Hi, Neal - It's Morrene. Since I have not heard back from you, I am going to make the assumption that you have talked to my mother, Helen.
To give you a little bit of background, Helen and I stopped talking in approximately November of 2016 when I finally started to acknowledge the years of sexual abuse that I suffered as a child at her hands and the various men that she brought into our lives. When I tried to talk to her about the first incident of abuse that I remembered, first she feigned ignorance, then she refused to discuss it.
As a healthy parent, if your child brought up allegations of sexual abuse against you, and you knew you weren't guilty, wouldn't you ask what happened? Where is this coming from?? I don't understand.
Not Helen. Not once did she reach out to ask me what happened. She simply stopped talking to me. She knows she is guilty.
Growing up with Helen as a mother was not easy. Throughout most of my childhood, I was verbally, physically and sexually abused by my mother and the various men she brought into our lives. While I always remembered the physical and verbal abuse, I had buried the sexual abuse in the back recesses of my mind. Unfortunately, I suffered frequent flashbacks over the years, and the memories couldn't be buried completely.
There were six men in my life by the time I was nine. My mother made some very poor choices in the men she got involved with. We moved several times while I was growing up, state to state, city to city. By the time I was in twelfth grade, I had attended eight different schools (almost nine).
Constant turmoil, constant upheaval, constant commotion. That was life with Helen. She thrived on drama.
When I was nine, my mother married her fourth husband, a truck driver named Emil, whom she had known for less than two weeks. Emil was a pedophile, as was her third husband. Emil was definitely was one of the worst men she brought into our lives.
After my mom and Emil got married, we moved back to Wisconsin from California, and that's when the serious gaps in my memory started due to the horrific abuse. I believe my brother, Jon, has better recall of the past, but I don't believe he has faced it as of yet. We haven't talked in years, unfortunately.
In 1975, when I was ten, and my brother was eleven, we spent our summer vacation traveling over the road in semis during the week while my mom worked. My mom said the babysitter had cancelled at the last minute, and she had no choice. I rode with her friend Elaine while Jon rode with Emil.
It wasn't until I was 52 years old that I started to remember that summer and the disturbing things that happened in that semi. I had completely blocked it. It was that horrific. Although I have always had flashbacks of traveling in a semi with Elaine, I couldn't give a name to what happened. I am still trying to wrap my head around the memories.
These were and are some very sick people that raised me (some have passed on). It's shocking.
When I was 15 years old, I tried to commit suicide after Emil raped me. Later that year I ran away from home. I just couldn't take the abuse any more.
While I always remembered the physical and verbal abuse, I had forgiven my mother. (Again, I had not acknowledged the sexual abuse at that time).
I wanted a mother. I needed a mother. I desperately craved the love and support that a healthy mother should give to her child. Unfortunately, Helen was not capable of being the kind of mother that I needed, or any child, for that matter. But in my desperation for her love, I closed my eyes to the abuse. I forgave, minimized and repressed her cruel words and actions over the years, something I continued long into adulthood.
While the memories of the sexual abuse were always in the back of my mind, each time I suffered a flashback, I kicked it out. They were disgusting and repulsive. I had no idea where these images were coming from and why they would flash in my head at various times. They just didn't make any sense to me. I knew Helen was not a good mother, but I refused to give credence to the many flashbacks that I suffered over the years.
As the years passed, the flashbacks started pounding me with increasing frequency. And each time they came in, kicked them out.
In November of 2016, I was at my lowest point, financially, personally and professionally. My marriage had ended, we had just moved to a new house, my finances were in disarray, and I was no longer able to work as a court reporter, my profession for the past 30 years, due to the high level of on-the-job stress.
My strength was at its lowest, and I no longer had the energy to kick the disturbing memories out of my head. I had lost the battle, and it was time to face the past.
When I finally started to confront the sexual abuse in my childhood, I was filled with grief, shock and horror. Again, I knew my childhood was dysfunctional, but accepting the fact that it was that bad was very, very hard for me to process.
In January of 2017, more of the sexual abuse came to the surface of my memory, and I sought counseling. At that time I was diagnosed with severe PTSD, something that I had been suffering for years, unbeknownst to me.
For most of my life I also suffered from depression, insomnia, anxiety and panic attacks. Those were some very tough years.
I am still missing large blocks of my childhood that have been deleted due to the abuse, but slowly the memories are coming back to me. Recovering those lost years will be something I will be dealing with for the rest of my life.
Somehow I was able to overcome the adversities of my childhood, go to college and become a productive citizen. I believe I have some very powerful angels that have guided me throughout my life, and for that I am grateful.
But most importantly, the cycle of abuse stopped with me. I have always worked hard to become the mother to my children that I never had. I have no idea if you are a parent; but if you are, I would hope that you feel the fierce love and protection that a healthy parent should have for their children. My children are my world, and I would do anything for them.
It wasn't until I started dealing with my past that I started to heal. I have an amazing counselor and a couple of very close friends that give me love, guidance and support when I need it. I would be lost without them. I no longer suffer from depression, anxiety or panic attacks.
I have always been a loving and kindhearted person, and hurting somebody, especially your own children, is and was beyond my comprehension. It will take me the rest of my life to accept what has happened to me. I still shake my head in disbelief and wonder how I am still here.
I am starting to work with adult victims of abuse to help them come to terms with their past and learn how to lead a productive and peaceful life. It is possible. I am living proof of that.
While my heart goes out to Helen for what she must have endured as a child to become the person she is, my compassion for her ends there because she did not stop the cycle of abuse. There is no excuse for passing that sickness on to me and my brother.
My brother is also a survivor, but I am not sure if he is dealing with the past as of yet. I suffered years of physical and verbal abuse from him which went way beyond sibling rivalry. I was absolutely terrified of him by the time we entered our teenage years. I believe my brother's anger at me was the only way he could deal with his pain. He was as powerless as I was to stop the abuse.
Unfortunately, I have not talked to my brother in years, although I have tried reaching out to him at various times to re-establish a relationship. I hope he knows that I will always be there for him if and when he decides to confront the past. It's not easy, but, again, he is a survivor, too, and survivors are very strong people. Every day I pray that he reaches out to me, and we can unite and heal together. He was as much of a victim as I was.
Lastly, Neal, please remember there are two sides to every story. If you have talked to Helen, I am sure you have gotten an earful. When you have time, if you could please read my blog, I would appreciate it. Www.heartofsolace.com. I have not posted everything that I have written, because some of it is very disturbing, and I am still trying to process it.
Thank you for taking the time to read this.