It's been awhile.

So much going on. Ups and Downs. Thinking I was doing pretty well. Well enough that when some things occurred that really ticked me off I left the site and felt great about it.

Yeah.... That lasted long....

After posting the Pt1 of my story I hit a wall. Things remembered gained insight and understanding. Bringing pain and hurt with them. I figured and decided that I'd probably never ever continue my story.

Things change.

Issues cropped up. Brining with them all sorts feelings and troubles and garbage.

So here I am.

Back On-Site.

Somedays it feels good to be here.

Somedays it reminds me of the loneliness and Isolation that I've carried with me nearly my whole life.

I'm married. Have 2 living children. Yet I feel so totally alone.

I've been reading comments and posts from different people lately, and the other day someone said something that stuck in my mind. Combine that with the thoughts of several other threads and I find myself wondering...

Can I??

Dare I??

Should I continue the story I started all the way back in April??

I need to own it. It happened. I'm not happy about it. In fact I'm hurt and torn into small pieces about it.

I can feel the anxiety building as I even think about it.

So.... Here's my try:

As I ended my story last time, things continued as they always had.

Part way through first grade, I was taken out of private school and went to public school. My parents were having money issues I guess. It was sometime around this age that looking back now that I really see the mental and emotional lies began to set in. No one liked me. That's what I thought. Looking back I know it wasn't true. It was what my young mind thought and felt, and for a seven year old kid, thought becomes reality. No one liked me.

Well.... not no one. They did. Or so a seven year old thought.

At this point, going into 2nd grade I had a younger sister now. She was right around 5 and half years younger than myself. My older sister was going into 4th grade. My older brother, well I really have no foggy clue what grade he was going into. For some reason I have so little and few memories of him being around at all. In fact, looking back to the first part of my story, I said he was 6 years older than me. He's actually 8 years older than me. Go figure.

I've recently found out some things I'd completely forgotten. Honestly, even now I don't remember, but my younger sister has been talking to my mom about my older sister. Asking about her and what not. One thing she shared with me was that at one point my mom was very frustrated with my older sister. Apparently somewhere she picked up a word and took to calling me it all the time. Seems she took up calling me "Fag" all the time. In telling my sister this story, my mom said she's pretty sure my older sister didn't know what the word meant.... but I'm not so sure.

Although she wasn't involved in anything that went on. She knew about it. She didn't tell anyone. She just called me fag. I didn't know what the word meant. I don't even remember those times at all. It was a traumatic time in my life.

During 2nd grade, my older sister got sick. She was at the hospital a lot. After 9 months or so, she died. I barely have any memories of 2nd grade and even fewer of 3rd. I know the class room I was in, but I can't tell you much about it at all. I do remember once in 3rd grade getting yelled at by the teacher. I had written out the cursive letters we were learning and turned in my paper. She yelled at me because it was completely wrong. It was the capital letters T and F. I had missed the day before when she had gone over the differences, so I didn't know. I guess the only reason I remember is because of how I felt. Standing by her desk while she yelled at me in front of the whole class. Bitch.

The abuse with the first three was still going on. The next incident with the 4th I'm not sure if it occurred before or after my sisters death. I'm leaning toward after, but I can't say for sure. My sister had a friend. Older than her by two years. I remember sometime when I was around 8 (so she would have been around 12 or so), we were up in my room. This is why I'm confused as to why she would have been there if my sister had already died. However her mom and mine were friends, so it is possible. Like I said before, my mom had this habit of making friends with the most messed up people she could find.

So we were up in my room. She wanted to play...

She laid on my bed and wanted me to "examine" her. She'd tell me where to touch her. How to touch her. She started with her breasts. I was a silly 8 year old who was extremely uncomfortable, so I did what any silly 8 year old does. I got silly. Which made her mad. So I had to do it again and again until I got it right. I think at some point she just got mad and frustrated and got up and left. Which hurt me inside because I hated when people are mad. I didn't want her to be mad with me.

My mom had this thing for "putting on a happy face". When we were out anywhere we had to pretend everything was just honky dorey. I can still hear my moms voice saying in that fake happy tone, "Put on a Happy Face, we're going....". Anger wasn't really tolerated either. Oh mom could get mad, but if we weren't good or misbehaved or didn't obey the second we were commanded to do something, or showed any sign of independent thought that was contrary to hers, wow, you better look out.

By this point, my father was engrossed in his work during the day, and in the tv/newspaper at night. My mom was just stuck in her own world. Sure they'd lost a child, but shouldn't you do something to help the kids you have left to deal with the loss of their sibling?

Sure you should! But my parents didn't. And within a short time it became too much for my brother apparently. He burned our barn down. He tried to blame it on "Spontaneous Combustion", but the police were smarter than that. The decision of whether to press charges or not fell to my parents, and because I think they just didn't want the hassle of dealing with him, they said sure and he was taken into state custody. Well, that and he was the "adopted son" that they only adopted because early in their marriage they were told they couldn't have children of their own. But once they had their own, forget it, he was a 2nd class child. If I was his age and burned the whole world down I'm sure they wouldn't have pressed charges.

So I suddenly went from being 3rd to being the oldest at home.

Still don't remember much of my childhood. Hell I'm pretty sure my parents don't remember much either, especially after my sister died.

Oh our physical needs were met. They made sure we had good education (back to private school in 4th grade and stayed there until I went to 9th) and all that stuff, but emotionally forget it. Even my T described it as "Horrible Neglect".

This is getting long. So I'll stop here for now. I think the really hard things for me should probably be in there own section anyway. Given their own focus and what not.

Even this part has me drained, and it's really just recounting a history...