One Month Week Day Hour Minute Second

By Rebecca Marie

Abuse knows no boundaries. It doesnt care if you are rich or poor, old or young. It can enter your life at any time and stay as long as you let it. In One Month Week Day Hour Minute Second, author Rebecca Marie discusses that the key is to release the secrets, talk about the abuse, and take the power away from the abusers.

In this memoir, she shares her personal journey surviving sexual and physical abuse, describing how abusive patterns started at a young age, how negative self-esteem continued to grow, and how it ended in her falling in love with a psychopath. One Month Week Day Hour Minute Second narrates how Marie was victimized and lived in daily fear and despair, but discusses how she chose not to remain a victim and took power over her own life.

Hoping to break the cycle of domestic abuse one victim at a time, Marie tells her emotional story to call attention to the problem of domestic violence. Her story shows there is hope for others.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491735268

Rebecca Marie

Rebecca Marie enjoys being a mentor and her goal in sharing her story is to help others see there is hope.

Book preview

Copyright © 2013, 2014 Rebecca Marie.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-3524-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3525-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3526-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014909119

iUniverse rev. date: 06/23/2014

Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter 1     Abuse

Chapter 2     Root Cause

Chapter 3     Secrets Unfold

Chapter 4     Boredom

Chapter 5     Dating

Chapter 6     Protect Me?

Chapter 7     The Trip From Hell

Chapter 8     Reconstructing

Chapter 9     Rag Doll

Chapter 10   Twenty-One Days

Chapter 11   The Grass Is Not Greener

Chapter 12   Blinders

Chapter 13   Twenty Dollars And A Pickup

Chapter 14   A Dark Side Of Life

Chapter 15   Rape In A Marriage

Chapter 16   Three Is A Crowd

Chapter 17   The Last Weekend

Chapter 18   The Personal Building Blocks

Chapter 19   Reality

Chapter 20   Breaking A Habit

Chapter 21   Custody

Chapter 22   Motivation

Chapter 23   Restraining And Violating

Chapter 24   Justice

Chapter 25   Hope

Dedication

To the universe and all the healing power that it holds, to all human beings who have endured any form of abuse and to my father and my favourite uncle, who passed away in 1986 and 1985 respectively. They were both loving, kind men who had served in World War II and would often remind me that society’s freedoms had been made possible by the many sacrifices those soldiers made. Let the journey begin so that all can share in freedom and respect for one another.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Cover Illustration done by: Shaun Doiron

Valerie Pierce-Rioux: Special thanks for being a second pair of eyes and ears. You have encouraged me right from the inception of my dream to write this book, all the way to the reality of being published and beyond. You have been a valuable friend and motivator through it all.

INTRODUCTION

In this book I share with you my personal journey through surviving sexual and physical abuse. I show you how patterns developed from a very young age. Negative belief patterns grew and grew and I thought that the only way I was loved was based on someone else offering physical and/or sexual touch. I developed low self-esteem and resorted to various negative coping mechanisms. During this journey one theme held steady, my total lack of self-worth and that somehow I deserved what was happening. Looking back I believe that as difficult as the challenges I faced were, my life could have been much worse. I could have gone and stayed in some very dark places and society would have felt pity for me even justifying any negative behavior.

Abuse knows no boundaries. It does not care if you are rich or poor, old or young it can enter your life at any time and stay as long as you let it. The key is to release the secrets, we as a society need to talk about abuse and take the power away from the abusers. I was victimized, however I chose not to remain a victim. It is my hope in sharing my story that if one person is released from this destructive cycle of domestic violence or abuse then I have been successful. Read the book, share the book and if at all possible share your story with what ever form of media you choose.

Let’s break the cycle together.

PART I

THE

STEPS

LEADING

DOWN

CHAPTER 1

ABUSE

You can hear the truck pulling up and its door shutting. You hear his footsteps getting louder, one by one, as he gets closer and closer to the door. The door handle slowly turns. Your heart is racing. What mood will he be in? He comes in. He looks happy—for now. So you start the delicate dance of walking on eggshells in hopes that you will not do anything to upset him. Watch the words you speak; be careful of the thoughts you have. Most of all, watch your actions, your body language. One wrong move, in his eyes, can change everything in a split second.

This describes what every month, day, week, hour, minute and second is like living with an abuser and being his target. Domestic violence is not a bad dream; it is reality—to me, to you or to someone you know.

