My Life of Survival...As I remember it...

So I thought that it may be time to tell y'all a little bit of my story.  A while back I told you that I was a DV survivor.  You will notice that I have had a little bit of everything in my life.  I have had verbal and emotional, physical, and sexual coercion.  My husband is not like this and I am grateful for that.  He can be a bit of a handful at times, but he doesn't beat the shit out of me and he likes my food.  :)

 

I can remember being a little girl and my mom and dad fighting. No hitting other than once that I know of, but there was more than enough yelling and screaming. The worst was going to my grandma’s house [dads]. They didn’t know how to do anything other than fight. I vividly remember standing on the porch with all my cousins, it was cold and I was very young, and a recliner comes through the window. My uncle threw it because of something that happened inside. That wasn’t the first time it had happened and it also wasn’t the last, it was just the only time I can remember real well. The only time I ever saw my dad hit my mom was when we were young and we came home and he was mad at her for something. He grabbed her out of the truck and hit her in the face. He then took her and threw her against the light post in the middle of the yard and then he left. We sat on the swing out front for a long time that day.

 Fast forward into my teen years; my dad has gone to jail and then prison for murder. I have no clue if he did it or not so please don’t ask. We had to go and live with my mom’s parents because my dad was our supporter. With him gone we had no way to pay for anything anymore so we had to leave our home. My grandpa was the meanest man I had ever met. I was only 14 maybe 15 and skinnnny!! He would sit in the living room at night and watch TV. Sometimes I would go into the kitchen to get a drink or a snack and he would tell me that I shouldn’t be eating because I was already fat. Guess 125 pounds is HUGE!!!! I stayed there about 3 months before I had a complete nervous breakdown. I sat on the floor in the laundry room crying, screaming, scratching, and pulling out my hair. My mom sent me to live with my dad’s parents. He (dad’s father) wasn’t any better. He would constantly accuse me of stealing from him, even though I wasn’t. My aunt Carol had to come and “rescue” me one time because of it.  Finally my mom got back on her feet and we moved into our own place. It didn’t help any though because instead of being loved I had a mom that didn’t care. I could do anything that I wanted and she never did anything unless it was skipping school, and that was only because she was going to have to pay a fine. She filed me as a runaway 4 times by the time I was 15.

 Then I met Albert. I thought he was the moon for some reason. It might have been because I was only 16, but I dated him for a long time. I was always running off girls that were ‘chasing’ him. Come to find out he was sleeping with all of them. Then at 17 I was pregnant. I had already ran away with him and the police refused to pick me up anymore. My mom didn’t want anything to do with me at that point because she said that I had ‘abandoned’ her. UM HELLO I AM A 17 YEAR OLD CHILD. Nope didn’t matter, she was “Done with me”. I had my daughter 3 months before my 18th birthday. Guess what, my mom showed up at the hospital. She said that we could move back in with her and be in the “big” room. I was there for 2-3 months. I got a job and then got a place to live, like a family, with Albert and my daughter. It was a trailer park. I had to pay $150 a week but it was ok because I had my family. I would take my daughter to her grandma’s (his mom) and pay her to watch her, go to work, come home and pick her up, clean house and cook dinner, serve him in bed; if he didn’t like it, it would be thrown in my direction and I would have to make something that he liked. Have you noticed yet that he is not working or watching our daughter? Wanna know what he is doing? He is “seeing” the girl down the street. She is 14 and pregnant with his child.

