Early years.

I was born in Kitchener Waterloo, Ontario. I was 7lbs7oz. born at 11:07a.m. My mother said I was always happy and smiling. I only cried if something was wrong. My parents were married at this time, but divorced when I was 18 months old. Both of my parents were alcoholics. I lived with my mother, and I saw my father on rare occasions. Always on our birthday. That's right... We shared that in common. Sept 16th our birth date. I have a half sister Peggy. I don't ever remember her living with us. Nor do I have any memories of her. We are 15 years apart. She left home to live with her dad at the age of 15. My father got remarried and had a son. So I also have a half brother I did not know his name. He is 9 years younger then me.

My mom and I moved around a lot. I counted how many different schools I attended I believe it to be around 16. I almost failed kindergarten because I did not know how to share. But they passed me, but I did fail grade two. This was the year that we received a phone call from a women saying that my father had died in a car accident, while drinking and driving. I remember coming home and seeing my mother in tears. But we did not go to the funeral and we did not see any of my dad's side of the family ever again. This same year My sister stopped visiting, and disappeared. The letters that we would send would come back to us. So all contact was lost. It was just my mother and I. Forever. No relatives to be heard of. My mother came from a orphanage so she did not have any family.

Life as I knew it was different from all of my friends. I grew up in a home where the one and only person I had in my life physically abused me. She was to be my protector and safety net. I loved her and hated her all at once. I wanted someone to take me away. but the thought of loosing her killed me. For who else who I have? I used to sit in the window and cry wishing that my dad was still alive, then he could rescue me. But no, I was left there alone to cover the bruises.
Not only was abuse part of it, but she was very strict. I was not allowed sleep overs. rarely allowed to go to friends houses. Not allowed to go to dances, hang out with boys. join a sports team. except what she wanted me to do. like bowling. Or swimming. I had to do everything with my mom. I believe that I was her only friend. this was hard. hearing and seeing grown up things. dealing with grown up problems. All I ever wanted was to just be a kid. no worries in the world.
As a child I hide things very well. I was very sly. I began to steal from my friends and money from my mom. I used to lie ALL the time. About everything. I used to lie because I was afraid. I lied so I would not get into trouble. I would lie to protect my mom. Lying became a huge apart of who I was, and became very natural. I started getting very aggressive with my friends. if they did not listen I would hurt them. and then threaten them to not tell. I was a sweet little blond haired angel on the exterior and a hurting angry girl on the inside. I used to bite kids, slap my girlfriends across the face. Yeah thinking back. Wow...I don't know how anyone stood being around me.
I used to sleep on bunk beds surrounded by stuffed animals I felt protected. and I would sleep in the midst of them all. Funny thing now though. I HATE stuffed animals and I hate my children receiving them. I immediately want to throw them out. bad memory I guess.
I used to love school, because it got me out of the house. I was not the greatest at school, not because I was not smart enough. I just saw it as a place where I could be social. I think every report card I had, said I talked to much. I was craving for attention from people. School was very much a social place for me.

One day my mother was upset about something I can't quite remember about what. I was in the kitchen and she grabbed a meat mallet and started hitting my arm with it until it swelled up and then tossed me down the stairs to the basement. This was a my place. I always was in the basement playing. And I remember clear as day. God speaking to me. I was about 6 or 7. I was holding my arm crying and asking out loud why?? Why do I get hurt all the time. And at this time I was not a Christian, but I heard God speak to me. He told me that this was not my fault. And the reason why I got hit is because my mommy was hit when she was small, she didn't know any better. So from the very early years of my life I understood I was not to blame. God never allowed me to have insecurity problems or blame myself about any of it.
I thank God that he gave me such an amazing understanding at such an early age. That year I became a Christian.

More to come..............