Calming the Storm Within: June 2019

Friday, 7 June 2019

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.