EMIL, THE FOURTH HUSBAND, PART 4

The stables where the horses were boarded was around the corner within walking distance of the townhouse.  Every evening I went to the stables with Mom to help feed and water them. 

After the horses had been fed, I often went into Jazon's stall and brushed him while he ate.  I loved to kiss his soft nose and inhale his sweet, horsey scent. 

With his beautifully arched neck, gray dappled coat and white silky mane and tail, Jazon was a handsome and flashy horse.  Each time I looked into his intelligent eyes, my breath caught in my throat.  He was just that beautiful.   

As I ran the brush over his coat, I thought of Sunshine with sadness, and I hoped she hadn't forgotten me.  I really missed her, and I hoped I would get to see her again someday.

Sometimes, if it wasn't too cold, Mom saddled up her horse, Quazar, and rode in the fields around the stables.  Each time she rode, I watched her enviously wishing I could ride, too.

One day shortly after we moved, as I stood in Jazon's stall brushing him, I suddenly knew without a doubt that I could ride this young and spirited Arabian. 

My fear of horses was gone.

- - -

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When I told Mom that I wanted to ride Jazon, she looked at me skeptically, no doubt remembering Sunshine and all of the trouble she had gotten us in to.  Jazon was a young horse, hot blooded and temperamental, and he required a skilled and confident rider.  At nine years old, I was small for my age, but I was not the least bit worried about how I would handle him.

Finally Mom shrugged her shoulders and saddled Jazon up.  After I got on his back, happiness and excitement washed over me like a warm and comforting blanket, and I couldn't stop smiling.  Finally I was riding again! 

Even though Jazon's saddle was too big for me and it made it hard to hang on when he spooked and tried to run, which was often, it didn't matter to me.  I just hung on tight and laughed out loud at his silly antics.  Nothing Jazon did scared me.  He was a powerful horse and a challenge to ride, and I enjoyed every minute of it. 

I loved Jazon with all of my heart, and I thought of him constantly.

- - -

Mom and I rode as much as we could that winter in the fields around the stables.  Mom seemed happy to have a riding partner again, and I, of course, was happy to have a horse of my own to ride.  

I loved to gallop Jazon through the fields around the barn.  The wind rushed through my hair, my eyes watered in the bitter cold and the relentless wind gave me painful earaches, but that didn't matter to me when I was riding.  Adrenaline surged through my veins and happiness washed over me as I leaned over his neck urging him to go faster, faster, faster.  I felt on top of the world!

I couldn't get enough of Jazon.  In my eyes he was the smartest and most beautiful horse I had ever seen.  I couldn't believe he was all mine!

- - -

When I was riding, I was able to forget about the turmoil at home.  From the moment I got to the stables, my depression and anxiety lifted, and I felt at peace.  This rare feeling was addicting, and I wanted it to last forever.  Unfortunately, as soon as we left the stables, the depression and anxiety once again weighed heavily upon my young shoulders.  

I thought of Jazon constantly when I was not with him.  When I was feeling particularly sad, I tried in vain to bring back the feeling of happiness and peace that I felt when I was riding.  But each time I thought of my horse, I smiled, but the sadness remained.

Why did I feel so terrible all of the time?  I must have done something very bad to feel like this.  I just wish I knew what it was so I could fix it.

EMIL, THE FOURTH HUSBAND, PART 3

Thirty minutes later Emil turned in to the entrance of a townhouse complex in New Berlin, a city 20 miles southeast of Milwaukee.  Our new house was on the right, second from the last, in a long row of brown two-story townhouses.

After Emil parked the car, we got out and walked up the sidewalk to the front door.  While I waited for Emil to unlock the door, I looked up at the gray, overcast sky and shivered in the damp chill.  Since we had arrived in Wisconsin, the sun rarely shone.  The lack of sunlight and the bitterly cold weather added to my depression.  I really missed California.

After the door was unlocked, we went into the house.  As I stepped into the small entryway, I looked around excitedly.

Straight ahead of me was a narrow hallway leading to the back of the house.  To the left was a small kitchen with brown cabinets, yellow Formica counter tops and a linoleum floor.  Directly across from the kitchen was a dining room containing our table and chairs. 

Past the dining room to the right were two sets of open stairs covered in green carpeting, one set leading to the bedrooms on the second floor and one leading to the basement.  Opposite the stairs was a half bathroom.

At the end of the hallway was a small, dark living room with green carpeting.  Up against the wall to the right was our black leather couch flanked by the white leather chairs.  On the wall in front of the couch sat our console TV.   

Upstairs were three bedrooms and a full bath.  My room was to the left of the stairs, and Brother's and Mom and Emil's rooms and the bathroom were down the hallway to the right.

 - - -

Directly across the street from the townhouse was our new school, Hoover Elementary.

