I'm just going to try to do the best I can and I will be careful of details. I am going to try to input everyday to get things out, but it may be slow...sorry. I will start with this......My biological mother left my father when I was three months old and my sister was 3. My father worked in the oil field as a roustabout and so he was gone seven days a week, sometimes sixteen hours a day. My grandparents kept us, and my father kept living in town. We lived in the house that I live in now. It is comfortable to me, and it's home.... Life was good for the most part. I have small little memories of me in those younger days, but not many. My grandmother was extremely reserved, and if you even came to her with a scraped knee, you were told to "buckle up and take it". There were no "get well kisses for your boo boo's". My grandfather on the other hand was a gentle, layed back, loving man. We mainly went to him for our hurts and thoughts. He understood more. He never rolled his eyes or looked down his nose at my sister and I. My sister remembered our mother, but I did not. We hadn't seen her since she left. I knew my grandmother and grandfather loved us each their own ways. My father made a lot of promises that were never kept. His bar trips and bar women were always more important. He was married and divorced seven times by the time I was eight years old. My grandfather worked in the oil field also and work alot of hours, but he was in a supervisory position and could take my sister and I with him into the field. My sister was more, dainty, girly girl, didn't wanna get dirty, and I was tomboy all the way. I would love to get down into the pits of oil and come out looking like a half dunked skunk. That was what my papa always called me. lol....Well when I was eight, my mother called and wanted to meet with my sister and I again. My sister was overjoyed and I was too. I really had a mother? What was she like? Was she pretty? Did her hair and eyes match mine? Would we make mud pies together? All the things a litttle girl who didn't know her mother would ask herself questions like these. I was nervous when she came to see us the first time, and I got extremely shy. I hid behind my papa, and my gramma pulled me from him by my shoulders and told me to stop acting stupid, this was my mother and I needed to visit with her.... I remember her long black hair was parted in the middle. She reminded me of the hippies I'd seen in seventies movies, and I thought she was a movie star. She was skinny and pretty. Her makeup looked really good. That first meeting and visit with her went really good after I overcame my shyness. I started bugging my gramma and my papa that I wanted to see her again.....they would tell me soon, but it was never soon enough. Finally I asked my father one weekend if I could go stay a weekend with my mother. He said he didn't care if my grandparents didn't care. I remember my gramma sayin "she's your kids, you decide". My papa had this look on his face that I just couldn't describe to you and I begged and pleaded and used my little girl coyness to finally get him to give in. Papa had said yes. But he also informed me that he didn't like it knowing her history and that he wanted me back at a certain time and in one piece. So off I went the next weekend to stay two whole nights with the mother I'd never known.......This is where it gets a little bad and I just want to warn you that I won't go into explicit details, but some are called for.......The first night was great. I had met my mother's new husband, John. He had long hair, a bushy beard, was skinny, and reminded me of the pictures of Jesus that hung up at the church where I was raised. He cooked our food outside, and I thought that was awesome cause he actually let me stand over by him to smell the meat cook. He talked to me like I was a grown up and it made me feel important. I thought he was great. That night, he and my mom smoked a joint and I smelled it and thought it smelt funny. They lived in a travel trailor out in the middle of the woods. So my sister and I were trying to sleep in the little bedroom at the back where the bathroom was and they had a couch that turned into a bed in the front. I got up and walked into the front and asked them what that funny smell was and they said it was kinda like a cigarette, did I wanna try? I said, I guess, but Daddy would get upset. They said what happened at their house wasn't daddy's business and how would he find out? So I did it and it made me feel weird, and I went to sleep. I was only 8. Well the next night I woke up in middle of the night, and the trailer was shaking, alot. I got up and ran to my mom cause I was scared that a twister was coming. She and my step dad had no close on and I saw them. They had a porn on also. I got embarrassed and went back to bed, but couldn't sleep. I was so intrigued. I went home the next day and never said a word to anyone. I was excited, told them how much fun it was. And for weeks all I could talk about was my mom, john, how fun it was there. That they were nice. So then I started begging to live with my mother, I begged and pleaded until my dad said yes.I got to move in and things were good.....at least I thought so....John was nice, and my mother stayed in bed ALOT.... She was always talking about having this thing called "Paranoid Schitzophrenia.....and she didn't take her medicine. One day about a month