The BLAME Stops Here

Genesis 3:12-13
The man said, "The woman whom You gave to be with me, she gave me from the tree, and I ate." Then the LORD God said to the woman, "What is this you have done?" And the woman said, "The serpent deceived me, and I ate."
From the beginning of time women have been blamed for many of the sinful choices of men.  I am not a feminist, nor am I against men, but when somebody starts to victim blame against rape survivors, I get a littled tiffed being that I am one.
Adam blamed Eve for giving him the apple to eat.  But did Eve force Adam to eat the apple?  Adam FREELY took the apple.  Adam FREELY ate of the apple.  Nobody forced it down his throat or forced him to eat it or threatened him that if he didn't eat it something awful would happen.    Adam could have taken the higher road and not eaten the apple and been the leader of the household.  But he didn't.  He CHOSE to eat that fruit that day.  Eve  only offered it to him.
Nowadays it is a bit more serious.  A man rapes a woman.  She was wearing a mini skirt, had drank a couple drinks, even kissed the guy a few times.  Once they started making out, she said no, she changed her mind.  He didn't listen.  He figures she's just teasing.  Again she'd said no and still he keeps going forward with his moves.  He rapes her.  Even if she had said 'please stop' or 'please don't' that would have been enough.
Did he ASK her if what he was doing is okay?  Did he ask her consent to have sex?  It is HER body after all, not his to play with.  Just because he bought her dinner and she kissed him a few times doesn't mean she owes him ANYTHING.
If you don't ASK for permission, it is RAPE, even if she doesn't say anything and remains silent!  Silence does NOT imply consent!!
If she says STOP and you continue, it is RAPE!
If you pursue her after she says NO, it is RAPE!
Unless she has said yes it is okay to tough her, then it is HANDS OFF and her body is OFF LIMITS!! 
The victim, regardless of age, attire, location or time of day is NEVER EVER TO BLAME and should NEVER BE HELD RESPONSIBLE in ANY WAY!

Christians Need to Stop Victim Blaming

For ANY Christian who still blames victims of rape or holds victims of sexual assault responsible in ANY way, shape or form, here is what the Bible has to say about that:

25 But if out in the country a man happens to meet a young woman pledged to be married and rapes her, only the man who has done this shall die. 26 Do nothing to the woman; she has committed no sin deserving death. Deuteronomy 22:25-26

The Bible does not condemn the woman/victim for anything they did. Not foro what they wore, not for what they were doing, not for being in physically close contact with the perpetrator...nothing!

Don't believe me, read this short article:
https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/cruelty-victim-blaming-hope-redemption/

If you STILL believe that the victim holds some responsibility in being raped then there is something wrong with your heart and your soul, and you are a cruel person. I pray you are never attacked and then blamed for it. But if you are, maybe then you'll understand what it is like to be victim-blamed for something you had no control over.

The One True Love For One Time

At the same time KJM had threatened to kill me, I met the man I thought I'd marry. DAC was tall, handsome, and looking for work daily when I met him. He was down on his luck but he was going to church regularly and we hit it off.

Our eyes locked and we were partners in playing cards almost all the time. He'd walk me home, or at least to the bus stop. Sometimes he'd take the bus all the way to my home to make sure I got in okay. Then he'd turn around and go home.

We'd go for walks, and on our walks, he'd hand out his resume. He was looking for work at Garages, and any place that needed mechanics.

On Sundays, we went to church together and he always helped out with the overheads for the pastor. We dated for about 6 months before he proposed. I was thrilled, and said yes. And I was happier than I had ever been.

We were planning our wedding, invitations had been sent out, plans were being made, excitement was building, it was only 3 months until we were to be wed, and he disappeared. Believe me, I looked for him all over the city. In the jails, the hospitals, the missions, his home, anywhere I could think of. I called our pastor in TEARS and SOBS!! I pleaded with friends to tell me if they had seen him. Where was my love?? Where did he go in the night? He was there last night to kiss me goodbye and this morning he doesn't answer his phone or his door. Somebody tell me where he has gone!!!! Oh my gosh I wept!!! My heart ached like an anvil had landed on it.

I called home to my parents and told them he was missing. His landlord had let me in to see and all of his belongings were gone except the stuff I had given him – that all was there still. There were empty beer bottles strewn about which seemed odd for DAC, but he was gone, and I was heartbroken.

And that weekend I had not one, but TWO weddings to go to of two different cousins, one on either side of the family. And I did NOT WANT to go. But I was pushed to.

My parents came and picked me up, a 3 hour drive one way. I wasn't up to much. The tears would roll down my cheeks uninvited. No matter how people tried to cheer me up, I just couldn't smile. My heart was broken and I was missing my love. You don't get over a love that deep in one afternoon or one week or even one month.

And to this day, I don't know where he is, whether he is free or not, alive or not, happy or not. I pray he is all three. But nobody would help me find out the truth.

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Crash Course in the Court System

Between what was happening with JW, and the things with my family, and my own personal struggles with abuse, I was NOT well emotionally. Nothing proved that more than the many times I would dissociate. Things were up and down. My niece was born in April 1997, and my Grandma died that Autumn. My family would not welcome me at their home, so I did not welcome them at mine. I had never seen my family so at odds. Mostly because I was trying, quite unsuccessfully, to set boundaries with everybody and nobody would accept them. And they all wanted me to 'move home' not accepting the fact that I 'was home' now that I was living on my own.

