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  When I went back to school, I told myself, “If I act like I'm okay, everyone will think I'm okay." I was 11, what the heck did I know about internalizing? But that is EXACTLY what I did, and admittedly continue to do in stressful, hurtful, scary, situations.

  I just acted “normal”.

  When one day was harder than the next, I would go into the “rumpus” room (as mom called it, we’d call it a den now) and find my music. Music would allow me to express (in melody) what my heart was feeling. The record player was in there and I would sing my heart out.

  The Carpenters, Olivia Newton-John, Bread, Helen Reddy, Linda Ronstadt. I always felt better after singing. Like some magical spell bestowed upon me, when the music ended, I felt better.

  In junior high, I was part of a barbershop quartet in addition to our show choir. I loved it! And I was now at the same school as my cousin Treg who I looked up to so very much.

  Treg was VERY popular. And I was jealous.

  I wanted the attention that Treg got. And not just from his parents, but people in school, at church. Everyone loved him! Some of the church folks came to see Treg in a play at school but didn’t come to mine and that crushed me. My feeling of abandonment BIG.

  I wanted someone to love me the way I felt everyone loved Treg. He was so dang easy to love anyway. Full of mischief, fun, with a heart of gold. Secretly, I was glad when he went off to high school before me. I could never be as fun as him in my eyes, with my peers. And for some reason, that was important to me.

  I was student body secretary, on the yearbook and newspaper staff, but I was never one of “them.”

  “Them” being the popular girls. Cheerleaders, pretty, wealthy. The ones who were the first to wear Calvin Klein jeans and clog shoes or whose parents dropped them off in their Mercedes. Who didn’t just drive up to see the Orange County Mining Company, but actually got to eat there too, who wore their ski lift tickets on their ski jacket.

  I can easily recall telling one of my friends (while practicing for cheer tryouts) that I weighed 150 but didn’t look like it. She said, “Yes, you do.” Or my uncle telling me my thighs should be half the size they are. Or my cousins telling me I should be like our music ministers’ daughter and only eat a pickle for lunch.

  And I wanted so badly to fit in and feel included. So here’s this girl, who’s dad has been sick ALL her life, who’s fat, whose dad died, who didn’t let anyone know how she felt (because I didn’t really know how), whose mom needed her more than ever, being ridiculed, not just by peers, but her own family. My nieces (who were 3 years younger than me) were both gorgeous, little bitty things too. So even though I was older, in my brain, they were better. I would often hangout with the grownups instead of them when they came over to avoid feeling inadequate around them. (I only realized this as I got older though.)

  I escaped by eating more, spending more time with music, and going to church as often as I could.

  Singing allowed me to compensate for where I felt I was lacking, and I excelled there. My need to be accepted, liked, and heard, (even if only in song) was possible there.

  See the pattern?

  Chapter 5

  Mom’s Escape

  My mom found her escape in work and the Moose Lodge. I recall many weekends spent there, helping serve food, clean up, make posters. It was near my grandpa's house and her work in Norwalk, CA. She also made sure I got to sing every once in a while. That was pretty cool and that helped soothe my broken heart some.

  It was about this time I learned how to field phone calls for my mom. How to answer the phone appropriately, tell them mom wasn’t available. Most were bill collectors or solicitors. Mom would tell me people said I sounded “so grown-up” on the phone. I was impressed with that at the time, but I was a 12-year-old, doing grown-up things, I had to sound grown.

  There were times mom would just stay at grandpa's after work or going to the Lodge. I was home. Alone. Terrified.

  The thoughts of "what if something happened to my mom?" "If my dad could die already, then what if my mom died too, what would happen then?" "Who would want me?" What if, what if, what if, what if..... was an ongoing narrative in my young brain.

  Yes, my family was right next door, but in the dark, across the backyard to their house was scary too. Some stranger may be hiding in the dark just waiting to grab me. The alternative was to stay home alone. I often turned every light in the house on and slept that way. I was still afraid of the dark until just a couple of years ago when I finally turned the tv off to go to sleep.

