Katy…the Rough Draft (Part I)

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I believe all masterpieces were created through several rough drafts. A masterpiece comes in many different forms and mediums. Such as oil vs. watercolor, Broadway play vs. film, novel vs. television and food vs. food.

I believe both of my son’s are masterpieces, each unique and beautiful in their own way.

There are flaws in a masterpiece, but only the artist knows of them all. What we see as a possible flaw could have been meant to happen by the artist; therefore I feel critic’s are a waste of space and time. A masterpiece is in the eye of the beholder.

I also believe that God created us each unique and each a masterpiece per His great design.

I also believe that a masterpiece evolves and can continuously be altered, added to or adjusted. For example, Oscar-Claude Monet didn’t conduct just one painting titled Water Lilies. Monet painted over 30 variations, presumably to create each very distinctly, yet with just enough difference you can tell them apart. At least to the trained eye you can identify them.

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What I love about his work are the combinations of color, chaos, free-flowing brush strokes and depth. This is how I feel God created me. I have various colors I portray, I’m not typically just a sterile white, I have several colorful moods I vacillate through. I am not a super intense person about most things, I’m free-flowing and laid back.  There’s a depth to me most will never see on the surface. My mind is in such chaos at times I feel like a tornado sucking up everything in its path.

To know this piece of work, you need to take the time to get to know me. By this time in my life per the blog, I am about 22 years old. I have many appreciations and gifts for who I am and what I have.

Physically I no longer looked like I was 14. I actually started looking more like a woman with curves. Still slender, brown hair, big green eyes, classy dress for work and play.

For employment I was in a career by my own doing, starting off as a receptionist and working my way up in a financial analyst industry. Which is funny to me now, especially since I failed geometry and had to take math for dummies to make up the credit.  Watching my mother and father, who were both professionals, I watched them and absorbed their mannerisms.  I was excellent at customer service and making clients feel important. I cared for them like I’d know them for years. I was well-known for what I did and I loved it.

My domain was perfect and living on my own was liberating, in a little “matchbox” sized house I rented. I’d decorate it from garage sale finds. Heck at Christmas it was decked out, but I don’t think I ever invited anyone over to see it or visit. It was mine and I was “playing” house.

Financially I was able to buy my first new car on my own.  Little red semi sports car. I was so proud of it. I wasn’t a frivolous spender, I watched my money closely. Very responsible.

Relationships were few and far between. I had a couple that were very serious and would have gone somewhere. Yet one had cheated on me,  which ruined the trust factor and reminded me of my father. The other was emotionally destructive, couple bouts of violence and I was done.  I wasn’t sleeping around and just enjoyed life.

My family at this point was scattered. I tried to build a relationship with Joan, it was important to me, maybe hoping she would see how well I was doing on my own. Hoping she would be proud of me..looking for the nod of acceptance. Clint was still in California and we spoke every few weeks. Our closeness went away, his wife basically shamed him when talking to me. Sis moved to California to live with our Father and start over. I guess when I look back, Joan wanted me around more after Sis left.

Spiritually I believed in God and Jesus Christ as my savior. I was baptized non-denominational at age 5. Yet we never went to church, not even on Christmas Eve or Easter. I longed to understand more about the bible. I tried reading it, I didn’t understand it. I’d go to church with my paternal grandmother, it was a Baptist church, I felt like a big piece of sin when I left. I never went back. I’d have moments of feeling lost and unattached, I’d drive up the mountain and go to the beautiful church I was baptized at and just sit.  I felt so safe there. I’d cry. Pray and talk to God and then go home, never to return until that feeling of emptiness came back.

Deep down I was confident in what I knew and I portrayed that confidence in all that I did and how I looked. I was tender-hearted and clearly a caregiver at heart, I helped anyone I could with anything they needed. I was hungry for life and to learn more. I could analyze any situation rather quickly. I thought I wanted to be a career woman with a lot of options to go anywhere anytime. Yet I yearned to be married, to be with a man who would love me unconditionally and take care of me, have babies with. Make a life of longterm, one of which I never had as a child.

This is who I was as a young adult from the foundation laid out for me. Damn if I could go back to when I was 11 with the knowledge I had at this point, was a lot of the thoughts I had during this time.

