The Storm That Never Ended

What is life with no love, comfort, and freedom. I can tell you it's pretty lonely, unkind, and cruel place. Those days were like living outside on a wintery day. No warmth no life, bitter cold and gloomy. Experiencing the things my sisters and myself experienced no child should ever have to or go through. I remember thinking maybe something was wrong with me or maybe the adopted mother was mistreated and that's why she had done these things to us, but that wasn't the case. Her life was easy she had parents and family that loved her and spoiled her. As for the adopted dad being married to someone like that he didn't want to cross her or make her mad so he did follow along with some of the abuse. I had talked previously about the abuse how the adopted mother had gotten physical I had left off at the part where my sister kept getting whipped because she kept going to the hose to get water. Some of her other things that she would have us do was stand up against the wall wherever there was a corner and have our noses up against the wall for timeout. We would have to stand there for hours. The prints of our feet were visible on the carpent from our "timeout" spot.  When we were in our rooms we had to do different exercises behind our desk from running in place to, jumping jacks, sit ups, push ups, marching in place, running in place, planks, standing up with our arms in the air. When we sat in our desks we would have to either put our hands up while we sat it got painful. I remember crossing my arms at times because they would hurt it was hours we sat like that. The other ways we would sit and have our hands directly on he desk flat. Then there was the other way we had to sit which was like the last position same arms planted flat and head down directly. During that sometimes we would have to recite scripture like that. It was hard to when our face were planted directly on the desk. As I grew up in that kind of abuse anger began to just grow inside me. The times we had reached out for help whenever we got the chance they turned the other way or when they would suspect something the adopted mother would shut it down. For instance she had put me in a hospital I believe I was 6 or 7 at the time I think it was for "behavior" I don't even remember I couldn't get away with anything. Money was involved as for her getting some when I went so I'm sure her excuse was good. Anyway I began talking to the doctor they saw in my behavior and some of the things I said there was abuse and suspected things. That's when they reached out to the adopted mother and she pulled me out immediately. When case workers would come to the house to check on things the adopted mother would tell us what to say. I always wondered how she knew what we even said I later found out she would keep a recorder under the couch. When I had seen it my heart began to race and I was thinking "this will never end" she was so evil with such intentions to have us locked up as if we were criminals. Her type of behavior never made sense. Everyday I lived in that room I just wanted to be dead I didn't want to live any longer. I didn't think I would ever have anyone to love me or be parents to me the way a child or children should be treated. I would always day dream of being in a different family and being able to do what I wanted and eat what I wanted. I didn't think about friends because I didn't have any. I just wanted to be loved by the people who were supposed to love me and take care of me and my sisters. My sisters and I weren't allowed to talk to each other or even look at each other but we didn't care anymore when it seemed we were getting smacked around or beaten for things we didn't do. We found a way to talk to each other with our mouths closed. I know it may not make sense but we understood each other and is possible. Now about the adopted father I haven't really talked about him he was more the comforter at times than anything. There was this one time when the adopted mother wasn't around she was out on "errands"  before she took the food away from us. The adopted father said he was making us octopus for lunch and was teasing us about it. He liked to be goofy and made us laugh. My sisters and I were thinking I don't know if I'll like it doesn't sound good at all as for my sisters they were thinking it was gross to even think about. We were talking to each other trying to figure out if it was actual real octopus. When it came to lunch sure enough it was octopus made out of hotdogs and on dyed green ramen noodles for seaweed. Something I would never forget he usually would try to get a smile or laugh out of us. The times when we had to do yard work and weren't allowed to have drinks when the adopted mother left her was give us water or sometimes Kool-Aid. The adopted mother left the father at home all the time while she left and did whatever she was gone most of the time. Usually liked it when she wasn't home because she was so mean and the aggressor. I was recently asked if I think I could ever forgive her if she apologized knowing she was sincere. In that moment I didn't really think about it but I had said yes. Looking back I wished I had said no and didn't think about what the person might think. What was done to me and my sisters shouldn't have happened and she would never apologize for her wrong. She would try to justify it or go around and spin it. It's seriously pathetic to even think she would have any form of remorse or sympathy. I can't get over something like this till she was truly exposed. Till this day she hides behind a lie and everyone thinks so highly of her. It's honestly so so upsetting boils my blood. No one will ever see through the surface only what she shows. I'll never be able to wrap my head around her actions. My sisters and I lived like caged criminals for 7 years my younger sister didn't get out till she was of age. She didn't get to experience freedom or love till it was late. Breaks my heart for what seemed forever we didn't get to speak for 8 years even with that time I had tried to get help and see if she could get out but it was impossible. As little girls I made her a promise that I would always look after her and be sure to help out if anything ever happened. I felt like I failed her throughout the years not being able to send help or get her out. It was really hard for me to live like that. Just weighed on my shoulders. I know God does everything for a reason at times it was hard to understand the reason behind it all. I definitely still struggle with experiencing those things sometimes writing like today has brought some of that anger and resentment. I don't care what anyone says but being a "victim" of this you truly never forget or can hide it away like everyone wants you to. I struggle with depression, anxiety and ptsd. Every year at some point I'm reminded of this through the dreams that at times or like night terrors. It usually happened right about the time I left the house in Texas. I have dreams from other failed homes I've been in that I will get to with time. I'm definitely way better than I was 7 years ago but still struggle with things as a 23 because of the lack of knowledge and schooling not being taught properly. Those areas are what I struggle with because the mother wanted it to seem as if we were mentally challenged so she could get more money. I feel like if it weren't for that. I would be where I should be and at least smart but that's not the case. Certainly think a lot about how the outcome would have been if I hadn't gone to them but that was out of my control. A lot of what if's. Our childhood was robbed from us and instead of doing kid stuff we were busy fighting for our life’s trying to survive and make it and see a way out from this.