  Then factor in the times Mom would “forget” to pay the phone bill or electric bill and it would be off. I’d have to wait for her to get home so we could go pay it. I finally figured out if I would remind her to write a check for this bill, or that bill it didn’t happen as often. Sometimes, I wrote the check for her and just had her sign it. More grown-up issues.

  Being home alone with no phone or electric, even if only for a few hours was awful. If it was the electric, I would go next door to my aunt and uncles house and stay until mom got home, which would vary.

  And my cousins were my best friends. I’d have never learned how to walk across the yard on a 55-gallon oil barrel, or throw a baseball, football, roller skate, skateboard, if it wasn’t for them. I’m so thankful for their presence in my life.

  Mom worked shift work at the Lever corporation. So sometimes she’d work days; 7am to 3pm, sometimes swing; 3pm to 11pm and sometimes graveyard; 11pm to 7am. Graveyards were the worst for me. I absolutely HATED being alone in the house overnight.

  She had a few boyfriends, but I only really remember one coming to the house. Chuck. He wasn’t around long though.

  On those nights when I was alone, I would often talk out loud to my dad. There was a teeny, tiny, ½ bathroom off the rumpus room, between the rumpus room and laundry area. This was always where my daddy shaved. I went in there to look in the mirror and wipe my eyes from crying. The light switch was directly behind you and when you’re standing in front of the mirror you had a clear view of it. I was the ONLY person in the house. And as I stood there, missing my daddy, crying for him, I watched the light switch move to the down position from my vantage point in the mirror. And I smelled him. He smelled of Brut cologne and shoe polish, mixed with cigarette smoke.

  I wasn’t scared at all. In fact, just the opposite. I felt comforted. To this day, I can’t explain that, but I’ve had several things like this happen in my life since then and none of them have ever scared me.

  That little girl then was terrified of so many things, ESPECIALLY the dark. What should have frightened me didn’t. I remain convinced that it was my daddy letting me know he was watching over me.

  One day, mom dropped a bombshell on me. She said we were moving in with grandpa in Norwalk. WHAT???? WHY???? I don’t want to.

  I mean, I absolutely loved going there for holidays and seeing all my cousins and eating all the amazing food and playing wahoo or 31 after the meal, but to LIVE THERE?

  This was several years after my dad had passed and I felt like I was just getting comfortable with my dad’s death and all the changes, so I didn't want to leave. Mom didn’t know it, but this was the ultimate blow to my already struggling emotional state.

  All my security was THERE. My church, my friends, my cousins, my school, my home. The memories of my dad. So much was wrapped up in that house. And now you're going to take it away from me? I cried for days. Begging and pleading with her to no avail. We were moving. And I was devastated.

  Chapter 6

  Grandpa’s

  I made it one year at the new high school. Talk about culture shock.

  Going from an upper middle class, Orange county school to a suburb of LA was tough. I saw a gang fight, someone blew their head off on our football field, girl fights, police presence and bullying.

  All while mom spent a lot more time at the Moose Lodge, leaving me home with grandpa. At least I had my music. Styx was my jam then. Paradise Theatre. And I kn
ew the neighbors from time spent at grandpas for holidays and such. I babysat for them occasionally.

  Mom must’ve had some sense of my unhappiness. Not because I talked to her about it, I wasn’t about to add more to her load than she already had on her shoulders.

  She thought getting me a vocal coach would help. Ummm…. NO. I hated it. I just wanted to sing songs, not scales.

  But she got me auditions for numerous showcases, auditions, and got me a showcase spot singing for Ronnie Milsap, so I guess it wasn’t a complete bust, but it sure felt like it to me. Even the music wasn’t soothing me. THAT was NOT normal.

  I started listening to music totally out of character for me, like Rush, Led Zeppelin, AC/DC. Even though they were popular, they were never really my favorite genre. But the music was heavy, angry almost and it made me feel like the music was conveying what I was feeling inside.

