During the summer, every year we would visit an amusement park and have a picnic there. On Labor Day, my dad would have a barbeque and invited all of his co-workers over. When my mom had a day off from work, if she was up to it, she would take us to the library, museum, or shopping downtown.

I still look back at some of the simple things that made me happy in my childhood. When it was almost time for bed, mom would let my sister and me in bed with her and we would watch television together until we were about ready to nod off. Letting my sister and me pick out one box of cereal that we wanted when she went shopping. Knowing my parents were listening outside our bedroom door at times when I would make up a bedtime story for my sister to help her sleep. These things may seems small and insignificant to most people, but I believe it was the small things that gave me a glimmer of hope. Even if it was fleeting.

I wanted to do everything the right way. I would not tolerate imperfection in myself. I would do what it took to make things right.

When it came to keeping a schedule, I had it down to a tee. I made a game of everything so I could get everything done on time. I knew the exact start and stop time of each activity. I purposely made a habit of waking up at six in the morning. Right at that time, it was directly up, exercise for one hour, drink one pint of water, wash my face with soap and hot water then rinse in ice cold water then with a cotton ball of rubbing alcohol and then I would squeeze the oil out of a vitamin E capsule and rub it into my face. Then I would take a shower with really hot water. I would get dressed with the clothes I had laid out the night before and then write out a complete time schedule to do everything with a start and stop time. If I did everything the right way and on time, I was happy. If not, I started to hurt myself. I would punch myself really hard. Enough to give myself a bruise. Then vowed I would do it better next time.

During the time I was being molested, I was really hard on myself. I would take a straight pin and at first I would poke myself with it. Eventually, I started to cut myself with it. Then as the molestation got deeper, I moved on to knives and razors. No one really noticed. A few times when asked, I would say I fell in some bushes or was playing rough with our dog or the neighbor's cat.

An elder even noticed the marks on my arms once and asked me about them. I told him it was nothing, that I was just a little clumsy. He said it reminded him of some pagans in the bible who would mark themselves when a loved one died and how we as Jehovah's people were not to be like the pagans. He told me that I should be more careful and to make sure I keep those things covered up so people won't ask questions. At the time, I thought he was really concerned about me. I thought, wow, he really is my friend. Looking back, I think he probably knew what I was really doing and didn't want to have to address my issue with anyone.

Someone else did notice though. My mom was home from work early and started dinner. My sister and I were playing with the next door neighbor's kids. The lady was studying, so her grandkids were safe to play with. Their mother was a manic/depressive who never took her meds.

We were playing with them and their mother drove up in this car she just bought. It was a clunker. She insisted that we all just jump in the car with her and test drive it with her. She said she would only take us around the block. I thought we should tell mom we were going, but she insisted she was in a hurry. Her kids were begging us. We gave in.

She did not just go around the block. She was driving around for quite a long time. We were probably driving for three hours when my sister started to get really sick. I was starting to get really sleepy. Her kids were getting sick, too. She drove us to the emergency room. We were getting swept up by carbon monoxide fumes leaking into the car.

Evidently, my mom called the police. She was really worried. There was a policeman and a social worker who talked to my sister and me separately. They noticed the marks on my arms and legs and questioned me about it and asked if I was being abused at home. I said I was clumsy and stuck by my statement. After questioning me for awhile, they lectured me about going off with anybody without telling my parents. We were yelled at and punished. My mom would not speak to us for over a week, except for the moment after she said we were grounded, she told me she wish I were never born.