In the midst of the chaos, dissociation was frequent, and I wound up dissociating in stores and walking out of them with unpaid merchandise which caused me to be arrested. I don't remember much of the arrest until I was in the security office. I did everything they told me to and was very cooperative.

The court system was unique. I felt like a lost child in it. I went through the mental health court diversion program, having people walk me through what I needed to do, what I needed to say and so on. I was fortunate. So long as I continued to see my psychiatrist, I would be good. And once he changed some medication and that seemed to help.

At the same time this was happening, I volunteered at a mission downtown.  One of the attendees there had threatened to kill me because I refused to play cards with him.  Plus he called me every white racist name in the book.  I had witnesses to this so he spent 3 months in jail.  

But rather than the mission abide by the law and keep him out of the mission and allow me in, they kept me out and allowed him in.  The mission was infamous for these kinds of warped decisions.  

I had made arrangements with a good friend that if I wanted to go out, I asked him to go out with me. That way there would be no temptation to take anything,  and if I did dissociate, someone would be with me. It was a good move, because dissociation never happened when I had people around me to talk with. I wasn't afraid because I wasn't alone. SR was and remains a wonderful friend. 

I was very glad when 1997 and 1998 came to a close.

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Brother's Aren't So Different

I met JW, who happened to be SW's brother while dating SW. He seemed more stable than SW, more mature. I started to attend the same church as JW. From the moment I walked in I felt uncomfortable. I don't know what made me feel that way – or at least at first I didn't know why I felt that way.

The church turned out to be a very legalistic Baptist church where ladies had long hair, wore skirts, served the men, the men were dominant figures and so on. Fit JW to a T.

Still, we dated. And in that time my niece was born. My nephew was now 4 years old (my how time does fly) and my niece had just been born! I was thrilled to have one of each to cherish. And in this time things were rough in our family. Words were flying both ways. I was not welcoming my parents in my home and they were not welcoming me in their home. My brother also was not welcoming me. All this while I was in the depths of counseling for sexual abuse.

My family kept wanting me to move back home to the city I grew up in and I was content to stay w here I had the support of my Psychiatrist. He had said some things to my parents that they found rather upsetting, telling them that they were toxic to me and they took it pretty hard, which is understandable. After that they really tried to get me to move home. They also didn't like my friends – I volunteered at a mission that served hot meals and there were some not-so-nice people especially in appearance. I only ever had a run-in with one of them, and he was sent to jail for it.

So I had the pressure of dealing with sexual abuse and the pressure of family as well. I felt my psychiatrist was the only support I had so I sure wasn't going to move and lose the one support I had. And I couldn't make anybody understand that.

In the meantime, one night JW decided to stay a little to late and missed the bus. I told him he could not stay at my place for the night. I kept reminding him that the last bus was coming and he'd better get his feet out the door to it because he was not spending the night at my place. Countless times I reminded him of this. Finally the last bus had gone and he was still at my place. He thought he could still stay at my place, to which I said no way. We shared words and in the process he stormed out the door and proceeded to walk away from me. I walked after him for 2 city blocks before my asthma kicked in. He turned around and threatened to kill me. So I ran off back home. Where he went I don't know.

When I got back home I had to call the ambulance because my asthma was in a flare up. It was suggested I go to a Woman's shelter because of his threat. I had called ahead and had a place to stay.

My stay at the shelter was an experience. One I am slowly forgetting but that I don't want to forget completely. I met some interesting ladies. I shared a room with another lady, and once a week we were allowed to go through donations of clothing. We all had chores to do, though some did none and others did more. I was there for 2 weeks and I started to gain weight while I was there.

And while I was at the Shelter, one of the pastors from the church came to visit another one of the ladies, and I just about panicked. I didn't want JW knowing where I was. The pastor said JW would never hurt me, to which I replied that he just liked threatening people, and staying until the buses had gone and I told him the whole story. The pastor said he would talk to JW.

After 2 weeks I was ready to go home and see my cat and sleep in my own bed again. In the middle of the night I got up and packed my things and went home. Needless to say, JW and I were over.

But that wasn't the end of him. He'd call me collect from wherever he was and ask for relationship advice and for a while I accepted the calls. But one day I had enough and wouldn't accept the charges. I don't think he needed the advice. I believe he wanted to talk to me. I could be wrong. Either way, but not accepting the charges, it put a quick and final end to our relationship once and for all. He was and is the guy that couldn't and can't take no for an answer.  He's not that much different from his brother after all.

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TWICE AROUND WAS ENOUGH

While I was attending G. A. Wheable Centre for Adult Education in London, Ontario, I met a couple Christian guys.  At first we hit it off and were all good friends.  But then they both decided they wanted to date me.  I guess the one guy won out because the other guy backed off.  S.W.  asked me out several times and several times I said no.  I didn't feel it was right, nor did I feel ready to date anybody.  He kept pushing and eventually I got angry about it.  I gave him a note that said for him to leave me alone and not to speak to me again.  While I was going down a set of stairs at school one day he was heading up, and he saw me and grabbed my arm and wouldn't let go.  When I got free, I went to the office and talked with the counselor that I dealt with, in tears, about what had been going on with S.W.   The school got involved and told him to leave me alone and the police got involved in order to make him aware that grabbing somebody was not a wise move.  I didn't have an issue with him or his friend for a while after this. 

