Kennedy has died…

Margies next memories pick up in Montgomery, Alabama… dad is stationed at Gunter AFB… I do not have many memories, so we shall see what we trigger with telling her story…

We lived in a trailer park, ours was parked on the edge and we had a massive front yard… that dad was always fighting red ants for… We lived here for about 4 years I think…

This was the place we lived when John Kennedy died, I remember a girl at the school that was related to him…

We spent many hours digging caves, playing on the cement pylons of an old building that had been torn down…I also spent as much time at the swimming pool, even skipping lunch, just to stay out of the house…

I remember one time playing and did something that upset my sister, who ran to tell mom… Mom came back to the area us kids were playing, which was just kids playing… that was the first memory of betrayal by the sister that says we are so close… a closeness that was never real, but fabricated by her…

I remember one Halloween, when mother made all kinds of goodies, I think it was the last time she was able to give out home-made treats for that holiday…

By this time we are reaching the age of 12 and I started babysitting for a lady whose husband was in the Air Force… They asked for me to accompany them on their move to a coastal town where he would be stationed.. My parents let me go… it was the first rape of many to come before the age of 18, by men in the Air Force…

Upon returning home after the family came to get me… dad left for Vietnam… I do not remember his leaving, nor do I remember our selling the trailer and moving to Bonita, Louisiana…

I remember the house we lived in while dad was in Vietnam… I remember mom was gone frequently… I remember her cutting the grass and dancing as the mower ran over a king snake and sliced it into pieces…

I remember the gas station on the corner and the man who molested me… I remember the night it happened and I was sent to bed for some made up reason, because mom was going out… the story line was to church, but her boyfriend lived there… sister was on the couch watching TV, the sister that is 2 years younger than me… I came out of the room crying, having had a bad dream about the rape and molestation… all I got from my sister was “I am going to tell mom if you don’t go back to bed”… yes we were close this sister and I… as close as a mouse gets next to a rattle snake…

The next memory comes in of dad coming back from Vietnam early because supposedly mom was ill… when in fact she was pregnant with the youngest sister that was not my dads… DNA test will prove that, but not necessary, her unique blood type proved she was not his… A+ & O+ cannot produce and AB… chemistry 101…

I have no memory of the holidays or birthdays or my two brothers… no memories of them at all… nothing…

When dad walked in the door after Uncle had picked him up, he headed straight for the kitchen… I got on my bike and left the house… Mom was having a breakdown… I knew the real reason, she was afraid… 

I have no other memories until our move to Big Springs, Texas and the summer of 1967… The summer Margie died at the hands of her mother and father…

Times Up #MeToo

I Remember….

Bay of Pigs…

Margies story picks up and we are living in a single wide trailer… My sister and I are sharing a room that had bunk beds in it… Being the older of the two of us, I guess that is the reason I got the top bunk… a fatal flaw in that…

As my sister who was 2 years younger, but the size of a pre-teen, she could lay in the bottom bunk and with her feet push up on the top bunk…

For 5 decades I had nightmares of falling and absolutely hate heights… I just did not understand why until my sister told me not to long ago what she did to me…

She would put her feet up under the bunk when I was sleeping and walk my body to the edge of the bunk and dump me on the floor… This 1 explanation, stopped the nightmares of falling… I have never dreamed of it again…

During this time period our older brother, who I do not have any memory of, except in the context of this one particular story… Did something that embarrassed my mother so much, she proceeded to beat me and left me with the bruises you see in this picture, including the ligature marks on my neck…

Maggi6yr

Now If I tell you what the cause of this enraged behavior that my mother did, my sister has threatened me… lets just say, that because of her advanced development, kids behaved like kids… but it was mother that was embarrassed and handle the shenanigans of kids in-appropriately…

My sister’s reputation as an adult is more important than the truth… You will have to wait for the book for that part of the story… our ages at this time was; older half-brother about 11, I was about 7 or 8 and sister was about 5 or 6… To be embarrassed over something kids did that meant no harm, is vanity and narcissistic to the limit…

By this time little Margie had suffered multiple traumatic brain injuries… These can be contributed to either concussions or taking the head and beating it upon the floor… a child’s skull can not withstand that kind of assault without leaving behind irreparable damage…. and damage to Margie, mother did, every time… it was mother until 1967…

What has the “Bay of Pigs” to do with this… dad was not home when this happened… He was TDY (temporary duty) away from home and if he found out my half-brother had been involved, he would have killed him… which he did try at a later date…

