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Regina Regina, not of our bloodRegina Regina, you’re nothing but crudWe didn’t think we could haveChildren of our fleshSo we adopted youAnd oh, what a messBecause you are garbage and trashNot worth the trouble you causeGood only to bashBecause you are 5 year old trashWe live in such a small townAnd we know that what we do isn’t rightSo we will act loving on the streetAnd keep the abuse out of sightRegina Regina we love to beat yaRegina Regina this is the way to treat youWe now have two kids that are oursAnd we love them trulyTo bad we didn’t knowYou would have been spared the crueltyOur kids do nothing wrongAnd you do nothing rightYou are garbage that belongs in the gutterYou fill our hearts with spiteSo now we are stuck with youBut you know we don’t want you hereBut we can’t get rid of you now...What would people think, is our biggest fearSo you will be dressed so niceAnd always have pretty clothesBut be told every day that we hate youIn public, we must keep up the poseWe will teach your sisters to hate youAfter all, that is the way to behaveIf they want something, you get itYou worthless ugly slaveNo one will ever want youHeaven knows that we do notYou are too worthless and unworthyOh, we really put up with a lotYou live here in our home, you thingAnd we have your nasty mouth to feedSo we will call you names at breakfastThen go to church to practice our creedNincompoop, imbecile and always trashEven though you are only fiveWhat a mistake on God’s partThat you are even aliveWell, we will see to itThat you will never know a familyBut we will keep you locked here in our hate...And not set you freeWhat would people think’If they knew how things really wereSo let’s paint a pictureAnd make a liar out of herIf no one will believe herTheir pity we will receiveFor this child we took inAnd how she causes us to grieveAnd be sure the sisters know to hateTrain them when they are smallThat they should call her namesThey will never know her at allFor it is OK to hit that thingIt has no feelings, you knowIt really is not a human like usSo please, let your contempt showRegina Regina, on you we will spitAnd get others to admire usFor our fortitude and gritRegina ReginaYou are always on the outside looking inNo matter how you try to win our loveYou will never win

Do you know what it is likeTo be in a crowdYet to be all aloneScreamingNo one can hear youNo one can see the smokeOf your soul as it is on fireKindled by the whispersAnd the laughs of thoseWho belongNo one can see the charringA blackened lifeSeared on the grillOf being unwantedCryingInvisible tearsAlways reachingFor a hand that is not there

