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DavidSigned on: Sat 07 Jun 2008 10:15:11 EST
IT HAD TO BE TOLD SO HE TOLD IT TO ME A true story ofchildhood physical and sexual abuse Told to:Meredith Murphy, M.A.A Florida Sexual Assault Program Director/CounselorQuigley House- Orange Park, Florida ByDavid A Survivor When my folks divorced I blamed myself. Eleven year old boys don't reason like an adult. I thought there must be something wrong with me because Dad took my older sister with him but never invited me to go. I was left to be raised by my mother but her work kept her away from the house too many hours so a neighbor girl was hired to baby-sit all my waking hours. In the 50's child abuse was a hush-hush subject with nowhere to turn for help. How a 14 year old girl could conceive the cruel and perverted acts done to me is hard to understand. My mind was totally controlled by her after being forced to repeat this poem to her several times a day: "Every day, I will obey, whatever you say, sweetly, completely, immediately, without questioning, crying or complaining, or I will be severely punished." Resistance became impossible and I endured horrible physical and sexual abuse. Do you know what a little boy does after he is tied spread-eagle and naked to a table and whipped with a fishing pole? Anything he is told! I learned helplessness mastering fear humiliation, shame, pain and terror. I cried myself to sleep nights, unable to change my situation. I withdrew to my inner feelings and did what ever was necessary to just exist. My memories are difficult to dwell upon even after having told and written my entire story in a book. It is still hard sharing the embarrassing things which I long to forget. One public and very humiliating experience happened in a store as no one who witnessed it attempted to stop my babysitter from baring my backside and spanking me with other shoppers watching. I totally lost control of bodily functions and messed myself in public. That was the day that I first began considering suicide. Wounds and scars over time lessen but the inner hurt stayed with me for years and years. My mind, emotions, and sexual orientation of life were confused and misguided. The abuse continued for 5 years and ended only when we moved away. Then I was able to persuade my mother that I was old enough to be a latchkey kid. Years went by with graduation, college, marriage, children and a busy life. I tried to bury my past but many things triggered horrible memories which would not go away. I found the courage twice to discuss what had happened. Once with a doctor who told me that I should have been man enough not to let someone do those things to me. I wasn't a man, I was a little boy. The other time was to a minister who told me to just forget it all and get on with my life. Amazingly, I never turned to drugs, alcohol, or crime and did not become an abuser myself. I turned to God and stayed busy helping others in order to avoid dwelling on things I never wanted to face again. I hid my childhood horrors from my children and my wife even though she knew something was terribly wrong. After 40 years of hiding the hurt, I realized that I would have to deal with this because too many things triggered memories that gave me insomnia, and flashbacks. Suicide seemed my best option so I made plans, and wrote out my last will while trying to determine the best time when my family would be able to cope with my final decision. On an internet chat room, for Adult Survivors of Child Abuse, a stranger gave me some life-changing advice encouraging me to write out my story, call a hotline and to read it anonymously. Blocking my phone number, so it could not be traced, I read it as my final act so someone would know why I was ending my life. I was amazed at the compassion and confidentiality I found with the counselor on the phone. An invitation was given to me to come and speak with the therapist. I was so afraid that I would be "Baker Acted" that I hid my car and would not tell my name. First, I met weekly with a counselor named Kelly Ballentine until she moved to a different job and then I began therapy with Meredith Murphy. It took me a long time to face and find victory in each of the traumatic and horrible experiences as I relived them It was a very emotional and difficult season in my life but the wisdom, and compassion of a trained counselor guided my thinking and helped me to find peace, joy and victory. I was never told what to do but was coached and guided into making the decisions I chose that led me to total healing. With Meredith's guidance I made the decision to write my story