  She had a few boyfriends, (from the Moose Lodge) and we moved in with one not far from grandpa’s house. He was a drunk and blacked out one day at our house, knocking the bathroom sink clean off the wall. I had never seen anyone drunk like that, so I had no idea what was going on. It scared me.

  We had an inground swimming pool at that house which I liked because the other neighborhood kids would come over with their folks (they were Moose Lodge people too) and I kind of felt "accepted". My niece Shelley stayed with us often at that house and that helped me a lot. At least I had someone to commiserate with. But she had her own stuff going on and her own stuff she was dealing with, just like me.

  What did I do?

  I rebelled, tried marijuana for the first time, (not my thing AT ALL), hopped a bus and went back to my home (in Orange) with some girls from across the street. The drunk boyfriend had to pick us up from the bus stop at Disneyland because we didn't have enough money to get all the way home. THAT should have been a wakeup call of my unhappiness and that I needed help, but it wasn't. And honestly, I didn't know how to communicate what was going on in my head.

  We moved back to grandpa's after that. I did meet some great people there that I still call friends to this day and we all had some really fun times together, but I was really unhappy inside. Esta, (Baelie), Paul, Brenda, and Mike were the only people I really liked from the new school.

  One of our more fun adventures during that time was stealing a fire hydrant. Yep, you read that right. Do you have ANY idea how heavy those things are?

  My mom loved plants and one day had mentioned that a fire hydrant would make a great planter. So we got her one. We had no idea how much trouble we could get into for taking it though. I’m pretty sure she made us return it.

  We spent time at the beach, hanging out, singing. But that didn’t change how I was feeling emotionally. I felt so alone and unheard. Abandoned. By my dad, my mom, even my old friends didn’t call much after I moved.

  That summer my sister Dottie came to visit. I was SO excited to see her. She and her husband and kids had moved to Arkansas and I got to spend the summer with them.

  For the FIRST time in my whole life, I felt free. I felt included. I felt safe. I felt loved. I felt heard. And I loved it there. Her kids were like siblings to me and we did “family” things. We ate together, we went to family skate night, to swimming holes, and the park. It was everything I didn’t have at home in California and everything I needed so desperately.

  I met a guy named Wesley that summer (we are still friends to this day). Wesley had a guitar when I met him, and I told him I sang, and he started picking a song. Roseanne Cash, “Seven Year Ache”. I was mesmerized by how well he played for a younger person. (He wasn’t much older than me). All the accomplished artists I knew were MUCH older. I was eating it up, basking in the feeling of acceptance, and his appreciation of my voice.

  Music is like a drug to me, and I wanted more. I felt alive when I was singing. And here was this talented, older teenager from Arkansas, telling me I had a great voice, and that I should keep singing. I hung on his every word because he was doing everything I wanted to. Playing music every chance, he got. What he doesn’t know, even though we are still friends, is that his approval of what I could do, meant EVERYTHING to me. And some, not all, of my decision I was about to make was a direct result of that.

  When I returned to California, I told my mom if she didn't let me go live with my sister in Arkansas, I would quit school and I meant EVERY SINGLE WORD. I was NOT going back to Santa Fe Springs High School EVER AGAIN.

  What choice did she have? I can’t even begin to imagine how hard this was for her as a mother myself, but she let me go and Van Buren, Arkansas became my home. (It’s still where I call home.) I don’t even remember asking my sister if I could come live with her before I issued my mom that ultimatum. But my sister and her husband, Paul took me in, no questions asked, and loved me as if I were their own. And they had 4 kids of their own to raise. Now your sister too? Can you imagine the sacrifice that took? I will never take that for granted as long as I live.

  Chapter 7

  Van Buren

  High school was amazing in Van Buren. The kids were kind, friendly, and warm to me. Something I had NOT experienced at Santa Fe Springs High School in California.

  I met so many genuinely good people and because I finally felt safe in my home life, I was able to fully concentrate on music, which in my brain is where I shined and was accepted.

