Little did I know what Social Services was about to put me through...

As soon as I was finished being sentenced, my ankle monitor was removed.  The Judge told me that I could go back to my house.  The restraining order that the State placed on me, was modified so that I could be around my ex.  I thought it was over...."thought" being the key word...

As I previously wrote, my ex was back and forth about wanting to be with me.  On the day of my sentencing, he wanted to be with me.  It was after I was released that he took me for a drive with our son in the car.  I was so glad to see and be with my precious, little baby boy.  I had agreed to stay with my friend for a little while longer while my ex and I worked things out.

It was while we were on the road, that my ex received a call on his cel phone.  It was Social Services.  This is the second time they would enter my life (the first time being when I got home from the hospital, for which they dropped their investigation).  They told my ex, and then me, that they filed a civil lawsuit against me which indicated that I was not allowed to be anywhere near my son.  Nobody from Social Services served me any papers, or let me know what they were doing in advance...no, they dropped it on me "like a bomb".  They told me over the phone that I needed to get away from my son immediately.

I was crying.  I told them what the Judge said, about me being able to go to my house, and that I could be around my son.  They didn't care.

I remember that I did get to read "Green Eggs and Ham" to my baby boy in the SUV.  Oh how he would laugh and giggle when I would read it to him because of all of the expression I'd put in to it, while reading to him.

Social Services....I really have my feelings about them.  The more I write about my story, the more you'll see why.  My ex was upset about their civil lawsuit against me.  At least at that time, he was.....or he appeared to be.  I truly do believe that my ex was upset.

So no, it wasn't over.  My criminal case was over, but things were just getting started with that civil lawsuit.  Little did I know what Social Services was about to put me through.  Their reasoning for their lawsuit?  Because my son was in the house during that day.  Eventhough my son was safe on that day, and my son was unaware of the fight since he was downstairs strapped safely in his new swing which was playing music as it rocked him, and my ex and I were upstairs.

But you see, since my son was in the house at the time of the fight, Social Services came after me.  Forget the fact that I was pinned down to our bed during our fight....Social Services came down on me since I was arrested for Domestic Violence.  It didn't matter that my son was unaware of what happened.  It didn't matter that I never once harmed my son.  It didn't matter that I was and still am a loving mother who would do anything for my son....nothing mattered.

I think it is sad how there are so many children who are being abused, yet Social Services does nothing about it.  And then there's me...a mother who is a GREAT mother to my son...loving, nurturing, and patient....and I get in to a fight with my ex, and they came after me like I was a horrible and abusive mother. 

What I did to my ex was wrong.  I admit it.  I regret it.  But I have NEVER hurt my son, nor would I.  Yet the way they would treat me...and little did I know how long my "battle" with Social Services would last.

In my opinion, there is something wrong with the system.  I was seeing a therapist at the time who my therapist herself, once worked for Social Services.  My therapist informed me that the people in Social Services are often young, and it's their first real job, and they get on a power trip.  Even my therapist couldn't believe what they were doing to me.

So I had planned on staying with my friend for a little longer, while my ex and I worked things out (eventhough I was allowed by the Judge to go back to my house), but now, once again, thanks to Social Services, I was FORCED to stay away.

I couldn't believe what was going on.  Little did I know about the long road ahead of me against Social Services.

My last name is not "Sheen"...

During my sentencing, the Judge asked me if I understood everything.  I didn't, but I said that I did.  I was scared and overwhelmed, and  I was doing what my public defender told me to do.  I mean, I knew that I was pleading guilty to two misdemeanors, which my public defender told me "wouldn't affect me", but I honestly thought I had a deferred judgement.  A deferred judgement....something I never even heard of until my public defender told me about it.  He failed to tell me, that he didn't get me a deferred judgement though.  I thought as I was pleading guilty, that I had a deferred judgement.

On the day of my sentencing, the Judge asked me if I would like to speak.  I did.  I apologized to my ex, who I already apologized to already...but I apologized to him again, in court.  I apologized to the court.  I told the Judge that I learned from my mistake, and that I was working on changing myself and that I was truly sorry.  And I was.

In addition to having spent 6 very long nights in jail, below is what I received.  Keep in mind, I had no prior record, and I was never in trouble with the law before:

convicted of 2 misdemeanors:  1 for assault; and 1 for menacing
3 years of probation
36 weeks of Domestic Violence classes
12 weeks of Anger Management classes (the 2 classes totaled 72 hours)
3 day parenting class since my son was in the house at the time
48 hours of community service
Mandatory mental health treatment i.e. seeing a therapist and a psychiatrist
fines that totaled just under $2,000 (this excludes the money that the ankle monitor cost)

After I was sentenced, and as I started taking my classes, I found out that some of the people in my classes did far worse then me (not that I am justifying what I did, because what I did was WRONG), and some of them had prior records, and they received a "slap on the hand" so to speak, in comparison to what I received.

The therapist that conducted the domestic violence class never even heard of somebody getting sentenced to both domestic violence classes AND anger management classes.  It's ususally one or the other...and typically people are sentenced to domestic violence classes because they are longer than anger management classes.  They didn't even know how to handle me taking both classes, since they never saw somebody get sentenced to both.

In my opinion, our justice system is corrupt.  If a person has money, they can get off practically "scott-free".  I don't think that's fair.  I think it should be the same across the board for everybody...but it doesn't work that way.

For example...take a look at Charlie Sheen.  Look at all of the trouble he has been in.  He has got quite the "wrap-sheet".  If you don't know what he has done, all you have to do is type his name in to google, along with the words "domestic violence" and/or "sentence".  He's been in trouble with the law continuously.  Not only did he (or does he) use drugs and drink to excess, but he beats up women and has gotten in trouble more than once because of domestic violence.

While in Aspen, Colorado, Charlie Sheen was accused of pinning down his wife to the bed and holding a knife up to her neck.  And this was not his first offense.  Charlie Sheen received the following sentence for that offense:

3 months of probation (keep in mind, I received 3 YEARS of probation)
36 hours of counseling
30 days of rehab

That's it.  That's what Charlie Sheen received.  And that is with him having a prior record.  See for  yourself at:  http://www.nydailynews.com/gossip/2010/08/02/2010-08-02_charlie_sheen_sentenced_to_rehab_not_jail_after_pleading_guilty_to_assaulting_wi.html

Charlie Sheen did not lose his job.  In fact, he is the highest paid TV actor in the U.S.  He receives approximately 1.25 million dollars for EVERY EPISODE of "Two and a Half Men".

Me?  I can't receive a job in Commercial Real Estate again, nor any other high paying job because of my record.  Most employment agencies won't even work with me because I have 2 misdemeanors, and 1 of them is considered a "violent crime".

My public defender told me that the misdemeanors wouldn't affect me, but they did.  They have ruined my life.  And the worst part is that they are with me for life.

Charlie Sheen is just one example of our corrupt justice system.  I'm not saying I didn't deserve to get in trouble for what I did....but I believe that I received more harsh of a sentence than I should have received.  But then again...my last name is not "Sheen".

He indicated that the misdemeanors weren't a big deal...

My public defender.  Wow.  I don't even know where to begin, except to say that he was absolutely horrible. 

He only met with me one time at his office prior to going my trial.  That's it...one time.  Typically, attornies dress professionally.  I went to his office during normal business hours and he was dressed very casually....jeans and all.  Not how I pictured how an attorney would typically dress.

He showed me a picture of my ex's wrist.  In the picture, I could see the bite mark, and I could also see what I already knew...that I didn't cause him any bleeding or major damage.  No, I'm not justifiying what I did.  I'm just writing the result of what my one bite did to his wrist.

He also showed me a picture of the knife.

My public defender told me that if it weren't for the knife, that he would take the case to trial because when the jury took one look at my ex's size, and then looked at me, that he felt that the jury would side with me.

He didn't want to take my case to trial because of the knife though. 

He told me that he was going to try to get the prosecutor to give me a deferred judgement.  A deferred judgement is when the conviction is dropped, or expunged, once the probation has been completed. 