What keeps it alive and festering is the secrecy, embarrassment and shame. By talking about it openly, we can protect ourselves and our children. I offer my story of sexual and physical violence with the hope of giving another venue for awareness and the opportunity to stop the violence.

CHAPTER 2

ROOT CAUSE

My earliest memory is one of the most positive feelings I ever remember about compassion and love. When I was a baby, less than one year old, I developed a high fever and was choking to death on my own vomit in my crib. My uncle was visiting for Christmas and he was the only one who heard my body thumping up and down in my crib. He had been a medic during World War II and was able to clear my air passage and get me breathing normally. No wonder he was my favourite! Throughout his life, he always made me feel adored, special and loved. He was the only man in my entire life to show me all of this without wanting anything in return. I will always hold a special corner of my heart for him. If only I could have received this gift from the rest of my family on a daily basis, perhaps I would not have had to go on a life-long journey trying to duplicate the genuine love and affection he had shared with me.

Instead, my reality was that I was born the youngest child in my family and the only girl. My parents had me much later in life, when my mother was going through menopause. What a surprise I was! My life started off with complications right from the beginning. My mother always made a huge point of letting me know that she endured two major traumas while she was in labour with me. First, I was a dry birth. My mother’s water had broken the day before and she had stopped dilating. Second, my umbilical cord was tightly wrapped around my neck and I almost died from strangulation. My mother was warned to never get pregnant again, as the end result could very well be dying during childbirth.

My family was definitely dysfunctional. That came with many aspects. My father was an alcoholic and my mother suffered from bipolar disorder. My mother’s cycles would last for months and months on end. The cycles were one extreme to the other. My parents fed off of each other’s illnesses. This caused confusion and chaos in the house. When my mother was depressed, she would stay in bed for months and only get up to do the bare minimum for survival. My father would slow down his drinking and try to take care of day-to-day matters. During my mother’s manic stages, which meant she had excessive energy and slept only a few hours per night, my father would increase his drinking. My mother was by nature a judgmental person, more so during a manic period. She could give anyone and everyone a tongue lashing, not filtering a word she had to say, regardless of who she hurt or isolated. She would also compulsively shop to buy high-end items priced well beyond what the family income could sustain. As a teenager, I liked this stage, as she would buy me clothing and accessories galore. I did not realize the financial hardship her shopping was bringing. It was the only time I felt like my mother showed me affection.

When I was 5 years old, I found out what a sexual predator was. I was abused by a relative who resided with us. This continued until I was 10 and my menstrual cycle began. The abuse entailed inappropriate touching. From that time I started to block most of my childhood memories of what was happening in the house until I was 12 and he was no longer around on a daily basis. During this time, I developed various coping mechanisms, one of which was leaving my bedroom to crawl in beside my mom in bed. But on the weekends, my father was home and he did not share the same enthusiasm around having me sleep with them. He would tell me to get back into my bed and he would close their door. I would sit on the floor outside, crying, sometimes falling fast asleep right on the hall floor. I was terrified to sleep in my room; it scared me.

I developed a hatred for my father. One day, he walked into my room while I was being abused, and he looked in and thought that it was only harmless child’s play. I felt abandoned and betrayed.

My abuser told me, See, no one will believe you.

I did go to my mother one day to tell her. She was busy getting supper ready and didn’t even hear me; I was shushed away. Once again, the abuser was right. I was trapped with no one to save me. No one else cared.

When I was 13 I remember picking up one of my dad’s straight-razor blades. I then sat on the floor with the blade between my fingers and started to gently slide the blade along my wrist. I was contemplating slicing my wrist and ending all of the emotional pain I was feeling. Then I had a thought: Even if I did end my life, no one would notice and I would be quickly forgotten. I got up, put the blade down and went to my bedroom to cry alone. That was the first time I felt depression and despair. Instead of following through in the bathroom that day, I turned to alcohol and marijuana to numb my pain.

I felt that I needed to go on a life-long journey to try to find genuine love and affection outside of the immediate family, as there was none to be found within it. These values and beliefs had been strongly instilled into me instead of the love I so desired:

Do not show affection, especially if others can see.

The neighbours do not care what is happening in your life, so do not share information with outside people. Keep secrets.

Whatever happens at home stays at home.

Always make sure that you look good when you go