Hello everyone....
I've decided to keep a journal on this message board about my life. I will try to add a new entry daily, whenever possible. Feel free to reply with your feelings. Just looking to share my experiances with others in hopes to help both. I will leave a note about that day and a flash back section from a book I wrote about by youth.
The name that I go by is Denise. This is not my real name and I change all names in my entries to protect myslef as well as my family.
Day 1 introduction
I am a 28 year old mother of two. A daughter age 3 and son age 8 mos. Am I abused?? Well, I lay my soul here on the table for you all to decide. I have been married for nearly 8 years now and probably never should have gotten married. He was maen from the begining. He has never hit me, except for a shove once. But does repeatedly call me stupid and other nasty names, also doing in front of our daughter. He taught her to say "mommy's a retard" I was diagnosed a year ago with ADHD and bipoloar disorder along with depression and he uses that against me saying that if I ever left he would take our daughter from me bcause no one would give her to a mother that is "mental". Do I think that I really have these disorders? Not really sure if I do, or I have just gotten them because of the way my life has been. I have never been able to hold a job because of my inability to concentrate and finish tasks and have been a stay at home mom for about 2 years awaiting a decision if I deserve diasbility payments. The one thing that I am deicated too are my kids. They are my life. I want them to have a better life than I have, being from a home of a single mom, dad nowhere around, and having my mother abused daily by her boyfriend turned husband. My huband likes to get mad easily over what some people would find to be silly things. It's like walking on egshells around my house to not upst him, but he always finds something that wasn't done to his standards. Every night I have to take my daughter into her room at 8:30 and keep her quiet while hubby goes to bed for work. I am not allowed to sleep in our bedroom during the week because I would disturb his sleep getting up with the baby. He even busted the baby monitor one night because I acidently left it in "his" room and on and it woke him up in the middle of the night and disturbed his precious sleep. He's like a ticking time bomb. The worst night that I ever had with him was when I was barely pregnant with our son. We got in an argument over my not getting the house clean enough that day and he took our daughter and locked her in his room with him. There is a lock on the iinside of the door so he can lock me out when ever he wants. He said "mommy can sleep alone tonight" and I was really upset by him locking me out and cried by the door. He screamed at me to shut up and when I didn't he came storming out ripped my nightgown over my head and shved me out the front door. So, here I was naked, on my front porched locked out and had to walk all the way around the house to the back door to get in. The next morning, as usual, it was like nothing had happened. There are lots of times when I want to just leave, but I have no way of supporting myself and children and I'm sure he would fight me for my daughter. He's not that attached to my son as far. But he does have daddy's little girl. I told him he could have her whenever he wanted, but I had to have her live with me nomatter what, we need eachother. After an arguemnet she will usually curl up with me and tell me "it's okay mommy, daddy was beieng bad" He will never let me just take the kids and leave.
Flashback from my childhood :
My name is Denise. This is my life. I grew up an only child with a single mother, like many young girls do. But, many young girls don’t have to suffer watching their mother get beaten by her drunken boyfriend. I know that there are other girls like me. I am writing this book about my experiences in hopes that it may bring comfort to someone, anyone. If my story could help just one person, then it will all be worth it. To anyone out there like me, you are not alone. There are a lot of girls named Denise. We all share the pain, the hurt. But, we also share the hope. Remember, there is always hope.
It was a chilly day in March. Sharon, the second oldest of six children was home with the youngest, Lauren. The two of them had stayed home sick from school that day. Suddenly Sharon felt horrible pains in her stomache and began to rock herself hard in the rocking chair. When the pain worsened Lauren decided to call their mother at work. Brenda was very concerned about her daughter’s condition and rushed her half hour drive home from work to take her oldest daughter to the emergency room. When they finally arrived at the hospital Brenda alerted the nurses of her daughter’s condition and how she felt that it may be her appendix. The nurse looked over Sharon and informed her mother that it was not her appendix, but she was going to have a baby. I, Denise Lynn Smith, was born later that afternoon.
That is how the story was told to me growing up. My mother hid me very well for nine months. I can only imagine the commotion I must have caused. My grandmother tells me of how they had to run around buying things for the new baby that "surprised" them. My father was nowhere around. He moved out of state before I was born to pursue a career as a police officer and my mother never wanted to talk about him. He knows that I exist. He either doesn’t believe that I am his or doesn’t want to. My mother had to drop out of school to take care of me, and he got to go live his life. I guess that’s just the way things go sometimes. I grew up sharing a bedroom with my mom in my grandparent’s house and was raised by pretty much everyone in it. I had a very close knit family and enjoyed spending time with all of my aunts and uncles
My early years growing up were actually very happy for me. I enjoyed having such a big family who all cared for me and eachother so much. The only sad parts I remember were times when I would see the one thing other little girls had that I did not. A father. I didn’t want just a father, I wanted a Daddy. The Daddies were the one’s I’d see wlking through a store holding their little girl’s hand with a sparkle in his eyes. The ones who would pick there little girls up from school and not just wait for them in the car, but stand outside and run to them when they saw her come out. Then pick her up and hug her while spinning in a cirlcle embracing eachother with kisses all over their faces. That’s the daddy I wanted. I always tried to keep my spirits high and remember that even though that girl had a daddy, I had three uncles who loved me very much, and a PaPa who was way better than any daddy around.
My grandfather, PaPa was always there for me growing up. He was also that little voice inside my head saying "Denise, what are you doing?". He was my mentor and my friend. I’m shure a lot of kids don’t get to have as close of a relationship with their grandparents as I did and I am very thankful for that. A lot of girls probably don’t grow up thinking of their mother as first a great playmate and then a good friend . I had all of those things and more with my family. My grandfather was my voice of reason and my grandmother my spoiler. My mother my friend, companion, and protector. My Uncle Randy was my guidence and my Uncle Josh my laughter.
My Aunt Tonya was my girl talker and my Uncle Todd my good time guy. My Aunt Lauren was like my sister, the one you love to annoy but really just love. My family seemed complete to me.
When I was nine years old my mother decided it was time for us to have a place of our own. My grandfather had purchased the land next door and agreed to let my mother put a single wide trailer on it for us to live in. We were moving, but not far.
