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Why?  An Essay of My Life

Be warned that my story is not for the ears or eyes of children or those who are faint of heart. 

With that said, this is how it was, how it is and so it goes…



I lost my virginity at the age of nine to a boy (my older brother who was four years my senior) who claimed to have the God given right to take it and then continued to abuse and degrade me until he left the house at 17, though his sexual abuse actually started when I was at the age of  5.


My nick name by my older brother was "little ugly". The physical, emotional, mental and sexual abuse I suffered at his hands was taught to him by my father. The God given right was taught by our all too familiar Christian churches of all denominations. After all a female is only a hole to abuse and use for a man's pleasure. And of course it was my fault. I am the one that inspired the lust after all. Please pardon my sarcasm, as I have grown jaded over the years.


The beginning of my abuse as I remember it:

My mother had gone to the store and left both of us tied to the bed post with nylon stockings so that we would not trash the house out. My brother got loose and proceeded to push up my dress, take off my panties and invited his friends over to stare and make fun of my naked, hairless sex. They spit on it, pissed on it, opened it up to examine it and looked inside it; called it every foul name they knew as 9 year old boys and then laughed because I was crying and unable to untie myself or run away.

When my mother arrived home, my older brother pretended to be tied up still and told me that if I told mom, he would make me sorry. (Which he did by the way) I started to cry hysterically the minute my mother entered the room. I was scared, humiliated and felt violated even though I did not know what any of those things were called at the time.


My mother tried to do the correct thing by taking me around to all the homes of the boys that were involved and speak with their mother's about what they had done to me. Only 3 of 5 were identified as living in our neighborhood and all three mothers at the doorway of their home said: "My boy would never do such a thing! Your daughter is a lying little whore, slut, _____." You can fill in the blank.


I started kindergarten after that summer. I was humiliated beyond imagination. The worst part was my mother did not punish my older brother for what he'd done. Nor did she call the police or even contact her clergyman. She just in shame swept it under the carpet so that my older brother and whoever else he decided to invite in on the sport, rubbed it in all the more and as many times as they could possibly do, when they were alone with me to do so; telling me all the while "They did have the God given right to use me as a hole. Or our mother would have beaten his ass."  They also convinced me that it was my fault you see, for I tempted them and after all, that really was my place, to be used and degraded.


My mother would not speak to me about it either, ever again. She was a single parent in the early 1970's and worked second or graveyard shift. My older brother was always her babysitter and I was ordered to do what he told me to do because he was in charge.


We also moved around a lot growing up as my mother was in love and my father was an alcoholic.  We moved every six months to a year either across town or across country.  We never took anything more than food for the road, the clothes on our back, pillows and blankets.  When my mother registered me for school in the 3rd grade she had to use an extra piece of paper to list all the schools I had attended.  I attended as many Christian churches as I had schools.

I walked away from ‘good’ Christian teaching at the age of 10.  All the different denominations of churches that I went to all said the same thing.  “We are the true church, the only true church and all others are false prophets.”  “Obey your father. Obey your older brother. Obey your husband when you get married.”  Their religion is all about men.  Their bible is written for men, about men and by men.  The only historic facts that I find are documented by other cultures all over the world, and they just twist the truth around to what they really want:  Power, Money and Control of the masses.  I asked myself a question at that young age, “If all of them are saying they are the only truth, then who is lying to me?”  I decided they were all lying to me to serve their own purpose.


I was 13 years old when my brother finally left to go into the Navy. My mother was very physically, emotionally and mentally abusive requiring me to be a mother to my younger brother and sister so that she could play the role as father and go to work and come home to stick her feet up on the ottoman and order me around. 


I ran away from home at 13, 14 & 15.  At 13, I ended up living with my father, and he sexually molested me and my best friend that was spending the night. That is when I hit the streets and lived in card board boxes where ever I could find a place to lay my head. It was better than the abuse and the shame of their opinion of me.  I stayed on the streets for about 6 months before I finally got homesick at Christmas time and called my mother for bus fare to return home. 


All the times that I ran away, I ended up living on the streets and getting very lucky that kind, caring people took me in and then talked me into returning to my mother’s house.  Finally at 16, I moved out on my own.  I was the only child my mother had that graduated from high school.  I was voted the least likely to succeed at anything by my family all of my life.  (I have 16 cousins) I have been successful in every job I have had, moving up through the ranks into management positions.  I have been from rags to riches to rags many times over, always due to a man in abusive relationships.  I married and moved away from my mother’s place of birth, Salt Lake City, Utah to Chicago, Illinois at the age of 19.


I was married for five years to Jim McGonigal my first husband.  He isolated me and kept me in a cage as he was 13 years my senior.  I was treated like a child so I listened and obeyed my husband and actually learned from him until I out grew him.  I finally started to heal when Jim put my molestation in lights; so to speak. I told him what had happened in the heat of our first and last argument, and he called everyone in my family, my employer, my friends, my grandmother, aunts and uncles, etc... Once again I was humiliated by their abuse of me.


