At the age of 12, I felt unwanted in my family. I decided I needed to run away from home and find another place to live. At first I moved in with other families of kids I barely knew. I quickly learned what kind of people take in runaways without contacting other appropriate adults. That kind includes brothers, uncles, fathers and friends of the family who would sneak into the bedroom where I was sleeping, put a giant hand over my mouth, and drag me out of bed and into somewhere, out of the way, to have sex with me. One of those places was often in a car. I still can’t look at an El Camino without feeling sick. When I “told”, I was asked to leave. I learned not to ‘tell’ until I had another place to go first. Otherwise, I would be forced to crash in someone’s abandoned fort in the woods or with another…undesirable. From ages 12-17, off and on, more on than off, I would run away from home and school. My fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Davis was my favorite. Then came Mrs. White in fifth grade. It was all downhill from there. By sixth grade with Mr. Preston, UGH, I was over school. I was over the daily harassment of Team Captains arguing over which team was going to “get stuck” with me. I was over the daily harassment of denied sleep-overs because of my chronic bed wetting. I was over my mom getting other moms to force their kids to my birthday parties. Being in the bottom three shortest kids in the entire WPB FL public elementary school, the bullying escalated to epic proportions ending in a “small town meeting” of sorts. In the school conference room sat me, teachers, guidance counselors, other school officials, and about 100 kids who bullied me on a regular basis. Ok maybe 20 kids, but it seemed like 1000. The worst offender, Donna, said all the right things, then kicked me in the shin on the way out the door and smiled at me. I was done with school after that and just sort of stopped going. Mom and Dad had their own issues. They thought, conveniently, that it would build character if I had to figure it out by myself. Maybe it did.
At 15 my parents were divorced, and Dad was frequenting a local strip club… at least I think he was. One stripper was living with us for a very short time, and one beautiful hooker was on the scene. Dad was making my living with him very stressful on me. I didn’t see it that way at the time. I was the eldest, and taking care of my dad was going to happen, without question! My two younger siblings went with Mom and her new husband to be in Boca Raton. Dad’s behavior grew less and less appropriate as time went on. While watching TV on the floor, head on hand like a typical kid, dad threw a small magazine by my head… Penthouse side edition/Forum Magazine. It was filled with sexual fantasies and reality sexual stories from readers. One story was “dog eared” for me to read. I did as I was told and was panic-stricken to read a story about father/daughter sex! So we went from Dad asking me to ask grocery store clerks to have sex with him, to waking up in my bedroom with dad watching me, to sitting on his lap before bed for nightly kisses only to feel an erection under my lap, to reading sex father/daughter stories… “I better get the hell out of this house” was my overwhelming thought.
Blonde Barbie Hooker chick was happy to offer me a way out, and not knowing any other way, at 15, I agreed. She had me perform a trial run on her “friend”. I “passed” and was expected to be picked up and taken away the next day after I gathered my belongings. In my saying good-bye to my only confidant, Donna, the clerk chick at the local 7-11 at the end of my block, she offered me a way out. She just so happened to be leaving the next day for Cape Gerardeau, MO, where her family lived. Donna told me that she was going to take me with her. That day we went to my house and threw my clothes in a garbage bag, and she took me to her trailer. That same night Donna had a male guest who brought drugs/cocaine in hopes of a greater score with her before she/we left the next day. I went to sleep in the bed she made me outside the trailer in the screened in “carport”. It was raining. I was sound asleep when I woke to him leaving the trailer….unsatisfied. In a fast heavy mind-spinning whirlwind, he attacked me with all his pent up frustration at not getting what he wanted from Donna. He took me and lashed his furious blows in my body to a ripping quick finish. Without a word, he lifted himself off of me and left in the dark never to be seen again. A hole in the roofing material was letting water in. As I lay stunned and ripped open, not even conscious of how he got my clothes off, water dripped on my head like a Chinese Water Torture scene in a B-grade war movie. I knew to remain silent. It was many years later that I felt safe enough to allow the screams, that still lived within my cells, to be heard. The next day we left for MO.