Two years later, SW and friend heard I was in the hospital and came to see me.  We all became friends again - my first mistake.  I was vulnerable to begin with because I was in the psyche ward.  They were still competing for me.  

Eventually I did start dating S.W. for a very short time, and we wound up engaged.  He wanted to make out and we wound up in the bedroom.  When I saw it was heading to  penetration I said no, stop.  I was a Christian and strongly believed in no sex until marriage.  He was upset and frustrated that I made him stop so he placed his penis between my breasts and proceeded to perform until he ejaculated all over me.  I gagged until I was just about sick to my stomach.  He was happy as a lark and I felt sick as a puppy.  I didn't like what he was doing and I had asked him to stop twice, but he just kept going.  

He also forced me to do another sex act on him which was most shameful and I don't know how anybody could do it willingly.  I'm not even going to mention the name of it here because I don't want to give any ungodly ideas to anybody.

I finally hurried him on out the door so he could go home and I hopped in the shower and stood there for about a half hour trying to get clean.  I felt filthy and kept gagging.  I scrubbed and scrubbed trying to rub him off.  

I did report the assault to the police, but once again the justice system fails the survivor.


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Back in the 90's

Back in the 1990's when I first started to deal with the abuse from my past, they didn't have a whole lot of support groups and the internet did not exist yet - yes, I'm that old.  If it wasn't for the psychiatrist I had, I'd have been left to deal with all of this on my own.  That would have been tough, because my family and I were at odds.  Having just come through brain surgery and suffering from a brain injury and trying to adjust to not having any medications to balance me out for the first time in my life and struggling with flashbacks, nightmares and memories of sexual abuse, I had emotional issues left, right and centre.  Nobody seemed to understand that.  My parents had their own issues to deal with as my brother, my only sibling was getting married and we all know the stress a wedding can bring between different families involved.
My parents tell me my mood was all over the place.  I remember the same about them.  I think we were all very stressed.  I knew one thing - If I was going to emotionally survive, I needed to get out on my own and deal deeply with the wounds of my past with someone who could focus solely on them and me who could help me work through the mess of memories and emotions I had.
In the Fall of 1994, one month after my nephew was born, I moved away from home to the same city I had brain surgery in.  I went back to school at G. A. Wheable Centre for Adult Education to upgrade my education and obtain some courses I always wanted but could never get in regular high school.
A friend recommended a Christian Psychiatrist, Dr. Robert Lockhart, and I started to see him in 1995.  He was a godsend.  I started to share my history with him and unload the pain I was bearing.  He tried me on various medications to see what would work to ease my nightmares, to ease my flashbacks and intense emotions.  Sometimes I'd be really angry, other times I'd dissociate, and other times I'd be a crying mess, but he didn't seem to mind whatever mood I was in.  He was kind, caring, and compassionate, and he understood my Christian lifestyle, because he also was a Christian.
Likely the hardest time he saw me through was when I was raped in 1996 by my former superintendent, John D.
I can see it now, but back then I couldn't see how he was grooming me.  He'd ask me to go and lock the boiler room with him.  I didn't know the boiler room locked itself.  I was really super naive in my 20's.  I had not be well-prepared for life, but had been highly sheltered because of the severity of the epilepsy I'd had.
In late October around 10:30pm my door unlocked and opened.  Thinking it would have been my friend Sherry, I wasn't startled, but it wasn't her, it was him.
He came in and sat in the pink chair, snapped his fingers and pointed to a spot on the floor in front of him.  At that moment, I knew what was going to happened and I feared for my life.  I knew to survive I would do what I was told.
I  went and sat in front of him.  He started by massaging my shoulders but eventually put his hands down my shirt and started fondling my breasts underneath my bra.  I was so uncomfortable and so afraid.  He removed my top and my bra and laid my flat on the floor where he proceeded to kiss me.  He undid my jeans and proceeded to try and fondle my private parts.  I didn't have a chance to say anything because he kept his mouth over mine.  He removed my pants and underpants and then took his own pants off, telling me to pleasure him.  I didn't know what to do.  I'd never been with a man.  He had to tell me what to do.  "Tug, pull, squeeze."  So I did all three, but then he told me to be gentle.  It was okay for him to be rough with me, but he didn't like it rough.  But being on the floor for a half hour to 45 minutes wasn't good enough for him, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into the bedroom.  He tossed me back onto the bed and readied himself to enter me.  That's when I found my voice.  I said, "Please don't."  He growled in frustration and thrust his fingers, all 4 of them inside me.  Boy did that hurt.  I was a virgin after all.  I didn't want any part of this and here he was thrusting his fingers in and out of me.  I never orgasmed, never climaxed, never felt pleasure.  It was a foreign thing and something I hate to this day.
When he was done having fun with me and had had his fill of me, he took me by the arm and led me to the bathroom where he told me to shower.  He wouldn't leave until I got in the shower.  Once I was in the shower, he left.   And once again, I was preyed upon by a sexual predator, somebody I knew, somebody I trusted.  Does it never end?  Thank God for Dr. Lockhart and his wisdom, compassion and understanding.  Because for a short while after this, I really struggled.
I contemplated suicide, was admitted to the psychiatric ward, was forced to talk to the police who did nothing about it - BIG surprise - and started to steal small, insignificant things, being arrested two times for it.  I really struggled with my identity after this rape.  To this day I do not enjoy intimacy, and I struggle with self-harm at times because of this one incident on top of the others.  That and how my family responded to me and their accusations of whose responsibility it was and still is.