The only time my public defender would talk to me would be in the corrdidor right outside of the court room, just minutes before my trial.  I had gone to court a few times with him representing me....the first time, while I was in jail.

When he would meet with me immediately before my case was called, it was literally for about 30 seconds to 2 minutes...and 2 minutes is probably giving him too much credit.  I barely had time to ask him my questions.  He would tell me what to do and say.  I had so many questions that I wanted answered, but he wouldn't give me the time of day to ask them.

This whole thing was so very overwhelming to me.  Never had I been in trouble with the law before.  I didn't know what was going to happen.  I was alone, and scared.  I did what he told me to.  After all, he was my public defender.

The day that I received my conviction, which I believe was on July 28, 2008, he gave me paper work and he told me to sign it.  He also told me what to say.  He gave me the paper work IN the court room while another case was being tried.  He was whispering to me as to what to do and then he left to represent somebody else.

I THOUGHT that he got me a deferred judgement.  I truly did.  I mean, he told me that, that was what he was going to try to get for me. 

I signed the paper work.  I was no longer charged with 2 felonies...they were lowered to 2 misdemeanors.  One was for assault, and the other was for menacing.  I pleaded guilty to both.  I was given 3 years of probation along with a whole list of other things, which I will write about in my next post.

My public defender told me that he fought really hard for me and that I should be happy, and that he got my probation lowered down from 4 years to 3.  He also indicated that the misdemeanors were no big deal....that they wouldn't affect me and that misdemeanors weren't a big deal.  I would soon learn otherwise, which I will also be writing about in future posts. 

I believed him though.  I also believed before pleading guilty, that he got me a deferred judgement.  I didn't know that he didnt, as he failed to tell me that he didn't get me a deferred jugdement.

So my case did not go to trial, and I plead guilty to 2 misdemeanors.  THAT caused my life to continue to spiral downwards.

That was the way I was...

Before I continue, I am going to go back a bit.  It is so hard for me to remember and write everything when so very much happened.  I do the best that I can though, and I try to at least get the main things out.

One example that I am going to write about will show you how very different my ex and I were and are.  I've already written that I would work, while he would spend, and he couldn't hold a job.

Here's an example of how night and day we were and are....

When I built our house in 2006, it was solely in my name as I was the breadwinner, and I was the one with the good credit.  If his name was put on the house, our mortgage payments would have went up.  So, in my name the house would be.  I paid a good sized down payment on the house from my annuity that I cashed in, and I would be the one making the mortgage payments from my Commercial Real Estate job.

The house closed in December of 2006.  There was alot of paperwork to sign.  I asked if my ex could sign the paperwork too, since he was my husband.  I was told "no" because the house was solely in my name.  My ex didn't say anything, but inside, I felt bad for him.  I wanted him to feel included.  Eventhough it was my money that paid for that house, I didn't want him to feel left out.  Those thoughts and feelings came from heart.

During the signing, I asked them if there was ANY paperwork that he could sign.  They said "yes", and I let him sign everything that they said he was allowed to sign.  I wanted him to feel included.  In my mind and in my heart at the time, it was "our house".

That was me.  That was the way I was. 

Now for him.....

Approximately 2-3 weeks before my ex had me incarcerated, I bought an SUV in cash.  We already had one SUV which I was making monthly payments on, but this one, I bought outright in cash.  It was approximately 4-6 years old (I don't remember), but I do remember that it cost me $12,000.  My thoughts?  At least it was paid off, and I wouldn't have to make monthly payments on it.

I remember pushing my son around in his stroller the day I bought that SUV.  My precious little boy was content.  It was while I was pushing my son around, that my ex took out our checkbook and wrote a check (with MY money), and he put the SUV solely in his name....not both of our names....just his name.  It didn't even cross his mind to include me.

That's how he was.  Selfish.  He still is.  The only person that he thinks about is himself, and as I continue writing about my life, you, the reader, will see how selfish he is (if you haven't already).

Back to the day where I was let out of jail....Friday, June 20, 2008....my ex left me with the SUV that was not paid off.  He kept the SUV that was paid off.

I lived out of my 2 suitcases.  Here comes the tears again........I need a moment..........I was staying with my friend who lived about 45 minutes away from where my house was.  I missed my baby boy so very much, and that is a huge understatement.

I hate this.  I hate re-living this.  It is so painful.  It's been over 2 1/2 years and I have finally tried to block that part of my life out and I don't think about it.  This blog is forcing me to "re-live" everything, so to speak.  It's draining me emotionally.  But I will continue, for you see....I need to get my story out in the public in an effort to try to help my son and myself, and this is the only way I know how.  I pray that something good comes out of this, and that I am not "re-living" the most horrific part of my life for nothing.  This is in no way therapeutic to me...in fact, it's quite the opposite.  It's like pouring pure alcohol over an open gash.  But I will continue with the hope that I have in side me....and what my going public may possibly do for my son and I.

My friend was a single mother.  She had a little boy probably 2 years older than my son.  I don't remember exactly.  I remember I had pictures of my baby boy, and I would just stare at the pictures.

My ex....where do I even begin?  One minute he wanted to be with me and work things out, and the next minute, he didn't, and he would say the most hurtful things to me.  Back and forth...that's how he was.

When I was in jail, a Case Manager came from a Mental Health Network to visit me. 
What is a Case Manager?  A Case Manager is a person that represents the Mental Health Facility.  The Case Manager has access to your files from when you meet with the therapist and/or psychiatrist.  A Case Manager speaks on behalf of the facility, and will go to court with you, and a Case Manager is part of your support network.

I told her that day in jail how I hated the way that I was, and that I didn't ever want to be a monster like I was on that day.  I told her about my life growing up.  I was crying.  She told me that I didn't belong in jail, and that I belonged on the outside getting help, and that she would help me.  I told her that I had no money.  She told me not to worry, that she would get me the help that I need.  I kept her business card, and the very day I was let out of jail, I called her up on my own and I asked her to please get me in to their facility (as an outpatient) for help.  She got me set up for an intake.

I wanted help so bad.  I got the quickest appointment that they could give me.

In the interim, I was job hunting.  It was hard trying to find a job, but I found a full-time temporary job through an agency, and I also went back to my part-time job that I had for going on 2 years at that point.

I did my best to hide that bulky ankle monitor.  I really hated that thing.

I had court coming up on approximately July 28, 2008 to receive my conviction...up until that point, I was facing 2 felony charges.

My public defender....what he did to me.  How he would help add to my life destructing....

I would do anything for my son, even if it meant I was going to be homeless...

I guess I need to back up a little bit.  There's so much to write about what happened, that it is easy to miss something every once and a while.  And of course, I'm not putting every little detail in, as I would be writing for a very long time if I was.

The State of Colorado put down an order where my ex and I could not see eachother or talk to eachother.  They also put a ban on me seeing my son, eventhough I did not hurt my son, and my son was unaware of what even happened as he was safely strapped in his swing downstairs, and we were upstairs.  But because my son was in the home, and I went to jail for domestic violence, they banned me from seeing my precious baby.

The only time my ex spoke in court, was to say that he wanted the ban partially lifted so that we could talk on the phone about the finances.  The court let us talk on the phone.

It was Thursday night...the night before I got bailed out of jail.  My ex had spent the remainder of the money that we had in our accounts while I was in jail (not much of a surprise there).  One of the things my ex bought, was a hitch for the SUV that I paid cash for, so he could hitch a trailer on to it, and move back to Florida to live with his parent...taking my son with him.  This horrified me, and that is an understatement.

I have never hurt my baby boy, nor would I ever.  Yes, what I did to my ex was
WRONG, but I have NEVER hurt my baby boy.  My son is my whole world...my
everything.  HE is the BEST BLESSING that God has ever given me!  He is my whole reason for living, and that will never change.

Considering I could not be around my ex, something had to be done. 

As I stated, my ex was all prepared to take my son to Florida.  I told him no.  I told him to
stay in the house with our son, and that I would leave.  Keep in mind....I had
no place to go.  I have no family in Colorado.  Sure, I could have went back to
my house had my ex left, but my thoughts?  I'd rather be homeless and at least
get to see my baby boy when they would let me see him, then to have my ex take him to Florida where I wouldn't get to see him at all.

