Well, my step father, who looked like Cary Grant, used me as his personal sex toy, starting probably before I was 5 years. Mom married him when I was 2, and my brother was 3.  Mom knew, but did nothing about it. I could make excuses for her, but I don't do that any more. I don't remember a lot about my childhood. I do remember the pain of calling out for help, and not getting any. I remember the pain of not having anyone to protect me. I remember going someplace else, in my mind, to escape. I remember waiting until meal times to go to the bathroom, or, in my case, the out house. Because I was relatively safe from being molested then. I would hide under my bed, or wrap my sheets tight around me for protection. Not that that ever worked very well.

I remember nearly kicking my step father down a flight a stairs. He was trying to get under my covers, the stairs were at the foot of my bed, right behind him. I wanted to kick him down them so bad. I hated that animal!

      Mom finally left him, but not because of any of that. Then she let his brother move in w us.  He was just the same. Only, I was fighting back by then. I was 13, I think. I chased him out of my bedroom once. Followed him into my sister's room, and chased him from there. Mom was at work. We called her from a neighbors house. She came home, kicked him out. Then let him move back in a few days later. 

     He tried to teach me how to drive when I was, oh, I don't know, maybe 14. He kept putting his hand on my thigh. I kept tellling him to stop. He wouldn't. Finally, I told him if he touched one more time, I would run the car into a tree. He touched me, I headed the car towards a tree. I would have hit it, too, but he moved, and never gave me another  lesson. In driving or anything else.

      I met my biological father when I was 16. He was the same as the others. Only, he was the first person that told me that it was wrong. I didn't know that. I just knew I didn't especially like it, but I liked the attention, and I liked feeling loved. I thought that was the way it was supposed to be. Dad was more like a boyfriend to me, he treated me like his girlfriend. His wife didn't like that at all. When she found out just exactly what was going on, she tried to kill me. She grabbed me by my shirt front, shoved me in a corner, and had a huge butcher knife drawn over her shoulder, ready to plunge it into to my chest. I don't know what stopped her, there was just me and her in the room. But I sure am glad she didn't do it. Dad was hiding some where. As usual, no help around when I really needed some.

     Mom blamed me. Said a 16 year old should know better. Well, yeah, but I told her, a 16 year old has to taught what's right and wrong first. That's the only things that were said about it. I never heard from Dad again. I would have liked to have asked him why, tho. If he knew it was wrong, why did he do it anyway???? And where was he when his wife was trying to kill me?  I guess I'll never know.

      I have been married and divorced 9 times, starting when I was 16. I know the why of that now. I couldn't trust anybody. And if anybody said "I love you" to me, I would tuck tail and run away as fast as I could.  Love, sex, and pain, were all mixed together in my mind. You couldn't have one, without the other two. I still have problems with that, and probably always will.

       I've had three children. One of which I lost custody of when she was 18 months old, and I was only 18 yrs old.  The other two, I tried to keep and raise, but I didn't know how. I would catch myself  treating them the way I was treated, and I couldn't do that to them. So, I let thier dad raise them.  I had my dd until she was 7, my son until he was 11. My daughter and I are close now. She's 30, with 3 kids of  her own. I can see her reliving some of my mistakes, tho, and that makes me very sad.

     My son has withdrawn into his own little world, of his job, his wife, and thier home together. I hear from him occasionally, but I would like to get to know him better.

     I am now married to a man who is 14 yrs old than me. He looks like my Dad. I can't stand even the thought of making love w him. To me it's always been "having sex" not "making love" anyway. It just brings back too many feelings. Not exactly memories, but strong negative feelings.

     I have been diagnosed bi-polar, depressed, and having post traumatic stress syndrome. I have been self destructive, and have wanted to give up on live several times. The pain gets to be too much at times. But, I'm just way too stubborn, I guess. I'm not about to let those men destroy me. They took my childhood away from me, they're not taking any more of my life.