The darkest days

Going into this part of the blog is where I will talk more on the abuse that went on. I had talked about where the adopted mother had beaten me for lying. From that day on it seemed like I was always getting beat for everything. I use to think thats all she liked to do. What kind of parent if they didn't like something contuine to do it knowing its hurting their child. She didn't just use a rod, she went from a belt, to the rubber that goes in a glue gun, to the cardboard on the metal hangers. Whatever she could get her hands on that she knew would hurt us. The beatings got more and more unbearable. With the having to be still and not cry. The number increased all the time. The older we got the longer she went. I remember our butts and legs blistering it was painful especially when she did allow us to sit. Not only did she do from our back down. She began to do our hands which hurt so bad as well. I honestly don't know what had set her off to where she began treating us the way she had. She began to take the food we did enjoy to eat and make us things we weren't to thrilled about. She made this nasty lasgna with spinach which she made sure to stuff. She watched us struggle eating the things we didn't like. She had made peanut butter jelly sandwiches pretzels and Cottage cheese. I hated cottage cheese and always struggled when I got to it which I would get in trouble for. There were other things she would make that were hard to eat. We were giving a set time to eat which consisted of 5 minutes if we were lucky sometimes 10 mintues. She had made it to where we had to take the last bite at the same time, and it had to be in the same exact pace where we literally had to take the last bite together. We always ended up getting in trouble because that never happened the way she wanted. One by one we got a beating. She would keep any form of water or drinks from us and watch us struggle to eat with such dry mouths. She soon got tired of fixing us things to eat and watching us that she made a diet for us. I remember at one point sneaking from our room with my older sister and getting food from the pantry because we were so  hungry. We got into serious trouble for that one. She called us theives. The adopted mother said we had stolen from her. She then spanked our hands over 10 times each. Our hands hurt so bad they shook from the pain. She later fed me and my sister bread and water because we were considered thieves. So like it said in the Bible where someone stole and was in jail then got served bread and butter is what she was getting at. Our new diet consisted of pedisure she eventually put olive oil to help "fatten" us up since we were skin and bones due to poor nutrition. The pedisure Messed with my stomach since I was lactose and tolerant. We would get two cups a day. I remember one day not being able to drink it, and my younger sister drinking my cup for me. I felt so bad I could see my sister she looked like she was going to get sick. She looked out for me that day. The pedisure always made us feel like throwing up after drinking that stuff. I always dreaded when it was time for us to drink that. She began to isolate us from the other kids and just the outside world. When we did go out in public in the van we would have to sit on our hands and stare at our laps. My sisters and I eventually had to put our heads in our lap because our eyes would wonder, and we weren't supposed to look around. When we went inside stores which would always be Wal-Mart we had to hold on to the cart and stare at it. The adopted mother made it seem like we we're "special." There was a blonde lady at that Wal-Mart that would always look at us sometimes she would ask if we were okay. One of those days the response came from the adopted dad saying they like to look at the cart. The lady wasn't dumb she knew something was wrong. The foster mother liked to make it seem we had issues. That is also part of the reason she adopted all kids with special needs and disablities. My sisters and I weren't special at all. She had kids that needed braces for their legs and couldn't use their hands well. She had a boy and a girl that were litterally crippled clubbed hands and feet with breathing machines. Not for sure what the disease is called. The mother didn't even spend time with them or interact but to change their diapers and put food in their feeding  pumps. Quite sad because they lacked attention and were ones that could use it. The other kids were mentally challenged and couldn't really tell right from wrong or eat properly. She recieved a lot of money because of their specials needs and equipment they needed. She did it for the financial part which benefited her. I remember thinking she isn't capable of loving anyone but herself. Well her son to which she allowed to grow up normal. He never knew what it was like to hurt, to feel so worthless, to be accoutable for his wrong actions or be broken. He got away with so much including molesting my sisters. Which justice was never given in that situation. I had come to both the parents to let them know what there son had done. The mother of course wasn't going to let it get out or even punished. She blamed my sisters for his actions. He was the older one and knew better. This took place in the van when we went out. He got away with it. Even though I had no part in it my sisters and I ended up getting in trouble for it. When I asked why is he getting away with it, and we're getting in trouble the mothers response was