No all the abuse so far, had been administered by the woman who gave me life and did all she could to end said life… The same woman who acts like she has been and always was a victim… I have another name for it, it’s called mental illness… Which form I don’t know… I just know the woman is one of the best con’s I have ever known on this planet and victim she never was… She was the perpetrator…

I don’t know where we were living at this time, I haven’t looked at dad’s military records… I need to remember and write this all based on my memories… the book will have more precise demographics in it… this is just a draft writing of my book, the first run so to speak…

Times Up #MeToo

I Remember…

 

Ghosts of Memories… foundation of the story…

Margie has no memory from the time of the hair brush incident until she is about 5 years old…

By now Margie had a new sibling, a sister… a sister born with special condition that happens once in every 5,000 births…

Though Margie has no memory of the new baby sister, the memories do pick up when the sister is about 4 years old and the family dynamic has taken a dramatic turn…

It had once been speculated that the sister’s condition was based on the probability of mother taking HGH (human growth hormone) injections through a trial study… but that seems unlikely… You see the first human studies were not done until 1956, which means it is very unlikely that mother received these injections during the last trimester of her pregnancy… unless it was back door medicine… we will never know for sure…

The condition my sister was born with is called precocious and it impacts growth… She grew at an accelerated rate and by the time she was 4 years old, she was nearly as tall as our mother…

I can speculate on what caused this growth, based on only what little I know and the research I have done…. my hunch is though, it was natural, just one of those flukes of nature…

The memories pick up around the age of 5… mother is pregnant with my little brother…

These memories have always been in my brain, and have never altered, so I will tell you what little I know…

I remember a TV show for kids and my sister and I were in the stands… The host walked up to talk to us, not knowing that my little sister was only 4 and it seem to have made her nervous… I remember her pushing up close to me when the host stuck the microphone in her face, so I answered… I don’t think my answer was what my mother wanted to hear…

Now this is where the memory is sketchy and you will understand why when I get to the 13th year of my life…

I remember mother being very upset after the TV show, when we were going home… I have no memory after that, but there is a picture that shows both my arms swollen, my wrist mal-formed, which was likely broken and the little finger on my right hand was obviously broken, I had blunt force trauma bruising from my knees to my neck and no I never saw a doctor… that finger is crooked as a witch’s hat 58 years later…

The next memory picks up and dad is taking me to school and as the nurse sticks a thermometer up my rear end, I look up at dad and say “I am being a good girl, aren’t I daddy”… he would not make eye contact with me…

The next memory picks up and we are staying in a tiny trailer and I get stung by a bunch of bees… Dad may have gone hunting and I remember a stranger leaving our trailer in the middle of the night… Dad came back from hunting with a bunch of buck shot in him… These memories are a puzzle that I am hoping that the regression therapy will help me sort out…

I have no memory of birthdays,  holidays or family life… this covers from the age of 18 months to around 5 or 6 years old…

Times Up #MeToo

I Remember…

Margies first memories…

Margie was only about 18 months old and walking… Like most children she was curious and excited with the ability to walk… though her language skills would not progress as quickly…

Margies first memory was around this age, though there are ghosts of memories before this, that can not be confirmed…

Margie was standing up and had put her hands on the front of a cabinet… 

All of a sudden she was hit from behind with an old fashion long handle hair brush… the brush broke instantly…

The person welding the brush became enraged and grabbed Margie and shook her violently…

Life would never be the same for Margie, as something that terrible day broke inside her skull… 

Her fragile growing brain bounced around inside the soft skull of that toddler and that moment in time became frozen in her mind… she made a memory… her mind took a video of the incident, though she did not understand it at that time… She was after all, only a baby…

This memory was the beginning of a long journey that involved violence at the hands of her mother… The memory still vivid 62 years later…

I don’t know what Margie did to be hit so violently, but she learned quickly that the woman she called mommy hated her from that time on…

You see, the hair brush had been a gift from her father… The man who had little to do with her raising or up-bringing… Yet she valued that hairbrush more than she valued the life she had brought into this world…

Life would never be the same for Margie after that day… It was a pre-cursor to the violence yet to come…

My mind goes back to that moment in time and sees what the child sees… she is hated, because her mother broke the valued hairbrush on her…

Times Up #MeToo

I Remember….