I was glad to leave Florida. I never felt safe there. I remember always feeling….yes, always feeling that my life was in grave danger. “Life” felt like “life or death” to me. I lived with a haunting feeling that death was after me, and it was going to win. The other kids from school waiting for me in the woods when I walked home, grabbing me by my ankles and wrists, swinging my tiny body easily even for children, back and forth was hell. They threatened to toss me into the green, plant covered, canal that ran at the end of every block in our neighborhood. Under the lime green growth was alligators and snapping turtles…ferocious beasts, and broken glass, and trash and other things that would surely kill me. Soon a mother of a fellow student started driving me to and from school, so I could avoid the torment. I found that if I fled school mid-day, I could avoid the driver’s unhappy daughter and the bullies from school. I had some sort of inner-knowing that served me well. Like one day, coming home mid-morning, never actually going to school that day, I spotted a chicken hawk (a man who likes to have sex with children) in an old car. He was following me. Half way down the block, he asked me if I wanted a ride home. I said, “No.” I lied and said I lived at the next house in order to “throw him off”. Then I walked towards the house and said loudly, “Mom, I’m home!” He drove off fast, but to my surprise, he went around the block to see where I was. I jumped four back-yard fences and went in to my house’s back door. I feared that if he saw where I lived and saw no car, he would enter my house, rape, and kill me. I still, to this day, believe he would have. How did I know to do all that? How did I know he was that bad? Florida had “stickers” the size of a little pea with tiny little needles on them that stuck in your foot. The trees had thorns, the ants even bit you and stung like a bee. Florida was dangerous.
I was on my way to Cape Girardeau, MO with Donna. Our first stop was some place in Florida to stay with her brother to rest. I liked him. I did my best to seduce him, but she interrupted before it happened. We left the next morning. At Donna’s parent’s huge duplex, her parents, her brother, his girlfriend and their new baby lived on one side, and we lived on the other side. Part of the agreement she made with her parents was that we all had to attend the local First Church of God with Donna’s grandparents every Sunday. Within the first week I was being sexual on a regular basis with both her brother and her Uncle before, and after I was saved at the church revival and baptized at the river the next Sunday. My sexual escapades, I think, were found out, and I was soon arrested at the church annual turkey shoot. I was brought to the local juvenile detention center and flown back to Fla within days, my little white bible in hand.
This time I went to live with my mother, stepfather and two siblings in Boca Raton. Mom enrolled me in high school. Can you say: total misfit? I only really went to one class, the one George was in. I liked him. He gave me his leather jacket one day when I was cold. He never tried to have sex with me. He was always kind. I wasn’t in school very long before it was George’s birthday. George and I and two other boys skipped school and went to George’s house. George drank a lot of something (scotch?) from a bottle. There was no “pot” to buy at school. We all decided to bring me home and then to gather kids up for a party later on. George was on one motorcycle with a boy behind him, and another kid was driving me. We did that on purpose so we could talk privately about a gift. Within 30 minutes I was watching George’s bike slide sideways and his body skidding down the asphalt one way and the rider bouncing off the road in another direction. I got his helmet off and his face was blue. I tried mouth to mouth…nothing. I ran to the closest house and walked right inside…A woman in a towel stood there. “Call an ambulance now”, I said. George was dead on arrival. The next day I went to school and met up with my driver. Girls looked at me and screamed, “He died because of you”.
The following day was Friday and dad’s weekend. On the way to his place, he told me that my mom didn’t want me anymore. I was too wild. I would be staying with him. Lovely.
Soon Dad and I were headed back up to Maine, like we did every early spring. I was thrilled. I loved Maine. I felt safe in the woods. I loved the lake. We had chickens and ducks.
When it was time to go back to Florida, I wasn’t going. A girl friend, Tina, promised I could live with her and her boyfriend until I got on my feet. The night before dad left for Florida, once again I filled up a black trash bag with clothes and left. Soon Tina’s boyfriend picked me up without Tina! He said that he arranged another place for me to stay. That night I would stay at a hotel room at a place called the Wagon Wheel Motel in Saco. I barely slept. I felt betrayed by Tina and worried about Rick’s plans for me. The next morning he picked me up, again without Tina, and drove to the Biddeford Court House to meet Paul. Paul came to the truck window, looked at me and shook his head in agreement. I got out with my bag of clothes and got into Paul’s car. He drove us to his basement apartment on Pike street in Biddeford. As soon as we were inside, he ripped off my clothes and raped me. Paul was a drug dealer. This was his apartment; his rules. I was in a lot of trouble.
