Chains Can Be Broken

By Betty Lee Wilson

This is a true story (my story) written to prove that healing is possible for all Victims of abuse; for an abuser, forgiveness can also be found if they admit their crime and ask to be forgiven. This book is not a plea for sympathy. My goal is awareness and anger. Yours and mine at the chain of injustice and destruction brought on by any abuse. Without healing, generations will suffer the effects of ONE act of child abuse. Our anger united and properly channeled can bring about positive changes.

Chains Can Be Broken is for anyone who has, or is acquainted with someone who has lived through the chaos of abuse; physical, mental, sexual, spiritual and substance, spiraled to the depths of hell to which these things led to finally emerge into the world of sanity, reality and light. Today's child abuse and sexual assault laws are merely a slap on the wrist for the abuser. The abused are sentenced to life imprisoned in their violated mind and body watching their identity slowly fade away. These laws tell the victim's that what happened to them is acceptable in the eyes of the law.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 6, 2005
• ISBN: 9780595794430

Betty Lee Wilson

This book is a true story, (my story) written to prove that overcoming the horrors of all forms of child abuse is possible. This book covers the steps that led me away from complete devastation to forgiveness and freedom. While living in my hometown.

Book preview

Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

1

Easy Way Out

2

Wasted Time Costly Choices

3

From Bad to Worse

4

My Moonlight Stroll

5

Finding Myself Alone

6

Stepping Stones

7

Time Well Traveled

8

Illusions, Love or Hate

9

Similar Circumstances

10

Looks Are Deceiving

11

Everyone’s Normal Is Different

12

Facing the Truth

13

Everything Has a Reason

14

Secrets Reveal Themselves

15

Remembering Uncle Bill

16

Role Reversal

17

My Greatest Power Struggle

18

Nightmares/Memories

19

Piecing Flashbacks Together

20

Bah Humbug

21

Buttons to Push

22

Painful Flashbacks

23

Rick’s Trip Home

24

Remembering

25

The Light-man

26

James Burl Allen, the First Person Told

27

The Cost of Survival

28

Trusting My Senses

29

The Truth Comes Out

30

A Grandma’s Love

31

Searching for Answers

32

Recognizing Oddities and Moving on

33

Revenge, a State of Mind

34

Remembering Continues

35

Mutual Confusion

36

Nightcaps

37

Memory Lane

38

Therapy—Mountain Style

39

Lessons to Learn

40

Harsh Reality

41

My Return to Wyoming

42

Self Destruction

43

The Games We Played

44

Life’s Many Changes

45

Obsessive-Compulsive Personality

46

A Year of Changes

47

The Miracle of Change

48

Accepting Change

49

A Promise to Myself

To any teacher that is a positive influence for students who are suffering from child abuse! This is in loving memory of one teacher whom I remember. Dan Cantrall was my teacher in junior high. He was a gentle, nonjudgmental, sensitive, intuitive, kind man that had somehow sensed my pain and inner turmoil. He tried daily to make school easier for me.

I would be standing in the doorway to his classroom frozen unable to enter. Dan would walk up to me and say something positive to try to make me feel accepted. A compliment, on my homework, about my hair, or the outfit I had on, always sounded genuine coming from him. He would gently lay his hand carefully centered on my shoulder. We would enter the room together. I was never able to look at the other kids in the classroom to see if they noticed my fear or at Dan until I was seated. Then my eyes would meet his trying to say thanks.

Dan’s eyes always held mine until my walls were secured around me. When I felt safe he would start to teach his class. In Dan’s eyes I was as good as the other kids in town. There were no questions asked and no strings attached to his kindness. Dan made my last two years in school tolerable. I never found the right time to thank him. The more time passed, the harder it was to find the words. He might be gone, but his memory will always be with me. Without his awareness and sensitivity I would never have graduated from the eighth grade.

Acknowledgments

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF BOOKS QUOTED:

CODEPENDENT NO MORE BY MELODY BEATTIE BEYOND CODEPENDENCY BY MELODY BEATTIE THE OBSESSIVE PERSONALITY BY LEON SALZMAN M.D.

The following people have my heartfelt thanks and deepest appreciation. They have walked with me down the long rocky path leading me forward, out of darkness and into the light. I want to thank all of them. In 1991, after my divorce, everything I had kept locked inside escaped and had to be faced. Because of them once again I am a survivor.