"he cried and that showed he was sorry you girls didn't." It took a couple  of years to even come to the parents about watching my sisters get molested. My sisters had processed it differently. Why was I supposed to cry? Trying to apologize for something that clearly was out of our control. This "adopted mother" never made sense. There was always something with her as to why we were always the ones to constantly getting in trouble. The way things were done had to be her way, and she was always changing it. So imagine the confusion we were in. Thinking about it just frusterates me so much. While be isolated from the family it seemed like nothing but a constant nightmare. Being isolated mean't my sisters and I being in a room locked up. We each had a desk to to sit it with the folding chairs. At the beginning of our adoption we did some schooling, but that was soon taken from us. We we're always being bad and schooling was a privilege to have. Being bad mean't doing things she told us not to do as far as not talking to each other as my sisters. Went as far as so much as flinching or looking away from our desk.While being in our rooms we had to recite scriptures. Read the bible from beginning to end. She soon made it to where we would only focus on psalms 119 and that was the daily drill. There could be no communication with my sisters. The way the adopted mother treated us with the punishments came from the bible so she would say. Everything was a sin. From disobeying, to how we acted and clothing. If we ever wore pants anything that attracted attention, tight clothes that was a sin. So she had made us each two skirts each which were matching jean type material and flowered ones. With plain t-shirts and one dress. I remember thinking. I know this isn't how love is supposed to feel and being brought up the way we did wasn't right. At the time I didn't know it was abuse. I just knew what she was doing wasn't right and rather cruel. I remember as a eight year old wanting to be dead. I would pray to God and ask him to " just please take me home. I don't want to be here anymore. To be loved isn't supposed to feel this way." I remember sitting there thinking I'll do anything to get away from this place. I will never forget my prayers or the thoughts I had during that time. I know at times I would get angry with God I couldn't understand why he would allow this to happen to me. We couldn't even have any privacy when we took showers. The mother had to be right there. She washed our hair which consisted her jerking us around in the shower and pulling us by our hair. Only thing we were allowed to do was wash our bodies. After the shower we would get dressed while she stood there and watched us. She waited so she could brush our hair. I don't know why she didn't let us do it. I dreaded when it came to that part. She was rough with brushing our hair and pulled it so tight. Then she would  jerk us around while she had a grip on  our hair in a ponytail. The privacy seemed to be a issue she just didn't trust us. Using the bathroom she had to be there. She took that privilege away too. We weren't allowed to use the restroom when we needed. She would make us hold it which didn't last long. I have a lot of issues from having to hold it or sitting in a mess. Which would be for hours the mother didn't care to be honest looking back seems like she had some kind of satisfaction from all of it. She got tired of having to watch our stuff so she made us wear pull-ups. At night in our beds we couldn't sleep with sheets or pillows. We actually had to strip our beds of anything which not long she took everything from our beds so we didn't have to do it each night and take her time up. We couldn't wear anything when it came to bed time, but just the pull up. We had to lay face down on our tummys with our arms out and legs together and facing the wall. That was the position if she found us in a different position she would come in with the rod or belt and wake us up with its harsh swoosh. Our room had a camera and alarm on the door and window. They could talk into the camera if they wanted to which at times they did. In the summer time my sisters and I had to do yard work. It would get so hot and humid we were in Texas and lived in 11 acres out in the country. It was a two mobil home that was attatch to a atrium that was build. It was set up in a L shape. They made us pull weeds around the whole house till they saw dirt. Our fingers would blister from the the weeds and the pull force of it. When the adopted father mowed he would leave the left over clumps of grass that we had to pick up and eventually rake. We would try to go up the house a couple of times to ask for water. The adopted mother would laugh and say no everytime. My younger sister couldn't take anymore so she had gone over to the hose to get some water to drink which the adopted mother saw. My younger sister ended up getting in trouble by getting a beating which didn't stop her. She ended up doing it again and again and the mother didn't even care whether she was thirsty or not she just beat my sister each time and told her she was being rebellious. How can you stop someone from having water when they're literally struggling to do the work out in the heat what seemed like fire. We all just struggled out there when it came to being in that heat from sunrise to sun down. We were told to do the yard work with no water. That night when we had taken our showers we had snuck some water from the sink at least I had. This is where I'm taking a break till the next blog.
I just want to say to anyone who reads my blog I know to some it may be hard to believe my story which I get. I've had a lot of doubt and heads turn away when I would share some of the things that went on. Even as a little girl there was no help. Due to how crazy and how intense the abuse was. It took years to really get help or someone to believe me. 

