Same Love

Earlier this week, I had the opportunity to be in the car by myself for quite a distance of driving when Macklemore's Same Love came on the radio. I started thinking about my son and the things that should have counted as signs that I missed. The PTSD therapist said he had to have been a victim before he entered school and I agree with her so I traveled back in my mind as far as I could to behaviors I would pay attention to now with more knowledge (hindsight 20/20 and I want to avoid making the same mistakes with these children).

There was the screaming when only a certain person would pick him up from daycare. The daycare would call me, asking if it was ok b/c my younger son would throw a fit. Being that this person was a relative I asked to pick him up, I said yes. But he would only scream and refuse to go with that person. I don't think she was causing him harm but maybe someone else in her house. Then the bad behavior in daycare started. He also started crying in his sleep. I moved his daycare because I got sick of hearing about all the bad things plus he wasn't learning there. And I got a job at South Miami Senior High and it was located across the street from the daycare.

At the new daycare, he flourished. Never had a problem going, never had a problem reported. But just months after leaving the other day care, he developed a cold sore. The doctor called it Herpes Simplex 1. After the panicked whirlwind of feelings over that, I chalked it up to him kissing the girls in the other day care, maybe putting the same toys as another kid in his mouth.

That summer I caught him naked by himself and I flew into a rage at him b/c I felt dirty. He said he was getting married and he saw it on tv when he was babysat by someone. I didn't react well at all. Now this is the kid who always found his third leg as a baby so I thought I was raising a pervert. Felt sure he was gonna be a porn star or something else embarrassing.

All along there was bed wetting that never went away (a sign the therapist said). And still bad behavior with people other than me.

Then came kindergarten. It wasn't long before he started saying he hated it; he would cry to not go. This is a boy who never had a problem with school; was extremely smart and caught on fast to things. He had to be tested before he entered that new daycare I sent him to (I didn't know) and he passed with flying colors. The teacher had said he was very mature.

But kindergarten brought self-esteem issues. He had a problem with being black. He said he was fat. He even said he wanted to kill himself. He developed problems socializing with kids his age. He even through a (excuse me) white-kid tantrum in school-- on the floor, kicking, screaming, everything. I'm chalking all of this up to him. I found out two years ago, there was a kid in his class molesting and sexually harassing him. Yes, in kindergarten.

Things got progressively worse and by 4th grade he was flat out failing and rude and the bedwetting increased. I again chalked it up to him. One day he told me of a dream he had where an alligator was trying to eat him and he called out to me but I didn't hear him. The alligator chomped off his head. I had no idea that he was telling me something big with that dream. Alligators mean betrayal by friends. Found out two years ago, the neighbor's kid was sexually harassing and molesting him and quite a bit further.

Like the therapist said, "Always a victim. Predators know how to find the ones who have already been hurt."

I had no idea. I just thought he was being disobedient when he would go to that house after I said not to. Disturbing dreams were coming to me by then but they always featured my other son so I got him a cell phone, talked to him about calling me whenever he felt something wasn't right, and to tell me if something happened. My youngest was still bedwetting, still having nightmares, and began asking for a step-father. In hindsight, this reminded me of when I wanted a big brother. I knew it was impossible to get, considering I was the oldest, but I wanted someone to protect me b/c I was being molested too and older disgusting men would try to talk to me whenever I played outside or walked to friends' houses by myself. Always a victim. But I didn't think of that. I thought he just wanted a dad b/c his brother had one.

I had taken him to a therapist at this point but the only issue that kept coming up were his daddy issues and that wasn't something I could fix so I stopped.

Fast forward two more years (to two years ago). My world imploded. All this stuff came out and I realized I never got to have my real son because of the perversions of other people and due to my being blind. In one really hard moment, he likened his feelings over his father's broken promises and inattentiveness to the feelings of a kid he met in the hospital who had been raped by his own father; he felt he gave his love and trust to someone only to have it violated. That admission rocked me to the core and made me so angry at my 19-year old self for being stupid enough in choosing the man who ultimately hurt my child the most.

Sometimes there are glimpses of who he would have been without the negative interference and it makes me long for that child. He is really far gone-- mentally, emotionally, academically, and physically. Sexually orientation all changed now; he's not who he was supposed to be. And as much as he insists he can change because he knows how unhappy (understatement of the year) I am with all the revelations, I know that he can't. I've accepted that though he hasn't. All of this thought sparked to life on a lonely drive by a song.

Becoming a teacher and having to care about other people's children was the worst thing I could have done for my family. I was too burnt out by the end of the day to give him what he needed. Thankfully, my oldest son had football but my younger son never found his niche to fill his void.

What he has been through is what made me the most upset about being pregnant again. That's why I thought about abortion and adoption. That's why I couldn't go through with adoption. Not being able to protect my child again is not something I can fathom. So that's why I decided to keep them. I prayed hard for daughters, though, because I know how to deal with what comes with a girl. But knowing I have another son on the way...I am truly scared of fucking up again.