First, I have to thank my son, Jay, for putting up with my many mood swings and irrational actions as my past surfaced. I was a yo-yo dealing with everything, spinning between past and present. He took charge when I was unable to care for myself.

To T.J. and Lyndi for claiming me after we grew up together while my childhood programming was fresh in my mind. I thought that the only form of abuse I lived through was sexual. The rest seemed normal to me. I had continued Mom and Dad’s chain of rigid discipline with them. By the time Jay was born 14 years later, I had a better understanding of child abuse to late to spare them. They could have easily taken the changes in me personal. At times it must have seemed like I was favoring the baby.

To Steve and Cheryl Mount, Jay’s adopted Mom and Dad for being a support system for Jay when I was busy following my family’s traditions. And to Jamie Mount his best friend and adopted brother. Thanks for being there, especially on holidays.

To my two brothers John (Chuck) and Rick for reliving our nightmare with me, so I did not have to face this on my own. Together we put enough pieces of the puzzle together to be put in writing. I have finally quit searching for details to give me an understanding of our past. It became enough to accept that abuse is abuse and without denial the details no longer mattered.

To Kim H.: my most trusted and helpful counselor.

To Connie Cantrall, Roger and Patty Haskins; my friend’s counselors and lifeline to sanity when desperately needed.

To my best friend Connie Cantrall without her there would not be a book or a Betty. She was the only person Jay could call when he did not know what else to do with me.

To Marv, Karen, Patty, and Sharon Allen, Jim Godfrey, Fern Shown, Russ Haskins, Mike L., Mike C, Alan Fackrell, and Larry and Bev for years of friendship.

To my brothers Randy Wilson & Ralph Godfrey, my favorite Aunts Gail and Florence and sister’s Claudia, Jean, Ruby and Kris. It takes more than a shared blood line to make you a family.

To my friends and co-workers 1994 and 1995 at D-9. Especially Cynthia, Claude, Mike Huston and Valerie Dannels. Mike knew what I was going through and helped me keep busy. Valerie always reminded me to take a break. Sometimes she almost had to take my hand and lead me to the break room. I would be on automatic pilot. Their example has made me do some serious rethinking about my bitterness towards Christians and religion. Like Pat and Gene, their love for God was evident in their daily living. To Mike and Nikki Huston thanks for proof reading my book.

To my friend Spud Man for writing songs and music that is heard by my heart as well as my ears.

To Ralph Godfrey for believing in me enough to send me The Self Publishing Manual/How to Print and Sell your Own Book by Dan Poynter, my map for uncharted waters. And his recognizing my need for a teddy Bear in the middle of this nightmare. Something I was too old for as a child.

To Vern Shown for having a pickup when I needed to disappear and take my belongings with me.

To Sharon Asdell for being my first editor and gently bringing to my attention that I was not stupid, I have always done the best I could with the knowledge I had to work with at the time. Her input and inspiration were invaluable and I stand corrected. That’s what you have got to love about Sharon.

To Sarah Elizabeth for being in the right place at the right time to help me find myself. To Linda Guest, Tonia R., Connie Compton, Ilene Clay, Jim Godfrey and Claude Fields; thanks for your honest input after reading my manuscript. To Lowell Compton for all his help and support. To Lj for my first book review. To Doctor Eslinger for helping put things into proper perspective for me.

To Larry and Scott for making sure I have a vehicle should I need to escape.

To Staci for her kind words of encouragement after completing my books final edit.

To Sharon Herther for making the image of my cover become reality.

And to my guardian angels in human form, Pat and Gene, Ilene Clay, Margaret Shuck, Sue Fellen, Don and Alice Hamblin. You will never know the blessings I received just from knowing each of you.

Last, but not least, I must give thanks to Pat and Gene Haskins for always being a positive part of our lives. It would take another book to describe everything I love and appreciate about them.

The following poem has been a favorite of mine for years. It reminds me of the people mentioned every time I read it.

THE ESSENCE OF FRIENDSHIP

Oh, the comfort, The inexpressible comfort Of feeling safe with a person; Having neither to weigh thoughts Nor measure words, But to pour them all out, Just as they are, Chaff and grain together. Knowing that a faithful hand Will take and sift them, Keep what is worth keeping, and then, With the breath of kindness, Blow the rest away.

