Don't let me down.

You know that feeling you get when you're really excited for something just to be let down?

Its a feeling I know all too well. Im the type of person who jumps into things head first. All or nothing. I tend to take on more than I can handle and I let myself down.

Not only that but when people say "maybe we'll do this" I get really excited and when it doesn't happen I feel really low and upset. I don't understand why.

I need to learn to pace myself and take life on one step at a time rather than try to take down 6 things at once. I tend to overwhelm myself with things that I really don't need to worry about at that particular point in time. For example; When I decide I want to do a New workout, its not just a try the work out, I more or less say I need to eat like this, I need to exercise blank number of times a day, I need to lose this much by this time.. So on and so forth, which sometimes works for people, however I get discouraged when I don't get results fast enough. That's not a way I want to be. Patience is something one learns, its not like you're born with it. I need to teach myself to be patient, wait for things to happen in their own time and I need to not expect so much out of myself all at once.

Easier said then done.

I feel like I should be so much further in my life right now. I feel like I haven't accomplished anything. I need to move forward. I need to stop being so negative, but again, easier said then done...

I kinda lost my train of thought sorry.

Don't touch me anymore..

So, I just want to warn whoever is reading this, if you are offended easily, or grossed out or overly sensitive to sexual content, stop reading now. This blog post is about being molested as a child. So, Stop now if that bothers you.

I do not feel that this person deserves to have their name protected or hidden. This person is the lowest sickest type of person. He damaged me in ways that I still haven't figured out. He killed who I once was. He stole my childhood.


When I was almost 5 years old I had a babysitter. His name was Donald. After a few weeks of babysitting me, he got comfortable around our home.

The first time..

One night, my Mom and her boyfriend went out. I don't remember where they were going, but that doesn't matter. I was sitting on the couch with Donald watching TV before I went to bed, which I only got to do when he was babysitting. We were sitting there and he started to rub himself. After a few minutes he unzipped his pants and pulled his penis out. He looked over at me, while still rubbing himself, and asked me (a 5 year old kid) if I wanted to touch it. I didn't answer him. I felt sick and wasn't sure why. I turned and kept watching the TV. After a few more minutes he reached over and took my hand, placed it around his penis, and put his hand over mine, and made me rub it, this went on for about 10 minutes, and then my Mom and her boyfriend unexpectedly came home early. He moved my hand, zipped up his pants, and told me not to tell anyone.

This continued for a few weeks. He told me that it was OK, and that no one needed to know because I would get him in trouble and I didn't want to do that because we were "friends" and that he cared about me. He would "reward me" for  not telling by letting me stay up late or watch whatever TV show I wanted.. etc.

After I while, I assume that the touching got boring for him. One day, as he had his hand over mine, making me touch him, he reached over and placed his hand between my legs. Eventually, when it would be time for me to go to bed, he would come and lay down behind me. He would rub himself against me. Sometimes, he would actually take it his pants off and just be in his boxers and rub himself against me. This happened everyday. Sometimes he would come over during the day, and he would come to my room to "play" with me while my mom went about her chores. He was basically making sure that I wasn't telling anyone anything. I felt sick, I didn't know what was wrong, all I knew is that something wasn't right.

When I was 6 years old, he asked me if I knew what sex was. I said no, because obviously at 6 years old, you don't know what sex is. He told me all about it. Every little detail. I wanted to puke. He started to tell me more and more about all the different sexual things one could do to and for another.

One day, I wasn't doing what I was supposed to and he put me in time out in my room. After a few minutes, he came in and I was standing against the wall. He unzipped his pants and told me he wanted me to put it in my mouth. I said no. He got angry and grabbed my arm, I started to cry, he dropped his pants and I fell to my knees and cried, so hard. He tried to force his penis into my mouth. I closed my mouth and turned my head and cried harder. I begged him to stop, told him I didn't like it and I didn't want to do it. He was so angry. He picked me up and threw me onto my bed. He sat down next to me and grabbed me and rolled me over. (I had turned towards the wall.) He reached down to his zipper again, noticed the time, got up and walked out of my room and closed the door. When I stopped crying he came back in and said he was really sorry and that it wouldn't happen again. He begged me not to tell anyone..