As I said, I would and still will do anything for my son, and that will never change, and if that meant being homeless so that I could see him, then so be it.  That's how much I love my son. 

I asked the police officer for a list of shelters.  I planned on staying at a
shelter.  This way, I'd at least get to see my precious baby boy (under the
supervision of Social Services who once again was about to enter my life for the second time now).

My thoughts...I'd rather see my little boy once or twice a week (which is all
they allowed) vs. not seeing him at all.  And so I looked at the list of
shelters.  Then it occurred to me....a young mother who I mentored at my job, and whom I took "under my wing" so to speak in an effort to help her....MIGHT let me stay with her in her apartment.  It was worth a shot.  I didn't have anybody else to call.  She said "yes" instantly.  I was soooo glad.  I was prepared to go to a shelter and I would have for the love of my son, but I was glad that I didn't have to.

I was released on Friday morning.  I had the whole day to wait until my friend arrived home from work.  While waiting, I called my job.  I got my manager's voice mail.  I left her a detailed voice mail explaining that I had a family emergency and that I was sorry that I didn't call, but that I would be at work on Monday.  I received a call back from Human Resources informing me that I was fired for "job abandonment".  I was crying and begging for my job.  My ex had called in for me during the week and informed them that I had an emergency, but since I personally didn't call in for 2 consecutive days, they considered it job abandonment.  I completely broke down crying, and informed the person from Human Resources that the reason that I didn't call wasn't because I didn't want to...it was because I was in jail, and I couldn't.  It didn't make a difference.  I cried and cried and cried.

I waited the whole day driving around until my friend got home from work.  My ex-husband's step-father who flew in from Florida to "help my ex get through this difficult time that he was going through" met me at the jail parking lot, and he gave me 2 suitcases filled with some of my clothes and belongings.  I also believe that he flew in so that he could take the SUV with my ex back to Florida with my son.  Fortunately, I was able to convince my ex not to take my son to Florida.

I was released with a bulky ankle monitor on my leg.  No, I wasn't on house arrest.  It was to make sure that I didn't come within so many feet of my house.  The cops showed me a map, and if I crossed it, they would have come and arrested me.  They certainly didn't know me, nor the kind of person that I am.  I didn't need an ankle monitor.  All the cops would have needed to stay is, "stay away from your house", and I wouldn't have gone near it.  There's no way that I would break the law and risk going back to that horrible, horrible place.  But nevertheless, an ankle monitor was placed on me on June 20, 2008. 

Every night I had to charge it.  I was so scared that if it didn't charge properly (due to
no fault of my own), that I would get in trouble.  Every night, I would plug the
charger in to my ankle monitor, and I would barely move my leg out of fear of it not charging properly, and getting in trouble.
My life was spiraling downward, and very fast.  I was taken away from my son; I was arrested; I lost my job; and eventhough I owned a home (which was solely in my own name), I was unable to enter it, and therefore I was homeless. 

From there, things would continue to get worse.

I forgave everybody that ever hurt me...

Monday, the day the cops told me that I would more than likely be let out of jail....yet I was not released like they told me, and I had no idea of how I was going to get out of there, or how long I'd be in there.

The jail...it was horrible.  I was glad to at least have my own cell, but it was still horrible.  I can't understand how people can spend their lives going in and out of jail. Once was more than enough from me.  Once, was one time too many times for me.

My cell had a steel bed bolted in to the ground.  I had a thin, rubber mattress.  Lying on that bed hurt my body. The rest of my cell wasn't much better.

I was barely eating, and my weight was dropping very fast.  So fast, that the other inmates were making comments to me on my low weight.

They had approximately 4 showers out in the public area.  They were horrible.  I learned on my first shower  there, how to get changed so that nobody could see me.

Every day we had to go in to lock down.  Lock down is where we were locked in our cells. It was while we were in lockdown that the cops would come by and take their counts, to make sure we were all accounted for. When they came by, we had to be standing at the door with our wrist which had a wristband on it, up to the window on the door so that they could do their counts.

I remember they would take their counts in the afternoon, and late at night, and very early in the morning.  It didn't matter if we were tired or not, or if we were in the middle of sleeping or not, when they came by to do their counts, we had to be at the door.  I never missed a count.

"Yes, sir", "no, sir", "excuse me,sir", "thank you, sir"...I was very respectful to the cops.  I was probably the nicest, most compliant, and most respectful inmate that was ever in there.

At some point, my bond was lowered to $35,000.  To get bailed out, you need to come up with 10% of the bond, which meaned that I needed to come up with $3,500,  plus, I needed to come up with collateral....i.e. put my house up.

I went to court 2 or 3 times while I was in jail.  The first time was on Monday.  The second time was approximately Wednesday.  My first time in front of the judge, she was over a T.V.  The second time, was in person.  My wrists and legs were shackled when I went in front of the judge.

My ex was there when I went before the judge.  He just sat there, cold as could be.  He could have spoken, but he didn't.  I don't even feel that the fact that I was in jail and shackled even phased him.

I was still speaking to my sister at the time, but she is the only person in my family that I was speaking to.  I finally gave in and called her on approximately Tuesday night.  The phone allowed me to call a number one time, and it gave me approximately one minute on a collect call...after she picked up the phone, she received an automated message indicated something along the lines of, an inmate was calling from (the name of the jail I was in).

Long story short, it was the next day or so that my sister brought up calling my biological father to me.  She told me that she would call him.  I hadn't spoken to my biological father in over 5 years, but I was desperate.  He was the only one that I knew that had the money.

I called him up.  He was furious, and that is an understatement. He wouldn't even get on the phone with me in the beginning.  Instead, his wicked witch of a wife was on the phone with me.  He was going off in the background.  She told me that they felt that I belonged in jail.  Finally, my biological father got on the phone.  He told me personally, the he felt like I belonged in jail.  I was crying.  He didn't care.  He was yelling at me non-stop.  I couldn't take it anymore.  My last words to him on that conversation were, "Where do you think I learned it from?!", and I hung up the phone on him.

I ran up to my cell and I crying non-stop. I took out the Bible that they gave me in the jail, and I opened it  up to anger because I was so very angry.  It was at that point that I read that we need to forgive one another for their sins, or we won't be forgiven for our sins.  We can't be forgiven, unless we forgive others.  It was at that moment...that very moment, that I started praying and forgiving everybody that has ever hurt me in my life...whether they apologized or not...it didn't matter.  I forgave everybody.

My biological father ended up changing his mind about bailing me out of jail, although, he would not put his house up (he owns two houses).  I told him I'd put up my house.

So, I went in to jail on  Saturday, June 14, 2008, and I was let out on Friday, June 20. 2008.  That was the longest week of my life.  I got out just in the knick of time, as they don't let inmates out of jail over the weekends....only weekdays.

I was so very glad to be out of that horrible, horrible place.

He wouldn't let me give my baby a kiss...

I was feeding my precious little baby boy a bottle on the couch.  I was completely calm, despite what happened earlier.  How could I not be calm looking at, and holding my precious son? 

I heard a knock on the door.  While holding my little baby boy, I got up and went to the door.  I was still feeding him his bottle.  It was the police.  Wow.  This is getting hard for me to write, and how I am going to go on and write about everything that would happen to me....I don't know.  As it is, I have tears flowing down my face as I am typing this.

I had never been in trouble with the law before, except for minor speeding tickets.  I've always been a law abiding citizen.

The cops asked if they could talk to me.  I invited them in so I could finish feeding my little baby boy on the couch.  So I invited them in, and I held my precious son and fed him the rest of his bottle.

They asked me what happened.  I wish I kept my mouth shut.  But I have always had respect for police officers, and my father had even been a cop in the Bronx for 22 years.  Considering that I never was in trouble with the law before, I didn't know what to do.  So I told them everything that happened.  I didn't embellish.  I told the truth, exactly how it happened.

I got scared.  This feeling in the pit of my stomach.  Cops kept coming in the house.  I was nice and respectful, yet with the number of cops that came, you would think otherwise.  They even brought a K-9.  I didn't see the K-9, but I could smell the dog.  My ex was extremely allergic to dogs, and on top of it, he had chronic asthma.  His allergies triggered his asthma.