 A few events happened during this phase of my life. In the summer before my 2nd grade year, I was out in the barn in the hayloft. My dad was baling hay and he had my older cousin, N, to help him. I had decided to climb up in the loft part of the barn. When I climbed down, I fell. I landed on my tailbone. I remember how it hurt so bad that I could not get up. I screamed and screamed untill N came and picked me up and carried me into the house. I was screaming that I was hurt, and any parent with a lick of sense can tell when a child is crying because of a "booboo" or is really hurt. My mother told N to put me in my bed, and they left me in there crying while they had their dinner. My mother told me to shut up when she came back to try to quiet me. I was disturbing their lunch. They left me there. I was unable to get up. I remember wetting the bed and being afraid to tell them, so I marinated in it. I was afraid of being spanked, and I hurt so badly.They left me there all night. The next afternoon when I still couldn't get up, they decided something was wrong, and I was not faking it, as I had been accused of. Up untill this point, they had insisted that I only wanted attention, and that I wasn't really hurt. I was only putting on. They threatened me with everything in the book, and I still couldn't get up. They pulled me up into a sitting position, and dressed me in a shirt and jeans. They sat me down in the back seat of the car, and drove to C, a town almost an hour away. They took me into the children's clinic, where I waited to be seen. The doctor that saw me was very compassionate, and told them to take me to the hospital right away. When I arrived, they had called the doctor that they used in our town. He arrived and proceeded to examine me. They did not use X rays for some reason that I can not fathom. I have thought about trying to get those medical records, but have decided that there is no point. First of all, the statute of limitations has run, and secondly, the only other reason is proof. I will not try to prove that any of this is true. I know that it is, and I am writing this as trying to find some sort of healing, and not for vengeance, or even justice. This doctor inserted two fingers into my rectum. Keep in mind that I was only 6 years old. He probed and probed. I screamed and screamed. I will never forget laying on that table on my stomach feeling like that doctor had grabbed ahold of my tailbone and spine and was pulling it right out of my body. I was never given any sedative or anesthetic. He removed his fingers and told my parents that my tail bone was broken in 2 places. It was severely out of place. He then inserted his index finger and his thumb into my rectum, and started moving the bones to set them. This was after I had had this injury well over 24 hours. The pain that I felt, mercifully, time has wiped a lot of that out. I think that they had insisted on their own doctor so that no one would question all the bruises and welts on my back, buttocks and thighs. To anyone who has lived in a city this has to sound so unbelievable. I am not sure if anyone told me this, had I had a normal upbringing, I would have believed them. I probably would have thought that no one could have been put through this. I would have thought that they were the one that needed help. As for the doctor coming from W to C, this was in 1966 and a small town of 900. House calls were the norm. I remember the bill that my parents received for the drive to and from C. $48.00. That was the total bill for the doctor that day. Drive time and so forth. (Not for the hospital, clinic, etc) The break was so severe that I was admitted to the hospital. I stayed for a week. I did not ever want to leave. The sisters were so nice to me. They didn't call me names or hit me, and they didn't even criticize me. I was living my dream of being like everyone else. I began to dread when my mother would come, and to cringe when she came near. She saw this, and slapped my face, and said that I was not to say anything to the sisters. She told me over and over again. "Noone will ever believe you. Your daddy is an elder of the church. No one will ever ever believe you. You are just a child. You are a lying child as well. I know that you are cringing and acting scared just to get the attention of the nurses." Funny, but the nurses were hardly ever there when she was. I haven't figured out how my cringing from her was going to get their attention. Now I know that she was scared to death that I was going to talk. Maybe if I had I would have been saved of a lifetime of grief. We were out of that small town, and no outsider could have stood by and not intervened, I hope.Unfortunately, it never even entered my mind to tell anyone. I still believed there was something wrong with me. I knew in my 6 year old mind that there was something inherently wrong with me. The sisters just didn't know me yet, and know how bad I was. However, I loved being in the hospital..I was in a large bed that seemed almost like a crib, with a window that looked out onto a Mulberry tree. I watched the birds come eat the mulberries. I remember one sister who came to help me bathe. She helped me out of the bed. What a nice feeling. I was so starved for affection that just the physical contact of a nurse lifting me and washing me stood out in my mind. They would come in and ask me how I was doing, and so forth. When it came time to leave, I remember being so upset that I screamed and cried, even knowing there would be a price to pay later. My instructions were not to sit for another week, and not to sit straddle for two weeks. Three days after I was home, my parents set off for their family vacation. This was to go to Arizona to visit my dad's sister, w. husband ,x and their two children, Y and Z.M_________ rode up front with my parents, in those days long before seat belt laws and child seats. Digressing a bit, I don't remember ever using a seat belt while I lived in Kansas. To go back to the subject at hand, I was in the back seat with K++++++and Grandma S. I was put in the middle, on the lump, because "K__________ wanted the window. "Her wants to see the scenery" Was what I was told. Well, "her" saw the scenery. I sat on the hard lump and hurt more and more. If anyone has experienced a broken tail bone, they will know that that is one of the most painful injuries that you can have. All the nerves for the legs pass through there. I had to sit very still, and not squirm. This would have been hard enough for a child to begin with, on a drive down kansas, through Oklahoma, then through Texas. They crossed texas, New Mexico, with at stop at Carlsbad caverns. I remember thinking how neat it was that a cave had these neat paved roads with rocks on the sides, thinking that it was a natural formation. I also remember each step being an agony. It was like a form of slow torture. If I moved in the car, K_____ would cry and scream if I so much as touched her. She would scratch and bite, and my mother would turn around and slap my face. If I bumped Grandma, she would do her own slapping. My father never intervened, never said a word; never lifted a finger to stop the slapping, and I never realized that it was wrong what they were doing to me. When we were in Arizona, I remember being taken to this mountain range. There were little puddles about 2 inches deep that were full of little tiny fish. There was a stream that in one part was about 2 feet deep, and then went over a series of tiny waterfalls to a large pool that seemed very deep to me.There was a little shelf that looked almost like a cup that I wanted to slide into so badly. Cousins Y, Z and K_______ were playing happily in the water. I wanted to so badly. My mother put her arm around me, for W and X's benefit, and said, "Honey, we can't let you. You were hurt so badly. We can't take a chance on you getting injured again." I remember my mother being nice to me, and my grandmother also, when anyone else was around. I wondered why, and I loved it that W andX