—By George Elliott

Introduction

To any reader who knows me, this is not a plea for sympathy. My goal is awareness and anger, mine and yours, at the chain of injustice and destruction brought on by any form of child abuse. A legacy passed on to our children and others who might be able to love us. Public awareness on the devastation of child abuse, sexual or domestic violence is the first step towards prevention. Ongoing prevention efforts in our community will tell victims that someone cares and together we will be able to make a lasting difference. Without healing, generations can suffer the effects from ONE act of child abuse to someone before you were born. I hope for the same anger that awareness brought me. Our anger, united and properly channeled, can bring about positive changes.

A child witnessing or experiencing abuse or violence will begin to see this as normal. Today’s laws on child abuse, sexual assault or domestic violence are merely a slap on the wrist for the abuser. The abused is sentenced to life imprisonment locked inside their violated mind and body. This tells the victim what happened to them is acceptable in the eyes of the law. No wonder the abused can later become an abuser.

This book is a true story (my story), written to prove that there is healing possible for the abused, even for those of us who have to do everything the hard way. For an abuser, forgiveness can also be found if they can admit what they have done and ask to be forgiven. They must be held accountable for their actions. A victim’s silence enables and protects their abuser while their own identity slowly fades away.

I had a choice to make—to continue the chain of pain and agony and my eventual destruction, or to break that chain one link at a time. Making myself an open book has helped me find the pathway to freedom. If my brothers and I help one person who reads our story, it will reach others—like a rock thrown into a creek causes a ripple, reaching outward towards its banks.

DEAR READER:

This book is written exactly as it unfolded to me. Because of that, there will be places where I describe memories or flashbacks—only where they are needed to help you see the full picture I want to present. To let you know I am taking a detour, I will mark the beginning like this ** to help you walk with me as I tell you my story. If you are searching, I hope you find the answers you need.

Here is a list of numbers to find help if you are searching for answers for yourself or others.

NAMI (The Nations Voice on Mental Illness) 1-800-950-NAMI

National Domestic Violence Hotline [phone]-SAFE

Idaho Coalition Against Sexual and Domestic Violence 1-888-293-6118

Council On Domestic Violence and Victim Assistance 1-800-291-0463

The National Center for Victims of Crime 1-800-FYI-CALL

Stop It Now Helpline 1-888-PREVENT

Look for your local Victim-Witness Coordinator.

Thanks,

Betty Lee

1

Easy Way Out

On July 9, 1991, at around 5:30 p.m., the phone rang, but I did not have the strength to answer it. I felt my insides knot up as a feeling of complete helplessness swept over me. I cursed my ability to sense things I had no way of knowing. I was aware that call would turn my world inside out. My fears and suspicions were about to become reality.

I collected my thoughts enough to hear my 14 year old son say, She’s here. He handed me the phone and said, It’s Dad. I took a deep breath, wishing I was anywhere but there, as I put the phone to my ear. It’s me, he said. For some reason it irritated me that he felt the need to say that (as if I would not know his voice). Hey, I want a divorce. There just isn’t anything there for me anymore. From the background noise, it sounded like he was in a bar. I could not believe what I was hearing.

Leroy wanted me moved out of our mobile home in four hours. There was someone he wanted to move in tonight because she had nowhere else to go. He said I could take a few things and go stay at my daughter’s, and return later for the rest. He had to get up early for work so he needed to be in bed at a decent hour. How dumb did he think I was? I had sensed that he had already been with her and had known her over a week. Their relationship was new and full of expectations. He had no idea that I knew when he had met her. I thought that he had picked her up while she was hitchhiking down the road.

Before the Fourth of July, I had started to drive to a bar where I knew they would be. I was sick and tired of his lies. I wanted them to know I was smart enough to know the truth. I did not know the name of the bar, but I envisioned them in one on Federal Way in Boise. I knew there was a motel beside it, and it was close to a freeway exit. It would have been easy to find.