The Beginning Of Where It All Began

This is the part where my story will start to unfold. When I was young I knew I had a gift as far as being able to read between the lines and see people for who they really are. My story is very complicated or confusing  with all the people involved.While in Foster care and into my adoption I remember experiencing things I know no young child should have to. I use to ask myself why is this happening? what did I do wrong? Why am I not lovable? So many questions. I know the people that I was involved with through my entire life had their issues and really no reason as to why the treatment and actions by these people were done to my sister's and I. Here is where I will go into the part of my first adopted family. The first adopted family came to visit for the first time in Brownsville Texas. They had Visited a few times. I remember one of the visits in particular because of how I felt. I had asked the adopted mother if I would be allowed to have colored marshmallows as a snack. The adopted mother  answering "well of course." There was something about her response that gave it away in her voice that she was lying and that something was off. Her whole demeanor and voice gave me the only worst feeling. I don't remember a lot but that moment I've never been able to forget though, and it was the tone in her voice that I picked up something not right about her. I didn't like my adopted mother since day one.There was just something I never liked about her. It will slowly all begin to make sense further into my story. One thing I've never forgotten was the day when we left foster care. I was so angry and upset about leaving where I was comfortable and knew to be "home". I don't remember how exactly it happened because the day we ended up leaving we were not even aware we wouldn't be returning. It would be goodbye forever. I know we had walked out of a building what seemed like a court house. I had been crying because of being told I was leaving my foster mom. She had tried to comfort me with some gum. I still remember the flavor juicy fruit. I remember asking her why are you letting them take me away. My heart was so broken. This memory has always brought me to tears. As it was getting closer to leave I started getting anxious. I started crying uncontrollably, and started to yell for her my foster mother “mama chalito “ like don’t let these people take me. She had said goodbye rather quickly to hide any form of emotion from me. She wanted to be strong and not leave me with a memory of sadness not how she wanted me to remember her. So I've told myself. She headed to her van. She waved bye and never turned back after that to see me one last time. I felt like it was just as hard for her as it had been for me. I remember the birth mother grabbing me and trying to carry me to the van. I sat in her lap on the ride to our new home. I was crying, kicking on the dash and pinching her. I knew then I didn't want her to be my mother. I soon learned we can't pick who our parents are. Being so young we didn't have much say in anything what it seemed like. There wasn't any good that came out of that home.