Naive little piggy.

Ephesians 2:10 NLT

10 For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things He planned for us long ago.

 

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My Date With A Grocery Cart

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Having a form of agoraphobia is excruciating. My fears take control of my body and paralyze me from the inside out. “What if” scenarios play in fast forward and on repeat. I am incapable of attending large crowd functions like concerts or festivals. I do attempt it and choose to go to them early when the crowds are small, yet when the crowd becomes more than a 1000 people and loud…I’m done.  My flight response is immediate.

I run in a hypervigilant state consistently, even in my own home. While sleeping, it’s as if I have an awakened sense running at all times, the minute I hear anything, I’m awake. The best way to describe my awareness settings is from a book written by Jeff Cooper – Principals of Personal Defense / Combat Mindset and the Cooper Color Code and The Carry Book: Minnesota Edition.  He describes levels of awareness as follows

“In White you are unprepared and unready to take lethal action. If you are attacked in White you will probably die unless your adversary is totally inept.

In Yellow you bring yourself to the understanding that your life may be in danger and that you may have to do something about it.

In Orange you have determined upon a specific adversary and are prepared to take action which may result in his death, but you are not in a lethal mode. 

In Red you are in a lethal mode and will shoot if circumstances warrant.”

I run yellow 24/7. When I go to the store, church or to someone’s home; I move up to orange. When a crowd suddenly increases or chaos appears, I switch to red. Going anywhere is mentally and physically exhausting.

I have my Conceal Carry Weapon permit, but I don’t usually carry. Not because I’m afraid of my weapon, but more afraid of hitting the Red zone and using it under a hypervigilant state of irrationality.

If I’m with my husband I don’t switch colors quickly, I have a sense of safety. Recently over the past couple of months I’ve started to feel more comfortable at the grocery store. I have full knowledge of the store and where everything is located, I know all exits and hiding places. I’ve been able to move from orange to yellow successfully.

When I get to go grocery shopping..it’s like a weight lifts off my shoulders. I end up enjoying it greatly. I get myself a latte, snack, grocery list and pen. I stroll through the aisles at a leisure pace and my grocery cart becomes my safe point.

I’ve learned when the safest time to go is, never on a holiday weekend, never on football Sunday or in the evening rush hour.

I pray over time I’ll be able to master more places I visit like I have the grocery store, and it may take me 30+ years to do it. I just can’t give up on my freedom. I have days sometimes where the mere thought of leaving the house causes anxiety and I listen to that anxiety, it’s safer for everyone. Those moments are becoming fewer and further apart. I’m good with this current status in my social life. My date may be hard and cold, veer off to the left, be riddled in germs and squeak…but it’s MY date and MY moment of stress free bliss.

I will not take a mind/mood altering medication to leave the home, because THAT’S like putting lipstick on a pig. I will wrestle this pig to the ground, hog-tie it and win…some day.

Art Therapy

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I have always been a creative type, some of my talent is a gift from God, it’s also a gift from Joan’s high expectations of me. If I created beauty then it reflected good on her.

I have found my talents to be an outlet for my emotional pain, I create constantly in my mind. Since my mind is like the wheels of a watch constantly ticking; in order to stop the negative self talk, anxious thoughts or painful memories on instant replay..I create in my mind instead.

Which is one reason why I love the Dollar Tree! Endless opportunities for my creative outlets. However, the downside is that I desperately need a craftroom or more organized storage for my stash.

You’re creations do not have to become something jaw dropping every time. I find having a quiet house, good music, thirst quenching drink and finger snacks makes for a relaxing friendly atmosphere. Oh…bandages on hand help too if you’re using a hot glue gun. #clumsy

Let your mind soar, no boundaries and most of all HAVE FUN!

The Pig of Teen Sexual Assault

I recently watched a documentary about teen sexual assault in today’s world and the use of smart phones and social media.

The title is “Audrie and Daisy” and aired on FX and now available on Netflix. If you are or know a preteen or teenage girl or boy, you have to watch this.  As a parent or adult in a young adults life, this documentary will open your eyes to so much!

Rape culture isn’t new, but in the world of technology that’s clearly smart and new, we ALL have to take a stand against it. I can’t even comprehend what I would have done if my rape was taped and plastered all over the internet.  I do know that suicide would have been pondered and most likely accomplished.

