father never spoke to me about it until I was like 27 yrs old.

Also during this time, my stepmother Velma, her mother had moved in with us. Her name was Mary.  Mary was an alcoholic for 12+ years with moments of sobriety in between.  After a couple of months living with us, I was up in my room and I could hear my dad screaming at Mary and Velma.  Then he came to my room and came up the stairs and sat down on my bed and calmly asked me, “Katy. I know it’s been really hard on you lately and I need you to be honest with me. Have you been drinking hard liquor?”

Blew me away! Why? Because I hadn’t been. I hated the taste of it, especially the Canadian Club Whiskey they always kept a case of.  “No dad I swear to you I haven’t been drinking. I hate that stuff. Why do you think I’ve been drinking?” Then he told me that he and Velma noticed the bottle had been emptier than before, so they spoke with Mary to see if she started drinking again and she denied it. Yet she quickly pointed out my bad behavior over the past 5 months and it was probably me drinking it all.

That night ended ok for me as dad believed me, he knew I wasn’t lying. Plus I was terrified of him and he knew it, his temper was fucking scary! Mary on the other hand got her ass handed to her and Velma got her ass handed to her because she was quick to agree to blame me. That night I slept good, but it was the last of many sleepless nights.

From that point forward I became enemy number 1 for Velma and Mary.  Until 2 months later, after I finished my freshman year and moved back home with Joan.  Two alcoholic narcissists are WAY worse than one, I had to choose my battles and those two were more than I could bear.

I basically got to run away. I left the rapist and 2 narcissists, thinking I could start over and new.  I just didn’t realize that the emotional shit storm of the rape would follow me, coupled with being an insignificant pig to all women in my life…would exhaserbate the Borderline Personality Disorder.

Insignificant Pig


After daddy left I was the proverbial red-headed step child of my home.  During this time I watched a movie on HBO titled “Mommy Dearest” and became obsessed with wanting to understand more.  This movie is why my mother’ name used in my blog is Joan. Joan Crawford, movie star, classic narcissist, center of attention, gas lighting, mental & physical abuse, alcoholic, insecure, many men in her life, required the best of the best of everything, unrealistic expectations of others, always looked glamorous and had the facade mastered to boot. This was my mother, except for the movie star part.  Everyone loved my mom, her facade was unbreakable.
I was mothers proverbial punching bag.  I look just like my dad Clint, spitting image. I do things like him, we have similar hobbies and interests and mannerisms.  I was told daily in a condescending tone “You’re just like your father”.  Which was basically telling me or as I heard it “I hate you, you disgust me, you’re not good enough, change who you are, get out of my sight, don’t look at me that way, you disappoint me”.  Fantastic words for a preteen girl trying to find herself and her place in this world.


Along with this was also the deep pain of abandonment I felt when daddy moved out. He left me with her. Joan’s right, I’m not good enough or even a good girl, because maybe he would have stayed with me or took me with him. Why did he leave me with her?  I wasn’t mad at him though, just sad and hurt and scared.
I was insignificant.  How does a preteen get approval?  What’s society teaching her?  Who and what does she turn to?
First, she over compensates for approval from everyone.  She becomes friends with EVERYONE.  Jocks, stoners, geeks, pre-madonas and outcasts. I loved the movie Breakfast Club because they were all of my friends. I wish they casted a character like me because I know I’m not the only person whose life was like this.  The mommy issues I had made me afraid of women and the positive mom influences in my life were too hard to be around. I was jealous of my friends who had mom’s that cared, mom’s I wanted to have.  Which caused me to be leery of all girls or women, mom always said to “never trust another woman”.  Did she know something I didn’t and am I supposed to follow her words?  Maybe if I follow her words she’ll approve of me.  She trusted men, except for my dad, so she had plenty of male friends.
Daddy issues were abandonment and if I was better he’d approve of me and ask me to live with him.  Okay so how do I get men or boys to like me or approve of me, what do they want? So I followed mom’s lead; I dressed proactively, flirted, hung out with them, fawned over them, and tried to date as many as I could. This was all before the age of 15.  I drank with them, smoked weed, made out and became like a groupy.  They loved having me around and that’s where I got my start of feeling accepted and approved of. I felt significant and needed.
This was the beginning path of many of my traumas in life. I mastered this behavior, but the older I got the more they wanted from me.  It scared me, but the curiosity of having acceptance became my demise.
It became my pig.