in a book entitled "It Had To Be Told, So He Told It To Me!" That entire story is available at either of the email addresses below. My desire is to help others who have been abused to begin their own journey and find healing and fulfillment in life. I have written many poems and articles which have been posted on internet sites to help others. Meredith even gave me an opportunity to speak at a Sexual Assault Awareness Day event in our community. My speech ended with the nine recommendations that follow entitled: "If You Have Been Abused" If You Have Been Abused: 1) FACE IT Stop denying, hiding and ignoring it. 2) FOCUS ON IT Deal thoroughly with it. 3) FOLLOW A QUALIFIED COUNSELOR'S ADVICE Don't try to be your own emotional physician. Let wise, trained counselors help you. 4) FEEL IT Stop suppressing the memories. Let it out of your heart. Hurts can become scars you can live with. 5) FIGHT BACK If the statute of limitations is over and you cannot do something to prosecute,do something to prevent it from being repeated! 6) FIX IT Healing often is hastened by expressing it.Some people paint, some write poetry, some get on"Safe Chat Lines." See a Therapist; Do something! 7) FORGIVE IT (This is hard!) Forgive those whose choices permitted or caused it to happen.Forgive the person who did the abuse. This does not clear them, it heals your heart. Forgive yourself for not telling sooner! You are NOT to blame! 8) FIND A WAY TO HELP OTHERS This is a world-wide problem and you can help others who have suffered similar things. Look for hurting people! Reach out to someone else! 9) FREQUENTLY CELEBRATE Celebrate each accomplishment on your journey to healing! Wishing you - "Joy On Your Journey!" ~ David For additional information,help or available resources (David) (Meredith)
Shattered SoulsSigned on: Sat 17 May 2008 16:16:34 EST
The Dream 
If we as humans could only go back 
restep and rechoose 
Oh, what a wonderful world this could be 
But we cannot 
So instead, the tears flow 
The loneliness becomes lonelier 
The darkness becomes darker 
And we survive 

Admin's Comment: Yes we are survivors! Thanks for the inspiration at a dark time for me
Kelly HaygoodSigned on: Sun 30 Dec 2007 00:37:41 EST
Love is not patient, honest or kind. 
Love is a violent attack from behind. 
Love is your hand trying to silence my screams, 
ripping my soul from the very seams. 
Love is brutal,forceful and taken. 
nothing left to give, bruised and shaken. 
Love is dying yet living, lying. 
Broken, shattered. no tears left for crying. 
Love is a prison of secrets and fear.  
Your love is the reason  
Kelly doesn't live here.....anymore. 
AnnieSigned on: Wed 05 Sep 2007 22:14:37 EST
A survivors poem 
It seems like another world or time 
and it was far away .. my child world. 
I write it down and reread it as if 
someone else wrote it and it makes me sad. 
A child beaten and abused,  
I reach out to her offer her sympathy 
but I know it's not enough 
will never be enough. 
The hurt has gone too deep 
and though buried still comes back 
to haunt. 
Cry no tears will wash it away.
AnnieSigned on: Wed 05 Sep 2007 22:12:13 EST
I don't know where to begin because some of it is lost to me ... is that a good thing or a bad one I wonder? It is two stories really but both intertwined. I have always felt different but was that feeling there before or not I don't know. There were three sisters in my family and I was the youngest and as far as I can make out the other two had very happy childhoods while mine was hell. The eldest was married by the time I was nine and her being a child living at home is part that is lost to me, I tried to tell her once as an adult and she didn't want to know. 
My Mother beat the hell out of me ... why? I don't know .. I asked her once and she never denied it just said she had to keep me under control. It's just I can't remember being that bad. She used to make me watch her cut a twig from the willow tree to lash my legs with while I begged her not to do it. She used to tell me I was no good, no man would ever want me, no man would ever want to marry me. 
One time at school a girl asked me what the marks were on my legs and I told ... biggggg mistake. Next thing I know the Headmistress from the school went to see my mother at home .. I never did know what was said except I was branded a liar and made to see a psychiatrist at the school. I had to walk through the library with everyone watching to his room. All he asked me was what did I do with boys ... for christ sake I was 12 !!! I never told again .. any of it .. till I was in my 30s and that to my husband who got his rocks off on the details. 