after I moved in with them, my sister came and said she did too.....So here was my sister, and I felt that things were complete. I was in school, had just started the fifth grade. My grades were good, and I kept thinking my mother would soon tell me how good I was doing. John was always making wonderful comments on my school work. I was ecstatic. I was finally making someone happy. I had tried my whole life to bring a smile of pride to my gramma's face and had never succeeded. My dad smiled when I acted goofy, but that was it. My grandfather was the only real smile I had ever seen. It was nice to make someone else happy. One night about two months after I moved in,,,,it was really cold, and we had no heat in the house at all. It was snowing outside, and everyone was lying in the front of the travel trailer on the couch that made out to a bed to stay warm. I was against the back, then John was in front of me, then Dana (my sister) was between him and my mom. I woke up and it was dark. I felt something weird, but it didn't hurt. I was curious, and I opened my eyes but it was dark. John was breathing really hard, and his hands were on my private, inside my underclothes. I felt really bad and scared. I shifted myself to get away from that weird feeling and he stopped. I went back to sleep and pretended that it had never happened. Another couple of weeks had went by and I noticed that mom and John had a lot of friends over. I thought it was great, even though they were drinking. It was all men, I remember that much, and they were acting goofy and having a good time, so I was showing off in my little girl way, trying to make them laugh. I remember that my mother asked me to sit on her lap and I went and snuggled up to her relishing in the fact that my mother was holding me. I saw my step father go to the back of the trailer. By then we were living in a two bedroom trailer house so we had more room. John and mom had their own room in the back and my sister had the small room. I was sleeping in the living room on the couch so I had to stay up until everyone left so that I could go to sleep. My sister had already been in bed for a couple of hours and I thought I was big getting to stay up with the adults. I remember John coming back into the room from the hallway with a needle in his hands....I had never seen one and wondered what it was. My mother then asked me to sit in the floor between her feet. She had already let me have a few drinks of her dr. pepper, which I know now was spiked with vodka. I was feeling woosy, but good, and thought that I was just tired. I was eight, remember. So anyways, my mom wrapped her legs aroung my waist, and put her arms around my arms and chest holding me down, I was thinking she was playing and wanting to wrestle so I started pushing against her and laughing, She screamed at me to be still and it scared me a lot...John grabbed one of my legs and sat on the other. He pushed the needle into my leg and shot me up with what was in the needle. I later found out it was heroine. The men were sitting around drunk and laughing, and starting to file out of the house saying they were going home to sleep it off. I remember everything swimming in front of me, swinging, tilting, etc. I remember that mom layed down in the floor with me and she was telling john, to do me. Next think I remember I felt a tearing, hot, searing pain down there. He was grunting and moaning, and mom was laughing telling him to go harder and harder. I think I may have passed out but when I came back to, my mother had her mouth on me there. I was so embarrassed that I kept my eyes close thinking that they would think I was asleep. I woke up naked on the couch the next morning, and was so ashamed of myself. I kept thinking it was me and my fault for showing off. I rebelled in a kind of way, I started sneaking my mom and john cigarettes, and within a week was a regular smoker, and they bought me my own cigarettes. I had my ninth birthday, with booze, cigs, and dope. Not to mention they decided to give me another birthday sex lesson. I was burned with cigarettes and cut with broken mirrors on my ninth birthday. They had sick sexual rituals. My mother always participated. I went through many years of this happening on a daily basis. I remember once that we went to my aunt and uncles pond to go swimming, and my mom, john, dana, and I were all there alone. John took me out on the intertube. it was a big pond, and he had his way with me in the water. my sister was watching and my mom was doing her. My sister was really into it, I remember that, she kept asking mom to do this and do that, and my mother was relishing in it. I was ashamed and just looked up at the sky and I dissociated myself. I am sorry for the details, I will just say that things like this went on until I was 13. We went on many trips to Dallas, Pensacola, Atlanta, LA, and other places where we would get cheap hotel rooms, and they would sell me to grown men for drugs, money, and booze. Some where lawyers, doctors, pimps, drug pushers, and yes, even cops in uniforms. I still can not see a cop without panicking.I was drunk and high all of the time. The school teachers ignored my bruises, burns, sad eyes, and silent pleas... I was 11 years old when I was held down by my mother while my step dad performed an at home abortion on me with a battery operated cattle prodder and a big knife. I didn't fight