How I Got PTSD: Part 1, Peggy and Steve - Living With Schizophrenia

January 18, 2008

How I Got PTSD: Part 1, Peggy and Steve

I find peace having forgotten a lot of the awful things that were said to me by the perpetrators of violence. Having a sketchy memory is sometimes a curse, like in science and history classes, and sometimes a blessing, when it comes to my family. However, I remember fairly clearly what was done.

My biological mother, Elinore Sanford, was both lucky and unlucky. She escaped the violence of this world when she ran her car into a telephone pole on August 23, 1973. I was three. She died and went up to Heaven when she went through the windshield. God only knows why she wasn't wearing her seatbelt.

This happened within a couple of years after she divorced my biological father, Mike Lennon. He left her to marry our babysitter, Sue Nielsen, who was fifteen at the time she started babysitting us. This is only part of his tacky behavior. He was a drug imbibing second-rate musician at the time. Most of my family thinks it's amazing that he completed college with a masters degree in Electrical Engineering. I suppose with all the drugs he was doing, it was quite the accomplishment, after all.

I can only speculate on how he treated my mother, but considering his unwillingness to communicate with or forgive me, I'm sure he was the same with her. My mother did not smoke, and he did. I have no idea if she partook of the drugs my father did. My father loves pornography, and I'm sure that had something to do with the divorce.

After the divorce, my biological mother married Vietnam veteran Steve Coach. He was not a nice man. He liked to drink and play drums. He used to beat me with a belt for no reason at all. He probably was not just violent with me. He was probably violent with my mother too. I don't remember though.

Steve remarried Peggy after my biological mother's death. Peggy is a Native American Buddhist. She does not know which tribe she is from since she is a child of rape. Her biological father never told her white mother what tribe he was from. They both adopted me after my biological mother died. It wasn't long before I started to call her "mom."

The beatings continued. Occasionally Peggy would step in between us and put a stop to it. This was very brave of her, although she hit me too, sometimes. I can't honestly say she hurt me. She used to put Tabasco sauce and soap on my tongue for lying.

Peggy's brother, Jim Basacker, is a child molestor. He came over to babysit when I was seven once and he was 18. He french kissed me, which grossed me out at the time. He raped me. He licked my nipples and did everything but penetrate me. He crushed the breath out of me when he laid down on top of me, because I was so small and he was not. He left his sputum in my underwear and on my vagina, and lied to me by saying it came from me. I knew he was lying, even though I had no idea what it was. He babysat me about seven more times after that, and he raped me each time he babysat. Finally, the last time he babysat, I shouted "no!" at him. He offered me a quarter to let him molest me, and I threw it against the wall. The rapes stopped after that and he stopped babysitting me. I think he was afraid I'd tell someone if he didn't quit.

I must have been suffering from paranoia at the time because I really believed my mom, Peggy, put him up to it. I had no name for what he did to me, at the time, and it didn't occur to me to tell my adoptive parents. I didn't trust them. I had no idea what he might've done to the baby, my little brother, and it didn't occur to me to ask. I didn't figure it out till I learned about sexual intercourse in my freshman year of high school. I really wish someone had taught me about child molestation or talked to me about sex before that.

Finally in 1979, Peggy got tired of me allegedly hitting my little brother, Shane. Which he was doing to himself and saying I did it. I also had other emotional problems including rage, which was not violent. I was against violence because of the death of my mother and the violence of my stepfather, Steve. I stopped hanging around other kids in the neighborhood after they stoned a crow to death. They saw me throw one stone at it and they never stopped. She sent me to live with my biological father.

My biological father had never sent me a letter, birthday gifts, Christmas presents or an "I love you." on the phone. But, I went willingly because I knew I had an older brother that I wanted to see. I believed I was just going for a visit, but it was really an adoption. Imagine my surprise when I found out my biological father and his wife were adopting me. I said, "I don't suppose I have a choice," when they asked me, and indeed, I didn't. I was against it because Sue seemed mean and not very compassionate.

January 18, 2008

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About This Post

This page contains a single entry by Theresa posted on January 18, 2008 5:37 AM.

How PTSD affects me. was the previous post in this blog.

How I Got PTSD: Part 2, Mike and Sue is the next post in this blog.

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