It's sad because there was hardly any good memories I remember. All just bad and a lot of hurtful and painful memories more than anything. I know going into that family it wasn't bad and abusive right away. As a little girl I remember being in our room with my sisters and the foster mom telling us about the things in the room what we were allowed to mess with and not touch. We weren't allowed to be around a adopted sister because the adopted mother felt she was a bad influence. She was kept in a room in the end of the house. Not even two weeks after we moved in with the family the girl was sent away to a all girls home. I just remember thinking it was weird and wondering what was it she had done. There were days we  were allowed to play with my sisters and spend time together. It would always consist of lego playing or the tower blocks. Sometimes drawing and coloring. Things began to change rather quickly with having our freedom and having the privilege to be little girls. My foster dad had a catering business and let me tell you he made the best food. He loved cooking and being able to share that with other people. I remember one of those days, the family was up there. The foster mother was yelling at the older adopted son who she always seem to have an issue with. I remember walking in. I don't know what I was even doing in there but watching her yell and then slap him across the face where she left a big red hand print. I must have had a look of fear on my face she sure didn't expect me to be there to see that. She had walked over to me and said you don't have to be afraid of me. I would never do that to you. He wasn't listening and he had to be punished. From that day on out things changed And it was just a matter of time before things got worse. My sisters and I were treated as a burden or as if we were nothing but dirt.The adopted mother had her favorite kids one being a blind boy she had adopted and raised herself. There was her biological son who they never expected to have due to the beginning not being able to have children when they wanted that she favored as well. Which thats when they turned to adoption. Then had there son which changed everything. Any child she recieved as a infant she favored and focused more on them. The last baby she did have she focused all her time on. She was sick she had epilepsy and some other issues that played a big part of her life and didn't allow her to live very long. Life for my sisters and I wasn't easy. At the time I really didn't know what to think but asked myself "why is this happening," "I know its not supposed to be like this in a family," "I wonder what happened to them to make them treat us this way." Nothing bad happened to the adopted parents as to why they are were abusers. She had a life where she wasn't abused or neglected. Her family loved and cared for her who she seemed to push away. As for my adopted dad he grew up with not a lot of money and with his single mom. I do believe he went through some things some lost loved ones in his life. He wasn't evil and as hurtful as the adopted mother, but he did take part in the abuse to make the lady happy, and not to deal with the bad end of the stick from her. The adopted dad did have disabilities and suffered from several tumors, diabetes and epilepsy. Life for him wasn't easy with all the health problems. Life isn't always fair. I get that but life shouldn't have been so cruel and hurtful for a 4,5, and 6 year old. We were kids and they were supposed to be parents not someone we feared and dreaded to be around. I will never forget my first beating. I don't remember exactly what I had done just remember I had lied about it, and the adopted mother said I needed to be punished. So she took me to the laundry room where she told me to strip from my shirt and skirt. She told me to grab my ankles and she had a rod ones you buy at Wal-Mart by the craft stuff. She used one of those to spank me where she began hitting me starting at my legs working towards my butt and my back. I was crying, and jumping around. I had never experienced something like that. The adopted mother said she wouldn't stop till I stopped crying and was still. I was thinking she was crazy. That day hate began to grow in my heart. I knew I hated her. She went to far that night and she had beat me and expected me to love her inspite of all that. The beating was over 15 times where she hit me over and over. I thought it was never going to end. Little do I know it would be done on a daily. I wasn't expecting that. I was thinking she would only do 1 or 2 spankings, but she didn't. I know she didn't like me she always referred to me as angry, bitter and hard to love. I remember being so angry going back to my room and sobbing. My sisters asked if I was okay but I was so angry I just ignored them...I will contuine to talk about everything that went on. I am stopping for today.. I just wanted to put one of the experiences out there of the pain and hurt experienced as a kid. I am sharing my story for the sole reason to get my story out there for other survivors of such abuse. I want to have my voice and be able to talk about my experience so I can continue to heal. The pain and memories won't ever go away I choose to share my journey.

Little Introduction About Myself My Thoughts

Sharing some light to my journey with the trauma and abuse I’ve endured. Bare with me on my grammatical errors I’m not the best when it comes to all of that. 