  I was still heavy, and still felt kind of like the outsider. Not that anyone ever said anything regarding my weight that I heard anyway, but it was still in the back of my brain. Words are so powerful, and those old hurts were/are still there.

  Which is why I never fully felt "part" of any of the groups I was active with in school. I felt like I was liked fairly well, but I wasn't the petite cheerleader, or the girl all the boys wanted to date (I actually only had one boyfriend in high school, and he didn't go to my school), definitely was not the smartest girl in class. So, finding my place where I felt acceptance was important to me.

  On stage, singing, performing. THAT is where I felt most comfortable, most liked, most accepted. And other musicians understood me in a way my high school friends didn’t. So, I worked my butt off to keep that going. Thankfully Wesley had introduced me to some more of his talented musician friends (who also are still my friends to this day) and we had many fun-filled days and nights playing music together. They taught me so much. Not just about music, but life lessons THROUGH music. Writing, performing, living with that ache, that drive, that emotional void that only music could fill.

  I still have my high school yearbooks and there are so many entries about my music and for me to keep at it. Truly a gift from God, this voice.

  I am eternally grateful for the friends that I still have in my life (even if they are just on Facebook now) from high school. They have no idea what a big role they played in helping me recover emotionally. One friend, loved to hear me say, “No”. She said it sounded so cute. Apparently, I had a California accent? I didn’t know that was a thing. My best friend’s mom ran a very successful beauty shop and Edwina always had the cutest hair and the prettiest nails. I would let her mom try new styles on me. (Think punk rock mullet). I also quit biting my nails so I could have pretty nails like Edwina. My other good friend Lorrie lived up the road from Edwina and the three of us would have many crazy, fun, times together.

  I had my first snow ice cream at Lorrie’s house. And one day, Edwina about killed us when she popped the clutch on the quad runner we had taken from her house to Lorrie’s, with me on the back grate. We popped a wheelie on a busy road! I think it tore Edwina’s sandals off her feet and I had road rash on my back. It’s a miracle there were no other cars around when that happened.

  Lorrie had a car, so she would pick Edwina and I up for school and on the weekends, we would “cruise” town. From the Sonic to McDonald’s. Waving at the kids sitting in different parking lots along the way. Blaring our music and singing along to every song that came on. Don Henley’s, “Dirty Laundry” was a favorite.r />
  My first experience with sex was the summer before junior year. I had traveled to North Little Rock with a friend and her family that I stayed with briefly in Arkansas. We somehow managed to sneak away from the parents and drink some TJ Swann wine with her cousin. It was my first time drinking and it made me feel “cool”.

  My friend had told me her cousin really liked this boy (he was a senior in high school) that was going to be there and to make sure I didn’t “flirt”. (I didn’t know HOW to flirt, guys never paid attention to the “chubby/fat” girl).

  When we ran out of liquor, he asked me to go to the store with him. And I was just tipsy enough to say “okay”. On the way back, he stopped the car on the side of a dirt road and kissed me. I thought he was cute, but I wasn't really crushing on him and I had never been kissed before, so I wasn’t sure what to do, (should I be flattered? do I kiss him back? do I want to kiss him?) but before I could react, he pulled me out of his car and pushed me down on the dirt road, near where the grass started. Then he assaulted me on the side of the dirt road. I didn’t fight back, I didn’t know what to do, it was all happening so fast. I just let it happen.

  I remember I was on my period and had an OB tampon in. When I got back to where my friend and her cousin were, I went to the bathroom and the tampon was shoved so far into my vagina, I didn’t think I was going to be able to get it out.

  I don't even know his name and I never told a soul. I was so fearful that my friend’s cousin was going to kill me for going with him to begin with, if she found out about this, she’d REALLY have it in for me. And I wasn’t sure that I hadn’t brought it on myself by agreeing to go with him or not fighting or saying “no”.

  Once again, I reverted to "if you act like everything is okay, then no one will know" and it worked. It always does. Until it doesn't. Which in my case was MANY MANY years down the road.