One thing at a time; Inception.

Foreword

My plan in this blog, is to tell my life story in it's entirety, and then break down incidences and talk deeper about them. I've seen many counselors and that is generally their technique, so why pay someone for something I can do myself?

Also, I apologize, things may be a little difficult to follow, but that's the joy of this not being directly for anyone in particular, it doesn't have to make sense. Haha.

Proceed.

When I was born in Lethbridge Alberta in ninety three, I had one sister, Emma. We are twelve months and fifteen days apart in age. She and I were in a severely abusive home. Our birth mother Leonora, was, is, an alcoholic and spent more time high than she spent parenting us. She'd lock us in separate rooms, alone, for days. She didn't feed or change us, she just left us there. She also left us with "friends" of hers, that were also drunk or on drugs at the time we were in their care. She had at least one boyfriend, that I know of, from my birth, to eighteen months of age. My Dad, Aaron, was in jail for part of our time with Leonora.

We were heavily abused by Leonora, and who knows who else. I was always bruised, in many photographs I had bruises and scrapes on my face. Someone also broke Emma's leg, when she was around two, possibly older. I don't know who did it, or why, but regardless, a twisted break doesn't happen without someone being insidious.

We went to live with our Aunt Val, and from there we were adopted. We were two and three.

We were adopted by a couple, in their thirties and forties, who had a daughter already, Christina. She was seven or eight years old, also adopted, but from a separate family. 
I believe that our adoptive parents meant well, that they wanted to love us and take care of us, and give us a happy and healthy home. I just don't think they expected the lot that came along with us.

From day one, we were frightened, nervous, defiant, and screamed a lot, as the result of the abuse received prior to being adopted. My Mom, Paula, couldn't give me a bath without me screaming, and then Emma, my "protector" would yell at our Mom, and tell her she wanted to go back to Aunty's or Mommy's.
I can only imagine how exhausting and frustrating that must have been. Our parents must have felt quite defeated.
From there, when I was five, we moved from the Island, to our farm in Arras, B.C.
The farm was big and had a lot of open space. We all loved being outdoors, playing outside, playing in the dirt, swimming in the river, working to feed the animals (which I did little of, as I was a whiner and didn't enjoy it) We jumped on the trampoline, painted, and spent time with friends.
We were home school for a few years, which was highly beneficial to me, as I learned how to read and write well and got a good foundation for school.

But as we all got older, and formed opinions on things, and tried to voice said opinions, our parents didn't agree with our ways of communication.

Then the abuse started. The slapping if we argued or "talked back" the spankings with a wooden paddle if we did something, really, anything wrong. I remember getting so worked up from being mistreated and unjustifiably hurt, that I'd scream and cry at my parents. I'd tell them I hated them, wished they'd die, and other such things.
When I'd get upset like that, they'd either try to restrain me, punish me further, or lock me outside, to "cool down" regardless of my attire or the current weather conditions.

Looking back, yes, I realize I'd overreacted to some degree. I know its not right, but my parents didn't have any resources for dealing with behaviorally difficult children, and they must have felt defeated and exhausted, and unappreciated for their efforts. Spiraling out of control was the only way they dealt with us, and it caused some serious problems.

Throughout the years we had some extra people living with us. Our uncle Joe (who's name is actually William, not sure how he got called Joe haha) his apprentice (carpentry) and our Papa, Bud, who's name wasn't actually Bud, but I don't remember his real name.
They lived with us for a few years, built cabins and lived in them. Our Papa stayed with us, as his health was deteriorating, and the rest of our family was too far away to care for him. I know my folks meant well and it was good of them to help him, it was quite damaging to me.
He passed away in our home.

We also had a grandmother from our birth Mom's side, Nana, and she was a wretch. She was obese, rude, and opinionated. Tried to buy us over with extravagant Christmas parcels. She also died when I was around ten years old.

Emma and I were quite close, until we started school. We made different friends, were scholastically quite different, I struggled so much socially, and she sacrificed friendships with people in defense of me. Which, at the time I was unaware of, and we'd fight, and her efforts would go unappreciated, and the result would be more strife between us.