 I am adopted no surprised I  Don't know much about my birth family. As far as not knowing where to start to search for the answers. I will be blogging about the different homes I have been in. Basically what life was like for me. I will just tell my experiences. I am Writing this to be a voice, to be an example to other people who have experienced similar things that it’s possible to make it regardless of  what cards life has dealt us even through all the ugly and hurt that we can be overcomers of such evil and hate and not be the other statistic they like to talk about coming from a “broken” home or background. That it’s possible to choose a life of good, determination for better, and strength to become something more then what statistically people write about abused kids and their outcomes. I’ve been in broken homes. In homes 

where love is not taught. As I tell my story imagine yourself in it and experiencing the things I’m about to tell you.

 I was born in Brownsville Texas Along with two other sisters. My oldest sister Nicole Anderson and Crystal Kurtanic the youngest. My sisters mean everything to me never could I imagine life without them. There were good and bad times. We have a bond that can not easily be broken. My Faith and my believe is with God I believe it’s what has kept me alive through such a dark time. Although there were times I did doubt him, but never stopped believing in him. I knew he had something more to life than what I wanted to believe. I remember praying everyday and asking God to just help me. Help me to stay strong no matter what. I remember asking him at times to just take me home already. I was ready at the age of eight years old. In my little head I just wanted to go home. I was tired of the life I was living and the pain and dysfunction I was experiencing.

We were placed into the foster care system as infants As far as I was told in the system till ages Four, Five, and Six. At those ages there was a family interested in us. I remember one of the visits asking questions but, I already didn't like the lady. As in the "adopted mother" there was something about her. Before getting into that. I’m sharing my thoughts on what adoption has been like and my thoughts on the subject. Being so young I didn't really understand the concept of adoption just that the lady that raised us being in foster care I learned to love. She was someone I knew and was familiar with. To find out that I would be taken from the place I learned to call "home" was so beyond scary for me, but that would be for a later on post. Being so little and have disruption hit like a tornadoe I didn’t process things well or understood a lot. The First adoption was a horrible experience. My view is that adoption is supposed to make a difference in a child's life such as giving that child hope teaching them about love and providing a family. For the parents to learn to parent the child. To provide a place for them to be able to call home. For the home to be safe and permanent. To be that parent that their own parents couldn't be for that child. That just because they weren't their own blood they weren't lovable, and needed to be treated any different than from their own blood.

I couldn't wrap my head around it all. Till this day I have questions to why everything did happen in the way that it did. I thought that when someone adopts a child or several children that it would be because the parents love them because they want to be able to call that child there's and to give them love that they were once denied. To show them what having a family is like. I learned quickly that for some cases that is not always it. I know some parents till this day that they can't have children and would do anything to have a child and possibly adopt. My advice to those who adopt don't do it for selfish reasons if adoption is a route interested in do research, start out with foster care, then work towards adopting. I feel like nowadays adoption is a joke no one really has a good reason behind it only to benefit themselves. I did however see other big adopted families and I would day dream of wishing I had a family like that one day. Little did I know that dream wasn’t no longer a dream. My first adoption was a family of eight at least it started at that number with time it increased to fourteen kids in that household. Since I am going to be sharing my story I want to say that Life has been like a roller coaster for me. That my past has taught me to be strong and to stand up for myself. My story to some has been mind blowing to some and most of the people that have heard my story have told me that I should write a book. I don't even know where to begin or find the resources to do something like that so for the time being I will be blogging about my journey. I am a survivor and want to be a voice for others in similar situations. I am a strong individual as well as my dear precious sisters who have been in the same shoes. I hope to be able to make a difference in someones life one day and be able to be an example to those who are afraid to speak based on abuse or traumatic situations in their life. I want to be able to reach someone.  Children and any victims from abusers like mine need advocates to fight for them and be their voice. I know what it’s like to try to get help and be overlooked and to not be able to talk about it because people don’t believe you. They don’t want to deal with it either so they make you to be a problematic child. I want to  be able to help someone before it’s too late being that I’ve experienced these things and can relate to the abuse and trauma and the way it impacts us individuals. 

 So this will be my story and one day I will have a book. Maybe other people who don’t understand the severity of what it’s like to be abused will get a understanding and glimpse of what kids go through in the system where it has failed them. How unjust an broken the system really can be.