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Brain Surgery & Sexual Harassment at Work

By age 21, my seizures were fully out of control. Dr. W. had sent me for an MRI and an EEG at London, Ontario's Epilepsy Unit in then known as, University Hospital, now known as London Health Sciences Centre. In March of 1990 I was in the hospital for brain surgery research to see if I qualified for epilepsy brain surgery. After a couple of weeks of research, they were able to pinpoint the area causing seizures. On March 28, 1990 at 1pm, I underwent a Right Temporal Lobectomy while awake. The surgery was only 5 years old at the time, so I am part of the research that goes with it. I couldn't go wrong with a 98% chance to be seizure-free without taking medications.
I can say that it has been at the time of writing, it has been successful for 29 years – no seizures at all, not even an aura.

I was able to get a job thanks to a wonderful friend CS I had made a church. She put in a good word for me at Sears with her boss and good friend MH. I did really good at work there, getting promotions and raises until RS came into the picture. Oh, what a character he was!

He started coming around the cashier station where I worked and just casually talking. He worked at Sears too. I started out in the Ladieswear department and I loved it there and wish I'd have been able to stay there. Everything else after that was difficult and not my style.

I was moved to Customer Service next and I liked it as well, but I didn't understand all the goings on there. There were too many aspects to remember for me. I did okay if they left me in one spot but if they kept shifting me around I had trouble. So I'd been promoted from the ladieswear to customer service. Now they moved me to electronics.

Electronics is where all hell began to break loose. RS began to come around and see me on his shifts more often. He'd have cards for me. He'd ask me out on dates. I only dated men if they were my age and especially only if they were of the Christian belief system. I was 21, he was in his 30's. He was not a Christian like I was.

He started to say really weird things to me when he came around my work station that really creeped me out. Things like “I'll be your Robinhood and you can be my Maid Marion.” or “I'll be your Prince Charming and you can be Cinderella.” And my eyes would just widen in creepiness. He used all kinds of analogies like this and it just grossed me out. It was when he followed me home that things took a turn for me.

There were days that flowers showed up at my door. The first bouquet that showed up I accepted because I didn't know where they came from. When I realized who sent them, I was ready to throw them out. Mom said not to do that so I gave the bouquet to her. In fact, my family thought I was crazy for not wanting the attention this guy was giving me. They just didn't know the undue pressure this creep was putting me under at work and what kind of stress he had me under at home.

He showed up at my door one day when I was home alone with a bouquet of red roses and a box of chocolates after I had told him to stop sending flowers and to leave me alone for the umpteenth time. I didn't want to go out with him. I wanted him to leave me alone. I wasn't interested in dating, not him, not anybody else. Yet he showed up. There he stood with a bouquet of roses and chocolates. I didn't want them. I tried to shut the door but he stuck his foot in the doorway so I couldn't close it.

In the meantime, the pizza I had ordered showed up. He tried to pay for that too, but I looked at the pizza delivery guy and told him no. He knew our family well and understood. RS kept trying to pay for my pizza and I kept saying no. I invited the pizza guy in and paid him and he left. And when he left I told RS I was going to eat and that FINALLY gave me the opportunity to get his foot out of the door and get him away. Friends say he stood there for over an hour. I don't care. He said Sears had given him my address, but when I asked them, they said no, they never give out addresses. The police say he has followed me home when I took the bus one day.

My brother and parents thought I was being crazy over all this, until my dad started to experience the RS effect. I would never have known that dad was being harassed by RS except that I was home alone one evening and the phone rang. It was a pastor looking for dad. Dad was not yet home and I asked to take a message for him. Turned out to be a pastor from the church RS said he went to. So I took the message and gave it to dad when he got home. And when he got home I gave the message to him with a few questions.

Apparently RS had been harassing dad at his work for a week, begging my dad to get me to go out with him, usually for 3 hours every morning. Suddenly I am not so crazy. Dad even called the police on him. It's not fun to deal with at work or at home.

Myself and two other female employees my age went to the management of Sears with all our evidence of cards, letters etc., but they would not let us proceed with pressing charges against him. (We should have went ahead and charged him nonetheless.) By the next year I was so stressed out and my family was so stressed out that I quit working to keep peace in the family and to save my sanity. Eventually RS would leave me alone once the police got involved – my dad would end up calling the police. Sears may have not wanted me calling, but they didn't say anything about my dad.

I find it ironic that Sears did nothing to help the 3 of us young women who were being harassed back then and now they are out of business.  Some call that karma.  I call it justice.