 After he leaves my mom moves in with me to help me with everything. He comes up one night and knocks on my door. When I open it he tells me that he wants his dogs. (We had 2 pits that I supported) I informed him that he wasn’t getting them and that he needed to leave. That is when he went crazy! He started to scream and yell but my dog didn’t like that too much and started towards him growling. Yep he backed that ass right back out of my house. Or I thought that was what it was but then I remember that I had put the puppy out back to go potty and he was yelping to come back in. I ran around to the back door and went out, we both reached the pup at about the same time. He grabbed the front of his halter and I grabbed the back. Albert didn’t like that and I knew almost immediately that I had made a mistake. He started to scream at me like I had never heard him do before. He had an edge to his voice that scared me. That is when he hit me for the first time. Not once, not twice, but 4-5 times, in the face. He then slammed my face into the propane tank a couple of times and then threw me over the fence where my knee attached itself to it. As I am laying on the ground not able to move he jumps the fence with my puppy and walks away. That was the worst feeling in the world. I realized, that as I pulled myself up and walked around to the front of the house, the neighbor had heard and possibly seen everything and she was on the phone. I asked her to please not call the cops, it was done, he was gone. I didn’t think he would be back. I went into the house, cleaned myself up, calmed my mom and daughter down, and as I was sitting down someone knocked at the door. My mom, not wanting me to get hit again, answered the door. It was the police wanting to see me. After I told him what happened he went to speak with Albert. Not to long after he came back and told me that his sister said I had hit him also and first. No matter how much I said I didn’t he would not believe me. I was handcuffed and then placed in the back seat of the patrol car, with Albert sitting right next to me. As the cop was speaking with my mother, Albert was telling me that he was going to “whoop my Ass” when we get out for calling the cops. I was freaking terrified!! I spent 2 days in jail when my grandma bailed me out. I think it was about 3-6 months later I was standing in the courthouse waiting to speak with someone about the charges on Albert when he came and stood right next to me. Again I was terrified!! What the hell did he want now? I left and have not bothered him since! Guess what? He told me that I needed to drop the charges on him because he didn’t do anything wrong and that in return he would drop them on me. Yep for one there had been charges brought upon me; Assault on a family member; and for 2 he wanted me to drop the ones on him; Assault on a family member w/bodily injury. Um, hello again, I am terrified of this guy! He just beat the hell out of me and now he is standing next to me telling me that I needed to drop the charges, so guess what I did? Yep, I dropped them. I didn’t want my ass beat again and I knew that if I didn’t do what he told me to he would probably do it again.

 He stalked me for about 6 months after that. I can say that I have not heard from him since and I am ok with that.

 

The after effects of the abuse is hard.  I have severe anxiety and panic attacks around large groups.  I get extremely defensive when people yell or scream at me.  For a long time I was an addict of sorts.  I was a child that most of my family didn't like.  I don't know why and I probably never will.  I wasn't told by my mom until about 2 years ago that she loved me.  I have told my kids that several times a day from day one.  I was judged because I got pregnant at 17 but I had no one else that wanted me, I was a problem child...Never judge a person because of their shell.  You don't know what they have suffered through in their life.

Why must they grow up?

Ok so I needed to blog today, only because I need some way of coping with what I am going through! 


My babies are growing up!!!!!

When did that happen?  I know that it was just yester-year that I had my beautiful 6lb 5oz 18inch long baby girl, that started kindergarten and then 6th grade, but when did she grow up?!  I am NOT ready for this!!  NO!  I want my baby back!  It isn't fair that they have to grow up and go to high school! 

When she started kindergarten she didn't want to let me go.  I had to stay with her most of the day because she was literally attached to my leg.  I thought it was so funny.  Then she got distracted and I ran, out of the room, out of the school, and into my waiting car.  I carried on the rest of the day like nothing was different. <--looking back I should have cried and fought for her to stay by my side.  I didn't though, I knew that she had to go to school and I still had a little one that I needed to care for at home.  She was home soon enough and I took a picture of her getting off of the bus that afternoon! I can't find it so here is one of her and her brother...

                                     

She was ok the next year when she went on to 1st grade and so was I.  That is the way it went until she changed schools, but again I still had one that was in Elementary that I could baby so I was ok with it.  Now I am not ok with the fact that she is about to start HIGH SCHOOL!!! 

It goes from baby dolls and Barbie dolls to boys and cars!  It all happens so fast that you don't even know that it is happening.  It hasn't hit my husband yet but I am sure that it will when we go to the 'crossing over' ceremony in a couple of weeks.  He will cry!  I will take a photo of it to show him later when he denies it!! 