I was worried that if the K-9 entered the house, my ex would have a sever asthma attack.  I worried about him.  I explained that my ex was highly allergic to dogs, and I asked them if they could please keep their K-9 outside.  I didn't say that to them to make myself look good.  It came from my heart.

The pit in my stomach.  My anxiety.  It was bad.  I had a bad feeling.  I took my baby boy and kissed him, and I placed him back in his swing, safely strapped.........

(I need a moment to compose myself, because remembering all of this....I can't stop crying).  God, I hope something good comes out of this blog.  I just wanted to get my story out.....this is beyond painful, and I just don't know if I can do this.  Something good has to come out of this...it has to...for my son and I.  I wouldn't be re-living the worst time in my life if I wasn't hopeful that something good wouldn't come out of this.

Hopefully my blog makes sense as I am writing while crying uncontrollably, and I know it's just going to get worse.....

My son was 4 months to the day.  After I placed him back in his swing, I sat back on the couch.  The cops asked me to sign a statement.  I read it, and it didn't indicate that my ex had me pinned down to the bed, and that is why I bit him the one time.  The cop told me that, that was okay, because my ex admitted to them that he pinned me down.

I didn't know what to do.  I was scared.  I did what the cops told me to do.  I signed the statement eventhough it didn't indicated that my ex pinned me down to the bed.  I was so very scared.  A cop asked me to stand up and to put my hands behind my back....I did so without a fight.....on went the handcuffs.  The cop did NOT read me my miranda rights...you know, the whole, "You have the right to remain silent...".  I think they are supposed to.  But he didn't.

My baby was still in his swing.  I asked the cop if I could give my baby a kiss before they took me to jail, and he wouldn't let me.

I'm not writing this for therapy.  I've put this behind me...it was over 2 1/2 years ago.  The purpose of my blog is to tell the true story of my life, and what happened to me.  I knew it would be hard....I didn't know it would be this hard.  They escorted me to one of the cop cars.  I couldn't believe what was happening.  All of the neighbors were out staring at me.  Oh, how they stared.  I was very respectful to the cops, and I did everything they asked me to. 

I kept my head down and was crying.  They brought me in to one station and held me in a holding jail cell before taking me to the main jail cell.  In the cop car, the cops told me not to worry, as I'd probably be out on Monday (I was arrested on a Saturday).

By the time I got to the main jail, I was an emotional mess.  I couldn't stop crying.  I was in shock.  And my baby...they took me away from my baby.

I was on an anti-depressant medication at the time to try to prevent post-partum depression.  I asked for my anti-depressant medication.  They wouldn't give it to me.  The locked me in my cell for which I just cried uncontrollably.  Approximately for the first 24 hours, I was in lock-down, where I couldn't be with the other inmates.  And just as well, as I didn't want to be near them.

After my lock-down was over, I was allowed to be around the others during the times that they let us be around other inmates.  I was in medium security (they have low, medium, and high).  The females in there were mean to me.  I stood out like a sore thumb in there.

I had a complete nervous break-down in there.  I couldn't stop crying. 

It was after they saw what I was going through, they moved me down to low security.

I was still a crying mess in low security, but at least those inmates weren't as mean to me.  My weight was dropping quickly because I wasn't eating.

I missed my baby boy so much.  I had never been away from him, other than work.  I missed and needed my baby, and I knew he needed his Mommy.

It was awful in jail.  I don't understand how people can go in and out of that place.  I tried to be the perfect inmate.  I did everything that the cops asked me.  I read the rules book twice.  I didn't give them a hard time in any way.

I had one phone call when they booked me.  Remembering what the cop said about me probably being released on Monday....work conscientious me, left a voice mail for my manager which indicated that I had a family emergency, and that I'd be out of work on Monday.  After all, I was the sole breadwinner.

My jail cell was horrible, as was the entire jail.  As of right now, I don't feel like writing about the jail.  I'm starting to feel numb after crying so much while remembering, and typing this.  I hope my post makes sense, because I'm not going to be re-reading this  post...at least, not tonight.

Saturday night, Sunday, Sunday night....finally, Monday arrived and I had court.  The judge was over a T.V.  I was charged with 2 felonies.  I was already in shock....after hearing that, I was in beyond shock.  2 felonies....the one bite is considered an assault, and the threat while holding the paring knife was considered menacing with a deadly weapon.

My bond was set at $50,000.  I had no money to hire an attorney.  I would have had money if my ex didn't spend money like it was water.  So I was given a public defender.

The pain...oh, the pain.  It is so bad.  So deep.  I hate re-living this, and I know that this is only the first of many more painful posts.  Forget about the pain that I was in while writing about my childhood...that has nothing on what I'm about to write, and what I would go through.

I will continue writing my whole story out eventhough to do so is harder on me then I could ever put in to words.....I'm just so glad that it's over and behind me.

The day my life shattered...

June 14, 2008....the day my life shattered.  My son was exactly 4 months old on that day.  If I could just go back and change my actions on that day....but I can't.  I completely regret what I did.  I have learned from what I did on that day, and I am not that person any more.

It was a Saturday.  I was still healing from my 2 surgeries.  I was under great stress and pressure, as it was solely up to me to take care of my family.  Me ex was not working.  He did stay at home with my son though.  I wish the roles were reversed and I could have stayed at home with my son, but I was the breadwinner, and that wasn't an option.

As I look back now, I wonder if I was also going through postpartum depression.  I was informed by a doctor that postpartum depression can occur at any time during the first 6 months after a baby is born.

When my ex and I used to fight, it was always bad.  I still had so much anger inside of me, and I didn't know how to talk things out rationally, and in a healthy manner.  I wish that I did.  There were so many times that I told me ex that I wanted help with my anger, and that I didn't like that quality about myself.  There never seemed to be enough money left over for me though....not even for help, to better myself.

The next day was Father's Day.  The first Father's Day that my ex would ever have.  Eventhough we hadn't been getting along for a few days prior, due to the finances, I wanted to buy my ex a gift from my son to my ex for his first Father's Day.  I wanted to get him a frame that said "I love my Daddy" on it.  I didn't even know if there was enough money in our account for me to buy one frame though.

We lived in a 2 story house.  I had just bought a deluxe swing for my son about 2 weeks prior.  This swing was top notch!  It could swing from side to side, or, from front to back.  It had a mobile on it, and it played music.  I bought my son the best they had, and he loved his new swing.  I strapped him in his swing with the swing's seatbelt, and I put the swing on, along with the mobile and the music.  He was happy.

I then asked my ex to come upstairs to talk about the finances.  All I wanted to do was to find out how much money we had.  I knew it was going to result in a fight which is why I made sure that we were away from my son.  I didn't want my baby to hear us fighting.  My son was secure in his swing, and he very happy swinging back and forth in it.

I was right.  It turned in to an all out fight.  A bad one.  The worst one that we ever had.  Before I proceed, I need to tell you our size difference.  Being an anorexic/recovering anorexic, I never tell my weight.  I know it, and my doctor knows it when I have to go to the doctor's office....but that's it.  It's nobody else's business, and I don't let anybody know.  I have to tell you my weight on that day though, and I am taking comfort that you, the reader, still don't know my weight, because I don't weigh as much as I did on that day (not that I was in any way overweight on that day)...and on a side note, eventhough I am skinnier now, I make sure that my weight is not at a danger level....all for the love of my son.

So here was our stats on that day.  I am 5'7", and on that day I weighed 117/118 pounds.  My ex is 6'3", and on that day he weighed between 265-270 pounds.  As you can see, there was a big difference between us.  He was a big guy.  I remember that at the job that I worked at during that time, my ex came in one day, and a guy that I worked with told me after meeting seeing my ex, that he never realized how huge my ex was, and he went on to tell me that he looked like my ex could play for the Broncos.  He even mentioned a position...he said something along the lines of, "He looks like he can be a linebacker for the Broncos"...."you must feel safe around him".