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Things Continued To Escalate

PS The same year I was hospitalized and met Dr. W. I had been sexually assaulted by a classmate, P.S. Exams were over and we were walking home – sort of together, although not really. I was walking on the sidewalk and he was walking on the road and we chatted casually about the exam we had just finished. When we got to my house, he asked me to continue walking with him.

I went inside and pleaded with mom to let me go on with him.(I'd had a crush on him all year) She said no over and over and over. And I wish she'd have stuck with that, but she did give in and let me go. So we walked a little further until we got to a wooded area. (Why does it always have to be a wooded area?) He took me to a hidden area and he reached up my shirt, undid my bra and fondled my breasts. I fought to get away, but he worked at getting his hands down my pants and I struggled to push him away. I kept saying I had to get home because I had chores to do, my family was waiting for me, etc. Eventually I got away from him, but I was all disheveled. I felt like everybody could see the mess I was. Even hidden in the woods I felt like people could see what had happened.

I put my bra back together, sort of anyway, and ran back home. I can't remember what I told my parents, if anything. I wouldn't get any sympathy anyways because I pleaded to go. They likely thought I wanted to go and have sex with him knowing how my family thought of me anyway. But it scarred me. If I'd have know P.S was like that, I'd have never asked to go with him. I thought he was a gentleman, not like that, demanding his own way. It certainly opened my eyes to who he really was, and I didn't like it.

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ST Later the same year at my then best friend's 16th birthday party, I would be slightly assaulted again. This was another place my parents didn't want me. Yet it was right across the street from where we lived. I had been there dozens of times before with the exact same kids. I didn't see what the harm was going to be. The only thing that went wrong was that ST crossed boundaries that day.

We were all sitting around laughing and talking about typical things kids talk about – cars, school, Summer, parents, etc. ST took my hand and led me back to my friends' room. I was really nervous and should have ran but I was frozen with fear. He shut the door and pinned me to the back of it. He kissed me and rubbed h is hands up and down my body and I couldn't stop him. I was so afraid. I couldn't scream, I couldn't move, I couldn't do anything – he'd told me to remain quiet.

It doesn't sound like much but when you don't understand what is happening to you and you are told to remain silent both during and afterwards, and you know what a bully this person is, you tend to do what you are told. I was solid with fear.

Afterwards the girls were all giddy with curiosity. They wanted to know what happened and what all he did with me. Of course, I had been sworn to silence with a severe look, so after some coaxing I simply said that he had kissed me and left it at that. In the meantime, my mom had called saying that we had friends show up and I was expected at home. It was a bit of a relief to get that call. So I went home, as shaken up as I was.

So twice in the same year, only 4 months apart I had been assaulted by two boys I knew and went to school with. Some boys do like to get their own way.

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HE'S JUST PLAYING AROUND When I was 16 years old and my brother was 18, we were roughhousing on the front lawn of our home, it suddenly turned into something unhealthy. He started to imitate having sex with me, or having outercourse. Mom eventually caught him and stopped it. She said he could hurt me and prevent me from having babies by doing what he was doing. I don't understand why he was doing that in the first place. I was his sister.

He also used to do this thing with his one finger. He would scratch the centre of my palm with his one finger all the time. Finally one day I did it back to him. He just about flipped out. He said not to ever do that to anybody, especially guys. I asked why and his explanation shocked me. He said that when I did that was to ask somebody to have sex with them. So I asked him why he was doing it to me all this time. He just shrugged his shoulders and left.

To this day when I ask my mom why he was not disciplined about that incident, she just says that we were just kids and he was just fooling around. Ya, never mind what it did to me mentally and emotionally.

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FRIGHTENING PHONE CALLS

At age 17 our family moved from our little house on the cute family street called Easthaven, which was home to us, to a townhome community called Pheasant Run Community. It was a much longer walk to school and it wore on me. And while we were there I started to get these odd phone calls. I say “I” started to get these phone calls because they only happened when I was home alone. The person who made these calls knew when I was home alone, which means he was watching our home.

Dad would leave the home early in the morning for work, around 4-5am, and mom would leave around 9-11am. As soon as she was out the door, the darn phone would ring. I'd pick it up and this voice would say in a raspy voice, “I wanna fuck you.” And he'd repeat it. I'd hang up the phone and call my mom at work, and she'd either tell me to take the phone off the hook or she'd come running home because I'd be in sobs.

I honestly had no idea what he meant by the phone calls; I only knew they scared the living grace out of me. One day when mom left for work and I was home alone. mom and I pulled a trick on him.

Mom went out the door and pretended to leave for work as usual, but this time she only went around the block and back home, and I let her in the back patio door. True enough, just like all the other times, he called right on time. Only instead of me answering the phone this time, mom answered the phone. She just screamed into the phone – no talking, no questions – just screamed into his ear. And he never called back after that.

We did find out who was calling, and it was who my brother thought was doing it. His friend worked for the local telephone company and, sadly, his sister had recently been raped and murdered. We figured it had been him doing these harassing phone calls. We were right. CG was the one who had been making them, not only to me, but also to a few others that we found out.

What happened to his sister really had a bad impact on him. Still, that didn't give him the right to 'phone rape' myself and others. That's the term I had been given by workers in the field. I would never receive another call from him again, so I don't now if he lost his job at the telephone company or not. I would imagine he did.