But ..... I wasn't that innocent ... nobody loved me at home but the man next door did .. at a price .. and I can't remember when that started either or how. I wasn't the only one the house the other side of him had several children and it was happening to them too at the same times sometimes. He would line us up on his settee and say, "Open the door for me" and we would pull our knickers aside for him to finger us. He would say, "Do you like that, is it nice"? And it was I did like it ... I didn't stop it and that is my shame. Flawed a long time ago ... my mother told me I was no good and here I was proving it. 
I had numerous infections down below, I got into trouble at school, the doctor even gave me sleeping tablets and when I said I might take them all at once my Mother put them in an easy place to find. I don't know if my Father knew but he never stopped it if he did.. she wasn't an easy person to cross ... they used to have unholy rows as I lay in bed listening and she used to use crying as blackmail something my middle sister does to this day. 
I am 57 now and three marriages later I have finally found love and I nearly rocked that because I couldn't believe anyone could truly love me if they knew how bad I was.
AshleySigned on: Sat 16 Jun 2007 17:30:39 EST
Once upon a time there lived a beautiful little girl that was very much loved & expected by two wonderful & gifted parents.  
The Mommy could not wait to see her little girl because she would love her & play with her every day.  
The Daddy could not wait to be his little girl’s Prince>  
Her knight in shining armor & be named by his daughter Daddy's girl...  
Then reality stepped in... & the little girl not only had a rude awakening but in all reality… No childhood at all!  
The little girl's first memory was of screaming, darkness & biting on drinking glasses until they broke... in her mouth... she later found out while training as a crisis counselor that in rare extreme cases when a child is so traumatized, they do that so as to relieve the violence they witness around them in the only way they know possible...  
Only God knows what she was seeing!  
She never knew why Daddy hit her the first time, because she was in the living room reading the comics on a Sunday morning her bottom in the air while lying on the floor, she heard her daddy walk up behind her & didn't know why until he started beating her bum with a riding crop (which is what she found out way later, she just assumed it was a sharp belt......& to this day she still wont read the Sunday morning paper comics).  
The first time she got punched in the jaw was because she had set the table wrong, you see the blade is supposed to face the plate not the other way around, she never made that mistake again.  
If a quarter did not bounce on the sheets of a made bed it was not made right & would need to be made again & again until it would.  
All the rest of the beatings she received she never really knew Why she was getting them.  
She didn’t know when the sexual abuse started because she assumed all daddy's slept in bed with their daughters. She never knew any other way.  
She just knew She was the oldest & she never as the big sister would allow what was happening to her happen to them>  
When she was first married Her dad visited & brought along her younger sister.  
He brought them both to the Colonel’s quarters at the army base where he was stationed & that night while her sister & her slept, he came into their room ,climbed into her bed & knowing that she would never allow her little sister to see what he did with her, he had sex with her. He had used her trusting big sister instincts to use her once again in a way he should only have done with his wife.  
Later when she found out she was pregnant, during the whole pregnancy she had no idea who’s baby she was carrying… Her father’s or her husband’s.  
She still doesn‘t!.  
During one beating, her dad broke down her apartment door & began punching her, each time she fell down, he pulled her back up by her long hair, until finally he left her on the floor….. & kicked her in the face.  
She had just moved back from North Carolina & during her stay there, had helped the crisis center where she worked as a volunteer Crisis Counselor put on an ABC Special on the signs to look for in a child who has been sexually abused at home & tips to avoid Date Rape!  
That was the first time that she was visited in the middle of the night by Police officers telling her someone had seen the show, called up threatening to kill her if she continued with the show & she was put under ground for the first of many times until she got her new identity.  
SO here she was back in her home town & here was her dad beating the crap out of her in front of her four year old child who was begging: she was BEGGING GRANDPA to stop hurting her Mommy; &... when she fell to the floor; for the last time… he kicked her.  
She doesn’t remember her daughter cradling her head in her lap, she doesn’t remember how anyone got there to take them to the hospital, but…she does remember the Doctor jokingly telling her that if she was planning on playing football, to use a ball & not her face.  