them. I didn't feel anything. I was way to high and drunk. I didn't know what it meant to be pregnant. The only way I know that it was an abortion was from a recent surfaced memory I have had when remembering this certain event. I remember my mother screaming at my step dad to get that baby out of me no matter what the method. That was putting it alot cleaner than she said it. I will not quote her word for word. I pray that God will take those words out of my head. So at 11, I was pregnant, then I wasn't pregnant. That is all I know. When I was 13, and in 7th grade, I got into a fight on the school bus. I was so drunk at it was even in the morning. Bad, I know. That was my way of living through it. My great uncle was the bus driver. He had been helping me with my school work on the bus after school. His small way of helping me. I was sitting in class when I got called to the office in 3rd period. I was so mad cause my uncle , I thought, Had turned me in for the fight. I burst into the principals office cursing at the top of my lungs, and my dad was sitting in the corner of the office. His deep voice said "Slow down right there young lady!"..... Oh my God, thank you,,,,my daddy was here. I ran over to him, I crumbled onto the floor in front of his feet, and I squeezed his waist as hard as I could and I was screaming at the top of my lungs. It was a scream of hopefullness, anguish, fear, happiness, I was crying and I couldn't talk, all I could do was scream and cry....I looked up at my dad and there were tears streaming down his face. He picked me up like a baby and held me in his arms and rocked me.....It seems like only minutes, but it also seems like hours, or even days and weeks we sat there like that with me just screaming. I finally calmed down. The cops were there and I was scared. I was scared of cops cause I had so many of them rape me. I didn't tell them of the sex, and rapes, or any of it only the drugs and alcohol. I didn't have to say anything to them that I didn't want to. I was ashamed, I was not going to be labeled. I told no one. They couldn't make me. What would they do to me that hadn't already been done? My dad took me to Oklahoma City Children's Hospital and they admitted me and sent me to drug rehab. My dad left and never came back. I was alone. A week later I was sober, depressed, and in terrible withdrawl from the heroine, coke, crank, crack, meth, pills, uppers and downers, alcohol, you name it, I was withdrawling from it. I looked up and there was my papa. He was standing in the door way of my hospital room. I was thinking I was dilerious. I was sweating, I was hurting, I was crying, and I couldn't think straight. My papa sat beside the bed and started reading the Bible to me. He came every Saturday after that while I layed in bed, he read me the Bible. He prayed for me, he held me like a baby, he went to group therapy, family therapy, individual therapy with me every Saturday without my dad or gramma even knowing. My papa saved my life. He gave me hope to cling to. He was all I was living for. Him and God. He gave God back to me. In therapy, we talked of the rapes and sex and they helped me to put it to the back of my mind, put me on meds and sent me home six months later. I lived for God, but there was always something in the back of my head that I couldn't quite get a hold of. Something I should be taking care of but didn't quite know what it was. The doctors had made me forget 98 percent of the whole five years with my mother. All I knew was that I was living with my mother, and something happened, but I couldn't quite grasp it. I had developed what they now call Selective Amnesia. I had lost five whole years of my life in order to stay sane. It was my brains way of protecting me from what happened and it's way of letting me have a somewhat normal teenage hood. I was homeschooled by my gramma until I was 16 and I got my high school diploma with A's and B's. I got a full time job at 16 and was making my own money. My sister had in the meantime, stole a car with a friend of hers to run off to New York to have a back street abortion. They wrecked in Pennsylvania on the way back and my Dad had to go get her. He went with the father of her aborted baby. A 46 year old married man. My sister had now died from slipping into a diabetic coma. That was 3 years ago. When I was 16 I went to church camp, and met my first husband there. He called me every day when we went back home. He lived 140 miles away. We basically dated over the phone. He was 24. He was a counselor from the camp. I was infatuated. We got married when I was 17 and he was 25. We were married for two very long, and abusive years. He caused me to have two miscarriages by beating me in the stomach while we were married. I caught him with another man and I left him and went to my gramma and papa. He followed me and wanted to talk to me on the porch. I was pregnant. I told him and he told me to have an abortion. I refused. He started beating me and I fell off of the porch. My papa came out with a gun and told him to leave or he would shoot him. I was bleeding and so gramma took me to the ER. I lost the baby. A few weeks later, I was very sick, couldn't keep anything down. I went to the dr. I found out that I still had another baby in there. That is my 10 year old son. He is my life, He is my baby, He is my miracle from God. Sorry, I will have to continue later....Jackie