A Sheltered Life Chapter Three

THE REAL VICTIMS

Let's talk about the children in the shelter today. It's time to address some of my issues in dealing with these little monster angels.

Now I will, naturally, notice and observe a child before I will an adult. I have always been the watchful eye of my younger siblings because someone had to do it. My mom was, quite frankly, overwhelmed with six living boys and five living girls. Now, with my father constantly doing tours for the United States Army, somebody needed to help her out. So the gender bias began at a very early age for me. There were five younger siblings to help care for by the time I was twelve.

The TWINS were only a year older than I but I don't really count them as supporters of the five younger ones. They were the favorites, the double apples of my mother's eye, the center of attention and really great conversation pieces for her. Talk about a quick way to break the ice.

Getting back to the five young ones. I missed a lot of school taking care of the youngest child for Mom while she went to school to become a CNA. My eldest sister attended school with her as well. With the second and the third youngest I spent most of the time mending wounds, most of which came from the third youngest who hated tn the second youngest. The 3rd so wanted to be an only child, yeah right!!

The fourth youngest was our dazzling little man and, of course, was also one of Mom's favorites. This one could create the most amazing things out of absolute rubbish. I miss my Peter Pan so very much and regret not being there when he so clearly reached out to share something so secret that it was too late to stop, couldn't reverse. Now he's gone and I didn't get to tell him I love him. Seeing him in that horrible box is too much, even now, for me to deal with.

And then there's number five from the bottom. I fear for her because I warned her not to marry and I got angry when her abuser tried to fuck up my life and told them both they would never be protected from me or the other side of my Zaila's coin. Revenge is still a hard pill to swallow and I'm hoping to get past it with professional help.

As for the three (four when you add the half sister that Dad created and I didn't discover until my Mom passed away) above the TWINS, them I don't know as well as I do these little gems so I may just breeze past them from time to time. It doesn't mean I don't love them, it simply means I don't know them other than that we're blood and that makes us thick as soup when needed.

So, I have experience with kids. I've formed my own ways of predicting what kids to or how they'll respond to things. I know abused and neglected. I see trauma and fear, not new to me!!. I see how a nurtured kid can become successful. I also see how a neglected kid can become just as successful.

I can spot a mean one from miles away while they pull the wool over other's eyes. And I'm quick to figure out when the home environment is not a healthy one, having come from a somewhat unhealthy one myself. I've discovered bullies who are abused and act the way they do in defense. I know a smiling child with quiet tones will throw you down a well after they get what they want from you. In every case, neglect and abuse.

In a shelter, you get to see the trauma, the results of such violence that it literally makes your teeth hurt from grinding them so hard, at least it's that way for me. Thus, I try to keep my distance. No use getting close to these kids in any way. I don't hold them. I don't watch them for their Moms! I've only made one exception to that rule, only once since I've been here.

I will not do anything but smile and play with them and I do give hugs or play peek-a-boo with some of them. I have no qualms in telling these Mom's no when they ask me to keep an eye on their kids, only to scamper off to the smoking area to pollute the womb that their unborn occupies.

I have no problem saying no to many of these child moms with children still biting at their ankles. Why should I give
them a break? Why should I have a heart and take the load off of them? I would be condoning the disgusting habits they haven't given up yet for these children they are trying to palm off on me or anyone else How dare you go out and make bad choices and then try to manipulate others so you can still have the pleasures of such folly!!!

Breathe in, breathe out. In. Out.

To make this short, because to dwell on it makes me angry, I've got plenty of pity for the children here, plenty of disdain for their mother's and hatred, pure, undiluted hatred for the abusers who put them here. I write these words because to keep them inside is to fester a wound and the pus comes out in retorts that hurt. I don't want to be that person so I've learned to say NO!!!

A Sheltered Life Chapter Two

THE OBVIOUS

It doesn't take long to become a veteran of shelter life. I come from a large family so communal life is a snap for me. Or so I thought. The differences are (1) POLITICS and (2) DRAMA. Allow me to outline these two differences, from my own skewed view, for you.*

1. Politics
a. Admin. dictates certain steps that
must be completed in a timely manner.
b. You must adhere to the rules.**
c. All personnel from the main office to the
Med Clinic, and yes even the Sisters who
prepare your early morning meals a lunch
warn you to stay away from the "DRAMA".
d. Keep the residents in the dark about every-
thing; thus, no "DRAMA!!"
2. DRAMA (see 1.c.)
a. Admin.'s favoritism is a real bitch who
sits behind a glass window and neglects/
refuses to give You a break, all the while
stroking the little princess with the two inches
of makeup and fluttering eyelashes on and who is
better at appearing the victim than you are!!***
b. Always remember the squeeky wheel requires
more oil than the others AND is always the
first one to run and tell on you as soon as your
back is turned in order to deflect attention
from the rule breaking that she herself is
currently engaged in.
c. Never, ever trust anyone who starts a sentence
with "I love that girl, don't get me wrong but"
because the rest of the statement will not
end well!!****
d. When you can see a full stage production unfold
in your mind with multiple cast and crew inter-
acting in such a way that you feel the urge to
write down what's coming out of their mouths,
all the while laughing until tears spill down your
cheeks, then you have just entered the DRAMA
zone.
e. Take note of just how many times EMS and the
Fire Dept. make a visit to the facility. This helps
to separate the actual emergencies from the
attention seekers, whom you want to avoid like
plague if you catch my meaning.
f. Take pictures and voice recordings (just don't
get caught/see 10-28-11) whenever possible
because it's always beneficial to have some
sort of proof to protect yourself from gossip
and snitches, um'kay. Amen!!