For the next year, he tried to be my friend and get me to trust him again. He still made me touch him but  he would be really nice to me all the time. He started asking me to sit on his lap all the time.

When I was 7, my moms boyfriend was in the hospital for a week, and my mom was working 12 hour shifts, so I was left with the babysitter often. I was in my moms room, laying on her bed, playing with my dog, when Donald came in. He told me it was time to get ready for bed and that I needed to take a bath. He filled the tub and came and got me when it was done. When I went in, I closed the door and got in, not 2 minutes later, he came in and sat on the toilet seat. He watched me take my bath. I asked him to leave, and he didn't. When it was time for me to get out, he said he would help me get my pyjama's on. I was 7 years old, I didn't need help. I told him that.. He insisted. That night, he laid on my bed with me and asked me to hug him, I didn't want to. He acted really sad and told me that I had hurt his feelings, so I hugged him. I woke up later, to find him touching me. When I woke up, he just looked at me and smiled and asked me if I liked it. I didn't say anything, I tried to turn over and get up. He stopped me. He started to kiss me. I kept moving my head away, and he would grab it so I couldn't move. This went on for years, he would make me touch him, he would touch me and kiss me and try to make me go further and further. When I would start to cry and freak out he would go away and come back later and try to make me happy so I wouldn't tell anyone.

As I got older, I was embarrassed. He made me feel like it was normal, and that lots of people did it and that if I told my Mom it would only get worse. I was scared, so I didn't say anything.

When I was 10 years old, he took my pants off, he rubbed me over my underwear. He then took his pants off and took my underwear off. He rubbed his penis against my vagina. I started to cry. I wanted him to stop. I knew it was wrong, and I didn't want him to touch me anymore. He covered my mouth with his hand and kept rubbing himself against me. He would rub harder and harder every time.  I kept trying to get away. He wouldn't let me. After doing this for what felt like forever, he stopped and went to the washroom. When he came out, he made me get dressed again and threatened me. When I said I was going to tell on him, he burnt me with a lighter. He threatened me again and again. I was so scared.  I promised I wouldn't tell anyone. Ever.

Every time he would babysit me it would get worse and worse. He would never actually have sex with me, but he would rub me with his penis, and he would fondle me when ever he had the chance. Eventually, just after my 12th birthday, I told my Mom I didn't want a babysitter anymore. I begged her. She asked why and I just said that I didn't like Donald and I didn't want him to watch me anymore. I begged her not to tell him that I asked her to make him stop babysitting me. She found me a new babysitter, and I was really happy. One day, as I was walking home from school, I ran into him. He saw me and smiled and asked me to hug him. I refused. He kept trying to make me, and I kept saying no. Louder and louder every time. He kept coming towards me, so I stomped on his foot as hard as I could and I ran around him and ran to my home.

after a while, I blocked it out of my mind. I had completely forgotten about it. Sometimes, I would get really uncomfortable around guys I didn't know alone. I didn't know why, I thought I was just shy.

...When I was 19 I signed into my FaceBook and saw that I had a friend request. When I clicked it, I saw the name Donald. I ran to the bathroom and threw up, I didn't know why I felt so sick.. After a couple hours, I started to remember things. In great detail. I would shake uncontrollably. I couldn't believe that he would try to add me on FaceBook after everything that he had done.

I waited a few days, and I messaged him.
I told him what he did. I told him how it made me feel. I don't know what I was expecting..
He denied everything. It hurt.
I was so upset.
I creeped his Facebook.. he has a daughter now.
I blocked him. It still bothers me to this day that this man, who did this to me, now has a 4 year old daughter. Does he touch her? Does he do that to her? Is she safe?

Writing this.. hurts. It's hard to breath and I'm shaking.
I eventually told my Boyfriend, and with time, I told my mom and others.
It still hurts.

I haven't written everything in here, because there are some things that I can't bring myself to write or consciously remember. I have nightmares about it sometimes. It feels like I'm really there and it's happening all over again.

