The case of the missing shoes

For about 3 months, we lived in a homeless shelter for battered women. This shelter was both warm, but frightening at the same time. Warm because of Hope. Hope was a volunteer at the shelter. She always was affectionate and had activities for all of the children. We felt safe with Hope. All of the women [who otherwise were very fearful which made the children fearful] felt safe with Hope.

The shelter was on a sketchy part of town. We could go across the street to the public park in the day time if our mother came with, but in order to come back in, you had to be buzzed in. I hated being buzzed in. There was something unsettling about not being able to let yourself into where you're living and being dependent on someone else to let us in. We were told we could never tell Dad where the shelter was which meant he could never pick us up. We had to wait for Mom to be ready to take us to him.

In August, my mom was going to enroll me and my brother in that city's schools instead of our small town's so that we could be with her more of the year. She said it was "to keep us safe." Something happened though: maybe my balked at the school change? All I know is that she changed her mind the day before registration. We moved to a new place in the beginning of August as well. Apartments in the downtown area. It was refreshing to have our own place. Our own beds. Our own clothes in our dressers instead of living out of suitcases. The Apartments were owned by the people who owned the women's shelter. The ladies would pay low-income rent off of alimony or jobs. The theater around the corner had a free movie night once a month for all of the residents.

The thing was that Mom didn't have alimony as the divorce wasn't finalized and she didn't have a job. So things were tight. We got food stamps and food from a local food pantry. We would use the food stamps for whatever we couldn't get at ECHO. My mom was so poor that we couldn't afford gas nor the bus. So that meant whenever we went groceries, we had to walk a mile to get there and then a mile back. That may not sound so bad. But remember on the way back.. we're carrying groceries. And groceries are heavy. I don't blame my mom for any of this. She did what she could and had to do to help us survive.

Well, one day [and I don't know why to this day] she got mad at me. Maybe I was mouthing off. I did have a tendency to speak my mind even as a teen. What I remember is after we were done grocery shopping my mom yelling at me:
"You have to repent!!!!"
"Repent of what?" I asked.
"REPENT!!!! Or you will face the wrath of God!"
"I don't know what I did, so how can I repent?"
"You're a lying bitch! Go down on your face."
I laid down on my face, and she took off my shoes and socks. Keep in mind. It's August. The peak of summer.
"Now you will walk back home!!!"
"Can I have my shoes back?"
"NO!!! Bitches like you don't need shoes!" she yelled as she threw my shoes in middle of the busy road. The cars honked at her, giving her dirty looks. "Now if you want your shoes, You can go get them because you MADE me throw them in the middle of the road."
I looked at my options. I could walk home in the heat of summer barefooted or I could get run over...

... yeah I walked home barefooted.

I got home. My feet were blistered and bleeding, but I was alive. I tended to the sores. I wore flip flops the rest of the summer because that's what I had.

I remember my dad asked at the beginning of the school year if I had outgrown my old tennis shoes

I didn't have the heart to tell him that they were probably squished in the road by some car.

Free

by Winter

I am NOT your victim
Nor am I your cohort
I am NOT your friend,
your daughter, your wife.
I am NOT the one who
should wear your shame.
I am NOT guilty of your crime.
I am NOT involved in your sickness.
I am NOT your prisoner or even
your slave.
I am NOT a child anymore
but inside I cry just the same.
I am NOT broken and I will
NOT play your twisted game.
I AM free today.
I speak my truth
in spite of you.
I do NOT allow you to bring me pain.
I AM stronger now.
I AM stable
& I'm sane.
YOU prey on innocence.
YOU hide in the shadow
of a family's trust.
YOU break young girls.
YOU bring us pain.
YOU ruin lives.
YOU play sick games.
YOU stand alone
as always you did.
I was never a part
of YOU, you see.
YOU will pay for
YOUR crimes.
Not me.
I AM FREE.

Surely She deserved it

I get rather tired of that line. And lines like it.

"She deserved to be verbally abused." "She deserved to be beaten." "She deserved to be raped."


What alternative reality do you live in? How can a victim ever deserve ill treatment?


When I was 16, I was dating 2 guys. Both of the guys knew I was dating the other. I made it very clear that they were not expected to be exclusive either. One was that good boy next door, Jack. He had a good heart, big smile, but was super shy. He was afraid to hold my hand, let alone give me a kiss. He was just super shy and super awkward with girls. The other guy was Chad. The bad ass mother fucker that my dad did NOT approve of at all. He was fun, sociable, hilarious, adventuresome and probably a few years too old for me.

Well, after a football game one day, I went to a party at Chad's with my friend Tonya. I had been to a few of his parties. They usually were innocent enough. We'd have some punch, eat some food, play some very silly games, and go home around midnight. There were lots of people there. There was Chad's brother, Jo (who I was really good friends with); Jo's girlfriend, Monique; and at least a dozen other people.

Well this party was a bit different. I had called my dad, and told him I would be going to my friend's Tonya's party afterward. No big deal. My dad wasn't crazy about the idea [because remember he didn't like Chad], but he trusted my judgment. Someone there. I don't know for sure who [but I would bet Chad], spiked the punch that night.

He asked me to have sex with him that night, and...














But he didn't listen. I couldn't fight him. Even if I had been sober. He was bigger and strong than me. I had done everything I should have done. I was with lots of people on a date. I was with people I trusted. I even checked in with my dad [on the way to the party]. I was wearing a damned sweatshirt and blue jeans that night (so it's not like I was dressed provocatively). And Chad still raped me. Thankfully, I blacked out about the time he was removing my bra. I don't remember any of it.

The thing was I was ashamed. Even though I did nothing wrong. My dad asked me if anything happened, and I felt so ashamed that I let Chad take advantage of me, that I lied to him and told him I just fell asleep on Chad's couch. I never pressed charges because I felt like I enabled him. I look back and I have to ask myself, "How?" I was doing everything I was supposed to be doing.

So this is for all you posers out there. Who say that men shouldn't be accountable for their ideas in their heads. This is for all of you that say that women deserve to be raped. Would you say that of your friend, daughter, sister, mother? Because there's lots of victims out there. Most of them like me. They were afraid to tell their tale because they thought they were guilty of some crime when the crime was inflicted upon them. Or they are afraid no one would believe them. I know people would have believed me about Chad. That wasn't the issue at all. He had a rep as a player. I thought it was just a rep and he was just misunderstood. Sadly, I know that I wasn't Chad's last victim. 6 months later, he raped a even younger girl and got her pregnant. So eventually, he did pay his price. But I wonder how many suffered before that occurred.

Victims, don't be afraid as I was. You did nothing wrong. You are wonderful, beautiful, fabulous. Get help and heal.