High school is a bad thing in my mind.  High school is where 'things' happen.  Bad things most of the time. You know like driving, dating, parties, so on and so forth.  I know that I am not the only one that this has happened to.  I am sure that my mom went through the same thing when I started high school, and her mom before her and on and on.....

How do you make the panic stop though?  Has anyone figured out how to make them stop growing?  Can you share it with me please!!  I really didn't think that I was going to be one of "those" mom's!!  You know the kind I am talking about.  I am sure you don't wanna be one either.  Just wait, it's coming. 

Lord help us all....they are still growing up!!!!  Here is her first day of High School...

My name is Dawna and this is my story...

When I was asked to write this, I didn't have to think twice about it. The first answer that came to mind was absolutely, yes I will, but before I do so, it needs to be said that mental disorders or diseases of the mind are no more shameful than diseases of the heart, the lungs or any other organ of the body. They are just harder to comprehend, even by those of us who suffer from them. 

My name is Dawna LeMay and ten years ago I was diagnosed with PTSD, Bipolar Disorder, Generalized Anxiety and OCD.

The first thing you need to know, is that I never would have taken the first step to see a psychiatrist to

get a diagnosis if it wasn't for the fact that I had a 4 year old son at the time and it was about 6 weeks after the death of my mother, who I had cared for, for four years. He was doing some silly thing that 4 year olds do and it was just more than I could take at that moment, and I sat on the staircase, literally ripping hair out of my head,crying and repeating, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you." Words my son doesn't remember, but I will never forget. That even at this moment bring tears to my eyes.

Over the next year I went through extensive therapy, covering everything from sexual abuse by an uncle, a brother and a family friend, to the sometimes abominable way my own mother treated me and disrespected me growing up, causing me to question her love, almost right up until her dying day. An abusive relationship in my teens and a close call in my twenties...the cherry on top being in the position of playing 24 hour caregiver to the woman I still wasn't entirely sure loved me, but was certain that this was the one way of earning that love. Watching her slowly die for 36 months, spending long days in hospitals and longer nights at home struggling with whether I hoped she lived or died. I suppose you can understand where the PTSD comes in now?


Now, put that PTSD on top of some Bipolar. (Which is a condition both of my parents were diagnosed with. My father, back in the day when it was still called "manic depression" and my mother in her early 40's) I was told I was "rapid cycling." If you ask my son what that means, he will tell you that it means: "You'll be having a really funny conversation with her in the kitchen and she'll be making up her hilarious lyrics to songs while she's making dinner and by the time you're finished eating she will be sitting alone and want nothing to do with anyone." Yeah...that's rapid.

 I have been out of therapy and off medication for 8 years. A year after my mother passed and I had gotten myself more together, I moved with my son to CT to live with his dad and we finally got married. I weened myself off my meds and thought everything was going to be fine, since I was removed from all the things that were "triggers" for me.


However, over the course of the last several months I had begun to notice myself having less and less of my "highs" and they didn't last as long. My "lows" were coming more often and lasting longer. I was drinking more often (which was a big red flag for me, because I am a BIG TIME self medicator!!) On "Ash Wednesday" I went to the psychiatrist. On "Good Friday" I had my last drink
and on my grandfather's birthday (god rest his soul) I began trying to put my life together once again.
It is very important for people to know that there are so many places out there to get support. With todays technology you just type in the word and you have thousands of links to choose from!

If you suspect that someone you know is in trouble, talk to them, maybe you can encourage them to seek help, or even convince them to talk to their primary care physician who could advise them. Mental illness doesn't just go away over time (as I am finding out). Mental illness is very serious and very seriously overlooked. Many times because there are still so many who attach such a stigma to it.

I was asked if I wanted to post anonymously and I said that anonymity didn't matter to me. Helping matters. I don't care if my name is attached to it or not. But, if it isn't attached, I don't want anyone to think it's out of shame. I am very proud of everything that makes me who I am, including my struggles. Without my struggles, you wouldn't recognize my triumphs. <3