My seizures again increased and I was finally asked to leave school because my absences were keeping classes behind. In fact, the school sent a letter home to my parents saying that I was skipping classes, even though my mom had been calling in my absences. I've never skipped a day of school in my life. But this school, Eastdale Collegiate, asked my parents to pull me out of school because I was holding classes back. They didn't offer me tutoring, or support of any kind to stay caught up, nothing. I sobbed. I loved learning, I just had failing health. I was having 5-20 seizures a day, sometimes an hour while taking a combination of medication Dr. W had prescribed for me, totally somewhere between 4000-5000mg of anti-seizure medications daily. I pretty much started to sleep my life away.

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A Little Help Along The Way

With all the turmoil of the things from the church, the verbal abuse from my dad, and memories from my younger years haunting me, plus the joys of womanhood starting, my seizures really started to flare up, and I was hospitalized. I was just a little too young for the adult ward, but almost too old for the kids ward, yet that is where they put me – the children's ward. I had seizures, contrary to what the nurses said I was having. They didn't believe they were seizures, but thought I was having nightmares. Maybe they were both!

A couple more nights into my hospital stay and a doctor, Dr. W. was doing his rounds. I went into a seizure and the nurses asked him what he thought was wrong with me. He happened to be a Neurologist! He watched me for a minute and said, “she's having an epileptic seizure.” He came to my room the next morning and spoke to my parents and I and offered his services to us. He became my doctor from that point on and was a godsend for me and for my family.

He was as kind to us as could possibly be. He put me on various medications and combinations of medications in attempts to control my seizures. Sometimes they worked, others, not so much.

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CN Tower Visit Horror

At the age of 12, my dad took my brother and I to the newly built CN Tower. Mom was a hair model for my cousin who had been living with us to get her hair dressing degree. In fact, she, her mom and two sisters had been living with us for that year. They needed a safe place to live because my 'uncle' had beat my aunt to a pulp almost unrecognizable. Things at home became so stressful that year that at the age of 11, I got shingles. The doctor told mom and dad that if things didn't settle down somewhat that my brother and I would be removed from the home.

So at the nearing of the end of that year, while my mom was a hair model for the middle cousin, dad took my brother and I to the CN Tower. We were all excited.

Then we got to the elevator. And like any typical child who wanted to be first on, I barged ahead to get on, and suddenly I was grabbed from somewhere and pulled to the back of the elevator and pinned to the back of the wall. I was turned around to face a drunken man who rubbed his private area all over the front of my body. Up and down he went and it seemed like forever that it went on. And nobody helped me. When it was done, dad told him not to touch any other woman on the elevator, but he didn't say anything about me, his daughter.

When we got off the elevator, I reached for my dad but he pushed me away, literally. We headed to the food court where we ate. Or rather, I cried through what I could eat while dad and my brother laughed and joked. And I felt so isolated and alone, shamed and confused.

Every time I reached out for my dad, he shunned me. And he warned me not to tell mom when I saw her. I didn't understand that but obviously I had to obey.

When we did go to pick mom and my cousin up from the hair exam, I started to sob as soon as I saw her. Sorry dad, it was uncontrollable. She asked what was wrong so my dad told her what had happened. Mom was upset that nobody had been told, not even security.

So our first trip to the CN Tower was an eventful one and one that I have not forgotten. The memory is as fresh today as it was then.

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Trials Along the Christian Path

Once in Pentecostal churches, we learned a whole new way of living. We were new at it and excited to learn. One of the First trials to come along was that I had Epilepsy, and in the Bible there is a man who has seizures who has a demon cast out of him. (Matthew 17:14-16) When some of the church members saw and heard that I had seizures, they decided that I, too, had demons. And for the next 6 years at that church, they tried to cast they demon of epilepsy out of me every chance they got. At first I was willing in this, wanting the seizures to stop, go away, etc., but as time went on, I became afraid of altar calls and healing services. To this day I will rarely go forward at altar calls and I definitely don't go to healing services.
They were well-intended people with good hearts, but they got carried away, or at least some of them did. If any of the older saints there had stopped and thought about it, they would have realized the one thing that could have prevented years of spiritual abuse from taking place – that is that the devil cannot abide where God lives. And God lives within my heart; therefore the devil and his demons CANNOT and COULD NOT HAVE ever lived in me to cause the epilepsy. Hence, Epilepsy is and always was a medical condition, not a spiritual one.
But they still were not satisfied. If the devil could not be cast out, the next thing they tried was Holy/Miraculous healing. Lay hands on the sick and they shall recover (Mark 16:18) was a verse I heard over and over. So I had multiple hands laid on me a-plenty. I felt the weight of the hands and I sometimes could barely stand up under the weight of them. Again, they were all good-hearted people with only positive intentions. But when it came back weeks later that I was still having seizures, they blamed me and said I didn't have enough faith, and they quoted Scriptures at me like “If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove” Matthew 17:20. They had NO IDEA the amount of faith I had. I believed to the end of the Earth and back, but it didn't heal me. This is another form of Spiritual Abuse. And at first my parents didn't know any better because they were as new to the faith as my brother and I were. The four of us were all learning together. As I got to be an older teenager, however, I rebelled and refused to go forward at altar calls out of fear of what was to happen, and my parents didn't expect me to either. Somewhere deep inside I knew my healing was not going to come by way of am miracle. It was going to come, but not by way of the miraculous touch.