Our birth Mom was in contact with us throughout our childhoods also. She came and went at her leisure. Often causing harm in relationships each time. She'd also call at report card time and make us read her our marks, which was quite humiliating for me, as I struggled greatly in school, and Emma excelled. Emma and I were usually quite competitive in sports and school.

There was one time, Emma had gotten into some kind of altercation with our parents, and as I sat at the end of the hallway of our trailer, I watched as they hit, slapped, and kicked her. She'd fallen to the ground, and our Dad was yelling at her to get up, and I remember it, clear as day, she looked at me, teary eyed, messy haired, her face swollen from being hit. She looked at me, pleading, silently, for my help. But I was scared, and upset, and I'd frozen. I couldn't move. I don't know if she ever forgave me for not helping her, the way she did for me. We've never been close since.



There were many altercations with our parents and us, some minor, some major.

I remember once, in a battle of will between my oldest sister and our mom, my dad got involved and hit her repeatedly with a hockey stick, until she kicked him in the face with a steel toe boot and broke his nose.

Christina used to threaten to call Social Services and have us taken from our parents. They'd laugh, tell her to go ahead, and that the result she hoped for wouldn't happen.

So shortly after, she moved out.
Things around our house got a little better.
We were going to a private school, played basketball, and I finally had some friends.

I have a couple happy memories. My ninth birthday my Mom and I went to FSJ for my birthday and spent the day shopping and went for lunch. No fighting. It was just the two of us.
Another time, we'd gotten home early, and there was no one else there, so my Mom pulled out the china tea set, and we had a tea party. It was short lived, but it was meaningful.
I remember, once, my Mom had punished me, and had gone overboard with it, and after came and apologized. Once. I'll never forget it.

When I was twelve, I went to camp Sagitawa, in Clayhurst, it was a horse camp, and I loved it. I was also in 4-H and loved working with horses.
My Mom then began working there as the cook, and it became "our" thing. It was special. It was ours. We bonded at camp, and became closer.

During this time, between the ages of twelve and fourteen, Emma moved out. She lived in town and continued going to school at the same school I attended.

For a couple years, things got better.

Then the fighting started again. We'd butt heads all the time. The screaming and belittling resumed. All of my childhood, my parents, would call us stupid, idiots, and other demeaning names.

I became so depressed that I'd began self harming myself with knives and making myself vomit after eating. Not even so much for any physical release, more that I'd hoped my parents would notice, be compassionate, and stop hurting me. But they didn't. It just got worse.

So I ran away. I packed a bag, went to school, and missed the bus on purpose after talking with my vice principal. She'd instructed me to write a list of all the things my parents had done that was abusive, and I did. My dad came to get me from school, and I hid, because I knew he'd be angry and he'd come looking for me. He searched, yelled, and left, furious.

I went to Breezinda and Donald Jobson's house. I'd babysat for them, and knew they were a safe and happy family. Something I'd always wanted.
And for the first time ever, I had it. I was loved. Respected. Appreciated.

The day after I ran away, I had to have a meeting with some social workers, my parents, and my vice principal. That list she'd had me write, they made me read aloud, with my parents sitting right there. I know it wasn't wrong of me to tell the truth, but the betrayal in their eyes is something I will never forget. It hurt them deeply. And I don't think they'll ever forgive me for it.

I lived with them for about eight or nine months. I shared a room with Olivia, my "little sister" which was not a new thing for me, as I'd shared a room with Emma for the majority of my prepubescent years. They have two sons, also, Ashton and Jaylen. were quite young, Olivia was around two or three, Jaylen was three or four, and Ashton was five or six. We all got along quite well.
In the duration of my stay there, I was switched schools, as my parents wouldn't pay my tuition at the private school if I didn't live there. I was devastated. I didn't want to go to public school.

I also got a job at a local grocery store. I was a grocery bagger... that's not the official term for it, but I cannot remember the correct term. I thrived and enjoyed it. I rode my bike to and from work. The independence, after being so overly controlled and micromanaged for years, was a breath of fresh air.

My parents and I went to family counseling while I lived with Breezi and Donald. It was relatively constructive until my Mom said something I will never forget. She said that when I turned thirteen, the ages my sisters were when they started to rebel and be defiant, she automatically put me in the same box as them, associated their disobedience and behaviors with me, and hated me. It wasn't even that I'd done anything to necessarily deserve it, because up until then, my Mom and I were relatively close. The camp we'd gone to was our thing. 100%. Until my sister, Christina had her accident.