The next day Mom enrolled Brother and me in school.  As I stood in the office while Mom talked to the school secretary, I felt my knees go weak with fear.  The thought of going to another school and having all of the kids stare at me filled me with terror.

Mom continued to cut my hair as short as Brother's, and I still looked like a boy.  I was very embarrassed and ashamed of my appearance, and I was sure my new classmates would see how ugly I was and make fun of me. 

Back into the fourth grade I went for the third time that year and Brother the fifth. 

- - -

After Mom left, the school secretary escorted us to our classrooms.  

My new teacher's name was Mrs. Morrisey.  While she introduced me to the class, I shyly looked around.  My heart beat in fear, and my palms started to sweat when I saw all of the faces looking back at me.  I hated to be stared at.  But the one thing I hated more than that was not having a friend. 

As I looked around the room, I desperately searched for someone with a kind face that I could be friends with.  I knew having a friend would help soothe the aching loneliness that I felt on a daily basis.  I would do anything to make that uncomfortable feeling go away. 

- - -

That winter Mom became very depressed, and she cried often.  She missed Emil terribly when he gone during the week, and she hated the bitterly cold winter and the lack of sunlight even though she had grown up in Wisconsin.  And to make matters worse, Mom couldn't ride her horses as often as she would have liked because of the cold weather, and that made her very crabby and short tempered with Brother and me.  I tried my best not to fight with Brother when we were around Mom because I didn't want to get hit or yelled at.  Mom really scared me when she got angry.

When I saw my beautiful mom crying, I cried with her.  I didn't like Wisconsin either, and I was also very depressed.    

- - -

It was not long after we moved to New Berlin that Mom and Emil brought me into their bed and started sexually abusing me. 

As I lay between them, I felt my body go numb with fear.  I stared silently at the window over their bed as I attempted to separate myself from the horrors inflicted on my body. 

As in California, I was once again admonished by Mom not to talk about what went on at our house.  So I kept silent.  That's just the way it was. 

I didn't know what else to do.

(To be continued….)

A LETTER TO NEAL

 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.

Morrene Hauser

AHHHH, SLEEP..., by Morrene Hauser

AHHHH, SLEEP...

I hope I am not out of line or going to embarrass myself (yet again) by sending you this letter.  You rarely answer me when I reach out to you for help, but I will try, and hopefully you will respond this time.

I am begging you, Sleep, to please read this letter to the end.  Throw it away, burn it, rip it up when you are done.  I'll leave that to you to decide.

I will try not to bother you after this letter, but I cannot promise.  I have no pride where you are concerned, Sleep.  None.

Please do not feel I am attacking you, but, Sleep, my friends tell me that you are sleeping with them.

"I slept with Sleep until 10:30 this morning!"

"Me and Sleep slept like a rock!" 

"I took the most wonderful nap with Sleep today!"

Smirks on their faces, laughter in their voices as they look in to my eyes knowing of my obsession for you.

And, yes, a little voice in me says go to hell! 

Go to hell.

But that doesn't last long.

I am a lover, not a fighter. 

And a forgiver.  Always a forgiver.

I awoke with another panic attack at 2:00 a.m. this morning, Sleep. 

Whose bed are you in at this very moment?  My heart pounds.  My mind races.

When I find out whose bed you have slept in, I feel as though somebody has punched me in the stomach.   

Sleep, the days on end where I have to go to bed at 6:00 p.m., 7:00 p.m. even on weekends because I know I need to get some rest before I wake up at 2:00 a.m., 3:00 a.m. and be awake for the rest of the day.

Thinking of you

Loving you

Longing for you

Ahhhh, Sleep...    

The ruined weekends.

The ruined evenings.

Gritty, aching eyes, pounding headache, the mental and physical exhaustion that haunted my days while I tried to work and care for my babies when they were little.   I learned to lay in bed awake for hours with eyes closed so at least they would not hurt.  

Sleep, I am so very tired of disappointing my children because I am just too exhausted at times to do the things they want to do.

My kids would say, "Mom, you just don't want to spend time with me!"

"You don't care!"

Not true, my babies, not true I would say to myself all the while knowing they would not understand at their young age if I tried to explain. 

The missed soccer games.

The missed parties.

The missed school events.

The activities that I did do with my babies all the while concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.

You can do this I say to myself.

Adrenalin was my drug of choice to get me through those long, difficult days.

The guilt, the shame, the depression, the sadness over disappointing my little ones.  I am so very sorry.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.  The gift that keeps on giving.

Ahhhh, Sleep...

The one-night stands we have.  I never know when you are coming, and that is the best!  I wake up the next morning, and there you are, Lover, sleeping next to me.  It would not be appropriate to write down on paper the pleasures we share in those moments.

The next morning I am endlessly happy!  The sun shines brighter, the birds sing clearer, my obsession for you goes away!