During the fight, I was furious.  Everything just got to me.  I foolishly picked up a plastic potted plant and I threw it at him.  It missed him and it made a mess on the floor.  I told him that he needed to clean it up.  Then, I hit him on his arm.  Later on, he admitted that my hit did not hurt him.  After I hit him, he pinned me down to our bed.  When I said pinned me down....I mean, pinned me down.  He had me pinned by my ankles and my wrists.  He had all of his weight on me.  His reasoning?  To calm me down.  All it did was make me more upset.  Especially when he refused to get off of me, and him being on top of me started to give me pain.

I pleaded for him to get off of me, but he didn't.  I became more enraged.  Keep in mind, he was on top of my stomach which had 2 operations exactly 4 months prior.  I was in pain and desperate for him to get off of me.  But he outpowered me.

I found my chance to break free.  His arm got in front of my face, and I bit his wrist once with all of my might.  I bit him in an effort to get him off of me.  It worked.  He got off of me.

His bite was superficial in that he didn't bleed nor did he need stitches.  I did leave quite a mark though.

It was after that, which I acted in haste.  I acted without thinking.  I acted out of anger of what just happened.  I ran downstairs (my son was still swinging peacefully in his swing) and I grabbed a paring knife.  I then went upstairs where he was in the master bathroom.

I did not touch him with the knife.  I did hold it up though and I threatened to hurt him if he ever did anything like that to me again.  It was a bunch of words...stupid, stupid words out of anger, and out of acting out in the moment.  I would never have used a knife on him.  I wanted to scare him so that he would never do that to me again.  No, I am not justifying what I did.

What I did was wrong.  I realize that, and I truly regret what I did.  I realize how out of control I was.  I am so glad that I am not like that anymore, as I look back at that day, and I don't like the person that I was. 

After I threatened him, I went downstairs and put the paring knife in the dishwasher, eventhough it was clean.  My son was still swinging happily in his swing, and I got an ice pack for my ex's bite mark.  My ex was crying and he was coming down the stairs.

I offered him the ice pack and I asked him to let me see the bite mark. He wouldn't.  I told him to put the ice pack on his wrist.  He kept insisting that he needed to go to the hospital because I bit him near his artery.  With the way he was talking, you would think he was bleeding to death.

I offered to drive him to the emergency clinic.  He didn't want me tom and he told me that he would drive himself.

He left, and I took my son out of  his swing to give him a bottle.  During that time, my ex and I spoke on the phone and ended up arguing.  Little did I know what he was going to do next.

Before I end this post, I would like to reiterate that I regret what I did.  It was WRONG.  I should not have done what I did.  I wish I could take what I did back, but unfortunately, I can't. 

What happened next, I never would have expected.

2008...from high to low...

2008....Let me preface this post with letting you know that my depression went away when I got married.  Sure, it snuck in here and there from time to time, but it was nothing like it was.  My anorexia went dormant.....almost like how cancer goes in to remission.

During my pregnancy though, I did make my OB/GYN aware that I had a history of depression, because I certainly did not want postpartum depression.  Forget the postpartum depression part...I went in to depression during my pregnancy.  I'm sure that the hyperemesis that I was suffering from had something to do with it.  I mean, imagine for just a moment what it's like to be sick 24/7 and constantly throwing up, and every smell making you want to throw up.  Not to mention, my hormones were changing.

I felt so alone.  Sure, my ex would be there for me at times, but I also remember me coming home after a long day at work and I'd lie down on the bed and put the TV on...too sick to move, and he wouldn't stay with me because it was "boring", and he'd go downstairs to the living room and play the X-Box 360 or the Playstation 3 that I foolishly bought him.  I was so sick, and I felt so alone at times, and I would just cry.

As I previously wrote, my son was born on February 14, 2008.  I fell in love with him instantly!  It's something I can't put in words....you would just have to experience it for yourself...that instant bond and love.  It truly is amazing!

As soon as my son was born, I was feeling better, and my depression went away!  I was so happy to be a Mommy, and I felt and still do feel, so very Blessed to have my son!  I had, and have, never been happier!

I was in the hospital for 5 nights due to the surgery.  Approximately 2 days or so after I came home, there was a knock on my door.  I was under investigation by social services because I had suffered from depression years earlier.  And I let that be known to my OB/GYN while I was pregnant.  It didn't matter that I wasn't in depression prior to becoming pregnant...nor was I in depression after my son was born....she kept focusing on the past.  I looked at her while holding my little boy and told her that I had never been happier, and that I never want to live more.  And that was the truth.  My little boy was, and still is, and always will be...my everything!

She didn't care though.  So, on with her investigation she went.  You know what my thoughts are?  If you don't have anything to hide....which I didn't...then let them investigate me all that they want!  Finally, I received a letter in the mail indicating that their investigation was through, and that it was "unfounded".  Eventhough I had nothing to hide, I was glad to have them out of my life.

I previously wrote about how it took me a while to heal, and how I even passed out, so I'm going to move forward to that day....the day my life shattered.....June 14, 2008....exactly 4 months to the day that my precious son was born.

Before I continue, I should let you know that my ex continued spending like you would not believe.  I had always taken care of the budget, but being sick with hyperemises, he had to take over the budget....I had no choice due to how violently sick I was.  He completely messed up our budget.  A few days prior to my life shattering, my ex told me that we were approximately $1,000 in the negative.  I couldn't understand how that could be.  I mean, there I was making good money, and on top of it, I had cashed in the last of my annuity.

We fought alot over finances...or lack there of.  On that day, I knew we would end up in a fight....I just didn't know what the result of that fight would be, nor how my life would shatter as a result of that fight.

My Son...the BEST Blessing that God has ever given me!

Before I get in to what happened, and how my life shattered in 2008, I am going to tell you about my pregnancy.

When I found out about my pregnancy, I was honest with my OB/GYN about the problems that I suffered from...especially my depression, as I was worried about post-partum depression.

I became pregnant in 2007 and I suffered with a very rare condition called Hyperemesis.  As I wrote, it is a very rare and serious condition which affects approximately 3% or less of all pregnancies.

I was sick the entire time.  Way beyond morning sickness.  And, it never went away.  Oh, how I suffered.  I would cry and cry because the only time I wasn't sick was when I was sleeping.  My OB/GYN took me off of my pre-natal vitamins during my first trimester because I was so very sick.

I had to go to the Emergency Room one day because I was so dehyrdrated from how sick I was.  At one point, I was out of work for approximately 3 weeks, and I was hooked up to an I.V. at home, which pumped liquids in to my body to help keep my hydrated, and at one point during my third tri-mester, I was on 7 medications.  SEVEN.  One of them was a pump where I had to keep sticking myself with needles every other day, and the pump was pumping anti-nauseau medication in to my body....the same medication that they give to chemo patients.

Despite all of that, I continued throwing up.  Oh, how I suffered.  Everthing made me so sick.  I would cry and cry because of how very sick I felt and was, yet nothing was able to help me.

Somehow, I managed to work throughout my entire pregnancy.  There was so much pressure on me....I knew that if I didn't work, there went the roof over our heads.  And I couldn't depend or count on my ex to keep us afloat....it was all up to me.  So, day in and day out I forced myself to go to work.  I even worked that second part-time job that I still had.

I managed to gain 14 1/2 pounds.  My OB/GYN saw how bad I was suffering, and without my even asking, they told me that they were going to induce me 2 weeks early to stop my suffering.

I knew that I was having a little boy.  And I was so very happy to find out that I was having a boy, as that is what I wanted.  I worried about my son, and I hoped that my hypermesis didn't affect him in any way.

Long story short, my little boy came just under 3 weeks early.  My son, who had been head down for a good month or month and a half or so, flipped last minute.  And just when I was almost fully dialated and getting ready to push, they saw that he flipped, and I needed an emergency C-Section.  Everything happened so fast, and because I was in labor, there was no time to spare.

So off, they wheeled me to the Operating Room and they delivered my little boy.  It's amazing...I fell in love with him as soon as he was born.  And the bond was so very strong from that instant.  It's amazing how that happens.

Thank God that all of my suffering did not affect my son at all.