I'm hoping by writing this, it helps me move past it. I've tried to forgive him, because I need to move on with my life, yet no matter how hard I try, I can't. I just can't


Please, no rude comments or immature jokes. This is very personal and it really hurts. I don't need to be criticized or put down. I didn't know any better.

Im sorry, but Im not sorry

You know, sometimes I worry that if my family reads my blog that they would hate me, but at the same time Im doing this for me, not them. Im being honest in how I feel, what I remember, what Im thinking about. This is the most open I've ever been. You know if you can't accept this stuff, then you can't accept me. Simple, right?

Yet I still worry about it. I feel so dumb doing so, but I can't stop. My mind is always racing with thoughts and I feel like its really hard to turn it off. I have trouble sleeping because my mind is so busy. I keep trying to find the off switch but its like trying to find the light switch in a dark unfamiliar room. Nearly impossible.

I've been thinking about meditation. Im not sure if it would work for me, but Id be willing to try it. Just to turn off my brain for a little while. I find that writing my thoughts down here last few days have helped a little. I've defiantly been sleeping better. I honestly didn't even know anyone read my blogs until my friend messaged me on Facebook about it. I was amazed at the amount of support she gave me.

You know, sometimes we take for granted the great things that are right in front of us. I feel like I need to spend more time focusing on the great little things and stop worrying about the little bad things.

Life doesn't give us more than we can handle. I just need to let go of the bad things and embrace the good.

I'm sorry, Dad.

When I was a kid, my parents were never "together."

My Dad wasn't really around much, mainly because my Mom and I had moved out of our home town and went 4 hours away.. I wish my parents were together. I get jealous of other people sometimes when they talk about going to see their parents, or when they talk about growing up with both parents. I feel like I missed out on a lot.

I lived with my mother most of the time, and I would go spend every summer with my Dad, which was great for a while.

I remember we used to go out on the three-wheeler and go up the hill behind Grammies house and get to this big field with this one GIANT oak tree. It was beautiful. There was no other tree's around that one. It was completely isolated in the field. I remember it being amazing to me. The most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Sometimes when I get upset, I think back to that field, that tree.. the warm breeze. I remember the smell. So fresh. The birds singing and the sun. It was magical, really. It's my happy place. I remember the summer that the oak tree was struck by lightning. I was really upset. The tree was completely ruined. Split almost perfectly down the middle. I remember Macky (my Dad's dad, technically my grandfather, but I'm not getting into why I call him by his name instead of grampy) took me up on his four-wheeler to see it, and he would sing to me "The old oak tree, she ain't what she used to be.." Broke my heart to see the most perfect thing I'd ever seen, destroyed over night.

As I got older, the trips to my Dad's in the summer seemed to get awkward. My Dad would go out with his friends and I would be alone with my grandparents, or with my cousin at my Uncle Clinton's house next door. I wanted to stay home and play with my friends, not be in Perth. I found it got boring after a few weeks, because I was getting used to being in the city and having so many things to do so close to home rather than being in the country. I think my Dad resented that.

My Dad and Mom started in a custody battle when I was 7. It went on for years. I remember the mean and hurtful things that they would say about each other. My Dad's mother was the worst for it. I understand that she doesn't like my mother, but some of the things she would say, would hurt me too. The way I looked at it was that I came from my mother, I am part of her, and she is part of me. When they would say mean and hateful things about my mother, they would hurt me too, because in a way it would reflect on me as well. Over time, after hearing the lawyers talk, and my parents talk and what everyone had to say, I wanted it to end. I was so tired of it.

I wrote my Dad a letter. I told him that I wanted him to stop, I told him that I wanted to live with my Mom and stay where I was and stay at the school I was at because I actually had friends there. I told him that what he was saying about my Mom was wrong, and hurtful to me.

I told him that he was dead to me... I was only 8..

I can't believe I said that to him.
At the time, my head had been filled with lies by "The Angry Giant"  (If you read my last blog you understand that) He told me that my dad was saying things that he actually wasn't..