She'd fallen off the side of a building after trying to climb it, while under the influences of drugs and alcohol. Both of her ankles were shattered and she was in the hospital for days. I don't remember how long, as I was at camp from the morning after it happened. But my mom had to stay behind and take care of it all, and I went to camp alone, which wasn't the worst thing to happen, but then camp wasn't "our" thing anymore, Christina's accident thwarted that, the one good thing we had together, and for many years I resented her for it.

Anyways, in the counseling we sort of resolved things, and I moved back in with my parents in the fall.

But nothing had changed on the home front. The abuse, belittling, yelling, all of it awaited me as I went back. I slipped back into depression, self harm, and bulimia. I tried for a few months to stick it out, but I couldn't. I, a coward, emailed my mom, to tell her I was moving back out. I'd found a basement suite in town, and was prepared to move there and finish school. My Dad, for the first and only time, reached out to me, pleaded with me not to go, said I needed to finish school, stay with them until its completion, and then I could do as I felt I needed to. I refused, and left anyways. To this day, I still feel badly that I treated him that way.

I moved into town and lived with my friend's grandma. Continued with school, and did well, for about a month.

Prior to moving out, I'd caught the eye of a guy at school, Aaron. He gave me attention, was kind to me, which was something up until this point, I'd seldom experienced, and not ever from a guy.

I reveled in it. We decided he would come live with me and we would continue to attend school, together. But good intentions don't mean much. We lived there together, participated in some things I am not proud of, and quit school. He found a job, and we moved into an apartment.

At this point I was sixteen. Aaron and I fought a lot, and I, so stupidly thought that bringing a baby into the world would fix that. So, Jude was planned, and sure enough, positive pregnancy test. I was so overjoyed. I was going to be a Mom!
Judge all you want, I was lonesome, desperate, and misunderstood. Alienated from my family, scared, and I made the selfish decision to bring a baby into the mix.
Aaron and I fought more and more, to the point that I worried the fighting would cause me to miscarry. So I left town and stayed with my birth Mom for a few weeks, and during that time, Aaron quit his job and cheated on me. So I broke up with him and never looked back.

This part, is especially difficult to talk about, so I beg your patience.
please.

Upon my return to Dawson, it was August. I didn't have anywhere to stay. My birth mom and Aaron had befriended a man prior to my departure, and when I came back, he offered for me to stay with him. He'd assured me that his place was safe and had two beds, so I reluctantly agreed.

We got to his trailer, in the middle of nowhere, late at night, and I didn't have a cell phone.
I found out once we'd gotten there, that there was only one bed.
I swallowed hard, a pit growing in my stomach, the trailer smelled strongly of musk and oranges.
I decided that I had to deal with it for the night, as I had no way into town until the next day.
I got dressed for bed in a baggy hoody and sweat pants, trying to keep as covered as possible.
We fell asleep around midnight on separate sides of the bed, watching iRobot.
..
.
....
.
I woke up around three in the morning. His hands on my body. I froze. I couldn't move. I was terrified. All I could do was lay there, silent, motionless, while he slowly did his thing. I couldn't even cry.
I laid awake the rest of the night. Eager for morning to come so we could return to town. I had decided I'd find somewhere, anywhere to stay. I got dropped off in town, I told him we'd meet back up, but I was just saying that so he'd let me go.

I contacted some friends, and it was advantageous, as they needed a house sitter, and I needed somewhere to stay. So I stayed at their house, and got back in contact with my parents, for the first time since July when my niece was born, and I told them I was pregnant.

My parents took me back in, and I stayed with them for the rest of my pregnancy. I went to school, taught myself eleven courses in seven months, and was only a semester's credits short of graduating.
During that school year, I befriended many, and had a good support group.
There was a death in the school,  a young man perished in a vehicular accident.
A friend of mine had also attempted suicide. He'd shot himself in the face, trying to end his life. He was severely and mercilessly bullied, and he had just had enough. It was unsuccessful and he was transferred to a hospital in Vancouver.