I wasn’t there long before I met two girls who had their own apartment in that same building. We became friendly. Once one girl and I hitchhiked to NH, and the driver of the fancy pimped-out truck asked if I wanted to ride along on the 3 day trip. I said yes. Sex in exchange for food and a pair of jeans. He gave me some cash, and I bought one kind poor family a steak dinner. They let me stay with them when I was too afraid to go to Paul’s place. They were so poor and barely had enough food to feed themselves. Many meals were fried potatoes with catsup and hot tea. We slept at least 2 to a bed.
After the truck ride and steak dinner, I went to talk to the two girls who had an offer for me. They told me that there were two possible pimps who could keep me in a safe, nice apartment and make sure I’d have enough food. They would keep me safe and protect me. I’d just have to have sex and give the money to him, and he’d take care of everything else for me!
Sounded good. I was taken to meet the two men; one black and one white, named Salt & Pepper. The black man was handsome, funny, big and strong. The white man wore glasses and one eye pointed the wrong direction. He had a very thin line mustache, outdated and creepy. There is no good reason why I picked the white man, Salt. Peter was his given name. It was another “God” job. I soon witnessed Pepper’s girls disappearing for days at a time only to be seen again bruised and a cast on an arm. Pepper had his girls hang out at the local greyhound bus station on St. John Street and lure troubled girls to go with them. They had houses in Massachusetts, where they would imprison the girls, rape them, force them to have sex with dogs and sell the movies on the black market. My guy was new to the pimp world and only had a few girls. He tried his hand at abuse with me, hog tied me for an hour or so but the thing was brain-washing… creating invisible handcuffs of fear. He told me terrifying stories, which I believed, to keep me from escaping. Truthfully, even now at 50, I’m afraid that he will find and kill me as he promised. Prostitution is a subculture. It has its own rules. It has its own punishments. It is above the law. Once I opened the door and two black men stood there. I let them in, even though MY pimp wasn’t in, and that broke a rule. Within two minutes I was on the couch being raped by two men who were looking for a reason to break my bones. I surrendered and lay like a sack of potatoes. I didn’t utter a single sound until they left me there bleeding and in shock. Fearful that Salt would do to me what Pepper did to his girls that broke the rules, I was terrified. Another time I was sold to a hunting party group staying at a local holiday inn. There were five men. I was to meet other girls there, but no one else showed. I think one man bowed-out. The others went for it. One man bit me so hard, he broke my skin over and over. If I cried out, he bit harder. One man was nice enough to make him stop. I don’t remember how much money Peter made that night. I can’t believe I never got pregnant or contracted a disease. I stopped menstruating.
My self help journey began first at the half way house that took me in when I escaped from my pimp, I was 15-16 yr. It was a alcohol rehab so I told my true life story but added drugs and drinking so they could be justified in letting me stay there. I went 12 step groups, group and individual therapy. While I was married (17 yrsold) I went to AA everyday and serious fundamental born again christian type church for a long time. Also individual and group therapy for women with panic disorder, 2x a week for a year. But it wasn’t until my divorce at 26?That the self help games really began. I went to a Church of Religious Science in Hunting Beach CA. It was there that I first got turned on to new thought and metaphysics. After that, I went to EST/Landmark education/The Forum. Started attending lectures by Ram Dass, Marrianne Williamson, Wayne Dyer, Caroline Myss, Wayne Muller (the list goes on) and going to new thought churches like Unity and attending women’s retreats. My self help included being vegan for 9 years, considering food as medicine. I did “rebirthing” and energy work, hypnotherapy, EMDR, Tapping, TM meditation, attended The Hoffman Process, Gay Hendrrix breath work weekend workshop, Sonia Choquette weekend workshop, vast and various methods of therapy, anything that claimed to heal trauma…I was all over it like white on rice. I went to the The Meadows and did the trauma work of Pia Mellody. I went to the Dali Lamas world peace making conference and listened to Sharon Salzburg and the Levines. I read anything Scott Peck or Louise Hay, Gerald Jampolsky, Sam Keen, Pema Chodren, Calvin & Hobbs wrote. I belonged to women’s groups, insect survivor groups, codependent anonymous groups… I taught adult education classes at my Unity church. I did Iyengar yoga. Used exercise to help manage my panic smpyoms. I did a lot of volunteer work for good Karma. I was nothing shy of tenacious when it came my healing journey. I heard them when they said I can have an amazing love filled abundant life if I can change my mind. …. game on.