I went 10 years without talking to my Dad. It actually really bothered me. I would think about him often, I would wonder if he ever thought about me, if he ever wondered what I was like now, if he ever  thought to try to contact me.. It used to eat at me.

When I started dating my then boyfriend, I remember talking to him about my dad, and about how I wanted to talk to him again. He helped me write a letter. We went and parked in the middle of winter, by the beach and watched the water and I had my laptop and I just wrote down everything that I felt. I added my dad on Facebook, and got his email. I sent him the email, with every thought and feeling I had ever had in it. It was so scary waiting to see if he would respond.

I had asked him if he remembered me, if he ever thought about me.
He finally responded and we started talking more. It was great. He came down to visit me, and it was a little awkward. I didn't know if he would even like who I had become. It had been 10 years. A lot happens to a person in 10 years. By that point I had already thought about what I wanted to do with my life. I talked to him about my life, about my goals, I told him about my boyfriend..

I over heard him talking to my mom the next morning. They didn't know I was awake yet. He asked my mom if I was pregnant. That hurt. He said that I was overweight. He started trying to tell me what I should do with my life.

"You should study psychiatry"
"You should study philosophy"

etc. Thats not what I wanted to do. I understand that he probably just wanted to best for me, but at the time I looked at it like, you've been out of my life for 10 years, didn't try to contact me, and now you are trying to direct my life? I didn't like it.

Things are a little better now, I think he has realized that I am going to go down my own path, that I am a grown woman now. Sometimes I wish we talked more. However life doesn't always allow time for it. Sometimes it's hard to get ahold of him because he doesn't stay home often, and I try to stay busy. I try to tell him about my goals and my aspirations, and sometimes I feel like he doesn't care. He doesn't really have much to say about it, and I don't understand. I think I over think a lot of things.. I just really wished that my dad was in my life growing up. I have a lot of regret. Telling my dad I wanted nothing to do with him is one of the things I regret. I love my dad, he's the only one I have. I can never make up for the 10 years lost, but I can build a new relationship with him. I probably don't really try as hard as I could to keep in contact with him.. I should change that. I just always get caught up in my own stuff that I forget that I haven't emailed or called him in a while. It makes me feel bad. I need to remind myself that I need to keep him in the loop because that's the only way I am going to start to rebuild what I lost. I wish he came to visit more, or that I went to see him more.. but losing 10 years... it changes a relationship. It's like trying to get to know a stranger that you only see once in a while. It's hard. I wish he tried harder too. I wish he accepted me for who I am.

There's a lot of things I wish I could tell him that I am too afraid to.
I miss him.

I'm sorry for everything. I'm trying to fix it, I just don't know how. I feel like I've let too much time go by. I don't know what to do anymore.. It's so frustrating and confusing.

*sigh*


I love you Dad. I always have. <3

The Flood.

Have you ever felt like your world is caving in? Like the walls are slowly closing in on you? That's how I feel right now.

As I sit alone in my apartment I can't help but sit back as my mind wonders to all sorts of things.. I feel like no matter how much I try to look for the positive in something I always end up thinking about the most negative parts. I have a tendency to go straight to the worst case scenario. Every time. I get scared of situations that are potentially good, I don't allow myself to open up and grow because I'm scared of what others are going to think of me, or what COULD happen if I go for it. 
The most frustrating part of it all is that I find myself crying for no reason, I find myself lost in some dark cold place in my mind, that was never there before, or at least, I never noticed it. I feel like I've lost my strength. I can't hide anymore.

When I was a child, my mother had a few boyfriends, which always started off nice, but when she wasn't around they were extremely abusive to me, and I didn't really express to her what was happening because I was scared. I often asked her to move away and she eventually listened, but I never truly explained how I feeling or being treated..

When I was 4, my Mom met a man, we'll call him "Wheels." He found us in Perth, and he moved us to Salisbury NB to his home. When my mother would go to work, he would lock me in my room and I wasn't aloud to come out until my mom was off work, when we would eat supper, I was only aloud to have a spoon full of whatever was being served. When he would go for a drive, he would make my mother, because he was in a wheelchair, carry him from the van, to the house. He wouldn't even get in his wheelchair and wheel himself inside. Sometimes, as my mother was carrying him into the house he would be calling her names and yelling at her. I don't understand how she did it. I couldn't. When they would go out, his son would babysit me, and molest me..