In April of twenty ten, on the sixteenth, at nine twenty two pm, Jude Micheal Schindel was born. After thirty six or so hours of active labor, I had an emergency c section, and my son came into the world.

He was so tiny. Brown eyes. Black hair. Beautiful.

Our hospital stay was brief, a few days, then home to my parent's house. In the months prior to Jude being born, my parents had welcomed a family to stay in one of the cabins, as their daughter had some serious medical issues, and they needed somewhere to stay. I didn't realize how much this woman would come to mean to me.
In her early twenties, and three kids, Tonja stood as a beacon of success to me. She showed me that it was possible to be a young parent and take good care of her kids. My parents both worked full time, and I stayed home with Jude, finishing some courses online for school. Tonja helped me immensely with Jude.
My mom had always pressed for me to place Jude for adoption, as she felt a more stable, mature, couple could give him a better life than I could. I refused, determined to give him a good life.

Aaron met Jude once, on May tenth, when he was a month old. He came to meet him, and upon promise of return, said his goodbyes. I have not seen him since.

Jude had problems with his feet when he was born and My mom and I went down to Vancouver to get them looked at. We found out that if they didn't straighten out, they'd need surgery. But they did in fact straighten.
Jude also had problems eating and digestion. I had tried to breastfeed, but he'd vomit it all up, and his weight went down significantly. I put him on formula and gave him rice cereal to try to get his weight up, as per doctors recommendations. He was so small, he weighed seven pounds at three months old.


When Jude was four months old, just after the fall fair in August, we got a phone call.

My parents friends son, Christopher, thirteen years old, had hung himself.
The news broke me. Something inside of me, broke, and its never repaired.

That poor little boy.
Scared.
Alone.
Dying.

We found out that it had been an accident. That he'd just meant to prank his Mom, as he had always been a prankster.

I don't know if it's the fact that I had recently had a son, that I suffered from depression, or what, but his passing was immensely hard for me.
It hurt.
I had just seen him at the fair, how could he be gone?

Hanging there, knowing he'd not get out of it, oh, that poor boy. What went through his mind. He must have been so scared, but unable to move.

The depression took me over like a sickness. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't let Jude out of my sight.

School began back up, and I went into a dual credit program, cosmetology training. It wasn't something I was interested in really, but it was a good program, and I'd have a career to pursue once it was completed.
I struggled to maintain focus every day. Jude was in daycare, just across the parking lot, but I missed him.
Every day was a struggle. It was hard to get out of bed. Take Jude to daycare. Go to school.
The fights with my parents increased, and became so much of a problem, that I didn't want Jude in that environment.

We moved out and into a woman's shelter in town. From there, I continued my schooling, and tried to carry on the best I could.

In October, my friend Sheldon's fourteen year old sister hung herself after an altercation with her Mom.

That was it. I fell apart. I quit school. Pulled Jude from daycare. Continued staying at the shelter.
Until, the people I'd house sat for, whom had moved to Edson Alberta, offered for Jude and I to live there with them. So up we packed, and away we moved.
Edson was pretty. Good community.

Due to Jude's growth problems, I took him to see specialists in Edmonton, and yet nothing was resolved. I'd think we were doing well and he was gaining weight, but it would turn out he'd be losing weight. It was exhausting and disheartening.
I tried to resume school, but was unsuccessful. I accessed services to help with my postpartum, post traumatic stress, and anxiety. But nothing seemed to help.
I fell apart. Moved back to Dawson for a while in March of the following year.
I tried to work and have Jude in daycare, but once again, my depression followed me.

In late April, just after Jude turned a year old, I was living in a townhouse with Jude and a roommate I had at the time.

I had reconnected with a friend, and he and I decided to get together one night.
He came over late one night, most likely high on cocaine, but I didn't realize it at the time.
We watched a movie and he fell asleep on my bed. So, I decided to just lay down and sleep also.

....
Sorry, not an easy topic.

I awoke, to him kissing me. At first I was into it, because I'd had a crush on him in the past. But as he got rough, I decided against it, and told him I wanted to stop. He didn't listen.
He wrapped my shirt, after forcing it off, around my neck, choking me, while he held me down.
..
.
..
....
He finished, got up to leave. I laid on my bed, naked, scared, in pain. He looked at me, told me if I told anyone, he'd come back and harm Jude.