After they delivered my little boy, they let me see him, and then they took him to clean him off, etc.  In the interim, my OB/GYN took one look inside my body, and called for the surgeon that was there to come in to the Operating Room.  I was still awake, so I heard their whole conversation.  Trust me, you don't want to be awake during an operation....especially hearing the doctors converstaion.

You see, the adhesions that I received from my colon surgery back in 2001 were real bad.  The adhesions wrapped themselves up all around my intestines.  It was bad.  Real bad.  The two worked together cutting the adhesions off of my intestines.  I found out aftwerwards, that all of the adhesions that I had would have more than likely caused me complications in the future.

So I underwent 2 back to back surgeries.  First was the C-Section, which I should mention was not the typical C-Section....instead of a horizontal C-Section like they typically perform, I had a vertical one.  After that came the surgery on my adhesions.

It took me quite a while to heal.  While I was still out on maternity leave, I ended up going back to work at my part-time job.  I was no where near ready to go back.  In fact, one morning, my son was crying and I got up in the morning (along with my ex), and I ended up passing out in the master bathroom and I fell down on top of my marble trash can, smashing it in to pieces, and my fall caused quite a gash on my side.  Despite that, I went to work the next day.  The way that I looked at it?  Somebody needed to support our family, and I couldn't cound on my ex to do so.

Getting to my son....my whole reason for living.  I was and am so happy to have HIM for my son, and I absolutely love being HIS Mommy!  I was so happy.  All of that suffering that I went through was worth it.

My little boy was born on February 14, 2008.  That's right....Valentine's Day!  He is the BEST Valentine's Day gift that I have ever received or that I ever could receive.  He is the BEST Blessing that God has ever given me, and I thank God for my little boy!

I thought I was doing what was best...

It was August of 2005.  I finally started coming out of my severe depression.  My anorexia was still running rampant though, and I was struggling with it severely.  About one to two weeks prior to meeting my ex, I remember that I fasted for approximately 110 hours or so....110 hours of not even one single calorie.

I knew he was younger than me....I just didn't know how much younger he was when I first met him.  No, I am not a cougar.  I have always dated guys that were older than me.  I didn't scope out younger guys...in fact, I wanted nothing to do with dating younger guys.  My ex looked older than he was.  It was after I started having feelings for him that I found out that he was 9 years younger than me.  I hated that!  Maybe some women would be proud having a younger boyfriend...not me.  In fact, when people would ask me about him, I would say that we were close in age.  The age difference really bothered me.  Fortunately, not only did he look older than his age, but I look younger than my age.  People always guess that I am much younger than I actually am.

I thought he was mature.  "Thought" being the key word.  Sure, he looked older than his age, but as I would soon learn, he was extremely immature.  His family kept going on and on to me about how mature he was, especially since his father wasn't around growing up.  Boy, was I fooled.

We married quickly.  We got married just shy of going out for 5 months.  As I look back now, I can't help but think that a person doesn't really know another person in 5 months.  To really get to know somebody takes time.  But I got married, which is something that I swore I that I would never do.

I told him about my anorexia, my cutting, me severe depression, and my OCD.  Prior to getting married, I kept asking him if he was sure that he wanted to marry me with all of the problems that I suffered from, and I told him that he could find a woman that doesn't have any problems....I basically told him that he could do better than me.  He would tell me that he loved me, and that he didn't want to be with anybody else, but me. 

He had nothing.  One suitcase of clothes and the original X-Box, and that was it.  I felt bad for him not having clothes.  I ended up cashing in part of my annuity.  You know those commercials that they have on TV....why wait, get your money now?  Well, I did that.  And I set up a budget as to how the money was to be spent.

Boy, could he spend.  And spend, and spend, and spend.  Up and over the budget.  For example....I gave him $5,000 to use strictly on clothes.  Not only did he spend his $5,000, but he went way over that amount, and in to the money that I allocated to myself for clothes shopping.

He kept going on and on about how he wanted to make a career out of doing animation, yet he did not want to go to school.  He wanted to learn the program on his own.  I believed him.  So, I bought him the $8,000 animation program that he wanted, which was so big, that a typical computer couldn't house it, so there went another $8,000 on this computer to house the program.  I invested $16,000 in his "career" believing that he was serious about it.  Long story short, he never even read a full chapter.  Due to the high cost, the animation program is so copywrighted, that there is no way to even sell it.

Was I trying to buy his love?  No.  It made me happy to see him happy.  I would always put my happiness aside.

So we met and started going out in August of 2005, and we got married at the court house in January of 2006, and we had a Church wedding which I paid for entirely, in March of 2006. 

We both wanted to move out of Florida.  It had been my dream to move to Colorado since 1999 eventhough I had never been to Colorado at that point, nor did I know anybody that even lived in Colorado.  Yet, I know inside me, that Colorado was where I was meant to live.  He wanted to move to West Virginia.  So we agreed that we'd visit Colorado first, and then West Virginia, and we'd make out decision from there.

As soon as we landed in Colorado in Februaray of 2006, I knew that I was home.  He fell in love with it too, and West Virginia was no longer in the running, and I was glad of that!  I paid for an apartment in cash for one year...I had no other choice, since in order to get an apartment, you have to have a job in that state.  Considering I didn't have a job in Colorado, paying up front for the whole lease term was my only option.

So back to Florida we went, and we had our Church wedding, followed by our honeymoon, and then we packed up, and moved to Colorado in April of 2006.

I started working for a Commercial Real Estate company approximately 2 weeks after moving to Colorado.  He didn't work....not for many months.  Eventhough I was making good money, I took on a second, part-time job to make up for his slack.  Sure he started working, but he never was able to make good money, nor could he hold a job.

In July of 2006, I signed a contract to have a house built, and I closed on the house in December of 2006.

I worked, and very hard at that.  I worked and he spent.  Almost as fast as I could make it, he'd be spending it.  He was like a kid in a candy shop.

In 2007, I became pregnant.  Prior to my son being born in February of 2008, my ex informed me that he thought it would be a good idea for me to cash in the remainder of my annuity.  He even said something along the lines of, "there's no guarantee you are even going to be alive when you are supposed to get your lump sums".  So I did....I cashed in the remainder of my annuity.  Sure, it was easy for him to do as it wasn't his money....but it was hard on because that was my security for when I was older.  In an instant, it was all gone.  I thought I was doing what was best.

I tried to lead a normal life...

From 2003 to August of 2005, I spent much of my time continuing to work my way up the Corporate Ladder.  I had been doing Accounting for years, and worked as an Accounting Analyst, and having my Accounting background, I landed myself a job doing Commercial Real Estate....and Commercial Real Estate is what I enjoyed doing.  I worked as a Lease Administrator, and I thoroughly enjoyed doing Commercial Real Estate.

I was not rich, but I made good money, and I lived comfortably.  On top of it, I had an annuity (from a trust fund) from when I was a child.  I was receiving money monthly, and it was set up that I would receive a few different lump sums when I reached certain ages.  The trust fund was from doctors messing up on me when I was a baby which almost caused me to be confined to a wheel chair for the rest of my life.  It was a result of a malpractice case that settled out of court.

From the outside, people were unable to see that I was suffering terribly on the inside.  I continued seeing that same therapist weekly but my problems didn't go away.

At one point, I stopped cutting myself because I lived in Florida, and I didn't want people to see my scars.  They could though.....I remember one day when I went to play golf with some co-workers, and one of the guys said something along the lines of, "Damn, what the hell happened to your legs?  It looks like you were mauled by a lion."  I tried to hide my secret and blamed the scars on a bad fall that I took.

My anorexia was still running rampant.  I tried to lead a normal life.  I bought myself a brand new sports car; I had 2 season tickets to the Bucs as I was a Bucs fan back then as I was living in Florida, and I lived in a big, beautiful, brand new apartment.  I kept everything in, and I was so good at doing that.  Nobody would have guessed the sheer pain that I was in....but I was.  The pain was there.  The pain was deep....and it wouldn't go away.

This leads me in to 2005....August of 2005 to be specific.  The month that I met my ex....the "man" that would try to destroy me, and who would affect my life forever (and not in a good way).