He would make me do things, and I had no idea what I was doing, I just knew it felt wrong. I want to write out everything I can remember him making me do, but I'm scared of what people will think. I know it wasn't my fault, but deep down, I am still ashamed. I often find myself thinking about it. I had blocked it from my mind for a long time, I had completely forgotten about it and him, until he tried to add me on FaceBook. I saw his name and I puked. I just got so sick, and I started to remember everything. Ever little detail. I wish I could forget it again. I try to be strong and I try to forgive him, because I don't need to waste my time hating someone for something they did. I know that he will never own up to what he did, I know this because I had messaged him about it, and he flat out denied it. That hurt. I wasn't looking for an apology, I just wanted him to acknowledge what he did and how he made me feel and how he has affected my life.. I don't know what I was expecting really.. but I wanted to tell him. 

My Mom eventually left "Wheels" when I was 7 and we moved to a little apartment in town. She met a man that she worked with and started dating him. We'll call him "The Angry Giant." He was good for the first little while. He made my mom really happy, and I was glad, but as time went on, he would lose control of his anger more and more often. Eventually EVERYTHING made him angry, now I do admit that sometimes I did deserve to get yelled at, he was a little out of control. I wasn't aloud to go out and play with my friends, I wasn't aloud to have friends over, or go to their houses. Eventually, it got to the point where he would call me names, all the time, everyday, numerous times a day.

You're ugly.
You're worthless.
You're soulless. 
You'll never amount to anything.
You are disgusting.
You're fat.  
You're going to die alone.
You'll never achieve anything.
No one will ever truly love you.

He made me feel like the lowest piece of shit there is out there. If I didn't clean my room fast enough he would come in with a garbage bag and throw my things out. If a piece of paper fell onto the floor and I didn't notice before he did, it was like the wrath of hell unleashed in the living room. He would always yell at my Mom. He would tell her that it was "the mothers job" to clean, and to cook, etc. My friends would notice eventually. They would show up to my house and knock on the door to see if I could come out and hang out, and "The Angry Giant" would chase them away. He used to threaten my male friends, and say extremely rude things about my female friends. There was never any pleasing him. EVER. When he would ask me a question and I gave an answer that he didn't like, I would get yelled at for hours on end. I wasn't aloud to get up and go to the bathroom. Sometimes he would yell for 4-6 hours straight. No exaggeration here. The neighbours would ask me and my Mom about it, because they would hear him yelling, and me crying.. and we would tell them it was nothing. My mom and I would go out (on the rare occasion he let us go out) and we would have to think of a lie to tell him about what we did that day, because if we said something out of place, it would lead to screaming and yelling and things being thrown around.. as time went on it escalated to him picking me up and throwing me around, he would push me, he would slap me. I never told anyone at school or my friends, or even my family, because I was embarrassed. I would lie to them. "Everything's great." "I'm super happy." "Everything's perfect."

I would put up walls. I wouldn't let anyone see what I was really feeling. It was too risky. Too scary.

Eleven years.
Eleven years we put up with it.
Eleven years I lied and hid and tried to be invisible.
It was safe that way.

We eventually left him. I begged my mom, and got my friend to bring his truck. After "The Angry Giant" left for work on Halloween morning, my friend pulled up in his truck and we piled our stuff on. We never looked back. He eventually found us, and would park outside of our apartment complex in the early morning (3am) for a few hours, and then leave. He eventually stopped.

For too long, I have held things in, hid my feelings, and held up my walls. It's too exhausting. I can't do it anymore. I need to get it out. I have to. It's not healthy for me not to.

I might do a separate blog about being molested, because I need to get that out. I have to, and I know that there's other girls and boys even, that have been molested as a child, and could relate. I want to share my story. I want to share my life. (well, some of it any way)

I am open.
I am trusting.
I am looking for support.