For a long time. I didn't tell anyone. I tried to go on with life as normal, but I just couldn't.

In May, Emma found my birth Dad on Facebook.
I was nervous, as I had been told many negative things about him, but I wanted to give him a chance to explain and see what would happen.

It had always been a huge issue for me. My birth dad.
Emma met hers when we were younger, and I desperately wanted to meet mine. But I wasn't allowed due to the things we were told about him. Another major point of resentment with Emma, her meeting her birth Dad.

I had always felt like a part of me was missing. Like I didn't know who I was until I knew where I came from, especially since the home I was raised in was so dysfunctional, and my adoptive Dad and I didn't have a good relationship at any point in my life.

So, that night, after talking on Facebook, and a bit over the phone, they drove the five hours to come meet Jude and I.

The meeting went well, they stayed in a Hotel for the night, and we met up the next day. Things were going splendidly and I was immensely happy to be finally reunited with my birth Dad.
Along with him came his wife, Nicole, and their two daughters, Courtney, and Denise.
They were around nine and eleven years old.

My roommate and I had a big falling out and I decided to find somewhere else to stay. I was seeing someone at the time, and he offered for us to stay with him, but I wasn't comfortable doing so, that early into the relationship.
My Dad, Aaron (yeah, there's two different Aarons in this story) and Nicole invited Jude and I to stay with them on their farm just outside of Mayerthorpe Alberta.
I took them up on their offer and we went to stay there. Things were going well, reminiscing with Aaron about his memories from my toddler years, getting to know Nicole, and their girls.

Aaron and Nicole had discussed Jude and I getting an apartment in Mayerthorpe and they'd buy me a car. I didn't know they were discussing this, at all.
Nicole had taken the suggestion Aaron had about the apartment in a very wrong way. She thought he'd intended on leaving her and the kids, and go live with Jude and I. Which wasn't his intention at all. Once again, I didn't even know any of this had gone on.

So one day, they got a call from a friend that needed a ride and someone to drive his truck to the farm from Calgary. We decided to go, Aaron, Nicole, Denise, Jude, and I.
Along the drive, Jude had thrown up in his carseat, and we pulled over to deal with it. I was in the middle between Jude and Denise. Before I could even move, Aaron turned around, and said "Be a mom, take care of your son!" I immediately shut down. I pulled Jude out of the truck, cleaned him up, and cleaned up the seat to the best of my ability. We got back on the road, and the tone of the conversation between Aaron and Nicole was heavy and I was not at all in a good state.

Jude was sleeping, so I decided to listen to music on my phone or ipod. I shut everyone out, so I wouldn't say anything rude, or that would cause more problems.
Aaron and Nicole took my reservation and silence as disrespect and lost it on me. She yelled that they'd take me to social services and leave me there. That they didn't want me.

I sat there quietly, awaiting the return to their farm, so I could call my boyfriend and get a ride back to Dawson.

We arrived in Calgary, and Denise told Aaron that she wanted him to stay driving the truck with us, and have Nicole drive their friends truck back with said friend.
Nicole thought I had asked that, so she was mad that I had chosen Aaron over her, and it reinforced her speculation of me stealing him away from her and the girls...even though, still, I didn't have any intentions of doing so, or any knowledge they'd discussed an apartment or anything.

On the way back, Nicole's suspicion grew, and along with it, her anger at the situation.
We'd stopped at a gas station, and Denise told Nicole I wasn't in a good mood, which was in fact quite accurate.

Within the last half an hour of the long drive, Nicole called Aaron telling him she was going to take the girls and leave him. Then she said she was going to kill herself.

I remember Aaron looking over at me, and saying "Don't worry kiddo, its you and me against the world. I just got you back, nothing will change that."
I wasn't naïve enough to believe him, but I wanted to.

We got back to the farm, and Nicole had arrived before us, grabbed a kitchen knife, and taken off.
I got Denise and Jude inside, tucked them into bed, and Aaron burst through the door .

"Apologize!" he shouted at me. I was puzzled. I hadn't done anything wrong? I voiced my confusion and he said "Please, for me, just apologize!" So, I agreed to, as it was around two in the morning, and I just wanted the fighting to stop.