I am getting close to 2008.  The year that my life shattered...my whole reason for writing this blog.  If you continue following along, you will see why I gave you the background of my life prior to going in to how my life completely shattered in 2008.

I'm sure it is going to be very difficult for me to write about how my life shattered in 2008, and about everything that has happened to me since then, but I need to get my story out.

Anorexia is a symptom...

It was 2002.  I was out on disability.  Actually, I went out on disability in August of 2001 to go in to that "treatment center" and then I was still out on disability when I had my colon surgery, and I remained on disability to heal from that surgery.  I ended up being on disability for one full year.

It was in approximately April of 2002 that I fully realized that my mother had problems, and that I needed to get away from her and my father, and that my mother still had an emotional control over me.   I knew that I had to discontinue talking to my mother for my own well-being.  I told her over the phone that I loved her but I needed some time to work on myself.  It was sooooo very hard on me to do that. 

It was during that same month that I started talking to my sister.  My sister and I hadn't talked for years, as there was this division in my family, and there still is, to this day.  My sister was and had been very close to my biological father, and she didn't talk to my mother.  As for me, it was in reverse.  I did not talk to my biological father, but I was talking to my mother. 

As I wrote, it had been years since I had spoken to my sister.  I was living in Florida, and she was living in Tennessee with her husband.  I got in my car, and drove up to see her.  It was after her telling me that my biological father had changed and that he talked about me, that I decided that I would try talking to him.  I did so, on the phone.  It was uncomfortable, but I talked to him.

Somewhere along the line I started voluntarily seeing yet another therapist.  I think it was during 2002 that I started seeing her.  She was the 3rd therapist that told me that I shouldn't talk to my mother.

I saw my biological father 2 times.  Both times were in 2002.  The first time was when he and his wife flew to Tennessee, and we all met there.  The second time was when I flew to NY to visit him and his wife for Christmas (my sister and her husband flew to NY as well).  What a nightmare that was.  I so badly wanted to go home.  His wife was literally throwing temper tantrums like a child because he was talking to me and not her.  She was yelling and slamming doors.  She didn't like me, and I don't care if she does or not, as I don't like her.

My biological father treated me like a child.  Perhaps he did so because he missed seeing me grow up, but that was his fault.  It was too much for me.

In 2003, I stopped talking to him.  I couldn't take him constantly telling me what I "should  and shouldn't do".  I still had all of my problems, including my anorexia.  He would tell me to eat.  For anybody that is reading this...if you know somebody that has anorexia, trying to force them to eat is NOT going to fix the problem.  Anorexia is a symptom.  It's like having the flu.  You can take something to help clear up your nose, but you are still going to have the flu, as the problems with your nose is only a symptom of the flu.  Sure, fixing your nose will help the problems with your nose, but you are still going to have the flu.

The same thing holds true for anorexia.  It's a symptom.  There's an underlying root.  Most people can't deal with anorexia....they try to come up with a quick fix.  I am here to tell you that telling an anorexic to eat, is NOT going to take away their anorexia.  And no, a person with anorexia can't eat for "you".

So I started talking to my biological father in 2002, and after proving that it was way to overwhelming and too much for me, I stopped talking to him in 2003.  I did continue talking to my sister though.

My anorexia was still running rampant.  And all of my other problems were still there...my anxiety, my OCD, my severe depression, my low self esteem.  Yet, I sucked it all up, and kept it in and continued working my way up the corporate ladder.

People don't know how to handle anorexia...

On to 2001....I was living on my own and my life was crumbling.  I can honestly say that I never even once tried drugs, and I only drank socially....I was never an alcoholic especially with being an anorexic, because alcohol has colories in it.  But my anorexia....oh, my anorexia.  It was running rampant.  I was taking all sorts of diet pills and laxatives, and I would fast.  My fasts meant that I would not eat or drink anything that had even one calorie in it.  My fasts meant 0 calories....I wouldn't even allow myself a piece of sugar-free gum because it has 5 calories in it.  The longest I fasted was over 4 days....over 100 hours.  On top of it, I would go to the gym...even while fasting and do alot of cardio to drop weitght.  If there's one thing I knew....I knew how to drop weight, and quickly at that.

Then from fasting and starving myself, when I would try to eat, I would over-eat (binge).  It was all or nothing.  I hated binging because it would make my weight go up.  I would do anything to lose that weight, which included taking laxatives.

One night I took so many laxatives that the next morning, while I was getting ready for work, I literally lost my vision.  I was still wide awake and I was walking around at the time, but all of a sudden everything went black.  I couldn't see anything.  It scared me.  That never happened before, and I was scared that my vision wouldn't return.  I was feeling my way around my apartment.  I "saw" so to speak, what it's like to be blind.  I was frightened.  It felt like it lasted a long time....but realistically, it probably lasted for about 1 to 2 minutes.

I would smoke cigarettes to help me fast.  I was trying to keep myself busy to not eat.  I would make up lies in the work place when they had events that had food, as to why I couldn't eat.

I was still cutting myself.  It's amazing, I kept everything hidden and excelled at my job(s) and then I got home and would just cut myself.  I knew that I needed to work in order to pay for my bills, so I learned how to hide all of the pain that I was in, and to hide my problems that I was facing.  I'd put on a fake smile, and hide my problems from the world.  I wouldn't allow anybody to see the pain I was in.

My mom knew though.  She was still a prescription drug addict, and my dad would always take her side against me.  Eventhough I was living on my own, she still had an emotional hold over me.

I'll never forget that day...I was working as an Accounting Analyst, and my mother called me up and told me that she was on her way to the attorney's to get a Power of Attorney over me to declare me incompetent, and I needed to go into treatment for my anorexia, and if I didn't, I wouldn't have a say.  That devastated me....and not just then, for years after that.  I wasn't incompetent.  I had a well paying job, and I was able to support myself completely.  I went in to treatment, and my mother never got that Power of Attorney.

If there's one thing I know, it's myself and my body.  I knew that going in to treatment would be horrible for me....in fact, I knew that it would be dangerous for me.  My anorexia has "triggers".....one of them, is seeing females that are skinnier than me.

So in to the treatment center I went.  It was a residential treatment center, and I went there for my anorexia and depression.....actually, severe depression, as every time I was ever diagnosed with depression, I was diagnosed as having "severe depression".

I was right about seeing skinner females triggering me.  That place "did me in" so to speak.....eventhough I was watched by the employees there, I was determined to drop weight right before their eyes.....and I did.  They couldn't understand how I was dropping weight while they were watching me, but where there's a will, there's a way.  They threatened to put me in to a "higher level of care" due to my low weight, as they couldn't seem to handle it.

After 2 months, I was released.  I left considerably skinnier than when I entered.  Thank you for helping my anorexia "treatment center".  When I would talk to the psychiatrist about my depression...she didn't want to hear about it.  She told me that they couldn't handle my level of depression and that if I didn't "snap" out of it, that they would have to put me in a "higher level of care".  My response?  I'm here to get help....I'm not at summer camp.  Don't you need to know what I'm feeling to help me?  But, they only wanted to hear what they wanted to hear.

Not wanting to go in to a higher level of care, I started telling them what they wanted to hear.  Some treatment center.  I told them that the anti-depressant (the second one that they tried me on, was working), and that I was starting to feel better.  It was all a lie. I'm not stupid by any means.

People don't know how to handle anorexia...they don't know what to do.  Most people's answer is to "go in to treatment".  But you know what, we are all different.  That, nor would anything else work on me.  People want a "quick fix"...but there is no "quick fix"....at least not for me.

I was in "treatment" for the months of August 2001 to October 2001.  The therapists there told me that I needed to stop talking to my mother, and they told me that she was a "narcissist".  I never even heard that word before.  As much anger that I had at my mother, and as much as I hated the way she would treat me (as she was still a prescription drug addict and abusive verbally and controlling), I just cried, and said, "but that's my mother". 

After treatment I continued talking to my mother.  I ignored the advice from 2 different therapists from the treatment center that I was in, eventhough they told me that I would never get better as long as I continued talking to her because of her abuse.