Invisible Preteen


Growing up I thought Wonder Woman’s invisible airplane was BADASS!  She could go anywhere and see everything yet no one could see her. It looked like glass on the t.v. show and was so shiny, and she was….beautiful! Perfect figure, hair, face, lips, eyes and boobs!  She was clever, physically fit and tough. She knew how to walk into a room and hold her own as Diana Prince, confident, smart and flirtatious.  I wanted that.
Ironically I got what I wanted, well almost got it all.  In 9th grade I mastered this Diana Prince. Except the figure, hair, face, lips and boobs. Yes I was a slender young thing, underdeveloped until I was 26 years old. Pretty enough but not heart stopping.  I stayed physically fit, had no fear, witty, flirtatious and radiated confidence.
Little did anyone know who I really was inside; a scared, insignificant, zero confidence little girl who fought to be noticed.
I didn’t get the invisible plane, but boy was I invisible.  After dad left and moved out-of-state with his new wife, my life was altered greatly.  My mom became a “born again barfly”, meaning she found her calling at a bar. It’s where she could escape being a mom, dress provocative, flirt, dance and most of all drink.  Her social life was way more important than me and Sis and our lives. Except Sis was her favorite and she gave her everything she ever wanted. Clothes, jewelry, muscle car and was a “yes” mom to her. I reminded her of my daddy and she gave me clothes from K-mart. She was never a “yes” mom to me, she was a “I don’t care what you do, where you are or who you’re with” mom.  She never spoke with me about sex, drugs, rape, caution, morals, guidance or family values.
Between the ages of 11 to 14 adolescents with healthy self-esteem may be least vulnerable to peer group pressure. When they are faced with difficult decisions, they are best able to call on values learned at home. I had no one to turn to in my preteens.  I learned it by watching movies, the at risk trouble makers in school and didn’t understand what peer pressure was.  I made friends with similar girls in my shoes. Absent mom, traveling dad, divorced parents and risky childhoods.
We got ourselves into so many moments where we should have been kidnapped, raped, murdered or addicted to drugs and alcohol. In the 8th grade we would throw parties that all the high schoolers would come to. We drank a lot of alcohol, smoked weed, made dance routines to Billy Idol songs, dressed proactively and went strolling the streets at midnight. Get into cars with strange 18 to 21 year olds and cruise. How we are both alive today is a flat-out miracle.
By the time I was 14 I did more in those previous 3 years than either of my parents ever did.  The friends I had before my parents divorced were an anomaly to me at that point. Parents still married, mom cooked dinner every night, mom did their laundry, drove them to sports practice and grew them up on solid Christian values. Between 11 to 14 is when I became an adult by force. I cooked my own meals, washed my own clothes, wasn’t allowed to do sports because it cost money, got myself up and to school when I did go to school, cleaned the house weekly and was substantially independent.  Mom always told me to be independent and to NEVER trust a man or woman ever!
Men are cheaters, women are ruthless and back stabbing and hopefully you’ll marry rich because you aren’t smart enough to have a career.
How does a preteen girl survive the 80’s when she’s invisible, scared, alone, confused, misguided and insignificant?  She discovers fight or flight, she survives.  She spins as fast as she can and she becomes Wonder Woman & Diana Prince all in one. She becomes an actress in her own life movie with the facade to boot.
How long can this girl survive like this? How long can she keep putting her lipstick on?