(Image from http://gotoheavennow.com/couldnt-cast-demon/)

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Verbal Sexual Abuse Begins

I honestly do not know what happened at home when I turned 11, but things changed, and not for the better in some regards. Dad's drinking got worse and there were house parties every weekend for the parents.

One Summer when my brother, dad and I were out at the pool, my dad had the camera ready to take a picture of the my brother and I. The picture shows my brother reaching over to pinch my bum. He and my dad laughed. I did not. At that point was the first time my dad commented to me, "Your headlights are showing!" I didn't now what it meant but I knew it wasn't nice. I believe I went inside and told mom, who likely scolded dad and went on about the day.

We became involved in the Anglican Church but I didn't see that it made much difference, other than the Bible was now in our lives. There was still drinking, and the comments from my dad, and of course I was developing as a young lady.

When I was 13 years old, I gave my heart to the Lord Jesus and my entire family also did. We entered the Pentecostal denomination and the verbal abuse took a turn for the worst.

A Christian trucking ministry called ACTS - Association of Christian Truckers sat in our driveway for a week in the Summer of 1983. He and his wife stayed with us for that one week and it was one week too long for me.

I don't know who was in the chapel first that day, but I remember it was a hot Summer day and I was 14 years old and I was wearing a pair of shorts and a halter top. The pastor made some comment about my clothes being that of something like those that a prostitute would wear, to which my dad covered his face and turned face, covered by his hand and said, "He's right, you're turning me on," and ordered me to go inside and change my clothes.

I stormed inside sobbing and I felt so ashamed and dirty. How could dad say such a thing?! I was his daughter after all!!! His little girl! How could he??

Mom came running, wanting to know what was wrong, so I told her what had been said. She stormed outside in my defense demanding to know just what the hell I was supposed to wear because it was the middle of Summer after all? I don't know what was said after that. I was in my bedroom crying. But that was just the beginning of such comments.

Over the years I would hear such things as:

• Your headlights are showing!! - I heard it a lot!
• You'd be better off riding him than sitting beside him (when I sat beside a boy)
• If you weren't a Christian or didn't have Epilepsy, you'd be sleeping on the streets with every guy that came along, pregnant with 3 kids!!! (heard that one LOADS of times)
• If a skirt was too short there was reference of seeing all the way to my pussy

The comments started when I was 11 and then only ended when I moved away when I was 24. And the shaming and embarrassing part was how loud and angry he said it in front of other people. He said it like he hated me. And to this day, he holds me responsible for the sexual assaults and rapes I endured growing up. Because he hasn't heard the guys' side of the story and because I went or did certain things, he holds me even partly responsible for being raped, even deserving it to some degree.

So I understand all too well what verbal abuse is. Add the element of sexual abusive overtones to it and you have what I tolerated from my dad growing up. I pray nobody else has to deal with it, because I am now 50 and these comments still haunt me and in some ways dictate my daily living.

That's my mom there beside me.

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The Storm Began Brewing

Like any young girl, at age 11, I was starting to develop. I guess my dad took notice, because he started commenting on it, but not in the pleasant ways a kind father would. And I remember the first time it happened. Funny how you remember the first time things like this happen.

I was standing on our pool deck with my brother and my dad was going to take a picture of us. My dad was laughing because, unbeknownst to me, my brother was reaching behind me to pinch my bum. Out of the blue my dad says, "Your headlights are showing!" And I stormed off the deck of the pool and into the house.

And for the next 10-12 years, I put up with the verbal abuse of my father with my mother never stopping him. And we were Christians at the time! So imagine what it would have been like if we had not been.

Other things that were shot at me included:

• "You'd be better off riding him than sitting beside him! (if I sat beside a boy)"
• "If you weren't a Christian or didn't have epilepsy, you'd be sleeping on the streets with every guy that came along, pregnant with 3 kids!"
• If I wore a skirt that was too short for his liking I'd here something to the effect of him being able to see all the way to my pussy.
• Women's "beavers" were often mentioned and joked about.
• Over the shoulder boulder holders and such were also joked about.
• And sex was always a topic to be joked about, made fun of, and shamed.

And if this wasn't bad enough, to deal with this as a child, the next year, age 12, we went to Toronto because my mom was a hair model for my cousin's hairdressing exam and it took place there. So while mom was modeling, dad took my brother and I to the CN Tower for the first time.

We were all so excited because the Tower was still new. We got up and it was our turn to get on the elevator. I stepped on first and before I knew what was happening, I was grabbed and pinned to the back of the elevator and a mans pants were rubbing all up and down the front of my chest and body. It was disgusting and I was crying. Nobody on the elevator did anything. I think dad did grab him and told him not to touch any other woman on the elevator. But he didn't say anything about his daughter.