Parenting Perplexities

Decisions, decisions, decisions.

Being a parent is hard; being a parent to a pre-teen is very hard; being a parent to a preteen who has been diagnosed with ADD, ODD, ABCD, EFG since he was young and is only getting worse is veeeery hard; being a parent to a preteen who has been alphabetically diagnosed and who has revealed in a few therapy sessions a history of being sexually abused is...what's a word that really captures "near impossible"?

So, now, enters the medical question. No, it's not should I medicate; I think, at this point in the game, I'm beyond that question. The question is, which medicine do I choose? Which won't have the worst (any) long-term effects? Which won't have immediate harmful short-term effects? Which will really help? Which will give me back the son I never got to know?

I got a call, this morning, from a doctor wanting to put my child on Risperal. I stalled, asking for some time to do research on this drug I never heard of. So a Google search turned up pages and pages of information as to why this is not a drug to take if a person is not truly psychotic. (Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that my research turned up that this was an anti-psychosis pill. My son is not psychotic). The search also turned up dozens of YouTube videos that point to male children growing breasts as a result of taking this drug. No thank you.

So I turned to looking for something that would deal with my son's impulsiveness, his venomous tongue, and his lack of focus. I've read nearly a thousand user reviews in the two hours since I got the phone call. Adderall's out. Concerta's out. Strattera is out. Ritalin is waaaaay out. Focalin is an option but I'm scared about what it may do.

Why is it so hard to find a drug that treats ADD without causing heart or liver problems, mood swings, or thoughts of suicide?

Will I cause more harm in giving a green light to a pill than my son's issues?

Contrary to some of the parents posting reviews, I don't want to medicate my son so that my life could be better. I'm looking to make his life better. As I read review after review of Focalin where the users said, "Now, I feel like a normal person" and "Finally, my brain doesn't feel so cloudy", I'm drawn back to the living room where, many years ago, while helping my son with his homework (more like barking at him and growing increasingly frustrated at his lack of success), my son grabbed his head and said, "My brain doesn't work". I switched from yelling to encouraging, telling him that it can work and that he can do the work. But I have to wonder if, at just the young age of six/seven/nine, he was right. Was his brain too cloudy to think straight?

I know I felt that way for a few years after being raped. For four years, I couldn't think, couldn't concentrate, couldn't feel. I was in danger of failing my senior year of high school. I, definitely, failed my first two years of college. The first feeling that returned was anger. I was just so angry at the world, at my rapist for stealing and alternating my future with a child, at my mother for not listening, at myself for not speaking up and for allowing myself to be a victim. Was this the same way my son felt?

Crawling up from that depression took a hell of a fight. I still work at keeping my head floating above the drowning waters of that egocentric disease. But it's easier now because I realize that life is filled with up and down cycles. Sadness is just a part of the plan; so is happiness/contentment. It's all about perception.

My son is currently a very negative thinker. However, I can't help but feel there's another way to reach him other than in pill form; I have yet to find that way. I've tried rewards and punishments, discussions and Disney; I've even tried letting him live with his deadbeat dad for six weeks (and spent six weeks crying until the tears left permanent stains on my pillows). All to no avail. But I haven't tried medicine.

So, I'm at a crossroads, trying to figure out the best course of action to take, praying that I don't do something that is negatively irreversible. I can only hope the solution is just as simple as waiting for maturity to take over, rendering medications unnecessary; but, since I have to act now, I can only hope the medicines do not annihilate that possibility.

I'm just so scared of making the wrong decisions.

QoMV

C.R.A.S.S.: Child Sexual Abuse

Children Really Aren't Sex Symbols

I guess the only way to talk about this subject is to simply begin talking about it. That in itself would be doing more than is normally done. So let's talk about it and by 'it' I mean sexual abuse, more specially child sex abuse. This type of abuse begins either before you form a sexual identity or while you're in the midst of sexual formation. This type of abuse rocks your mind, tilting it from its innocent rotation into an everlasting balancing act, teetering on the fine-wire separating normal from the not-quite and definitely not. This type of abuse not only perverted my childhood but, also, robbed me of my youth.

My fingers hover over the keys as I ponder how much to reveal, how much to say about what happened to me and how I, in turn, ended up. This is my blog, yes, but it's far from being an anonymous one. My face is on some of my videos. My students stalk me. My children may one day find this. And that last reason is all the more reason not to stay silent. Because silence kills. Silence destroys the soul; it eats at the mind driving a person to drink or to snort or to dive off buildings seeking a high, an alternative that would make all the memories temporarily suspend in time, almost as if to disintegrate along the trail of yesterday.

My high was sex. It always comes back to that. Sex. That's where it started. Sex.