treated me like anyone else. They treated me no different than K+. I remember Uncle X coming in to me and reading to me Fox in Socks that was some pages that were torn out of something. I remember never wanting to leave W and X's. Just being in a household where I was only slapped when I was alone with Mom or Grandma was like heaven to me. I begged to stay and live with them. I know that W and X had to know that something was abnormal. I don't forgive them for not investigating. I will never understand why no one did anything. I was beaten untill I was black and blue, starting at the age of four. I know now that there was nothing I could have ever done at the age of four to warrant such physical and emotional abuse. When I was 7 and still in second grade, my mother caught me picking my nose. She waited untill I went into the bathroom and she went in there with me. She had on a pink latex rubber glove. She picked up a piece of my bowel movement out of the toilet and made me take a bite of it. She had my hair by one hand, and with her other hand, forced my mouth open and the feces into my mouth. I vomited and vomited. The other thing my mother did a lot in those early years was give me enemas. She would get this red rubber bag. When I would see her go to the linen closet and emerge with the box that held the hot water bottle and the hose and nozzles, I would run. She would fill the hot water bottle with cold water that had dish soap in it. She would make me kneel on the bathroom floor, with my head on the floor. She would insert the nozzle, and empty the entire quart of cold water into my body, then physically hold me there. I can almost still feel the cramping. This happened 2 or 3 times a week. I never told anyone. I was sure that either I would be blamed somehow, or that they would tell my parents, and I would be in so much trouble. My parents were known by everyone in the town. My dad owned a business, was a member of the Chamber of Commerce, and my mother was active in the church. She was a member of a group called Coterie, and she also belonged to some ladies group that met in one another's homes, and this was called Unit. They did a float for the annual parade in late August. My mother had an almost psychopathical ability to hide her sadism and cruelty. She was always smiling at church, and around people, I was treated ok by her. I found out later, from a daughter of the aunt, who sent her children to watch tv at Grandmas, that my father's family did not want him marrying my mother. Grandma was divorced in the 1940's, when you did not divorce. So she was a scandal in herself. My grandfather, Pearl, whom I had met one time, was an alcoholic neer-do-well.I know that the S------'s were thought of as the scum of the county, and they had nothing. My mother and her sister, D, had the most God awful hatred for their father. Apparently, according to the hearsay from my cousin B, most of the 14 children were a result of rape. I know that some kind of abuse went on. To this day, P___________ S___________ is never spoken of. Only the older ones have the bitter hatred. The younger siblings did not seem to have the bitter hatred. Realizing that my mother suffered serious abuse has helped me understand. However, the abuse I suffered has made me determined that my children will never suffer what I have been through. She had knick knacks all through her house. Posessions were obsessively important to her. She had breakables all through the house. Ceramic figurines, porcelain figurines, just shelves and shelves of them. Some of the most severe beatings that I got were when I or one of my sisters broke one and blamed it on me. M______ and K__________ soon learned that they could blame anything on me, and they could sit and watch me get beaten, while I was screamed at. "Nincompoop, imbecile, worthless piece of trash that won't amount to a hill of beans" Were some of her favorite. M___________ didn't really set me up much, as there was an almost 7 year difference in our ages, but K____________ had inherited her mother's sadistic streak, and enjoyed setting me up. We had hen houses, and one of my jobs was to gather the eggs every evening. I remember K_______ taking the eggs out of the refrigerator in the garage, where we kept all the dozens of eggs, which we sold, and putting them back in the hen coop. She told my mother that I didn't gather the eggs. I said "Yes, I did" She checked and the hen house had eggs. I got one of the first beatings that I received with a belt buckle at this time. They said that the belt was not for gathering the eggs, and the buckle was for lying about it. I always tried to watch K__________ so I could undo or minimize the damage. However, she would pick up something from one of the shelves, drop it, and with a smirk, call for mommy to come see what Regina had done. I had gotten to the point where if I read or heard the word family, I would feel bitterness flow up in me like a vast infection that was not allowed to come out. I hated the words Mommy or Mother especially. I began to hate my sister with a hatred that I realize I still have. I thought I was numb to her, but as I write, I realize that the hatred is still there. I have had no contact with her and we have not spoken or exchanged mail in 35 years. I have no intention of ever communicating with her again unless she initiates it. In later years, people who have known me as an adult have known that I have emotional problems. I have heard statements that I should have had help as a child. My parents did not know how to deal with me. If they knew what they know now, I wouldn't have had to go through with the rough times. My response to this is that no child deserved what I was put through. No small child is bad, and if you take a child at age 4 and start drilling into their head that they are different, and bad, and this message is reinforced at home and at school and church, they will believe it. I had developed a why try attitude. I did in school what I had to to just get by. I walked in a cringing posture, and tried not to draw any attention to myself. When I got up in the morning, I was slapped and called names. No matter what I put on to go to school, it was wrong. Not only was I made to change, but I was humiliated and made fun of,both by my mother and my sisters, K______ in particular. I then went to school, where E_____ P_______ reigned supreme in her classroom, then went back home to more torment. The only peace I had in my life when I could escape was when I went into the world that I had made inside of my mind. I spent more and more time there, and got in more and more trouble in school for not paying attention. I was in someplace that was pleasant. I would fantasize about such things that people take for granted. One fantasy was, when we walked to have lunch at the high school, which was the cafeteria for elementary and junior high, as the school was so small. I imagined having a friend to walk with. We were to walk in pairs, holding hands. When there were an odd number of children, I would walk by myself. When there was an even number of children, Mrs. P______ would let them walk with one group of three children. I would walk, usually somewhere in the middle of the group, surrounded by people, all alone. I couldn't articulate my pain, but I became more and more withdrawn and quiet. I remember one teacher commenting that I never smiled, as she walked past me with another teacher, as I sat alone watching the kids play a game that I would never be a part of. In my fantasy, I had a friend that held my hand as we walked to the cafeteria. We talked, and other children would talk to me, and I would talk back to them, and they were friendly to me. I can write no more today as my throat has closed up and I have such a knot in my stomach that I am almost physically sick. These memories are so painful, and I have kept them inside of me for so long, that this epistle is a lancing of a huge, infected boil. I am in the lancing process now. I have fallen back into the pain of 1967