When she told this doctor that she had not planned on her dad kicking her in the face, he was embarrassed & asked who it was. She bravely told him, but… because her dad was famous in that town, he did not believe her & had the audacity to ask her what she had done to deserve such correction…  
She NEVER told anyone anything…ever again!  
She knew then; that the word "Family" meant pain... & She vowed NEVER to be part of anyone’s FAMILY ever again… ...  
She began making up fairy tales of how everything was going in her life…. To help her get through each day.  
In 1998, She was raped by a stranger three days after giving her life to Jesus,  
She remembers her mom saying that she must have been God's reject because if she had not been a reject He would not have allowed her to be raped by a stranger who had drugged her with an odorless drug.  
The case took years to get to court & right before going in… the Victim advocate told her that all she had to do was tell her side of the story & the rapist would get X amt of years in jail, only in the state she lived in, The rapist can get off on a technicality & he did.  
She could have lived with that, it’s what this Judicial Judge did next, that changed her life as she knew it…FOREVER….. He walked over to the rapist & put his right hand on the rapist’s left shoulder congratulating him for winning his case in his court room . … To say she was floored is putting it mildly…  
Seven months later her husband told her she should report this Judge to the Governor of the State they lived in & then two days after she did, she was attacked... & left for dead in her drive way... She had discovered that she was their scape goat,  
She knew too much being the wife of a dirty law Enforcement officer> She was a liability… but… AS it was….. He never counted on her relationship with God.  
He never knew she would call out to Him & that God would save her.  
SO you see, she is an incest survivor, She was the youngest one in her class the only question she asked the counselor was why she was the youngest one there, & she said God must have special plans for you my dear, She did not feel special then, but She now realized God did>  
She was His Personal Social Worker.  
She has always & will always be watching over the Underdog, so to speak.  
She fully believes in Paying forward & helping out even when she only has a little.  
She feels her Time is the most valuable gift she can give….  
SO each & every lap wrap she makes, She makes with love for the survivor who will be receiving it.  
She feels that when she is out in the world God will let her know who needs prayers & so on...  
She keeps her ears open for that still small voice... & She does as He asks...  
Which incidentally is how she finds each & every person who needs to hear her story of survival.  
She has a theory that God puts them in her path for a reason..  
She totally believes in that.  
Well, Now you all know, I am an incest survivor, a child sexual abuse survivor, a survivor of rape, domestic violence & homicide.  
And …..I am A child of God>  
The fairy tale is what I pretended was going on in our family ,because it was the only way I could survive my childhood..  
I have forgiven both of my parents & I have forgiven all the men who have hurt me in my life…, it is between them & God>  
My Prayers are for all of you hurting people out there & for your recovery that is right around the corner...  
Bye now & be safe...  
Signed by a Survivor  
Justice4AllSigned on: Wed 30 May 2007 15:12:55 EST
To Whom It May Concern, 
I beg of you to please read my letter in its entirety. Sadly, my story is not unique, however, it needs to be told. Be warned it is graphic, blunt and brutal. I want to drive home for the reader, what my life has been like and why I am now, after 20 years, attempting to seek justice and effect change in our current laws regarding the statute of limitations for sexual abuse in our state as well as other states. 
My mother, Setsuko McKenzie, took up residence with James Lamar Mckenzie in 1976 in Arizona. She married him a few years later in Honolulu, Hawaii. 
From the moment we walked into his home, he began to physically abuse me. I was four years old when it started. By the time I turned six years old, the sexual abuse began. The first time it happened, I asked him what my mom would do if I told her. He told me that he would break my neck. Having suffered two years of near daily beatings at the hands of this man, I believed him. I never breathed a word about what he was doing to me. I suffered in silence. 
A typical molesting session went like this: He made me give him oral sex for several minutes. Then he would take a jar of Vaseline to lubricate my anus and the head of his penis. He tried to penetrate my anus. It caused me excruciating pain. I was not supposed to make noise, but I couldn't help it. I would scream in agony. Next, he would flip me over and attempt to penetrate my vagina. This pain was even worse. When he was finally done trying, I would have difficulty peeing. It burned horribly.  
