well I am on my third day post op…. I received a rhinoplasty to fix my fractured nose and septoplasty to fix my deviated septum. On a scale of one to ten, my pain is at a 2 at most. This has been the best experience and I am so grateful for the Face Foundation to have taken my case and worked with me to get this done. As of now the swelling is pretty bad, but I’m just trying to relax and sleep off most of my recovery time. Keep me in your prayers!
The other night my three year old son crept into bed with me after having a nightmare. He snuggles up next to me, I hold him tight and I kiss him on the forehead to give him reassurance that he was safe. This is normal, right? But then moments later a flood of terrible memories flood the darkness of my room and it’s almost as though I’m engulfed in the nightmare of my own childhood. I remember my step dad creeping into my bedroom, I don’t necessarily remember what he did, but I remember him doing things to me while i stared up at a big framed tacky looking picture of Elvis Presley on the wall….just hoping that he would finish the painful acts that he was doing and go to sleep. Sometimes half asleep he would force me to go to the bathroom and perform acts on him, and then tell me to brush my teeth and get back to bed!
Every morning I look in the mirror, brush my teeth and wash my face, there is a constant reminder of the trauma I had as a child. Although the accompanying flashbacks and nightmares can sometimes be fixed with medication, my physical reminders seem to taunt me every day. My broken nose is the most prominent of scars. As a child I was taunted so bad about my “big nose” and wish the kids would understand why I was crying when they made fun of me. Sometimes I wanted to scream… “No, I wasn’t born like this! My step dad used to beat my ass!” Sometimes I feel crazy and wonder if I’m making all of these memories up in my head, but a recent trip to a facial reconstructive surgeon reassured the truth to my memories. After a brief examination of my nose, there was evidence found of a past nasal fracture and a deviated septum. A few months back I applied to get my nose fixed by a charity that provides free reconstructive surgery to victims of domestic abuse. Although my abuse happened as a child, they decided to try and help. I have done all I can by getting help by seeing a psychiatrist, therapist and taking a crazy dose of medications each day, but that can only do so much for my emotional pain. No longer do I fantasize about dying and my anxiety attacks are down to a minimum… But I’m hoping that this charity can help me with most of the fees that come along with helping me on the journey to erase the PHYSICAL reminders of my child hood and the monster that took my innocence. Keep your fingers crossed that I can get approved to go through with the surgery. I am ready to heal. All of me.
There’s no better feeling than your kid running to you after a bad dream. Only because they have genuine faith in you to protect them from whatever they fear. Grayson came crying to me a few minutes ago because of a nightmare, and after a minute of reassurance, he fell fast asleep in my arms. These moments mean EVERYTHING to me. For years I thought suicide was the only answer. Ending my life was surely the only way to easy all the pain I had endured all my life. Now as I hold my three year old, I genuinely feel purpose. I was put here to protect his and his brothers innocence from the evils I know exist, not only of their nightmares, but of the real world. Thank you God for giving me purpose. I will do everything I can to cherish these moments.
I grew up my entire life thinking my stepfather, a man named Alfredo, was my father. I haven’t spoken that name in years and after this essay I will never even type that name again. My “father” was a convicted felon. My two sisters, who were biologically his daughters, and I were all sexually, emotionally and physically abused by him. He was convicted of aggravated robbery with a deadly weapon back before he met my mother, and was also convicted of multiple DWI charges and possession of a controlled substance charges. I lived with this human being for most of my childhood. Some of my earliest memories of him include our “restroom breaks” where I was forced to perform sexual acts on him. I honestly thought that this was how a father loved his daughter. This was just one example of the sexual abuse I endured during those years. After he would finish whatever he wanted with me he would tell me not to tell anyone, because if I did people would take me away and I would never see my family again. Sometimes he would watch us while my mother worked overnight. He would come into my room after he’d been drinking, start kissing me, and rape me. He eventually left my mother in 1996 and I had kept this all a secret until recently.
I found out years later that he had started a new life in Colorado. He remained there until my grandfather passed away in 2006. I had always thought about what I would do if I saw him again, but I said nothing. Even though this man was only 5’ 2’’ and 100 pounds, I felt the most intense fear and left the funeral. Later that year, he moved back to Houston. I started experiencing flashbacks, nightmares, panic attacks. I saw a doctor and was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. At the time I was working for a law firm and confided in one of the attorneys. He told me that it was better for me to deal with this issue, and not file charges because reliving the experiences might cause more harm than good. He told me I would have to face a defense lawyer making me out to be a liar and sometimes people can’t handle it. So I took his advice and once again stayed quiet. I eventually became addicted to drugs and alcohol. I prayed every night that God would just take my life. I genuinely thought if I committed suicide, God would know why and grant me a new life with a better childhood.
On May 5, 2013, I found out I was pregnant with my first son. That day my entire life changed. God didn’t take my life like I wanted him to, but he did grant me the gift of new life. I started back in school and started seeing a psychiatrist where I was diagnosed with PTSD, panic disorder and major depressive disorder. I now have two children and I am proud to say I have broken the vicious cycle of abuse and drugs. I strive to be the first person in my family to graduate from college and be the ultimate example for them. I lived through a traumatic childhood, but it ironically taught me how to be a mother.
My abuser died last year of stomach cancer. I will never speak his name. My children will never know him. I did not attend his funeral. I did not go to his bedside as he lay dying. His last wish was to see all three of his daughters before his death, my sisters went, but I couldn’t bring myself to face him. I never was able to legally charge him. I think ultimately that ate away at me. As a student, with two children, sometimes paying my medical fees are overwhelming and sometimes I simply cannot afford to go. If I would have filed charges against him, I would have been eligible for the Texas Victims Compensation Program for help with my medication and therapy costs, but it’s now too late.
I am currently going to school to get my Business Management degree with a minor in psychology, then hopefully get my Masters Degree in Education of Counseling. With my degree I hope to mentor children who have been through the same situation I was. Opening up a life coaching business would help me to inspire children to overcome their past, defy statistics and become someone amazing.
I want to share my story to encourage people to seek legal help from more than one source. Every day I regret not speaking up. His abuse affected me in more ways than one, I have a broken nose and emotional scars. I truly believe the justice system failed me, but I have to at least credit my amazing parenting and perseverance to the monster that took my innocence.
“This article is a submission for entry to the 2016 Monder Law San Diego Scholarship”
PTSD and Me 