Back To Blasting

At the age of 12, my dad was getting pretty bad. I absolutely hated going with him for overnights or even just for an hour. It was never fun, and it was always a regrettable time. Night time was the worse. He’d always yell for me from his bed, “Poopa, come lay with daddy,” he would say. Poopa was my nickname my parents gave me when I was only two years old.  It always happened when he’d think I had enough time to fall asleep. He would rub my back, sometimes over my buttocks, and my inner legs. Then I would pretend to wake up and have to go pee. I would just sit at the table or crawl back into  my cot bed while praying he would just leave me alone.  Most times he’d pass back out and wouldn’t call me again.


At the age of 14 the hatred for my father grew and grew. Over the years I watched as he would get drunk (on nights he’d take me) and fight with men, maul over different women, and cause his oldest daughter (me) more and more trauma with every visit. For instance, watching him argue with a women and watching the back of his hand connect with her face in front of me. I watched as he pushed her to the ground. When she stood up she grabbed the phone and dialed 911 and through the phone before he could reach her. He said,” you think the police are going to protect you”. The look on that poor women’s face when he grabbed her hair. I wanted to yell for him to stop, but all I did was stare and watch it all happen. When the cops showed at the door his anger didn’t subside at all. I watched my dad punch one of the cops right off the porch and down over the stairs. Another cop grabbed his arm to force it behind his back and that ended with the cop on the porch floor as my father walked back into the house, shut the door, and locked it. He yelled he would kill us if they came in. I could hear the cops outside talking and the whole house was lit up from the cop car lights. I was praying they would just barge in and end all of this, but it wasn’t happening it seemed.  Dad was screaming, OH, was he screaming at that women. I was crying and when my dads harsh look fell onto me, he grabbed a knife out of a draw and said,  “your on her side too”? He screamed it a few times, before saying, “Well isn’t that just fucking nice,” and stabbed himself twice in the stomach. I was in complete shock and in the midst of it all the women screamed out the door and about 7 or 8 police officers came barging in. I never moved from where I was standing and my sight didn’t leave the vision of my dad kneeling on the floor with blood stained fingers. The rest of what happened that night is a blur, but I remember my mother not happy having her daughter being brought home in the middle of the night by a police officer.

To Be Continued….





Blasting Continues

A couple months after the fire my dad stopped coming around much. Not really sure if it was a blessing, as my mind mind was always wondering if he was okay. He did call a lot and argue with my mother on the phone though. They had an agreement (my mothers enforcement) that he could only take us if he was sober. It took about six months before he showed us to see us, then he asked my mom to take me for the night. I was happy, scared, and very nervous all at the same time. But how bad could it be, right? He was sober, everyone knows he’s a good man sober, right? Unfortunately, the sober dad was only a front believe me. By now I knew that when dad threatened not to tell my mother anything, it meant do not tell your mother anything. It was the third time I believe of showing up sober to pick me up to go with him that boundaries began to get crossed.

So, let me just dive into the story of what happened that night. Dad began drinking not long after picking me up and took me to a poker game he wanted to play in. I remember not knowing anyone and was placed in front of  TV and offered a drink and snacks. Not so bad really, until my  dad started yelling and yelled at me to go get in the car and he followed behind me yelling and swearing at the house right up till we pulled away.

All of a sudden the car started bucking and shuddering till it came to a stop on the side of the road. It was pitch black out and I was petrified of the dark, thankfully it was a warm night though. Dad was so drunk he was yelling, spitting, and trying to crank the car over all at the same time over a 10 minute period. Then he said, ” well lets go we are walking”. We walked for a couple minutes and then would decide we will wait in the car and would walk back. This happened five times over about an hours time. We would get out to walk, then get back in the car. The last time was the worse.

We sat in total silence and in total darkness. Then his voice pierced the silence and jumped me half to death. He laughed and said, “come sit on dad’s lap”. Thank god it was dark I was thinking so he couldn’t see the expression on my face. The next time he offered me to sit on his lap it was with him grabbing my arm and yanking me to his side of the car. I so, did not want to be on his lap but the choice really wasn’t mine.