Everyday for eight long years, he was either beating me with a belt, and other hard objects or attempting to rape me. He finally succeeded at sodomizing my anus when I turned eight years old. He never was able to take my virginity, something I thank God for everyday. 
He didn't give me normal spankings that most people give their children. He inflicted massive damage on my body, raising welts, knocking my two front teeth out when he threw me into a wall and sometimes incorporating sexual abuse with the physical abuse telling me, "It's supposed to hurt. This is your punishment." 
He found any excuse to beat me. He didn't like the way I ate my food telling me I was playing with it. He would beat me right there at the table while my mother watched. Eventually, I had to eat outside like an animal. 
On occasion, I developed inflammation and infection in my genital area. The first time it happened, I told my mother that I hurt down there. She looked and told me that she would take me to see a doctor. James overheard the conversation and when she left the house, he scolded and threatened me to never say anything again, just tell him. 
He talked her out of taking me to the doctor. I have no idea how he did it, but he did. I never saw a doctor and I never said anything when I was hurting. I had no inclination to report further inflammation to him. 
Adults took notice of the large welts on my arms and legs when I attended elementary school in Schoefield Barracks in Honolulu. They asked me if someone was hurting me and I said no. They must have called my parents because soon I was only allowed to wear long sleeved clothes on days that I was bruised and welted even though it was hot outside. 
When I turned 12 years old, James was stationed in Korea for a one-year assignment. He was a Chief Warrant Officer 3 and a CID agent. Six months into his absence, I finally mustered the small shred of courage I had to let someone know what was happening. I wrote on a piece of paper, "My step-father is molesting me." I handed it to my sixth grade teacher. She in turn, reported it to the principal. A social worker came to my school and I told her that he was hurting me. She told me that she would talk to my mother while I was at school and she would stay there until I got home. 
When I walked in the door my mother was in tears. She called me a liar and told me that I was ruining her marriage. I said nothing. Shortly after, the social worker reported the accusation to the military police. I was court ordered into group therapy. The social worker told me he would not be able to hurt me anymore. I felt relief. It was to be short lived. 
She went into her bedroom and called him after the social worker left. I didn't hear what they talked about. She called me into the bedroom and made me talk to him. He said to me, "I'm not going to jail for this." I couldn't believe what I was hearing and why she would make me talk to my perpetrator. She told me the next day that James claimed the way it started was I brought sexual literature to him and asked him to do those things to me. Basically, he was accusing me of seducing him. Her tone of voice was accusatory towards me. It was surreal. 
I can't remember how long after the next event happened. My mother came to me and told me that she was going to divorce him, but I needed to recant my accusation or else she, my litter sister and I would be out on the street. She told me that if he went to jail, we wouldn't have any money to have food or a home. She put this burden on my 12-year-old shoulders. 
I did as she asked. I trusted my mother and had no reason to doubt her words. To this day, I'm not sure which is worse: Suffering all those years of abuse or the way all adults looked at me as I recanted my accusations. They looked at me with such disdain, as if I were the most evil kind of child in existence when all along I had been telling the truth. 
I was sent to spend the summer with my grandmother in New Jersey. My mother told me everything would be better when I got back. I came to Washington State after summer ended to find this: 
A hell house in Federal way where she, my sister, and my stepfather all lived together, as if nothing happened. That same night, she and James made a big production of making out in front of me, as if to prove they were not affected by me at all. I was in so much shock. I didn't know what to think, what to feel, what to say. A few nights later, James forced me into the basement to have a "talk". He said, "Sorry, but I didn't want you in the first place. I told your mom to leave you with your dad but she brought you anyway." It was as if he blamed his actions on her. First he blamed me when she confronted him. Next he blamed my mother during our "talk". He blamed everyone but himself. 
I went to the bedroom they shared together the next morning. I was trying to find a way to ask her what was going on. What happened to the divorce? Why are we all living in this house together as if nothing ever happened? Before I could ask her any of this, I saw fresh semen on the bed sheets. The covers were pulled back as if she wanted me to see this. I asked her if she was having sex with him and she laughed at me. I never asked the questions that had been stewing inside of me as I saw it would have been pointless. She made her choice. 