Work was always an attempt to merge helping others with helping myself, from hospice type CNA/HHA in private homes, school to be a Unity minister, working for a holistic lawyer who practiced family law and mediation…to national sales where I made a 6 figure income on commission alone. ..bought my dream house on a lake in Maine. Over time I walked away from that job to return to my hearts desire to help and give back…and here I am…
How did I get from there to here? As I write these words, I am 50 years old. I own a lovely little house five feet from the lake in Southern Maine. I volunteer at the local juvenile detention center’s girls unit. I speak at half-way houses. I have two wonderful adult children and 4 beautiful happy, healthy grandchildren. Charlie and I plan to marry this month. We’ve been together 4 years now. There is a beautiful moon out, and, as I sit on the dock here on Sebago Lake, I look at the moon shine on the water and feel the warm humid summer breeze on my skin. I am in two worlds at once, the one I just told you about and the one I am in now. I am filled with enormous gratitude for the health and well-being that I am blessed with. The decades of self-help I tenaciously sought out, and like to think mastered, has paid off. Now, it is my highest joy to share the tools that I have acquired to move beyond the trauma and abuse, to not be defined by or debilitated by the past, but to thrive. I’ve created a sanctuary within my own being, a home in myself. After years of suffering with the P.T.S.D. aftermath of all the abuse, I strive to be free from the panic and nightmares, anxiety, and depression. Now I wake up happy almost every morning! I no longer wish I could die a hell and karma- free death! I have a great life! I’m happy! I’m healthy! I have fun; have great friends! I have purpose and meaning! I am free from panic! I am thrilled to share everything I’ve learned with others in hopes of lessening the severity and duration of the suffering in others.
My self help journey began first at the half way house that took me in when I escaped from my pimp, I was 15-16 yr. It was a alcohol rehab so I told my true life story but added drugs and drinking so they could be justified in letting me stay there. I went 12 step groups, group and individual therapy. While I was married (17 yrsold) I went to AA everyday and serious fundamental born again christian type church for a long time. Also individual and group therapy for women with panic disorder, 2x a week for a year. But it wasn’t until my divorce at 26?That the self help games really began. I went to a Church of Religious Science in Hunting Beach CA. It was there that I first got turned on to new thought and metaphysics. After that, I went to EST/Landmark education/The Forum. Started attending lectures by Ram Dass, Marrianne Williamson, Wayne Dyer, Caroline Myss, Wayne Muller (the list goes on) and going to new thought churches like Unity and attending women’s retreats. My self help included being vegan for 9 years, considering food as medicine. I did “rebirthing” and energy work, hypnotherapy, EMDR, Tapping, TM meditation, attended The Hoffman Process, Gay Hendrrix breath work weekend workshop, Sonia Choquette weekend workshop, vast and various methods of therapy, anything that claimed to heal trauma…I was all over it like white on rice. I went to the The Meadows and did the trauma work of Pia Mellody. I went to the Dali Lamas world peace making conference and listened to Sharon Salzburg and the Levines. I read anything Scott Peck or Louise Hay, Gerald Jampolsky, Sam Keen, Pema Chodren, Calvin & Hobbs wrote. I belonged to women’s groups, insect survivor groups, codependent anonymous groups… I taught adult education classes at my Unity church. I did Iyengar yoga. Used exercise to help manage my panic smpyoms. I did a lot of volunteer work for good Karma. I was nothing shy of tenacious when it came my healing journey. I heard them when they said I can have an amazing love filled abundant life if I can change my mind. …. game on.
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I quickly learned that there is no arrival… its a journey. A life long journey and there were two ways to travel…in kind honest compassionate joy or fear and panic. I have found how I can travel in joy… and I am so grateful!
Love Always, Catherine