My uncle's girlfriend's son was slightly older than my approximate age of 7 (maybe 8) and was always leading me into a game of house, a game that would result in his hands on my body, his lips on my lips, his spit filling up my mouth (your look of repulsion would hardly match the one plastered to my face as I type this). He was so light-skinned, my child's mind considered him white and conjectured that all white men must kiss nasty. One day, he thought to take the game of house all the way to the next level. I don't remember what I was thinking; I only remember that I was flat on my back and he was over me, poised to enter, when my uncle opened the door. I remember my uncle freezing as he took in the scene. I remember getting up off the floor. I remember nothing from that point forward but I'm pretty sure that what transpired between my uncle and this "cousin" had to be labeled child abuse.

I never told anyone about that, not until a relative of mine and I were one day talking and she told me what she, herself, experienced at our "cousin's" hand. She'd never told anyone either but she displayed some of the classic symptoms and still kinda does to this day, as do I, as well as a whole host of other people, including celebrities.

There are dozens upon dozens of celebrities who have been singed, burned, or consumed by their history as a victim of sexual abuse. Below are a short list of celebrities and prominent people who have come out in the news about this skeleton in the closet. Each highlighted name links to their respective news story.

Teri Hatcher, actor, abused by her uncle.
Sugar Ray Leonard, boxer, abused by his coach at 15.
Todd Bridges, actor, abused by a family friend.
Roseanne Bar, comedienne, abused by her father-- among other things.
Mickey Mantle, baseball player, abused by his half-sister and a number of other people, female and male.
Carlos Santana, musician, abused at 10.
Senator Scott Brown, politician, abused by a camp counselor.
Mary J. Blige, singer, abused by a family friend at 5.
Rhonda Begos, Milwaukee Bucks's House Band singer, abused at 10.
Chester Bennington, Linkin Park singer, abused as a youth by an older man.
Vanessa Williams, actor/singer, abused at 10 by an older female.
Tyler Perry, director, abused at 5/6 by an adult male neighbor and, later, other men and a woman.
Mo'Nique and her brother (who's also her abuser), actor/comedienne, age 7.
Bai Ling, actor, abused as a teen by Chinese army officers.
Laveraneus Coles, NFL player, abused by his step-father.
Tori Amos, singer and founder of RAINN (the Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network), raped at knife-pointed by a repeat offender and murderer.

Oprah, a victim/survivor herself (raped by a relative at 9), brought over 200 men, who had been sexually abused as children, together for a show one November and here are a few stories from those men. You can also watch the full show here on her website.

And it's not just happening here in America; it's happening across the pond too as pointed out by this article in the Huffington Post UK.

Child's Revealed Abuse Symptoms & Signs

One day, last week, I was looking at a few clips on ABC's The Revolution (a life-changing show with a weight-loss component to it, a show I had been in the serious running for back in November 2011-- alas, I was sent home before boot camp. Sad face) when I came upon the clip below. This clip features Casey Jordan, a criminologist, going over some of the signs to watch for in a child who has been abused. One particular phrase stood out: "...gaining a lot of weight and trying to, especially with young women, make themselves as unattractive as possible, baggy clothes, invisible, they want to disappear, they don't want anyone to notice them or see them as somebody who could be attractive or a sexual object. That's a big clue too."

And that's just what I did after later getting raped by another "cousin" at 16; I hid behind a layer of fat, wearing baggy unflattering clothes, not caring about my hair, often leaving it unkempt. I hung out with the guys so I could be just one of the boys and not one of the girls they would wolf-whistle to. But, as I found out, the fat suit didn't detract my suitors, it only encouraged them to seek me out for clandestine meetings. I went from being a sex object to a sex secret. And I allowed it to happen. I gave in to what I thought was inevitable. I couldn't disappear; they still saw me. So what I created as protection became my prison; my fat suit only made me invisible during the day and all-the-more visible as a target during the night. So I took control-- I said who, where, and when. No longer would I be the victim. But I was still as emotionless a participant as the day my womb was pillaged and planted.

Can Remove All the Shame & Sorrow


Now, sex is just the way I coped with the fallout from my sexual victimization. Other people cope in many different ways. As you may have read in the linked celebrity stories, many of them handled the demon that lived in their closet with drinking, drugs, and other destructive behaviors. Luckily, I never turned to drugs or alcohol but there was something just as potent, sex. However, there is something more powerful than that, grace-- more specifically, God. Now I'm not trying to push off my religion on you; I'm just sharing how I make it through, how I forgive myself for my past because, at the end of the day, we survivors can only be called survivors when we learn to forgive ourselves, to free ourselves from guilt or shame.

Some of you may have suppressed the memory of your abuse but it's permeating your way of life and your relationships. You're angry at the world or just yourself. You can't say no. You keep saying no. You're depressed. You're emotionless. You're victimizing. You're a victim. No matter what you're feeling, staying quiet is not the way to handle this. This system of silence is what keeps the abuse going, it's what gives sexual abuse the permission to exist. But I'm breaking the silence. Will you? 

QoMV

To share something a friend shared with me: "When I look back on my life, I see pain, mistakes, heart ache, and sadness. When I look in the mirror, I see strength, learned lessons, and pride in myself."