The next three years were a nightmare. While the physical and sexual abuse had come to an end, the psychological abuse that began was unbearable.  
My mother was very harsh with me. Where James had left off beating me, she picked it up hitting me with any hard object she could find. My head was full of lumps as this was her very favorite target. As I went through puberty, I wanted to wear make up and pretty feminine clothes. She would not allow me to do so. James picked up on these conversations and when we were alone, he told me that he would talk to my mother into letting me wear make up and he would buy me clothes if I had sex with him. He told me this when he was driving me to school. It crossed my mind to jump out of a moving vehicle. I told my mother what had transpired that same night and her response was, "I will talk to him about it." Nothing ever came of it. 
When I turned 15, I was sent to spend a summer in Japan. During this time, I had sexual relations with an uncle. He initiated the act and I had no ability to say, "Stop." This uncle violated me in a gentle manner. I confused this with consensual sex and thought I was in love with him. When I returned home to Federal Way, I talked with a female friend on the phone about what had transpired. James was listening on the other phone in the basement. The next day, when I thought they both had left for work, I snuck into their bedroom to put on her make up. James came back into the house and confronted me. He told me I HAD to have sex with him or else he would tell my mother what happened. He said, "I know you are not an innocent virgin." 
That same night, I told her myself. I told her about her brother and I told her that James attempted to blackmail me into having sex with him or else he would tell her. 
Again she said she would, "talk to him". Again nothing happened. 
I got into a lot of trouble, acting out in school, began taking prescription drugs and drinking alcohol. I was very promiscuous and emotionally unstable. I attempted suicide on two occasions with prescription medicine. I left home at the age of 15 and never looked back. 
I went years without speaking to her as she continued to stay in her marriage. My life was very hard for a long time. Eventually, I got back into school to become a Licensed Practical Nurse.  
In January of this year, I was in my mother's company. For whatever reason, I spontaneously asked her what happened when she had called James to confront him all those years ago. What was his reaction? What did they talk about? 
She told me that he immediately devised a plan to keep him from going to jail. She told me that he told her exactly what to say to me, to make me willingly recant my accusation. She told me it was his idea to make me believe they would divorce. She used my trust and love for her to get what she wanted. She betrayed me in the worst way a mother could. She is a co-conspirator in a criminal act. Both of them committed terrible crimes against me and neither of them will spend one day in jail for it. 
It is because of her that I will never have my day in court. Justice will never find me. While therapy strengthens your coping skills and helps you live with the abuse, only justice will bring closure and peace. 
So why did I wait so long to share this story? I suspect there are a multitude of reasons for my silence. I had been conditioned to suffer in silence during my formative years. I relented to the fact that my recantation of my initial accusation would make me unbelievable should I accuse him again. This next event is what helped me to find my voice. My beautiful young sister is graduating from law school this month. Her graduation ceremony is early next month. She told me about her graduation dinner and told me who would be in attendance. Both James and my mother will be there. After much internal struggling, I told my sister I regretfully will be unable to attend this event and I explained why. I told her I cannot stomach her father's presence and could not promise to sit in silence, pretending we are a nice normal family when we all know better. She became upset with me, telling me that he may be sorry for his actions. I responded to her suggesting that if he is really sorry, he should go turn himself in to the police. As we went back and forth, it was as if a switch had been flipped on inside my head. I am done being silent. I am done pretending nothing happened. I am done being a victim. 
I am done. 
So why am I sharing my story now? I'm telling you because the statute of limitations that expands across four states where the crimes were committed: Arizona, California, Hawaii and Washington, are unfair to the victim. There is no statute of limitations for murder. When a person suffers in the manner I have suffered, a part of that person dies. You can never get it back. The damage that has been done to me is a life long sentence. 