I didn’t sit there long before his hand started to rub my leg. The rubs got harder almost to the point of hurting and it started to have longer reaches. I tensed quickly and remembered praying for someone to find us and help us (me) to get home. Then the boundary was crossed, it all happened so quickly. So hard that tears came before my loud ten year old screech. One hand quickly and with no forgiveness grabbed my midsection and the other hand clutched a handful of hair while reefing my head back. His drunk slobbering lips were all over my neck. when I let a squeal of terror and confusion escape me, his mouth covered mine. Although, I clenched my teeth together to keep him from entering. The hand from my crotch cupped my jaw to force the entry. It was the most disgusting  thing I had ever felt. I remember the taste of beer, tobacco, and something gritty. Then when I started to gag, all grips released and he quickly threw me back into the passengers seat. I remember him calling me a whore like my mother and telling me how much I disgusted him.

It was a horrible night and a horrible night to still remember. My mother did find out about this happening, but not for a whole two years later.


To Be Continued…..


Blazing Fire Blasting

1984 was a very difficult year for me. Still at the age of 9 and not long before turning 10 my mom decided divorce was her solution. We didn’t see my dad as often as we had before yet he still stayed in a cottage not even a mile from our house. My dad tried hard to convince my mom otherwise, but her mind was set.

One day right after the divorce was final in 1985, my sisters and I got ourselves off to school. Getting ourselves off to school in the morning was normal, as my mom was heading to work shortly after she’d wake us up. This particular morning was different. We arrived at school and within minutes we were being called from class to be greeted in the hallway by the principle and our Nana (Beatrice Hayes). We were all smiles thinking she was there to snatch us from school to do something fun (which she had done before). Unfortunately, it wasn’t the case at all. She was teary eyed and didn’t tell us what was going on until the car reached a straight stretch and we could all see the smoke rolling up into the sky, fire trucks with there flashing lights, the flashing lights of police cruisers, and lights from an ambulance all sparkling in the near distance.

As we pulled closer and stopped tears and fear struck us all as our home was blazing. We lost everything that day. Everything except the clothes on our backs. Not sure if what ever happened to cause the fire was ever told to me, but I always had the feeling and still from time to time wonder if my dad did it to us. After the fire we were forced ( all 5 of us) to live in a small camper on my grandparents lawn. The money my mom had saved for rent and such went up in flames with our home. I remember cars visiting us in our camper, coming and going constant for a week, all dropping off clothes, toys, books, and more. The community helped us through this tragic event and how grateful we were. The memories still haunt us all today.

To Be Continued…..

More Blasting

Below is a picture of my family taken not that long before the puppy punishment happened.  I am the taller blonde of my 3 sisters. The man standing behind me is the man who thought that punishment was justifiable (my father). If I’m going to blast everything about my life, I might as well not leave any of the details out.


After the punishment of the puppy and weeks of feuding between my mom and dad, they decided to live separately.  Dad only lived a mile away and took us kids sometimes to get something to eat and then brought us right back to mom. I believe he only did it to see our mom anyways.

He continued to drink and continued to start battles with my mom at her work and at our home (usually late at night). Got to the point he’d show up just to blow cookies in the driveway, push and damage my mothers car so she couldn’t drive it to work, and stagger around in the driveway screaming how much he hated all us for his unhappiness. Even went as far as coming into the house late at night one night. I could hear him talking low with my mom in the other room. Then voices started to rise, I remember feeling the nerves tighten in my body and the overwhelming feeling of getting sick.

Then, my whole room lit up by the living room light because my bedroom door flung open. My father with furry came at me with my mom screaming to leave me alone and grasping at his arm to make him stop. As my eyes grew big quickly I covered my face with my hands. His large hands covered the top of my head and his fingers closed with a fist of hair. With a head of hair in one hand and my mom hanging off the other, I was dragged from my bed and tossed into a corner of the living room. I was in a ball crying in the corner he had left me and every time he screamed for me to shut the F*** up, I would cry harder.


To Be Continued…..





Blasting The Punishment

After the big fight my dad was kicked out for awhile. Here is the punishment I was explaining about, remember it’s not for the weak stomach types.

He came to visit us two days after he had left and that’s the night he brought that puppy. We (my sisters and I) all sat on the couch fighting over who was going to hold the puppy next and who held him the longest. It wasn’t until I realized that my mom had to work that night and dad was there to keep an eye on us, then my heart dropped. Yup, that gut wrenching, I’m going to puke feeling. I walked on eggshells that night as my dad watched TV and guzzled back his Milwaukee Best brand beer. It was when he said, “Okay girls, bed time, and you (pointing at me) can have a seat on the couch, because we need to have a talk” that if I’m remembering correctly made my heart stop beating for a moment.