I was adopted into an all white small town in Kansas in 1961. It is hard to imagine the backwards nature of this town. The adults at the time were from the war era. A small town in kansas was far behind both coasts in their ways of thinking. Sometimes it seems like ______________, Kansas existed in another dimension, and had it's own reality. I have never been able to speak of this before. Not only because of how intensely painful that it is, but because of the sheer magnitude of the mob mentality. I have always been afraid of not being believed. This fear goes to the very heart of my soul. To not be believed is the betrayal of the worst nature. No infidelity or abuse can touch the pain that not being believed brings. To not be believed, to me, says that I am crazy, or if I am not crazy, I am not a good person. No good person would make up things of this nature. My adoptive parents, R_________ and A___ D__________, owned a jewelry store and a sheep farm. My dad did watch and clock repair in his shop, and at the time of my adoption, owned sheep, a few cattle, a couple of horses and ponies, as well as chickens, geese, and ducks.My parents had been unable to have a child of their own having suffered a couple of miscarriages.When they brought me to _________________, most of the population was of the belief that I was somehow "Bad" or "Of bad seed" and obviously illegitimate. Any child who was illegitimate was a product of sin. My maternal grandmother was of this mentality. When I was left in her care, she was often visited by a sister of my dads and her children. They went over to Grandma S_________s to watch her black and white tv as they had none of their own. I was too young to remember, but Grandma had no problem voicing her opinions in front of them. "You dirty little rat. You are just a little illegitimate rat. You will never amount to a hill of beans. All you will do is have a bunch of illegitimate brats of your own. I hate you, you dirty little rat"This was said even when I was too little to understand it. As I got older, I began to understand that there was something different about me from my cousins. Some of them called me names, mocked me, hit me, and Grandma looked on with approval. She would put her arms around one of my cousins, and in a very sweet voice, make comments such as "Aren't you my sweet little pumpkin. Thank heavens you aren't a dirty little rat like Regina."I longed to be like everyone else and did not understand why I was different; I just knew that I was. The year I entered kindergarten, my mother carried a pregnancy to term and gave birth to my sister, K_______. Suddenly, mommy was like everyone else. She held the baby close to her, and wouldn't let me come near, like I carried some infectious disease. She constantly made comments like "You nincompoop! You little moron. This is my sweet baby. Her is my own. Her is my little girl" I would be glared at. I soon learned to stay away from both mom and K_____________. I need to add I was only 4 at the time. My birthday was December 28th, and I started school at 4. The kindergarten teacher, Miss B________, put me at a table in the back of the room by myself. On the occasions that other children would reach out to me, Miss B_____________ would tell them to get away from me. So by the age of 4, I knew that there was something different about myself. I didn't know why, but I was not as good as everyone else. There was something bad about me that I could not fix. I was called to the front of the room on almost a daily basis. Corporal punishment was allowed at that time, and I was spanked in front of the class nearly every day. I was not allowed to play with the other children. Now as an adult with children of my own, it seems inconceivable that the other parents and the school administration allowed this to go on. This is the mob mentality that I have spoken of. I have seen a movie called "The Lottery" Most other people that have seen this movie consider it almost science fiction, and ask how an entire town could go so crazy. I think that an outsider coming in to this would have tried to put a stop to it, but this was a town of 900 trapped in the dark ages. When I left school, I went home to be taunted, put down, called names, and hit. I had my face slapped 6 or 7 times a day AT THE AGE OF 4.What could a 4 year old could have possibly done? At the time, I thought that it was because I was me. I watched other kids make friends, play games, and be spoken to nicely. I thought how nice it must be to have someone speak kindly. I never even imagined anyone speaking nicely to me. It never crossed my mind. In first grade, it was no better. The teacher had me come to the front of the class, bow 3 times, and say "I am a big fat goose" 3 times, usually 3 to 4 times a week. At this time, I began to experience physical abuse from the other children. They would hit me or trip me, and God help me if I cried. These people did not see me as a human with feelings. They thought I was something different, and bad, and by their treating me badly, they were showing that they were good children. By halfway through the first grade, I barely was passing. I was told daily that I was stupid, an imbecile, (I didn't even know what that meant, but I knew that it was something terrible) and I didn't understand why I had to be born to be this terrible thing. The parents had encouraged this behavior with their hangups about my supposed illegitimacy. The children, in their defense at this behavior in their very early ages, thought that they were supposed to treat me badly. The worse that they could treat me, the higher their esteem with their peers. At home, the abuse became worse as K___________ grew/ All I ever heard was how K___________ could do no wrong and I could do no right. My mother had these conversations with the adults in her church and with all the aunts and uncles, and noone seemed to really think anything of it. If anyone did have a problem with the constant emotional abuse in front of everyone, they never did or said anything about it. I did find out later that one of my aunts, the one who sent her children to watch Grandma's TV, was horrified, but she was afraid to do anything about it for fear that it would make my situation worse. My father just stood by and even though he did not actively abuse me, he never said a word to anyone to prevent it. In second grade, when I was only 6, my mother gave birth to another child, M_____________a. Even though M__________________ttained the "Never can do any wrong" status of Kristie, Melissa was clearly an insider and I was on the outside looking in. K_______ and M__________ weren't called names, slapped, kicked, and punched. K___________ began to develop what probably was a typical disposition of a child who is completely catered to, and every whim is satisfied. She called me names too, even at the age of 2. She would scratch and bite, and my only defense was to run. How humiliating, to run at the age of 6 from a 2year old, but if I ever tried to defend myself, even to push her away, I was spanked. My parents called it spanking, but it was really a beating. However, she never got in trouble for scratching or biting, even when it drew blood. That is, on me. She was not allowed to treat M)________ badly. I don't think it really occurred to her to treat M__________ badly. M______________ was her sister. I don't know what she thought of me as. School went from bad to worse. That was the year of E_________ P___________. That name to this day still has the power to invoke very strong emotions in me. I can't even put a name to the emotions. I don't know what they are. Elsie was sadistic, and had a habit of making one child the class scapegoat. She was in her heyday with me. Here was a child that she could humiliate and abuse to her hearts content, and the other children thought that she was behaving properly. She didn't fear any retaliation from either my parents or the school administration. When I was taken to school the first day, my mother let it be known to her that I was a trouble maker, would not cooperate, and in general, had to be taken in hand. Even though I kept my mouth shut, and tried my best to not draw any attention to myself, I was always doing something wrong. I did not think I could do anything right. Even something as simple as a math worksheet, which she caught me doing. Instead of starting at the top left, I was skipping over the paper, doing the sums at random. She held up the sheet and told the class what a horrible student I was. "Class, are we supposed to do the problems from left to right, or are we to skip all over like Regina did?" The class would say "from left to right' and P____________ would lead me to the front of the class to be paddled with a huge paddle she kept up by her desk. I tried so hard not to cry, as the class would start to laugh, and it would make the teacher taunt me infront of the class. "Oh, is wittle baby going to cwy? Did big mean nasty teacher hurt it's wittle feewings? Look, class, wittle baby is cwying? This was the classes cue to laugh and to mock me with saying Waaah and other taunts. I had made a mistake on some assignment. I do not remember what the particulars were on this occasion. I remember P_________ holding up the assignment and saying "Class, look what Regina Di________s did. What should we do?" The class was shouting out suggestions. K_______S_________ shouted out "Let us all spank her!" P__________ cooed over what a wonderful idea that K____________ had and told the class to take me into the coat closet and spank me. I remember K_______t holding the paddle. The entire class of 21 other students mobbed me. They drug me out of my chair, and into the closet. I remember having my legs, arms, hair, head, and dress all pulled. I was hit repeatedly with the paddle untill it shattered into fragments. When they finally decided that I had had enough, they went back to their seats, and they and E________ P______________ talked about how I deserved it. She came into the coat room, and grabbed my hair. She pulled me to my seat. She then told me how I had better not tell anyone. She said that everyone knew that I deserved it and whoever I told would spank me again. I did not tell anyone at home for fear of more of the same treatment. Now I realize that she had gone too far and was afraid. That did not cross my mind at the age of 6. I did not expect any other treatment. I limped home, a mile walk that seemed to be 5 miles in the pain that I was in. I turned 7 in December. When we came back from Christmas break, I was wearing a poncho that my mother had gotten God knows where. P__________ had me come to the front of the class. She made fun of my poncho, and had all the class laughing and poking fun. At this time, ____________ B_________ came up with the bright idea of saying spray as a way of cleansing himself from "My germs" When ever I came near someone, they began to scream and to shout "Spray spray" as they ran away from me like I was leprous. I remember sitting on the edge of the playground watching the children play tag. When one would tag the other, they would shout "You got D_________'s germs" The child tagged would scream, and run to tag someone else, and they would all scream. At the end of recess, they would all gather and "Spray" each other to cleanse my germs off of them. I began to withdraw. I did not cry, either at home or at school. It drew attention to me. Believe me, I did not want this attention. At recess, I began to create my own world. I went off by myself to a deserted end of the school yard, and created my own world, which was far better than the hell I lived in. In this dream world, I was like every one else. I had friends. I was invited to parties and sleepovers, and my mother said nice things to me, and the teachers would compliment me on work well done. Towards the end of the school year, a new student arrived. I remember her name still> J_______ W____.We were brought up to the front of the class in front of the blackboard row by row. We were to tell her our names, and what our fathers did. I turned sideways and was daydreaming, and running my hand up and down the trough that held the chalk and erasers. Suddenly, I felt a hand grab my hair. I was jerked around, and E______ P____________ socked me in the face with her fist with all her strength. My nose spouted blood like a fountain. My lips were bleeding. I was terrified. Was I going to get in more trouble for bleeding on the floor or my dress? E___________ P_______________ took me to the restroom, cleaned me up, and kept saying that I shouldn’t have turned around, but that her hitting me was accidental, and I had better not tell anyone or I would be expelled. I told no one. I didn't want more of the same. 