After the ordeal was over, I felt sick. I felt so ashamed, so lonely and so frightened. I just wanted to die. Put me in a corner where I can curl up and die was how I felt. But I couldn't do that at the Tower, so I reached out to my father for a hug, but he pushed me away...literally. He wanted nothing to do with me. And the rest of the day, that was evident. He and my brother played video games, ate their lunch and enjoyed themselves, but to me it's all a blur, because I was so frightened, alone and unsure of what had just happened and nobody seemed to care.

Dad made me promise not to tell mom, but of course when I saw her, I broke and cried and everything spilled out. She was upset that security or police were not contacted, but in the end, nothing was done about it. And my seizures started to flare up again, little by little; and nobody understood.

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Early Introductions - Too Early

My seizures were under control for the most part and things were pretty smooth and then two events happened to upset the milk cart. The first would be running into 'her.' And the second would be an introduction into a world I'd rather forget thanks to two unruly teenage boys who had nothing better to do than roughhouse with a 7-year-old girl on her way home from school.

So things are going along fine in our family, my seizures are controlled by the use of Dilantin once a day. Then we run into 'her' in the grocery store after a parade we are both Majorettes in for different baton companies. At the site of her I break into uncontrollable sobs. My mom doesn't understand it and says it's only 'her.' I knew that it was only 'her' but that's what scared me so badly. I was afraid the abuse was going to start all over again. Fortunately, that was the last time we would see that family for a very long time, or at least 'her' with her family, for a very long time.

Then on a typical walk home from grade two in the warmer weather one day, three teenage boys, all white, grabbed me and forced me to look at a Playboy magazine. Two of them held me while the third held the magazine open and forced me to look at its pictures, including the centerfold. I struggled to get away, but I was only 7 years old and there were 3 of them. They kept asking if I had one of them, pointing to different 'features' of the women in the photos. When they finally felt like releasing me, I ran up the hill to home as fast as I could run. And I believe I told my parents what happened, but not much was done, nor was much support given.

After those two incidents, my seizures started to flare up. I was hospitalized for one week and taken off of Dilantin and put on a stronger medication, Tegretol. And for awhile again things were okay. (Are you beginning to notice the connection of sexual abuse and the Epilepsy? The abuse triggers a flare up in the Epilepsy.) Things would be fine until around age 11.

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First Memories - Do You Remember Yours?

Do you remember your very first memory? That memory of long ago when you were just a baby, a toddler perhaps? How old were you, 2, maybe 3? I find it amazing how far back our memories can go.

My memories go back to when I was 2 years old, but the ones that are important begin when I was 3. My family stayed a night or two at the apartment of my dad's co-workers and his family in Oshawa to see if mom and dad liked the area; they were looking for a place to live in Oshawa because dad had found employment there at a car hauling company.

The very first night we stayed, the teenage daughter of our hosts molested me. I was 3, she was a teenager. She put her hands in places I had never felt before and made me touch her and fondle her in places I should not have known, at least until I became a young adult, and only if I had chosen that lifestyle. I had been robbed that night.

And the abused continued by her because we moved to that building and mom wound up babysitting her and h er brother after school. Every time we were together, at her home or at ours, it happened.

Not quite one year after she started to molest me, my mom took me to see my pediatrician because I had vaginal sores (go figure). The doctor looked at me and asked my mom if I was being sexually abused. They both looked at me, 4 years old, and asked me if I was being sexually abused! What does a 4-year-old know!? And because I couldn't answer them properly, nothing was done to stop it.

Another doctor visit was because I kept having spells where I just stared off into the distance or picked at my clothes. The doctor ran some tests and diagnosed me as having Petit-Mal Epilepsy. He put me on Chewable Dilantin as an attempt to control the seizures I was having. I never had a seizures like this nor was I diagnosed with Epilepsy until I had been molested.

And at 3, 4 and 5 years old, I didn't tell. She'd threaten me that if I told, my mom wouldn't love me or she'd spank me or she'd threaten to burn me with her fire baton. She had all kinds of threats. So nobody found out because I was too scared to tell. I was afraid of being more injured if I did.

And neither of our parents checked on us and this is what bothers me. I know I cried and fussed and my parents never came and checked on me and I WISH I knew why. They say other stuff was going on, but c'mon, when you little one is crying and fussing, don't you go and check on them regardless of what is happening? Children are supposed to be a priority. And even my pediatrician saw physical signs of trauma but nothing was done.

The abused lasted from ages 3-5, and only stopped because we finally moved away. I was relieved, even though I didn't understand it. I didn't see her for 2 years, and when I did see her I sobbed. I was absolutely terrified that the abuse was going to start all over again. Mom couldn't understand my reaction but she didn't understand what this 'person' had put me through. And I never told anybody until I was 15.

I don't know what happened when I was 15, but I suddenly went to my parents and told them what this gal had done to me. I didn't get the response I expected. I was hoping for comfort, to hear, "gee I'm sorry that happened," and things like that. Instead I heard, "Well, can you forgive her?" No empathy, no compassion. I responded that I guess I could, and I went back to my room and cried. I felt like I'd been told, "Who cares, yeah okay" etc.

So that's where it all started for me. A city called Oshawa, a female pedophile, and an introduction to things I should not have been introduced to for many years. If you read all this, God bless you. There are many more stories to come. I hope you join me on my journey to breaking the silence and Calming The Storm Within.

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