I sat on that couch in total silence for what seemed to be hours (probably 30 minutes). Watching him guzzle his beer, smoke his cigarettes, shake his head (as if going over his thoughts in his head), and make absolutely no eye contact with me. It was when I picked up this little black puppy that was sprawled out on the couch beside me onto my lap, then his head snapped to look in my direction. He never took his eyes off from me as he staggered to his feet, walked over to the couch, and sat right beside me. He pets the puppy while it was in my lap and asked me if I loved the puppy. I only shook my head yes, I think I was too scared for words to have come out properly and I was trying to stay composed as my dad got angry when a child (especially his child) cried and sobbed like a baby.

Then, with precise accuracy his hand cupped the bottom of my face and pulled me in close to his. I can remember the smell of his breath, the redness of his eyes, the anger in his demeanor, and the spit frequently peppering my face as the words started to flow from his mouth. “Do you remember what I said would happen if you tell your mother?” he said. I couldn’t help the fact tears rolled down my face, I tried to be strong, but at the age of nine, I had absolutely no control over it at this point. The next words out of his mouth scared me more than his hand still cupping my face. “Now you’re not going to scream, you’re not going to tell anyone, and you’re NOT going to say a word to your mother about your punishment tonight. Correct?” He said, with the meanest look of discus I had ever seen. Again, all I did was shake my head, I didn’t really see I had a choice at this point. Then the unthinkable and unforgivable punishment unfolded. He released my face and within seconds snatched the puppy from my lap, held it up to my face, and with one twist of his large thick hand, had snapped that puppies neck. The puppy went limp, my eyes grew, and my hand cupped my mouth in shock. “Now go to friggin bed” were the last words he said to me that night. The next morning, I remember dad not being there, but my mom was sad. She told us that she was sorry, that the puppy must have been sick and had passed away during the night. I so badly wanted to tell her, but out of fear I never told a soul.

To Be Continued…

Blasting again….

My sisters and I didn’t have a great life, nor were we associated with the upper class. When I was 9 years old we moved to a house my parents decided to rent, low and behold we were coming up in the world. meaning, we had electricity, water, and even a TV. Not sure why exactly, but my dad began drinking more and stayed away longer. Then the unexplained happen. My mother sent me to work with him and when he was done work decided to take a detour.

Hours and hours I had sat in that car after we pulled up to a huge white house, not far from my dads work. He said, ” sit here and I’ll be out soon”. That is just what I did, I sat quietly for hours and too scared of my dad to get out of the car. In my head I was screaming to have out of that car. I had to use the bathroom, I wanted to call my mom, and I wanted to go home.  Finally, the front door opened and a women had kissed my dad on the cheek as he started for the car.

The only thing my dad said to me when he had returned was, ” tell your mother and your punishment will be doubled, got it”. I quietly shook my head YES and home we went. I was 9 years old, keeping a secret was hard, but the acknowledgement that the punishment my mom would give if she found out I didn’t tell her would be greater. Yup, I spilled every detail of our (dad and me) time together. The explosion happening outside my bedroom door that night between my mom and dad was horrifying. Listening to the smashing of glass, the screams of unanswered questions, the short lived dead silence when dad would walk out of the house slamming the door (over and over again).


To Be Continued….

Blasting Back Into My Past

While I was sitting and pondering about my next few postings, I realized that the best way to get my story out, was to just start at the beginning. So, I am going to blast myself back into my past and start at the beginning and post twice weekly my life. In return, you will have a better understanding of who I am, understand why I was diagnosed with Bi-Polar 1 with Psychosis, and why I have a mission to help others.

From the age of 5 till I was 7, I lived in a small 2 bedroom trailer with my mom, dad, and 3 sisters. Yes, the space was cramped. We lived with no power and no water access on the property. All cooking was done on a wood stove, lights were by lanterns, baths were by our mother pouring spring water from 5 gallon buckets over our bodies as we washed ourselves. During winter months and with plenty of snow on the ground, my sisters and I carried buckets of snow in the trailer to thaw for cooking the next day. I didn’t have an easy life that was for sure.

My father was an alcoholic and a mean one at that. My mom worked 2 jobs and was sad most of the time. She always told us it wouldn’t be this way forever. I remember thinking that the way we lived wasn’t so bad, except for a few facts. We (my sisters and I) weren’t aloud to have friends over to visit, we weren’t aloud to go to friends homes, and being with all my sisters cramped into one small bedroom.

To be continued…..


Living with Bi-Polar 1 with Psychosis

I compiled instances of my childhood traumas, struggles, and successes in this educational Bio. I’ve shared disturbing events of why I was diagnosed, how I was diagnosed, my treatment plan, and the impact it all made on the life I live today.