 I just woke up from another bad dream . I have had them all my life. I have never felt safe,protected or valued . I'm sure you know what i mean. My natural parents I'm told died when I was 4. I wen't with there doctor first but he got drafted and went to Vietnam and his wife did not want me due to the fact that my age would have put me out of wedlock. Any way so that is how the Cogswell's (my adopted family) got a hold of me. On the surface every thing looked good and normal. But for me it was the beginning of a life of torment . 

  After years of being told I was a piece of shit, one morning my mother was yelling about how terrible I was and how I wasn't perfect enough, I'll never forget looking down at my bowl of cereal and saying in my head, "When is this going to stop?" I got up from the table pushed her to the floor pointed my finger at her and said "If you ever talk to me that way again....." I can't remeber what else I said.

 

 

  I would cry myself to sleep praying my biological mother would "save me" but she never came. By the time I was 15 my adoptive mother decided she didn't want to be a Mom anymore so I was sent to boarding school, I had no mother or father for 2 years of highschool.

 In middle school, there was a man at our kitchen door interrogating my adopted mother, somehow he knew I was being abused by her, he kept trying to peer over my adopted mother's shoulder to see if I was okay, I kept looking over her shoulder to look at him, my adopted mother kept trying to block his view of me, I wish I had the courage to yell but was terrified, my adoptive mother being a psychopath used her charm to get herself out of it, the man left, I never saw him again.

 A couple of years ago, I had new memories resurface about what I went through, after being sexually abused by my adopted brother, I told my adoptive parents and they told me not to tell anyone, they protected him, he was never punished. I also remebered one of the first incidents and I remember that one of his friends new what he was doing to me and he didn't do anything.