Nicole stormed in just seconds later, and before I had a chance to say anything to her, she threw me against the wall. She called me a 'home wrecking little slut' along with many other names. Still- I had no idea what caused all this.
I looked over at Aaron, my Dad, who said he would stick with me and stand by me regardless of what happened with him and Nicole, and he stood there silent. Allowing her to treat me this way.
She threatened to cause me bodily harm.
She was unraveling.
She demanded I go and remove mine and Jude's things from their truck, and I obliged.
I came back in, and she insisted I put his dirty clothes and his carseat cover in the wash, so I began removing the cover. As I did that, I called Trevor and Ky, (friends I lived with in Edson, which was only about an hour away) and begged them to come get me.
Nicole came back, raging mad that I was on the phone, and could have woken up the girls (meanwhile she was screaming...and my phone call for help would wake them?)
She called the police, and told them I was causing problems, and that they needed to come and remove me. It was intense. They told her that it was a domestic issue and to just work it out.

She calmed down, the three of us sat down, and she explained just what had her so worked up. I was bewildered. I didn't mean for any of this to happen.
She made him sign a paper she wrote up, which I thought was quite juvenile, stating she wouldn't leave him for me...awkward.

The next day, hoping for an apology, I went to speak with Aaron, who knew that my boyfriend was coming to pick us up that afternoon, and he wouldn't even talk or look at me.

So I left. Went back to Dawson. Stayed at the woman's shelter again.
When he was around a year and a half, Jude and I moved back to Edson.

I got a job at Walmart, which I left for a better job, which I loved. It took too much time away from Jude and it was difficult to get him to and from daycare.
So, I set up some respite with a friend.

Every other weekend turned into every weekend, to every week. He was with her for three months.
I barely saw him. I worked. I drank. Spent time with men that I was friends with. Tried to date. Unsuccessfully.

I tried to see him, but he'd cry when I left, and I felt bad, so I stopped visiting.
I had decided to put him up for adoption because I felt I was causing him more harm than good.
But I couldn't do it.

Then I decided to get my life back together. I wanted to get him back, and be a good Mom.
So I told her that, and my friend said I was an unfit parent, and that she would take me to court for him.

We went to court and I won him back. I was so incredibly happy. I adored that little boy, even if I didn't know how to show it, I did. He meant the world to me.

He moved back in with me, and shortly after, I lost my job.

Prior to this, just shortly after moving back to Edson, I'd broken up with my boyfriend, and was seeing someone else. His name was Ward.
We'd known each other as children and had remained friends through our teen years.

We began dating, and right from the beginning, were reckless, and had sex right away, didn't use protection. I was concerned of the possibility of pregnancy, and voiced these concerns to him.
He wanted me to get an abortion if I was pregnant. Which was something I would never do, under any circumstances.
We fought about it, and he left. I reached out to my mom and told her of what had happened. She told me to stand my ground.
Ward left, went and saw an ex, and slept with her.
I found out by chance, and broke up with him immediately.

I found out I wasn't pregnant, he and I talked, and got back together, deciding to work things out.
He found out that he had gotten her pregnant, and I decided to help him raise the baby, and stand by him through it. (looking back now, I feel kinda pathetic because I was willing to help the guy that cheated on me raise the baby....wow)
She miscarried, and he was devastated. Heartbroken.
I was so angry, and hurt. He was mad and left me when I refused to abort the baby I was potentially pregnant with, but then was distraught that her baby had died. I never forgave him for that.

I had cheated on him later, which was by no means okay, but at the time, I was angry, and hurt, and wanted to hurt him.

Anyways, now that we are all caught up, lets move on, shall we?

After I'd lost my job, and my apartment, Jude and I went to stay with some people from our church.
We stayed in Edmonton to Nanny, but when the parents had a falling out, I was no longer required, so I decided to move back to Dawson and complete my highschool.

Jude and I moved back on a greyhound and I went back to school right away. Stayed at the shelter until I found an apartment with a roommate.
Shortly after, Ward and I were still on and off, and I ended up pregnant.

We tried to work things out, but after graduating, while in between places, while I stayed at my parents house, I found out he'd cheated on me, again, while I was pregnant.