A child is born…

margie (2)

In August of 1954 a little girl was born to the young lovers… She was the apple of her daddy’s eye… She was his first-born… They nicknamed her “Margie”… The name Margaret is an old name in the family line… and she was to continue the legacy of such a fine name…

It was not easy to survive on an Airman’s pay back in those days… He was sending a little home to his mother every month and that would stop with the advent of children…

The military school he was attending came to an end and he got orders to go to Greenland… a remote assignment back then, you couldn’t take your family with you… so he was only able to spend a very short time with his new-born daughter… his tour would last about a year…

The mother struggled to make ends meet and keep food on the table… She had two children now… One from her first marriage who was a toddler and the new baby girl…

Military life was and never has been easy for the families left behind… Duty before family has been the way it was and always will be when it comes to America… It is not only the military member that serves the country, but the spouses and children… They may not wear a uniform, but they make sacrafices too for the country they call home…

By the time Margie was able to walk, her daddy had come home, but the child had changed…

The once happy, smiling little girl had been abused and that abuse would continue until she left home 18 years later… This is her story, to find Margie…

Times Up #MeToo

I Remember….

 

How it came to be… the beginning…

Their eyes locked across the room and it was love at first sight… He was tall, handsome with dark wavy hair and piercing blue eyes, dashing in his military uniform… She was petite hour glass figure, her hair auburn in color and heart shape face, dressed for a night out with her friends… 

They started talking, finding that they had much in common… he was from Arkansas and she was from Oklahoma and that was were the romance began… in Denver, Colorado…

He came from a back ground of hard work on the farm… Raised by his step dad, who took over when his own father died young… The step father was a hard task master, his mother poorly educated and he wanted more out of life… he wanted a better life, so he joined the Air force…

She came from a broken family… A mother who abandoned her and her siblings at an early age… She bounced around from place to place and it left an indelible mark upon her soul…

The two lovers found comfort in each others arms and before long a child was conceived… In March of 1954 the two lovers married and started a long life together… A life filled with pain, lies and deceit… A life together that would leave a lasting mark on the children they brought into this world…

This is the story of one of those children… This is the story of Margie… A gifted child born into a family of violence, hate, deceit, lies and right-wing conservative christian religion… This is the story of a little girl destroyed in the name of god… This is the journey to find Margie and give her life so that she may never be forgotten….. This is the journey to find Margie…

Times Up #MeToo

I Remember

*As I  have no intimate knowledge on some of the dynamics, creative license will be used to try an tell the story as accurately as possible… No names will be used, except mine… 

 

When people doubt your memory loss or TBI…

I have learned on this journey to remember my past, that not everyone, even those that say they know you will believe you lost a part of you…

Recently a friend that says they know me as far back as Japan in the late 60’s, reached out to me on Face Book via friend request a couple of years ago…  I had no clue who they were, except, for one thing… I had a picture of that person in my photo album, that had their maiden name written on it… That was the only reason I accepted the friend request…

I still have zero memories of this person and our time spent together on Japan as teenagers…

Recently this friend asked how I knew I had a TBI, did a doctor tell me, that kind of questioning… 

This immediately told me that maybe they had not been reading my blog OR they did not understand what I had written in the blog…

Those of us who have suffered a TBI and lost a part of themselves, deal with this kind of skepticism all the time…

It would be like me saying I understand what people with cancer go through, when I have never had cancer… It is in-appropriate to say you understand what someone is dealing with when it comes to life and death situations, if you never experienced it…

I was greatly irritated by this friends question of doubt about my TBIs, so I chose to respond and tell the friend the facts… I have no memories of our friendship or time spent together on Japan at Johnson AFB…

If you are a combat veteran or you had a traumatic accident or a victim of domestic violence and suffered a TBI and lost a part of yourself… DO NOT LET THESE PEOPLE influence your journey and progress… Doubters are every where, even in your own families…

No one will understand what kind of hell you are living, with a part of you gone… Losing some or all of your memories, is no different from losing a limb… The limb will still itch, even if it no longer is part of you… So goes the same for brain injury and memory loss…

Do not allow anyone, not family, not friends, not anyone to discourage you from your journey to find answers…

Just be willing to accept, if that time comes… You may never get your answers, and just like losing a limb, you may have to accept the memories you are searching for may be gone forever also…

It’s ironic, this person is religious and believes in a man-made god… I am a living, breathing, heart beating human that is living and walking, yet I am doubted…

I have a saying, but It doesn’t seem appropriate… I can only hope that those who believe in man-made gods, learn to believe in real, living human beings…

There is hope, that those of us with TBI’s and lost memory, will be whole some day… that is what I cling too… Hope… and not some made up deity…

As Stephen Hawking says, look up at the stars and not down at your feet…

Times Up #MeToo

I Remember….