My name is Luda and I was born in russian on Sep. 16, 1990. My birth mother gave me up and put me in the orphanage when i was 3 years old. Anyways, I got adopted sep. 12th, 2002. Me and my brothers room was on the third floor, where my adoptive dads exercise room was. (yes, no one would have been able to see or here anything and i think thats why he picked that room for me). Anyways, few days after adopting me, he started to come upstairs and touching me at first. He would touch me between my legs and massage there while i saw his "privet part" get big. He would also touch my brests and my butt and my butthole. He would make out with me and than move my head twords his hardness and make me play with it with my hands and mouth. He would also take me "one on one" trips and do stuff like that to me. He than would always buy me something. (hello, i do not know why no one in my family "adoptive family" thought it was wierd that he would buy me sooo many things and not buy much for anyone else) He did this too me for about 2/3 years. I mean after that i would go out a lot with friends and have lots of sleep overs at their houses and never tried to make time to stay home anymore. Well, after a while I would have friends over at my house and out of know where he would start yalling at me, and would call me names and hit me. (Yes, I have friends who saw him yell at me and hit me). Thats when I began to sneak out and do drugs and drink a lot. I tried to kill myself about 5 times and almost did it once, but my doc said thanks to my bestie i would have died in my sleep. I have been in the (i don't know how to spell it but thats the place where people who try to kill some one or them selvs or are depressed big time) I was there about 3 times. I am almost 20 now, married and have an eight month old son, and this is still ruining my life. I am thinking about taking him to court but i don't know if it is too late or not. I mean I can not handle this anymore, and if i was a little more smarter than i would have opend my mouth. But i was scared, and i was really scared of being put back in a group home and being by my self again. (If this has ever happend to you, or is happening to you now, please speak up. Say something or do something "not illegal though" I mean call the cops or CPS. Do not let anyone ruin your life and take your innocents away.)

*adoptive mother (am)  *adoptive father (af)  *adopted brother (ab)  *step-father (sf)

I was adopted when I was 17 days old.  According to me *am, she and my *af had asked the agency for a boy.  When they called her to tell her they had a girl available they decided to adopt me with the understanding that they would also wait for their boy.  My *am told me they only took me because a boy wasn't available and they had waited 10 years to adopt a child.  She made it very clear that I was not really wanted.  My *am was disappointed that I cried alot, not understanding that a baby is grieving when they are taken from their mommy and was angry I would not let her hold or comfort me.  My *af was the one that I bonded with and it was obvious that he adored me by looking at the photos of he and I.  He always had a look of pride on his face and I looked so content, so safe in his arms.

.....I do not know where to start. You all have tocuhed me so deeply. Reading your experiences stirred very familiar feelings within me, even though I wasn't abused to the horrific extent as most of you were. I can not begin to compare, but I so recoginse your experiences.....its touched a very real and raw part of me. I am in tears...... Thank you so much for sharing and supporting me....you lovely, lovely people. I extend my heart and spirit out to you......................I hope you feel me. And I am sure you are smart enough to ignore some of the ignorant comments that people have been adding to your experiences. They infuriate me because they do not have a damn clue. But I so hear you all.

Like I said, I was never sexually abused as such....my adoptive dad would just tickle  me and my sister who was adopted with me between our legs as he chased us up the stairs every evening on his way back home from work. When I started developing breasts he fondled them and we even have a picture in our photo album of him doing this to me. I always took it as his sign of affection. Years later I was told by my therapist that this was not ok and that it was a form of control.

My story is this at the age of 4 and a half and my sister the age 6 and a half were 'baby transported' out of Bangladesh and flew to Amsterdam where my white, Austrian adoptive parents picked us up and flew us back with them to London, where they resided at the time and were hailed by family and friends and colleagues as such saints and good catholics. I never understood why my adoptive dad would hit me, pull my ears and literally go mental infront of me- that was really terrifying for me as such as small child. He would complain constantly that my sister and I were killing him and that terrified me equally as much. I would often hold my breath (unconsciously) whenever he was around for the fear of doing the slightest thing that might upset him. I would literally tip-toe around him and could ever understand why he would always be so displeased with me. Subconsciously and I still believe that something is terribly wrong with me and that I don't deserve anything. In my teen years I would cry my self to sleep every night, because I could not seem to get through to them that I just wanted to love them and to be loved, but they saw me as a fake and as my adoptive mother once told me off saying to me 'stop acting so innocent!'. We were never allowed to cry when my adoptive dad hit us and we had to stand there and let him finish slapping us across the face. When he was done we were instructed to go to our rooms to cry and then to come downstairs and ask for his forgiveness. That is how I let men in my later life take advantage of me. I believed I had no control over a situation , that I had created the problem and that I had to endure the consequence until it was all over, apologise to the man who took advatage of me and once on my own again to ignore that it ever happened.....people tell me thats cold of me...I don't know. I believe I just was trying to protect myself. I always felt and still do so humiliated and exposed. I often have dreams where I am wandering around naked and everyone around me is dressed. I even struggle in my curent relationship because he can't understand why I let myself be taken advantage of by my sisters ex-boyfriend and a past neighbour of mine. I have even let him take advatage of me many times in the past, but he is learning and has changed his ways. I recognise that he has experiences of severe neglect and abuse himself.

For too long now I have put my life 'on hold' believing that I could only exist once my birth mom came back for me, embraced me back to life and took me away with her like the prince in the fairytale 'Sleeping Beauty'. But she never came for me so I have decided to go to her.

Currently I am searching for my birth family and hope one day to support other trans national and transracial adoptees like myself.

I hope my input will have been of some use and I welcome any comments. If you (the adoptee only) ever wish to share directly with me you have my absoulte permission. Thank you again for sharing, no matter how brief or long, remember that you count and matter!

 

 

 

Puzzled

By: Raquel Perry

                              Confused by Confused by life's puzzle inside my heart,

Pieces are missing, lost since the start.

A simple foundations the biggest part,

Always searching for answers contained in this art.

 

Unwanted baby, no goodbye, just go.

Too young to realize how the pain would grow.

The adult now struggles so it will not show.

How life deals us these painful blows.