We called it quits, but tried to work together for the baby.

Jude and I got an apartment in town, and we did well there. I did a job options, job training program, thing.
Nearing the end of my pregnancy, my friend Rachel moved in with us to help out. Shortly after, the baby was born.

On January third of twenty thirteen, Rowan Milaya Schindel was born. She looked so much like me right from the beginning. She was so cute and pudgy.

Ward would take her for a night or two every weekend, and when she was almost two months old, we moved into the townhouse we are currently living in. (We are almost caught up- finally! Ha)

Shortly after moving into the townhouse, Jude and I went to visit my friend Justin in Edson. He and I were always good friends, nothing more. He liked me, but I wasn't interested in him as more than a friend.

Over the weekend, I'd befriended his roommate, Chris, upon our return back to Dawson, Justin deleted me off Facebook, and would no longer talk to me. We later talked again, but only briefly, and he deleted his Facebook, so I deleted the conversation thread, and only resumed earlier this year when he reactivated his Facebook, but just him sending me inappropriate memes and weird pics, so the conversation never really took off again.

Anyways, Chris and I hit it off, and he spoke of wanting to be together and move to Dawson to be with me. I really liked him, but it ended up he was just playing me and we ceased conversing. It actually hurt me quite a bit.

My roommate and friend, Rachel, moved out, as she didn't approve of my lifestyle. It was shy of two years until we spoke again.

I started dating Jessie in July, and we were together for eight months. Had planned on getting married, which, looking back now, was ill timed and really a bad idea. We didn't get along and the relationship was one sided. We broke up in February of twenty fourteen, just after Valentine's Day.

After Jessie, I was single for a long time. I befriended my neighbor Justin, he was funny, and helped me out a lot financially.
There were times that I considered pursuing a relationship with him, not because I had feelings for him, more that he was a good guy, financially stable, and kind. But then he threw me under the bus, and I decided to just remain friends.

I tried dating, but it was unsuccessful, as I was far from ready for a relationship.
At the fair that fall, I'd met a guy I knew as a child. We talked briefly, and hit it off. So we started hanging out. I liked him, but it wasn't really anything worth pursuing, as he had a past of criminal activity, and drug use. Upon learning this, I cut ties, and stopped being friends with him.

And this, this one incident, is the one thing in my life that has shaken it the most. I've handled a lot, sometimes well, others, not so much. But they were all child's play next to this.

He came to my house one night, drunk, and asked to come in. Me, being unable to give up on people, let him in, to see if I could help him at all.

Once the front door was closed, he grabbed me by the back of the hair, forced me upstairs. He threw me onto the bed, ripped my clothes off, and raped me.
Violently.

..
....
.
There were bruises all over me, my face, arms, neck, stomach.

I told my pastors at church the next day that he'd thrown me around during a fight. I didn't disclose the rape until later, when I found out I was pregnant.

My heart stopped.
I sobbed. Uncontrollably.
I was carrying HIS child. 
Because I had two c sections, I was told I would only be able to have one more, and as much as I told people I didn't want more kids, I did, once I was married, and in a good place.
But now.
That was all gone.
Taken from me.

I wanted to abort the baby I was carrying. I looked into it, but I couldn't do it. It wasn't the baby's fault or choice how she was conceived.

I decided to not terminate the pregnancy, but I knew I couldn't raise this baby.
I spoke with Breezi and Donald about them adopting the baby. They agreed, bittersweetly. They wanted to love this baby and give her a good family, but they knew how hard it would be for me, and how much pain this all caused.

Depression hit again, this time more severely than ever before. I hated myself. I hated the baby growing inside me. I mourned for the baby I could have had later, but now was unable. I hated him for taking that away from me. I resented Breezi and Donald for being able to love and enjoy the baby I couldn't.

I let men use me in ways I am not proud of, Ward included. Trading sexual favors for money. And I didn't have enough self worth to put a stop to it until March.

My sister and her two kids came to stay with me and my kids, and shortly after they left, I met Steven.

He came over one night, to tell me to stop using Justin for his money, which in retrospect, was exactly what I was doing. He and I seemed to get along well, and we decided to keep in touch.