*Ive had very little sleep since the day I arrived here which, upon reflection, parallels my life at home. One wonders if one would have been better off staying at home. At least there I could have watched the News.
**There are a large number of signs posted throughout the shelter to "HELP" you on this particular subject. From where I'm sitting either these people can't read, won't read, or just believe these "RULES" do not apply to them or their children.
***You know who they are because they'll be more than happy to tel you just how beautiful THEY are and just how hard it is for them to go outside the shelder without being chased by some man along the way, or even fighting off a Casanova at a job interview.
****"Let yee who is without sin cast the first stone", unless your shit don't stink or you're better at hiding your sins!!


As you've probably noticed, DRAMA takes up more of your time than POLITICS. That's because, in my opinion, DRAMA requires more work and energy.

I soak it up like a big brown sponge. I find it entertaining as hell and have stated, on several occasions, that I could sit in the back of the dining room with a huge bowl of popcorn, some junior mints or m&m's, and an endless supply of soda and watch it unfold like the soap opera that it is, truly I could. I even hear music in my head to accompany certain people and certain scenarios.

Then, on quiet nights, like tonight, I sit and set these novelas down on paper for my own amusement, in separate spiral notebooks, along with personal observations and random thoughts, lists of things to do and want to do's, paper clippings of interest etc., etc..

But here is where I leave off because I stink (P.S.) and I need some sleep.

P.S. I stink because I just got done cleaning the dining room and I was taught at a very early age that if something is worth doing, it's worth doing right. Unfortunately that means getting sweaty! :)

A Sheltered Life Chapter One

THE DECISION

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On October 5th of 2011 I arrived at the shelter. It was shortly after 5 am, or as near to 5 am, I truly can't recall the exact time. Funny, I can tell you the exact time I called 911 (3:27am) and the exact time the SAPD pulled up in front of my home (3:44am), but after that all at passed by as a fuzzy electric blur.

I remember making the decision not to hit him back. I remember my first born son standing in the doorway of the bedroom telling us to keep it down or we'd wake the girls. No 'Hey Dad, why do you have a handful of Mom's hair?' or 'What's up with the punches to the head and face Dad?'

What I did hear was "She's the one who started it", in that drunken little slur I've heard for 27 years and the "I know" that followed. I remember saying "While you're standing there could you help me get his hands out of my hair?" Then my son stating "Dad, let go of her already" and then it stopped. My son had pushed his dad to the floor at the foot of the bed that only moments ago had been my place of slumber.

So exhausting really, when you live with a drunk. A drunk who is insecure and lacks self confidence takes a lot of work you know. Be appalled!! I can hear all the seepage of your disgust, but I don't care what you think or say, I really don't. This is my intimate, personal hellish life, mine!! I own it. It's probably one of the only things in my life that is truly mine alone to dwell on, to despise, to study and abhor.

What the hell is wrong with me that I would tolerate such a load of despair with this clearly dysfunctional person? Am I that arrogant as to believe that I could still stay by this man until death us do part? Would a broken vow to God really be that bad? All those accusations over and over: who are you seeing? where have you been? why were you late? As often as it was asked it was also already answered.

I told him I would make him pay and then stupidly started an affair with a married man that lasted six years, one year for each year of hell i'd been through. WHAT AN IDIOT I WAS!!! Talk about taking the path to hell. But I digress. Let's get back to the day I started with, the beginning of my life.

After Officer Tyler took my statement, after Officer Perez took my pictures, after EMS assessed the damage to my face and neck, I was given the option to stay or go. I WENT!!

So, here we are, at the shelter and the start of my new life. Something inside of me said "Yes, you can do this, you can be done with it." And then the guilt sets in. What about my girl, my first grand? What's she going to feel like when I don't come back? Guilt, remorse, elation, relief....it's an overwhelming emotional roller coaster ride.

I could feel the tears rolling down my face but I didn't feel anything but empty, hollow,numb. I didn't know I was shaking. I hadn't looked in the mirror so I didn't see the swelling or the missing clumps of hair. it would be days later before I noticed the bruises and the scratches. i just kept thinking that I wasn't supposed to be here, that there were others out there who needed to be here and I had taken that chance to escape away from them. I still feel that way most of the time. So silly, silly silly me.

I arrived in my ratty pjs, carrying a shopping bag crammed with the clothes I had fallen asleep folding. I recalled telling my son that I was fulfilling all of their wishes and leaving my home, I was walking out that door with all my bitching about having to clean up after a bunch of extra brats and filthy one's at that. i was taking my overworked and under appreciated butt the hell on and the hell with all this crap. I'm coming back for my few inherited things and my girl and to hell with ya'.

That same day I let number 2 son know where I am via text. And I let the mother of my most precious girl know I had left. Both were very glad and sad. I've left before. I took both my sons and came home to where I grew up from the age of ten. Then, after three months of freedom, my father, also a batterer, let's this cretin back into my life and home. Ruined, darn you Dad.

This guilt of leaving her behind, even though I'm only the grandmother doesn't make this any easier. My heart's broken. There's a new gash everyday, hour, minute, second. The ripping of that organ at the center of my chest that I cannot tolerate. Even now, it bursts and the tears flow.

I need to let it go. I need to release on and in so many different levels. Breathe in, breathe out. In. Out. In. Out. To the outside world these are just random scattered thoughts turned into words on a few sheets of paper. To me this is the loop in a film made of my life. Forward, reverse, pause, play. Frame after frame falling on the floor in a room inside my head labeled EDIT. Will I ever put together the perfect film, the masterpiece, the classic? I'll let you know when I'm done.