Like loving a family, I will never know.

 

I lack in the knowledge most everyone gains,

from having a family all I learned was pain.

So many visions have danced through my brain,

how having a family keeps people sane.

 

You are born who you are and loved just the same.

They are your foundation and gave you a name.

Just knowing your family from which you came.

Don't know who I am, all I feel is shame.

Because I am different, I am always to blame.

 

My puzzle complete, will never be.

Don't have a family and they were the key.

Without a foundation, adrift in this sea,

Never loved by a family, for just being me…

 

Copyright ©1997 Raquel Perry

 

 

Nightmares

By Raquel K. Perry

Late at night, there is no light,

And I am without the comfort of my sight….

Wishing for someone to hold me tight,

To offer some comfort, however slight…

Once again that wrenching fright,

Closing in with all its might….

This is when my mind will sweep

Through my past not so sweet

Each cold vision slowly creeps

From within my soul which it keeps

Those awful memories buried deep.

 

Thoughts of fists that never missed me,

Why couldn’t they just kiss me?

 

Instead, they would always hiss,

Over to my little sis,

“You’re so lucky, you’re not like this.”

In my heart, it’s her, I miss…

 

I remember always stilling,

When I would hear my parents calling…

Soon again to be crawling,

Away from fists, forward falling.

No one there to dry my tears,

Their eyes they would always veer.

They closed their eyes

And

refused to hear...

 

When his watchful eye would scan,

I’ll always remember, in fear I ran.

From fear of his iron hand,

Did it make him feel more a man?

 

Moms’ words like knives forever sharp,

Night after night, she would cut me apart.

Poisoned darts never missed their mark;

Torture for her,

Had become an art.

 

Again, her blade flew from the dark;

Cut in half,

Broken still,

Is my heart…

 

 

As they tore my heart from my hand,

Did they even understand?

 

What an awful fire to ignite,

Even worse to ignore,

Kept it locked behind closed doors.

The shame, you hid, from the blood that pours.

 

Was it too much of a chore,

To love the child you waited for.

 

Over and over the awful sting,

Of cruel words, she would carelessly fling.

Out of the darkness those words would spring,

And me always searching for a safe place to cling.

 

From her sparks of words that came,

Fast and furious arose the flame.

Did not care about the pain,

With my mind, they played their games.

 

Felt the stinging of the cane.

And on the floor where I had lain,

Their fists they would not restrain.

 

I ruined her carpet she complained,

The scars I have they remain…

Her new carpet has no stain.

 

In the court of pain, I would be seen,

Forever judged by the devil and his queen.

“GUILTY!” were the words they always screamed,

Already sentenced, my guilt was pre-deemed.

 

With all his weight, on me he leaned,

felt the cracking of my spleen.

Blood down the sink, a steady stream,

Washed down the drain and so went my dreams

 

Rode into my dreams on his hellish nightmare,

The king always had a devilish flair.

Now, my private world they have declared

Then from his blade came a blinding glair,

Wiped my eyes, through the blood, my sights been impaired,

 

Endlessly they charge, no mercy do they spare,

I never knew for love you must prepare,

I never knew, “to love,” meant “to despair…”

Why all this misery must, I bare.

My life today cannot compare…

Because of this person, I must now repair…

The person I am today, are you aware?

Was created,

By your

“loving care”

Copyright ©1997 Raquel Perry

Twisted Views

                                                  By, Raquel K. Perry

Why does my “family” treat me this way?

A question I ask myself day after day…

Broke my heart with the things they say,

Life with no family is the price I now pay…

 

“You’re lucky to be chosen”, so many people said…

They don’t understand rejections pain in my head…

Born unwanted, placed for adoption instead.

Raised by a family that made me feel I’d be better off dead.

 

All I ever wanted was my mom and my dad…

Twisted opinions were all that they had.

Convinced me I am worthless, did nothing but bad…

In their eyes, they were perfect; it was I who was mad…

 

Confidence stolen, cruel words far from true…

Always told me, “You’re ugly, no man will want you.”

“You’re fat, that won’t change, your real parents were too…

 

They planted those seeds and they haven’t a clue,

Just how deeply they rooted, festered, and grew..

My mind is now a jungle of their twisted views…

Copyright ©1995 Raquel Perry

 

I was raised by relatives, a kinship or intra-family "adoption".  Both of my birth parents died before I was 2 1/2.  I was imposed upon the relatives that had the youngest family.  The emotional and psychological abuse kept me in a fog of who I really was in this world.   There was one instance of extreme physical abuse which basically just scared me into being obedient.  The way to survive was to be hypervigilant and compliant.  Because there was shame involved in the circumstances of my birth it was barely discussed.  I forgot I had other parents originally and am now grieving for them.

My "mother" was verbally and psychologically abusive, which was a much more insidious and lasting abuse than the one severe beating my "father" gave me.  I did feel connected to him as he was my half-brother and in many ways he was very good to me, though an emotionally distant man.  When he died I was 19.  Now, in my 50's, I am finally dealing with the pain which began in my infancy.  Until I began reading other adoptee's stories and blogs, I felt I was alone in my experiences.  Though my "adoption" home situation was unusual, the feelings of isolation, loneliness and shame seem to be prevalent among people (children and adults) separated from their birth parents through adoption.  I feel like a 2000 piece puzzle was thrown up into the air and I am trying to fit the pieces into place to reveal a previously unknown me.  So many memories have come back to me over the course of this past year.  So much now makes sense.  I don't even have the frame to the puzzle in place yet, but am getting there one piece at a time.   Here is the link to my blog.  I welcome comments and hope that we can heal together over time.

www.familysecretsunleashed.blogspot.com

So I am new here and am not keen on blogging, but feel so compelled to connnect with other "Foster Kids" who are now adults, but still feel stigmatization and shame due to not having a family- The American Dream requisite. I am incredibly PRIVATE and isolated about this secret in my personal life so to splay my shame in word, online feels disconcerting and vulnerable, but I do so in an effort  arrive to some greater peace with my life circumstance-...ever looking to move on, to get over it but not successful (at all) in doing so- 

Today I really am Pissed at my Birth Mother! I am denied access to any relationship with my Biological family because she is afraid to tell the truth about given birth to me!

