My Story

This story just goes on and on. I could probably write a whole entire encyclopedia about how many times I was what I have learned by all this #Me Too talk sexually abused.   I'm 57 years old now and have been seriously taking a hard look back at these situations and have been seriously getting rather pissed about them. Actually a couple of my abusers have relatives on my Facebook/ I sure they don't know what happened between me and their relative. One is dead and one is still alive. I heard them talk about what a good man he was and how they miss him. But guess what people your Hank at one moment in time was not a good person. aAnd if you ever read this and get mad at me for telling my story and take me off your Facebook I'm telling you right now I don't give a dam. I've been living with these secrets all my life. This is my story to tell and I'm going to tell it.   If you've read the first part of my story you'll remember that I told you that I went

It's a common fact that a high percentage of abusers are people you know whether that be a family member or family friend. I can definitely identify with that and more than once.   Gee as I look at my life and see all the instances of sexual abuse I wonder how it didn't affect me as badly as it did. I hope that people don't read these accounts and feel sorry for me or think that I'm broken because I'm not. I'm alive and enjoying life. I also hope that people don't read my story and think  that I'm making it up because really I'm not. This was my life.   Anyhow back to the topic.I wonder if I should tell the names of these men that abused me should I care what could possibly happen to them if I dare to utter their names. Why should I care. Did they care when they touched me the way they did. Did  they think I wouldn't remember or care. Did they stop to think how they're actions would affect me or my  life? I hardly think so.   I grew up the

I've been hearing about the reconciliation the Canadian government is involved in with the survivors of the residential schools wishing that people like me who survived the dysfunctions of foster care were included in those efforts.   If you read my first post you read that I was put into foster care. I was the ripe old age of 12. I was half way through grade seven.   I was told that the foster home was one of the best. The foster parents won awards for being good foster parents. That wasn't my experience.   My foster parents names were John and Billie. Billie was a nick name for the foster mother. Her real name was Dorothy.   Both John and Billie were drunks. They drank all the time. Billie sat at the kitchen table all day drinking her Rye and milk. She said that she drank it because it was like medicine. John worked as a bus driver in Vancouver. He coached the high school rugby team and the community softball league. They were both well know in the community as good peopl

With the #Me Too movement making such an impact on people's live and so many people standing up and telling their stories I thought it was my turn to tell my story. Some of my story I have kept secret not wanting people to look at me and feel sorry for me and thinking I'm broken. Because really I'm not. I've used what has happened to me to grow and be an example to other people. I used to tell my kids that I could be the worst hooker drug addict down town Vancouver and have every excuse for being down there. I am strong I am woman hear me roar. I'm ready to let my secret out. I will probably be some what unpopular with some people after they read this but I don't really care. It's my story and I have the right to tell it. And wouldn't you know it I'm sitting here watching "The View" and they are talking about this very topic right now. To my earliest recollection my #Me Too story starts with my mother at the very early age of 11. My paren