Jim had second thoughts about what he had done though and turned me on to a book entitled: "Survivors of Incest". This book began my healing process, as did his brutal show-and-tale scene of telling everyone about something I had lied about most of my adult life. I was 25 years old. It's a very long story, for the abuse did not stop there, as I continually attracted the wrong kind of man into my life.


I spent four years living alone.  The first two of those four years I drank myself into oblivion to drown out the voices of how worthless and cheap I was.  Those voices from so long ago continue to haunt me when I am at my lowest points emotionally.  The final two years I went to college, acquiring an Associates degree in Business Management and advanced in my career as a Buyer for a major manufacture and supplier to the big three auto makers.


Then I met my children’s father, Ken.  Once again I walked away from a great career for a man and moved 2000 miles away from what I had begun to call home, Syracuse, Indiana.  Out of the ten years I spent with this man, the first five were ok, we struggled but he was still trying to keep me in a relationship that he considered no commitment had been made.  That changed however when we got married 8 months after the birth of our first daughter in June of 1996.  The day after we got back from our honeymoon, he was telling me how things were going to be different now because I was wife, which to him equated to slave.  I found myself in a loveless marriage to an uneducated, abusive, shallow man amidst a life of chaos.  I sought and needed calm and serenity and I knew instinctively that to have peace without, I must first seek and find that peace from within. 

That is when I started to study the spiritual path of Wicca, my first book written by Scott Cunningham.  This was July 15th, 2001.  I started my Book of Mirrors as was suggested by the author, which is a journal of your reflections on what you are learning.  On July 28th, Ken found this journal.  My marriage ended in violence with Ken cutting my face and arm then picking me up and throwing me into every piece of furniture and appliance we had, screaming at me that I was possessed by demons.  He did all of this in front of my two children.  They were 3 and 6 at the time.


My Path

I have traveled many a trail during meditations and inner journeys. I met my totem Grizzly Bear with earth red hair. I acknowledged my inner child and allowed her to grow. I also acknowledged the “he” within me and actually befriended him. Then into my life and subconscious came DragonBlue. A blue dragon is of the feminine aspect, of the moon, water and emotion; as am I, being a Cancer born on July 2nd.


DragonBlue – My Muse, my spirit guide gives to me riddles to solve that explain one set of problems or another. Always her answer to any question is “Unconditional Love”. Her riddles have guided me on many a journey. Love, honor and truth have been my quest and my reward. I have paid the highest price next to my own life for spiritual abundance. My price has been my children, whom I have lost through the courts to my ex-husband.


I do not keep to any Wiccan tradition but follow the ‘Reed of Three’ and celebrate the Esbates and Sabates.  I am sole practitioner for I do not follow others well nor do I want to lead them.  I am more of a catalyst to start the ball rolling or begin the ripple that becomes the tidal wave.  Paganism as I call it is a very personal spiritual path.  I have a very intimate relationship with the Goddess and the God, whom I speak with every day in and out of my circle.  My life has been more difficult since I started my path, but I never really expected it to be easy. 

I am one who has a passion about everything I do and as a result I come into conflict with those who seem to think they need to save my soul or have a right to tell me how or what to believe.  I stand my ground, and I don’t back down.  My path consists of a seeking for truth, honor and integrity by learning and teaching unconditional love.  To do so I must learn patience and diplomacy.


My Goal

I have discovered that my life path number of eleven – master number; is a life to finish all lessons that are needed before I can evolve into the next dimension of my chosen path. If I do not achieve the level of knowledge I am here to learn in this life time, I will have to repeat my cycle of three more lives before I can try to achieve my goal once more. (Three is my balance number.) 



Though I have grown and continue to do so spiritually, financially I am near indigent. I was diagnosed with several personality disorders and Bi-Polar I in January of 2004. I suppose my doctors keep me medicated so that I do not know they are abusing me too.  All I had was lost or taken from me by my ex-husband and a man I once called my fiancé. These two men are very similar in habit and in their need for control. They both wanted or needed to control me. To do so they needed to break my spirit. Neither succeeded at this, but they did manage to take all I owned; including my children.


I still follow and walk upon the path of the ancient ones in my search for truth, honor and integrity. I battle daily to have my children returned to me with my ex-husband and the court systems.  I still stand my ground in a fight or argument and refuse to back down because I never give up!  I have discovered I am truly a warrior. A Celtic Warrior as a friend once told me: “Honorable in word and deed, poetic of the heart with a soul of passion and determination only a warrior knows.” 





Author’s Note:

I no longer keep my abuse a secret. I made a promise to never hide it again to my inner child when we befriended at the age of 25 and I started to heal. I gave them, my abusers their own dirty laundry to wash.  I continue to bare witness to what they have done to my life, all of my life, to help stop others from feeling this pain. To make those who refuse to listen, hear my cries, hear their cries. The more people read, hear and deal with abuse, the sooner it will stop. The silence, being accused of the abuse as 'temptress', 'whore', 'hole', and no one ever believing me is what hurt the most and what allowed it to happen over and over again and to happen to me in the first place. I only hope that stories such as mine will reach others to start the healing process and possibly stop abuse from happening to another little girl.

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