If ever you read this birth mother please Tell the TRUTH! You wrote in your letter to me 7 years ago that you LOVE me! Well.......LOVE tells the truth!

If you do not want me in your life fine! BUT ALLOW ME TO KNOW MY FAMILY!

Well, I finally made it here to Adopted-abused and am glad! The information that I have provided is so small compared to what goes through a Child when they are abused by the people who are supposed to love and protect them!

My Adopted Mom is Gone from Earth, She passed away in 2005 and I Loved her so very much! She was the closest that I have ever felt loved but I did always feel like there was a Difference between me and her natural children...I DO NOT blame her for any of my abuse as she was also a Victim who only obtained Enough Strength on her own some years ago! I remember when I was a young man, Her Husband Jack wanted to Hit me yet again....It was then that she stood in the Middle of that Scumbag and said: "No More!"

Jack, I will never understand why you hated me so much and why GOD chose to take my family from me and Left you!?!?

BUT YOU WILL NEVER HAVE POWER OVER ME.....EVER AGAIN!

The day that my Mom passed was a day for her to be free from you! She is Free, are you????

I was thrilled to find this website after doing a google search for "abusive adoptive parents."  I had done this many times before only to get very few hits that never really led to anything.

I have cut all contact with my adoptive family.  It took me several years to do this because I never gave up trying to have a good relationship with them until 2006.  It was foolish, but since they had mellowed a bit with age, I thought I could put the past behind me.  It wasn't to be that way because, although the physical abuse had ended, the verbal abuse had not.  And they were very mean to my children behind my back, threatening them not to tell me what went on during their visits to "Granny's house."  When I finally knew there was a problem, it took my children months before they felt safe enough to tell me how she had treated them. 

I'll have to gather my thoughts to be able to tell my story.  And I'll have to abandon any plans to do anything for the rest of the day since talking about my life with those people either gives me a panic attack or puts me into a withdrawn and nihilistic mood for quite some time after. 

I often heard people saying they don't understand how someone  can adopt a child to abuse it.

Is it possible that I was adopted to be abused? No, the answer is definitely no. I don't believe that my adopters (or abusers) adopted me to abuse me. I'm sure that my A-mother adopted me because she wanted to become a mother and there was no other way to become one except through adoption. I'm also sure that my A-father adopted me because he wanted to build a family with his second wife and there was no other way to build one except through adoption.  I also believe that in general, normal people don't adopt to abuse a child.

To justify their assumption that  "abuse has nothing to do with adoption", people (usually non adoptees or "happy" adoptees ) will say that abuse also happens in non adopted family.  I'm sure that my A-parents didn't adopt me to abuse me but I don't accept when people say that abuse has nothing to do with adoption.

In my experiences, adoption had played a leading role in the abuses. My Afather used it to "prepare" me by scaring me. To do this, he talked to me about "Center for Youth in Canada versus orphanages in Korea". I was scared to end up in a center for youth because when my parents were not with me, I was always a subject of teasing, mockery and racism. When I started "behaving badly" in reaction to the abuses, my parents blamed my past in Korea, they blamed my korean father abandoning me and the death of my korean mother.

He only stopped abusing me after I lost weight.  Then he started to rent  videos.  I saw him taking a video in the porn-section but he denied. He said: "It's not pornography. It belongs to a series of videos. There is a history and suspense...It's a love story." One night that I couldn't fall asleep, I went to watch TV with him. I came in the middle of the "love story". There was a geisha saying that she was raped and she liked it so much that she decided to become a geisha. While she was talking about her story, the film was showing the rape. The following images were focus on the genitals. I went back to my room without saying a word. I coudln't stop asking myself: "Did daddy stop touching me because I lost my Asian look or because I became anorexic?" No matter the answer, I felt responsible for not becoming "white" sooner or for being fat.

Two years later, while my parents and I were in the car, we heard at the radio that an actor married his A-daugther. I didn't pay much attention to it but my father did. He said (in front of my mother) that he could marry me when mom will die. He said " people will be outraged at first but when they will know that you are only my A-daughter, they will not see any problem."

Until then, I only wanted to believe that adoption had nothing to do with the abuse because I needed to belive they loved me as their real child and because I needed the sense of permanence that I lost. That day, I understood that he abused me because I was only his adopted daughter, not more than an asian girl with the slant eyes like a geisha.

My answer is still no. He didn't adopted me to abuse me but, he abused me because I was only his adoptive daughter. And he didn't abuse his five other children because they were his biological children.

I am new to this site and i am hoping to meet people who have suffered sexual abuse like i have. I have been sexually abused for 16 years and i have really bad panick attacks and they are hard to cope with when i have no friends or nothing. Hope to talk to someone. Take care.

 

maree.74@hotmail.com