We spoke on Facebook, and spent time together in the evenings after my kids were in bed, and he was off work.

I learned he had a daughter, who was only around a month old at the time of our meeting. Her mom, his ex, had cheated on him, and they broke up, but still lived together.

I was in the midst of meeting a man that I met online, that I was interested in him, but it turned out he was a douche haha.

As I got to know Steven better, I learned many things about him. He is a man of integrity, a huge heart, and a killer smile. Little did I know at meeting him, how much he'd help me, and change my life.

In June, the baby was born. I spent nearly a week in the hospital, and was quite ill during my stay.
It was a painful time but not to the degree I thought it'd be. I handled everything quite well while in the hospital.
In the weeks that followed, events took place that would alter the course of my life, and not in a bad way for once, haha.

Steven and I, along with Justin and a couple other "friends" had gotten together for drinks, and Steven was trying to set me up with this guy, Mikey.
Haha.
No.

Mike was nice and all, but as I was drunk (Not sure why being drunk allowed for some clarity) I sa Steven in a new way.
Yes I knew he was a great guy. Kind. Respectful. Honest.

But then after presenting me with some options, we kissed, and I knew. Right then. I knew.
I had to have him. He sent the rest of the company away, and we stood in the entryway and talked, for like two hours haha. Then we went up to bed, laid in each others arms, cuddled, talked, and eventually fell asleep.

We woke in the morning, and I was so scared, that he'd realize he wasn't actually interested in me, and leave, and I'd never see him again.

But it was not the case.
He went to see his ex, and talk with her about things, and then came back later in the day.

Within the week that followed, we went to FSJ to have a date. We went to dinner, did some sight seeing, and then to a movie. It was the first real date I'd been on, and it was amazing. I loved this man so much.

Our second "date" was not as romantic, as we spent it sitting in a hospital bed, after bleeding excessively from an infected uterus, as a result of my c section.

He left town, for a week? I think. On a family trip with his folks, ex, and his daughter. I missed him so much, it hurt.

We discussed our future, and I made it painstakingly clear that I wanted to marry him...haha I wasn't very subtle.
We decided that upon his return, we would get married. It was all so surreal. I had to pinch myself a couple times to make sure it was real.

He returned, and we were in a whirlwind of wedding planning. We were going to hold the wedding on the sixth of July, but his our Moms couldn't attend, and other people wanted to be in attendance also, so we postponed until the twenty sixth.
The day came, and I was terrified. I tried to keep busy with wedding decoration assembling and such, but I was so nervous. But I was steadfast in my decision to marry Steven.

We exchanged vows out in the field at my parents farm. As he stood before me, I didn't have a hint of hesitance or second thoughts. I was so completely in love with him, the decision was an easy one to make.

He and I have had some pretty nasty fights, and sometimes I worry that he doesn't want to be with me, but that's more my insecurities than logic. He is such an affectionate man, I love cuddling and being close with him.

He makes me feel safe, loved, and appreciated. He helps me to see myself in a new way, I've never really felt beautiful. But every day, he tells me that I am, and slowly it's helping.
He makes me feel like I am capable of more than just being a Mom or a wife. That I can pursue my dreams and I won't fail if I apply myself.

He supports me every day with the kids, helps me be a better Mom, helps me deal with issues with baby Zoe, the rape, my issues with Jude and Rowan.

Jude has had many issues along the way.
Some are the results of choices I've made.
Others are not.

I abandoned him. He is now, four years later, slowly being able to move forward and trust again.

He has been diagnosed with Oppositional Defiance Disorder, ADHD, and Sensory Processing Disorder. It's a lot of work to handle him some days.

I've found, that it's more how I handle it that matters. I've had to reshape my parenting techniques and do better with him. I used to yell and be mean, and I've come a long way.
I feel uncomfortable being proud of myself for the improvement, as I feel badly for how terrible I used to be, and nothing I do now can take that back.

But Steven is helping me a lot with how I see myself as a woman, a Mom, and a wife.

Up until Steven, I never knew what real love was. Love that knows no limits or bounds. One that isn't dependent on actions or behaviors.


And that, brings us to date.

Wow, that took a long time.
Now, my future posts are going to be diving deeper into the above events, individually.

Stay tuned folks.

Cheers.