Half way there, my energy was gone, along with my ability to concentrate. I decided to buy a large Pepsi and to think about my plan of action. I realized that when I left the house I did not really have a plan, except avoiding our usual game of accusation and denial. If I had been able to catch him with her, he could no longer tell me how I blew things out of proportion. Most of all I hated knowing the truth and being told that if I was going to accuse him of cheating, one of these days I was going to drive him to it. I had heard this crock before. I am ashamed to admit it, but that same line, laced with anger, worked for a lot of years, avoiding serious confrontations in my own past relationships. Dean (my first husband) gets the credit for teaching me this line. One day I got smart and decided to use it myself.

I pulled into a little store in Meridian and bought a Pepsi. My thoughts were running wild. It was embarrassing the way my hands shook as I tried to count out the change. I kept telling myself it was okay, the clerk did not know who I was. When I got to the car, I fell onto the car seat exhausted. I knew I could not drive until my thoughts slowed down and I had control of myself. I laid my head on the back of the seat and closed my eyes. I do not know how long it took to get my thoughts focused enough to head back to Kuna and home. When I was ready, I said this prayer and drove off:

Lord thank you for keeping me wreck-free and ticket-free. Leroy and I went back together the last time he had promised not to drink alcohol. Last night when he came home, I could smell it on his breath again. If this is going to be his chosen lifestyle, I want out now. I can’t take his lies anymore. His affairs could be hazardous to my health. It would be bad enough to end up with a disease if I had been the one screwing around. I want to know the truth. I don’t want him bringing home any deadly surprises. Lord this time don’t let him convince me that I’m mistaken, when I know in my heart that I’m not.

I arrived safely home and a short time later our pickup pulled into the driveway. I watched as Leroy calmly opened the door and walked in. He was trying his best to look overworked and tired. It was around 1:00 a.m. and he should have been off at 5:00 p.m. I said to myself, Lord, give me the strength to deal with him. He was not surprised to find me still up. If he stayed out all night, I rarely went to bed before 4:00 a.m. I would lock myself in the bathroom with self-help or puzzle books. I wanted to scream at him that, I could have driven to where you were. God How I wanted to be wrong about where he was.

** This ability to sense things began 30 years ago, before my daughter Lyndi was born in the winter of 1961. I was 14 at the time. I was living in Walnut Creek, California with my husband Dean and his brother Bill and his family. They were moving to Concord, California, after Dean and I found our own place. Dean and I drove up in front of the house they were going to move into. I looked at the house and felt very strange. I had never been there before, but I was familiar with the house, inside and out. We walked in and the inside was the way I had envisioned it. Bill was standing on a chair painting, just like I knew he would be. When we started talking, it dawned on me that I knew everyone’s lines before they said them. I broke out in a cold sweat. I could not believe what was happening. I hoped no one knew my thoughts. I was fighting hysteria so hard that I missed my cue. When I skipped my lines a few times everyone else’s changed. Through the years there were many similar experiences, but none as overwhelming. I would purposely change my lines to break the spell. I was too scared to play it out and see how long it would last.

** Leroy made me feel like a newlywed that night, acting all loving and caring. In my mind acting was the key word. I kept my thoughts to myself. He held me until he fell asleep. Then I went into the bathroom and closed the door behind me. For hours I sat in there trying to figure out what was wrong with me. Why had my three husbands had affairs? What had I not been able to give them? I felt totally inferior as a wife, lover and friend.

The next day, as soon as Leroy left for work, I started separating our things. I found enough strength to drag everything out of our bedroom closet. Then I got empty boxes and sat them on the bed. Everything else was piled next to them to be sorted. When each box was filled, I stacked it back inside the closet and wrote a name on it. I knew he had not been honest with me. We would never make it together unless something changed soon. I would have to make separate plans for Jay and me. I realized this had not prepared me for his choice of an ending for us a week later.

** Hearing my voice say, No, when we leave, our things are coming with us, my attention was drawn back to what he was saying to me on the phone. How much of what he said had I missed? Did it even matter? I reminded him that earlier, that very morning as he got ready for work, he had been trying to pick a fight with me. I asked him, Why hadn’t you told me then if you wanted a divorce? Jay and I could have been moved out already. He said, I had not made up my mind until now. I never wanted to hurt you. That made me laugh, as I was thinking it was a damned good thing he never wanted me hurt. At least he sounded nervous, not overjoyed by my pain. I imagined my replacement hanging onto him, feeling very smug over my eviction notice. I guess she had never heard Leroy’s favorite saying, What goes around comes around.