Goodbye Daddy


It was a beautiful spring day, June 11th to be exact. My sister and I were up early and ready to go to the pool.  Ready to see our friends and play in the water, I was excited to go because she was old enough to watch me now. Mom was going to drop us off and we were going to have so much fun.
I came out of my room and Sis was sitting at the top of the stairs. I sat down next to her and asked her what she was doing, she said to be quiet and watch. I saw my dad coming up from the basement with clothes he took straight out of the closet still on their hangers and walk out the front door to his old Ford truck. Then his friend Pete also came up the stairs with some paper bags full of things. I had no idea what they were doing, I thought maybe Pete was helping dad with a project like he usually did.
Then I realized it was a work day, daddy was supposed to have been at work. I asked my sis “What’s daddy doing?” She replied “He’s moving out. They’re getting a divorce.”
Divorce? What? Why? Where’s he going to live? Are we going to? Where’s mom? I don’t understand! All of these thoughts and questions were flying through my mind, I may have even been asking out loud, it was a blur. It was like watching the world go by in warp speed yet I was still in normal speed. Surreal.
Then he was gone. He didn’t come back in and say goodbye. He didn’t leave me a note. He just drove off.
Soon mom came in through the back door, went to the bathroom and came out grabbed her purse and said “c’mon girls, grab your things so I can take you to the pool.” We drove to the pool and didn’t speak the whole way, she gave us cash for admission and food, said she’d be back at 3:00 pm and she left.
We went inside and found our favorite spot, we were there by 10am so we had the whole place to ourselves. My sis and I waited for a bit and some of her friends showed up, then she told me she was going with them over to McDonald’s to get us some food and would be right back. I swam for a little bit by myself, kept watching where our towels were laid out for my sis to return. I was getting really hungry, so I went to get some money and maybe buy some chips, but sis had all of the money.
Soon it was 1:30 in the afternoon, Sis was still gone, I was starving and I was all alone. I asked a nice lady for .20 cents to call my mom, told her I was alone and my sis left and took all the money for food 2 hours ago and hadn’t come back. She was a nice lady, she even bought me a hot dog and chips. I called my mom but she didn’t answer. I didn’t know anyone else’s phone number and I started to become really scared and then the reality of what happened that morning hit me.
My daddy, my rock, my go to person, the parent that actually loved me moved out of our house and I don’t know where he is. My mom dropped us off and didn’t say where she was going. My sis left to buy us food and didn’t come back. I was all alone at the pool and no one to help me. I started crying and ran into the showers and hid in a changing stall and cried so hard, shaking and shivering from being wet.
I could see the clock on the wall and mom said she’d be back by 3:00pm and it was 2:55pm, I grabbed all of our stuff and waited outside sitting on the brick planter. I saw our red pinto station wagon pulling in and I ran and got into the back seat. Told mom what had happened and that Sis left me. Soon Sis walked up and she and mom fought and yelled all the way home.
I went to bed that night still in the emotional darkness I started off with that day. Mom never told me what was happening, daddy didn’t call and Sis was ignoring me because she got in trouble for leaving me alone at the pool.
Abandoned, scared, alone, confused, punished and ignored is how the rest of my childhood went until the day I moved out. This negative view fed the “pig” of my formative years.
To this day I don’t blame my daddy or how it was handled. He was younger at that time, then I am now.  He had no idea what to do or how to do this. Divorce wasn’t talked about in the 70’s nor how to handle it.  I know now it broke his heart leaving me and he knew taking me away from the home I grew up in was not what he wanted for me. Didn’t want me to leave my friends. Dads didn’t have rights then anyways.  He did what he thought was best and I understand it now, even if he told me then this information, I was too young to understand it.
He’s still my hero, he’s still my best friend and he’ll always be my daddy and I his little girl.



CPTSD (complex post traumatic stress disorder) is what a person can suffer after being traumatized or victimized over and over and over for long periods of time; or repetitive traumas that aren’t related and a person never gets a chance to heal in between them, which puts the person is in a constant state of victimization.  PTSD usually refers to 1 to 2 events in a person’s life that they experience. CPTSD can be a number of things a person experiences long term such as:
  • Prisoner of war
  • Concentration Camps
  • Child physical, emotional or sexual abuse
  • Domestic violence
  • Sex trafficking / Prostitution
  • Child exploitation rings
You read my list of traumas and some of them went on for years. The symptoms, pain and self destruction that came with it made it all even worse. Like myself, people with CPTSD experience symptoms and difficulties such as:
  • Zero Emotional Regulation. Consistent sadness or anger outburts and rages.
  • Dissociation. I detach from my feelings as if having them is too painful to have.
  • Self destructive beliefs. I carry shame and guilt like it’s super glued to my body. I don’t feel like a normal person or that I fit in.
  • Vengeance takes control of me. I plot in my mind how I could physically hurt my abuser, stalker or perpetrator. Become obsessed with wanting to know where they are.
  • I have no REAL friends. I’m afraid to be close to anyone, just to protect myself. I’m afraid to leave my home because something bad might happen to me or my child. No one I know can relate to me.
  • Short term memory doesn’t exist. In as little as 24 hours I forget what we talked about.
  • Body image. I’m ugly as sin on the inside so I must be on the outside.
  • I’m the butt of every joke. No one takes me seriously.
  • Psychosomatic physical ailments. I have physical pains with no real cause identified. I want to be saved so maybe someone will find what’s physically wrong with me.
  • I’m an addict. Percocet and Ambien are incredibly awesome in my eyes, but are incredibly destructive to me.
  • Hypervigilance. I’m on edge at ALL times. Always over aware of my surroundings, who’s behind me, where the exits are and what the atmosphere of the room is. I will not sit anywhere with my back toward the door. I must be sitting on the end of a row at church, never the middle.
For me, I’m an alien living on this earth. I take everything way too personal. I’ve been called a drama queen by my family over and over. Been verbally & emotionally attacked so many times the minute someone yells at me I shut off like a light. If you walk up behind me and unintentionally startle me by touching me you are most likely going to get physically assaulted by me. I can’t attend concerts or large crowd events. I believe I’m insignificant and don’t matter. My friends are surface friends, no one includes me in anything. I can remember moments in my life like they happened 5 minutes ago, but forget a conversation we had 24 hours ago. I feel like no one believes me nor cares. I cry because no one ever just asks how I’m doing, and if they do then they wish they didn’t. I’m a brutally honest person, my honesty comes in punches, soft and kind or served on a silver platter. I’m not “normal”…whatever that means.
Welcome to my hell.
Photo credit:
Molly Strohl