These states recognize this and therefore, have no statute of limitations: 
Alabama (violent crimes or sex offenses involving persons under 16); 
- Alaska (most sexual offenses against children under 18)
- Kentucky (felonies); 
- Maine (incest, rape, or gross sexual assault of victim under 16); 
- Maryland; 
- North Carolina; 
- Rhode Island; 
- South Carolina; 
- Virginia (felonies); 
- West Virginia (felonies); and 
- Wyoming. 
If the crimes against me had occurred in one of the above states, my case would be heard. I would have my opportunity for justice. As it stands, because the statue of limitations has expired for me, it's as if the crimes never occurred at all. I ask of you, where is the justice in that? 
While it is too late for me, the best I can do is take any and all action to effect change of this law for the future women who will take many years as I have, to find their voice. 
I've heard the argument in favor of the statute of limitations regarding childhood sexual abuse. A woman can accuse an innocent man of rape at anytime. It's not fair to him. 
The argument doesn't hold water. In our country, you are innocent until proven guilty. It is still up to the victim to furnish burden of proof. With the statute of limitations, she doesn't get a chance at all. 
Unless you have walked our shoes, to tell us that we had plenty of time to press charges is unconscionable. We have undergone years of conditioning. We were threatened, hurt, and brainwashed into keeping silent. Giving us a time limit to "get over it" is sending a callous, cold-hearted message to all abuse victims. Furthermore, this law errs in favor of the alleged perpetrator. It is our conditioning to suffer in silence, the training they ingrained in our minds, that these men are counting on. No abuse victim should be denied their day in court because it took them longer than the Statute of Limitations allows, to find their courage. 
My hope is that someone, anyone, who reads this letter, will help me make a stand. Please do not give abusers of children a Get Out Of Jail free card, which is essentially what the statue of limitations is. It victimizes the victim all over again. To ensure I truly have done all I can, I will be collecting signatures to petition for the abolishment of the statute of limitations regarding sexual abuse. When I have 20,000 signatures, I will present it to the legislature. Perhaps, at long last, I will finally be heard.  
I will begin collecting signatures on June 15, 2007 at the QFC in Bothell. It is located on Bothell-Everett Hwy. I will not stop until I have enough signatures to get the legislature's attention. Please help me ensure no person will ever be denied their day in court. May justice prevail. 
Bonnie Jane Lovre 
Angela MinardSigned on: Sun 20 May 2007 18:33:07 EST
Not Me 
I will just be who you want me to be, 
and you want me to be, and you want me to be, 
because who I am really, no, no one should see.  
The ugliness buried so deep inside me.  
I am the eyes, so don't look too close. 
I am the air, deep breath and you'll choke.  
I am the dreams that scream in the night.  
I am the fear that you taste with each bite.  
I am the sickness that breeds deep within.  
The blackest of sins.  
So just let me be who you want me to be.  
Not me. 
Angela MinardSigned on: Sun 20 May 2007 18:32:59 EST
A Time To Release  
Visualize… Close your eyes 
Imagine balloons held up to the sky. 
The strings you are clutching, they tether your soul. 
Until you untangle, unravel, untie… 
Your heart is a prisoner expecting to die. 
Visualize… Close your eyes… 
Loosen your grasp. 
Uncurl your fingers… Allow the strong threads to pass. 
The wind tugs them gently away from your touch. 
Drifting and rising, the ribbons stream down. 
Teasing your fingers, you reach one last time. 
Alas, No, be alive… 
Visualize… Close your eyes… 
Lower your weary arms and shade your bleary eyes 
Now is the time to say your goodbyes. 
All that was binding your spirit flies aloft 
Yearning for freedom… A deep breath… You sigh. 
Ah, yes! Goodbye. 
Angela MinardSigned on: Sun 20 May 2007 18:31:57 EST
The Colors Of Rage 
Magenta, rouge, my burgundy rage.  
This boiling abyss fuming wild with madness. 
Spreading rampant, unassuaged.  
Electric blue neon burns the white-hot flame.  
It rises with anguish, bright flashes of fury. 
Deep purple memories bruise down to my soul.  
Silent my wrath growing savage, untamed. 
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