The phone seemed melted into my hand. I was in shock, my body felt numb. I was devastated, not because he wanted a divorce, but because of the amount of time he gave me to get out. My son, Jay, was watching me, waiting to be told what was going on. I was fighting to get control of my thoughts. I broke down for what seemed like forever. Finally, through the sobs and tears of total frustration I was able to tell Jay. He yelled, YES, WE’RE HISTORY! I was busy wallowing in self pity mumbling that this was the thanks I got for always putting Leroy first. What a fool! Jay had to agree with me.

Jay asked if he should call T.J., his older brother. Without waiting for an answer, Jay dialed the phone and told T.J. enough for him to know I was fighting hysteria. I took the phone and struggled for the right words to help him understand. I seemed to be rambling and making no sense, even to myself. I heard T.J. say, I’m on my way. Eventually I realized I was listening to an annoying recording repeat, Please hang up and try your call again.

2

Wasted Time Costly Choices

I showed Jay the boxes in the bedroom closet and had him start carrying them out to the driveway. Luckily we moved so often we only unpacked what was needed. Leroy had unknowingly moved us within a mile of old friends of mine. She has always been Sis to me and her parents will always be Mom and Dad. I called them, and when they heard our dilemma, they told me there were two campers at their place. We could use one for storage and sleep in the bigger one.

T.J., Sis, and Dad arrived about the same time. They worked around me while I wandered from room to room, trying to pull myself together. Time was moving way too fast. They loaded a pickup, left, and unloaded it at their place. When they got back, I was still trying to decide what to do next.

I kept thinking about throwing our bed out the door and setting it on fire. Leroy bought us that bed for our ninth anniversary present, five months ago. We had so much fun shopping for it, or so I thought. When we saw one we were interested in, we would lay on it together, still in the store, comparing the feel of the mattress to our old one. Was he acting then too?

I grabbed my pillow off our bed and looked at the handmade quilt my mother had given us for a wedding present. She hand-painted each flower a color that I liked, and then sewed the blocks together with strips of lavender. The back was a mixture of lavender and a pretty blue. It was actually hand-quilted for me and edged with more lavender. There was no way in hell I would let them have it.

I tore it off the bed and took it immediately to the car. I went through all of the other bedding to see if there was anything else with special meaning for me. Mom had also crocheted an afghan out of yarn for Jay and me. I had to search, but I found both of them so Jay could get them to the car. I felt like I was acting childish, but I did it anyway. They were ours, gifts from my mother, and we were taking them.

My head was pounding and my eyes were burning from all the tears, my chest was hurting so bad that it felt like it would explode. Then I was back to trying to decide what to do next. I was finally finished with our bedroom. I stood in the doorway wistfully looking around our room that was about to become their room. My tears were running down my face onto my shirt. One thought was echoing around inside my head. What on earth are we going to do now? Turning to go into the bathroom I realized that my biggest fear was now reality.

My mind kept flashing back to our short separation one year ago. History had simply repeated itself, except his reason was a different girl this time. Working late was still his excuse and we both knew better. If I dared ask, Why are you so late? His response was exactly the same, I should be able to have a drink with the guys after work if I want. What irritated me the most was how everyone else was more important to him than I was. My insecurity always showed, and Leroy hated it as much as I did. It hit me that we had been playing the same game, with different players, for years.

Leroy’s drinking also brought about our first separation. His partying had started earlier that day; earlier that week is more like it. There was one chance in a million that he would have had any time for me that weekend. I drove out to where he was irrigating to talk to him, hoping he would finally give me an honest answer. Instead, slurring his words, he told me that he would be home early. At

3:00 p.m. the party was already well on its way. It was plain that these were words he thought I wanted to hear so I would leave him alone. I tried one more time to get the truth, but all that I got was his anger. I did not even get a chance to tell him I was thinking about going to Cascade. Leroy was too busy to talk to me about anything. Driving home, I was trying to decide what to do. When I got home I started dinner, not because I believed him, but to keep busy.

I decided I had to go to Cascade. Friends there cared how I felt and what I thought. I had been craving that feeling of acceptance. I needed to see Jim Godfrey in Cascade. If he was going to be around over the weekend I would go, despite my husband.

** From 1983 to 1986,