But, Sleep, you cruel, fickle, heartless lover,  the next night you again sleep with one of my friends.   And when I find out who you had slept with, I am crushed.   The depression and sleepless nights return in full force.  Once again, I lay awake in bed wide awake 

Thinking of you

Loving you

Longing for you

The sun does not shine, the birds no longer sing, my obsession for you continues.

Damn you, Sleep.  Damn you

And, Sleep, you must have adored my pregnant body, Lover, because you slept with me night after night.  And, oh, yes, the naps we would have!   

Perhaps you have forgotten. 

But, Lover, I have not. 

But as soon as my babies were born, Sleep, you left me without a good-bye.  Cruel, heartless, fickle Sleep. 

Even when my baby girl was born still, you left me. 

Thank you, Sleep, for at least staying in the hospital with me during that long, difficult birth. 

Again, I am a lover, not a fighter. 

And a forgiver.  Always a forgiver.   

So I forgave you yet again.  Again and again and again...

Ahhhh, Sleep...

please come back to me. 

I beg of you.

I will take one-night stands.  I will take anything.  Join me in the middle of the night, early morning after you have left another's bed. 

I don't care, Sleep.  I am that desperate for your love.

I have not slept with you in several weeks, Sleep.  And I am very, very tired.

Ahhhh, Sleep...

 I beg of you please come back to me.

Please come back.

THE SILENCE OF CHILD ABUSE THAT FOLLOWS IN TO ADULTHOOD, by morrene hauser

When I was a young child, I was taught from an early age to not talk about what went on at our house.  Ever.  For years I heard those words over and over.

"You do not talk about what goes on at our house!" said Mom.

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So that's what I did.  I kept most of those secrets throughout my adult life without even thinking about it.  That's just the way it was.  Silence!

Sure, I talked some about all of the husbands and boyfriends my mom had, the moves and the number of schools I went to.  Even when I did talk about the past, at times I felt some guilt.  I was giving away family secrets.

I did not talk about the sexual, physical or verbal abuse.  I repressed most of the horrible memories.  File the ugliness away in the back recesses of my mind.  Just don't think about it.

Until I turned 51.  That's when the floodgate of my sickening childhood started spilling out.  I will talk about my subsequent nervous breakdown when the memories surfaced.  Just not now.  Now I want to focus on silence.

When I started recovering my repressed memories, my friends tried to be very helpful.

"Just don't think about it!" 

"Don't think about the past.  Look to the future!" 

"Forget about it!" 

"So you're sitting home feeling sorry for yourself?" said an ex-friend.

As in my childhood, my friends were encouraging silence.  Ouch. 

For years I drank too much.  I suffered panic attacks at night.  I had severe insomnia.  Depression.  Anxiety.  And the list goes on.

All because I didn't think about it.  I couldn't think it.  It was just too frightening and painful.

My friends, don't you see?  In order to move forward with my future, I have to deal with my past.  Facing the grief, the horror and the sadness of my childhood has helped me immensely, as hard as it is.  For 18 years I was abused to varying degrees.  Now, that's a lot to process.  I will be dealing with that for the rest of my life.

Thankfully, I rarely feel a need to drink now.  The anxiety and depression that were my constant companions almost on a daily basis for years have significantly decreased.  Panic attacks at night are minimal to non-existent.

I still struggle with insomnia some nights.  But it's much better.

If you know of someone that is dealing with abuse, whether present, past or both, please do not tell them not to think about it.  That is one of the most painful and hurtful things that can be said to a survivor who has suffered in silence most of their life.

 

 

PANIC ATTACK, by Morrene Hauser

 "No!  NO!  NOOOOOOO!!!!" I scream as I am violently awoken from sleep

I sit bolt upright in terror

sheer terror

as I feel my heart jump in my chest,

gagging and choking

I struggle to breathe

feeling my heart travel up my throat

watching in horror as it flies out of my mouth

bounces onto the bed

and out the window

What just happened?

OH, MY GOD, WHAT JUST HAPPENED??

                 - - -

Panic Attacks...

...I am tired

So very, very tired

Please release me from your loving grip

Through the long, lonely nights of my childhood you tried to guard me from the many abusers in my young life,

the many states,

the many men,

the many houses,

the many lonely and scary rooms I slept in you watched over me,

mothering me,

worrying for me,

caring for me   

You woke me up at the least sign of danger 

You held your head in your hands and cried tears of grief and anger

body shaking with rage

at your helplessness to stop the horrors inflicted upon my young, innocent body

But it's okay, Beautiful Heart.  You have done nothing wrong.

Please do not be hard on yourself.  I know you did the best you could.

I thought you were my enemy when I recognized who you were.  But now I know you were one of my greatest allies.

But, please, it's time to let go. 

Your work is done.