The bravery and strength these young women have shown by speaking out is astronomical!  The parents that have spoken out are just as brave and strong. So many people choose to point fingers and judge; WHICH IS NOT HELPFUL IT’S DESTRUCTIVE!

Please watch this documentary. Please teach the young people in your life about rape, sexual assault, alcohol, narcotics, safe boundaries, bullying and how to stand up for what’s right.

You can obtain further information at http://www.audrieanddaisy.com as its time to cut this pigs throat.

My heart, love and prayers go out to all these beautiful young ladies.

The Wild Pig & The Barfly

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High school was completely crazy!  I had no supervision once I moved back to Joan’s house.  I came and went as I pleased, no curfew and no restrictions.  A teenagers dream life! I was responsible though for cooking my own meals, cleaning the house weekly, my laundry, having a job and paying for my gas and car insurance.  I was handed a ridiculous amount of responsibility at 16.  My friends loved my mom because of all of this and I pretended it was amazing. Yet deep down I was frightened, insecure, sad and very angry. Little did my friends know I was envious of their required family dinners, doing homework at the kitchen table, having to call and check in after school and be on a curfew.

Let’s start with the free reign to do what I wanted.  If I was hanging out with friends my age, we were required to be to their home by a certain time.  Honestly I loved the freedom at first so I rarely hung out with friends my age. I was typically dating someone 18 and older so our nights consisted of drinking, sex and mischief. In the 80’s we could have parties that lasted all night without any cops being called, alcohol was easy to get and if a home wasn’t available for our soiree then a field somewhere was just as good.

Drinking and driving was normal. No other way to put it, we drank and we cruised, radio blaring Motley Crue or Van Halen. We drag raced, no seat belts and open containers in the car.

School wasn’t optional in my eyes, but I loathed it. I had ADD and didn’t know it, I don’t think it became a real diagnosis until the 90’s, so I was considered rebellious as a student. Teachers thought I didn’t care about my education, so they didn’t care about me. Very simply put, they never invested time in me. I couldn’t focus on reading as I couldn’t retain any of it. I couldn’t understand why I could read an entire page and not have any clue what I had just read. I truly thought I was just stupid and my grades reflected that. I had to take summer school classes after my sophomore year and a full schedule of classes my senior year to graduate with a 2.5 GPA.

I was wild and out of control. I had a mouth like a truck driver, my bark and my bite were both terrifying, but you couldn’t tell by looking at me. I was an underdeveloped skinny girl who had to prove herself as a badass, for fear that others might feel they could treat me the same way Joan did.

My mom, the barfly, despised me. She didn’t EVER want to be bothered by me. Thursday through Saturday nights you could find Joan at her favorite watering hole dancing and drinking the night away.  Typically dressed in a leather miniskirt, pumps, low-cut blouse, big earrings and even bigger hair.  Just picture Tina Turner in the 80’s and you have Joan.

It wasn’t odd that sometimes we strolled into the front door at the same time on the weekends, typically between 2 and 3am. Both drunk, looking like hammered shit and never saying one word to each other.

Joan made it clear that she didn’t care what I did or how my grades looked. She told me to marry into money because I wasn’t smart enough to have a career that paid well nor pretty enough to have my choice of men. No wonder I didn’t bother at trying to be a better student, mom didn’t believe in me so why should I believe in myself.

I have to say that writing that last paragraph made me nauseous! I couldn’t imagine telling my children this EVER! My two beautiful gifts from God are my life and I will walk through hell to make sure they know they are loved and wanted and worthy! I don’t expect them to be doctors or engineers, I just want them to be happy and to follow their dreams. To feel loved and be loved by me. To know they are worthy of God’s love no matter what happens in life. To be kind-hearted compassionate souls to everyone and everything they encounter. To know that love is not conditional from me nor God.

I deserved better from my mother, her mother didn’t treat her this way, there’s no excuse for her behavior. I was her pig.

The Promiscuous Pig

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Sounds like the title of a children’s book. ..in 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:  http://www.troubledteens.biz/causes-of-sexual-promiscuity-in-teens/

 

The Aftermath of Rape

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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.