My Story

Over the years, I have written my story so many times in the hopes of healing, but that hasn’t occured as of yet. With each new re-write, there’s always the hope that now, perhaps this time, it will come. My name is Jacqui, and here is my story.

My mother, Helene, was a teen and met a 30-something married man named Jack with children. I was born a year later and was named after him, even though he informed her he would not leave his family and did not want to be with her… or me. The last contact they had was when they were sitting in Helene’s car and talking it over. I was on his lap, and when they were done, she said he looked at me, said “cute kid”, passed me to her, left the car, and effectively left our lives. She was 19.

I stayed with Helene for 18 months until she decided to choose to put me into foster care “until she could come back for me”.

She never did; I stayed in foster care until I was 9 and was adopted by a lesbian child molester.

The first family in which I was placed actually loved me and wanted me. I would have no story at all had they been permitted to adopt me, but they weren’t. I was with them for about 2 years and then was placed with another family where the mother had just lost foster twins and vowed to never get close to another foster child. Unfortunately, I was the next one and she was very true to her word. I was hugged once in that 6 years, and never told I was loved… ever. I endured near daily beatings, and was otherwise ignored. I had nothing of my own save for a Winnie the Pooh bear which was a hand-me-down, but I held it everywhere I could. I was constantly hit, shunned, ridiculed and never was made to feel a part of that family. After a few years, I didn’t want to be, and, after 6 years, the decision was made to place me elsewhere. I was given a choice of Monday or Wednesday. I chose Monday. At 9 years old, I was already beat down from life and couldn’t wait to leave.

I was placed with my third foster family but only lasted nine months. They tried, but I was so screwed up and they were a good family and weren’t ready to handle someone like me.

I then met my nightmare, Kathy. Back in 1980, gay wasn’t a widely used or known term, however, had she disclosed she was gay, the adoption shouldn’t have taken place. She never did own up, and a few months after we met, she molested me. The molestation occured three times until one night, she found me awake and it stopped. Her abuse promptly turned to physical and emotional torment. This went on for the
next 7 years. When I was 13 or 14, I reported the sexual abuse but she lied her way through it and nothing happened. Things swiftly went downhill from there and I no longer cared for anyone or anything except for my dog, Misty. Kathy and I constantly fought, and after a few years, it escalated into 2 way physical fights. I’m small, 5’4″ and she’s over 6′ but sometimes, she was no match for me.

I left her house before I graduated high school… and before I killed her.

I tried to make things work with her and tried to get her to confess… just for my peace of mind. Acknowledment is something which is very important to victims of abuse. We wish desperately for our abusers to own their abuse. She went so far as to say the molestation “could have happened”; she just didn’t remember it. After the birth of my second child, I ceased all contact with her.

At 19, I joined the Army and gradually began to show signs of mental deterioration. My birth mother and grandmother both suffer from mental illness, and my own began to manifest. I started drinking heavy when I was 17 and continued to drink for years until I got married in 1991. (That marriage lasted less than 3 years). While in the Army, I slept with every man who would pay attention to me, for obvious reasons. I needed and craved affection and attention. My time in the Army ended when I got in a fight with my tower Chief and, due to the fact that I was pregnant, I couldn’t be reassigned into another job and had to be discharged.

After my marriage ended and my ex-husband got custody of our two babies, I totally lost control. I drank, didn’t work, lost 70 pounds and became very depressed. I became pregnant with my third child, and after she was born, got a job which lasted for 9 months. I became pregnant again and lost that job, but found an excellent job which I’d managed to hang onto for 11 years. I did get fired once, but they allowed me back.

In March 2005, I had a major breakdown; my worst and took 6 months off my job. I went back and lasted two days but ended up having to quit and filed for disability. In the two years it took to get on disability. I lost my car, my hone of ten years; pretty much everything. I almost lost my kids. I still to this day believe they’d be better off away from me, but anyway…

During that two year wait, I went back to my job but was fired again, this time for good. I tried suicide the night it happened, which happened to be my youngest child’s tenth birthday. I didn’t care about anything at all. I still do not and wish for death every day. I have suicidal thoughts every day. Something holds me back; I do not know what.

I have addiction troubles, anger troubles; I have trouble with everything. Sometimes I don’t shower for weeks. I can’t get out of bed for weeks. Over the past ten years, I developed bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, major depression and minor OCD. My OCD is counting. I can’t function anymore and don’t really try.

My abuser owns me. She controls me. She’s there in my dreams, if I shower (which is why I rarely do anymore; I just don’t go out anywhere). She controls every aspect of my life and I’m tired of letting her. No matter what I do, she’s there.

Every single day, I am convinced I don’t need to be here. I serve no purpose and am an inconvenience to everyone. I’m ready to go, but am making this last ditch effort to lift myself out of this and live- really live instead of existing for 39 years.

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