In December of 2001, I was still skinny...and my anorexia was worse than ever.  One day while at my apartment, and with no warning signs, I dropped to the ground in pain.  It was like somebody just slashed me in the stomach with a knife.  I could not stop throwing up.....and this was not food related.  This was a pain...not a stomach ache from food.  I know my body, and I knew that something was severly wrong.

My mom who lived about 30-45 minutes away from me. came with my dad and took me to the hospital.  The pain...oh the pain.  It was so very bad.  They ran a test and it came out negative, so the doctor sent me home and said that there was nothing wrong with me.  But I KNEW that something was wrong.

No sooner did I get home and my mom returned to her home, that the pain kicked in again, and I was throwing up non-stop.  I called my mom who had just got home from dropping me off to my home, and I ended up calling 911.  The paramedics arrived shortly before my parents did, and I was rushed to the E.R. by ambulance.  My mother stayed in the ambulance with me. 

My stomach blew up...almost like I was pregnant, and my color changed.  Something was definitely wrong.  Even the paramedic was worried about me, and that paramedic even called the hospital to check up on me.  That's how bad I was.

The doctor was furious to see me return to the hospital claiming that there was nothing wrong with me.  My mom stood up to him, and she got me a new doctor.  I was admitted immediately.  Test after test after test.....all of them came out negative.  But I knew something was wrong....I didn't care what the tests said, and I knew that whatever it was, it was very serious.

The pain killers weren't even touching the pain, and I literally wanted to die.  There's a certain threshold of pain that a person can take before they feel like they can't take anymore...and I had long hit mine.  The pain was beyond bad.

The doctors didn't know what to do, as they didn't know what was going on, so they did a laparoscopy on me.  A part of my colon turned black and adhered to my stomach.  That is serious.  They detached my colon from my stomach and put me on a super high level of antibiotics.  I had a fever which kept spiking.  The pain was still there.  Three days later, they performed surgery on me, and in that 3 days time, my colon adhered itself back to my stomach.  They ended up removing approximately 13 inches of my colon.  What I had, could have killed me, and I was told that by my doctor.

It took me a long time to heal.  After my surgery, my whole body started shutting down....my stomach wasn't working properly; my bladder stopped working; and of course, my colon wasn't working.  The team of doctors that I had used to have meetings about me as they discussed how they could try to get me better.  It was unexplainable.

I had a morphine line inserted into me during my surgery, which would put morphine straight in to my body via a pump.  The morphine didn't even touch the pain, and the and the anesthesiologists had to keep increasing the dosage until they found the proper dosage.

With all of this happening, and not being able to eat, my weight was dropping.  Being an anorexic, I didn't mind it at all...in fact, I welcomed the weight loss.  I was in the hospital initially for approimately 3 weeks.  I was discharged, and I was back in the hospital for about one week after being discharged for one week.  Yet more tests.  Then I was released again, only to have to be re-admitted back in to the hospital approximately one month later, for just under a week.

They could never explain what happened.  I thought it was because of the damage that my eating disorder did to my body, but they said no.  And even years later, I was told that my anorexia didn't cause it.

This brings me up to the beginning of 2002....I'm getting closer to 2008, the main reason for my post where my life shattered in an instant.

I couldn't escape my painful thoughts...

After graduating, and before going in to Corporate America, I got in to a relationship.  The longest one that I have been in, thus far.  We were together for just over 4 years, cummulative.

I was still in a great deal of pain inside.  My self-esteem was still low, and my anorexia was still there, although it was dormant for a while, but it returned.  I still had my anxiety and OCD, not to mention depression.  When my ex-boyfriend and I would fight, it was bad.  I grew up surrounded by violence and fighting, and I never got to see people work things out in a healthy manner.  I repeated the only way I knew to handle my anger....in violence.  He would get violent back.  It wasn't a healthy relationship.

I started cutting myself while going out with him.  I never cut anybody else, nor would I ever do something like that.  And I wasn't cutting myself with the intent of killing myself.  I was cutting myself because I was in so much pain inside that I couldn't handle it.  It was a way to "snap" myself out of the pain and the thoughts that I was having. 

I would cut myself in places where nobody could see.  I cut myself because I wanted to feel physical pain vs. emotional pain....and the physical pain that I caused myself, would temporarily get me "out of my head" so to speak, as my mind would turn from the pain inside me, to the physical pain that I just caused myself.  I preferred the physical pain vs. the emotional pain.

Sure, over the years, I went to therapists and psychiatrists, and they tried putting me on different medications i.e. anti-depressants.  None of them ever worked.  They may work for some people...but they never worked for me.  My mind is more powerful than any drug that they could prescribe to me, so unless they had a medication which would cause me to forget about what I went through (which obviously, they don't)...no drug ever has; would; or could ever work on me.

I was working full-time, and my immediate supervisor/manager started sexually harassing me something awful.  I ended up having to get an attorney and sue him and the company because the company knew of the way he was, yet they didn't do anything to put an end to the sexual harassment.  It settled out of court.  He ended up getting fired, and I quit that job.

My ex-boyfriend and I broke up and I was alone with nothing but my thoughts.....my painful thoughts....I couldn't escape them.  I went back to cutting.  I didn't do it for attention, as I lived alone, and nobody knew about it because I would cut myself on my legs, and my pants would cover them up.  It was my secret.  It was very addictive because it served its purpose....but it would only last temporary, and it definitely was not a healthy coping mechanism.

The purpose of my blog...

Before I continue with my life story, I would like to explain the purpose of my blog...

No, it is not for sympathy, and no, I am not in a pity-party.  I have made peace with my past and I even forgave everybody that has ever hurt me in my life, over 2 1/2 years ago.  It's not to vent, so that I can move on.  I have long moved on.  I have a very happy life, and I am very Blessed!  As I previously posted, it's everything that we have gone through in our life that makes us the people that we are today, and I like the person that I am!  I am truly happy!

So why am I posting this then?  In 2008, my life shattered.  My world came crashing down on me in an instant.  I then got wrapped up in the court system, which in my opinion, didn't seem to be fair.  I want to get that out....I want to let the public know of what I went through in 2008, and how I was treated.  Before I can tell you, the reader, about 2008, I felt that it would be better for me to tell you what events affected me, which led up to that day back in 2008, which would change my life forever.

I am simply giving you, the reader, "snapshots" of my life.  This way, you can see the environment that I grew up in, and what I went through, which will help explain why my life shattered in 2008.

I will be getting to 2008 as soon as I finish my "snapshots".  That is the reason for this blog.  If you continue reading, and following along, you may understand why I gave you all of the background that I did.  I'm writing this to expose what I went through in 2008, and I want to get my story out in the public.

So, that is the reason for my posts.  It's not some sort of therapy assignment, or a way for me to "let things go".  I've left my past exactly there, where it belongs...in the past.  I am only bringing it up now because it will come in to play in a later post.

From one form of abuse to another...

My mother finally divorced my biological father when I was 8 or 9 years old.  She then got re-married...I was around 9 years old at the time.  I consider my step-father to be my father...I always have, and I always will.

As I previously wrote, I was born in Westchester, NY.  I lived in Dutchess County, NY when my mother was married to my biological father.  Then, when my mother re-married, we moved back to Westchester County (it's about a 45 minute drive).  My mother had sole custody of my sister and I.

At this point, I was already affected by the abuse that I was subjected to for so many years.  I suffer from anxiety, and the first time I remember having anxiety, I was around 9 years old or so.  I probably had it before then, but that's my first recollection of having it.

At that age, I also had OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder).  My OCD manifested itself with unwanted, intrusive thoughts.  Those were my obsessions.  My compulsions (how I would temporarily relieve the obsessions) was to tell my intrusive thought to my sister over and over again....I had to hear many times, that I wasn't a bad person.  I can tell the difference between unwanted intrusive thoughts, and my regular and normal thoughts.  I have never once acted on an unwanted, obsessive, intrusive thought, and I never will.

So before I even turned 10, I was suffering the affects of all of those horrible years of abuse.

I was in elementary school, which at that time, in Westchester, went up to the 6th grade.  I liked school.  I had friends, and we all got along.

It was during this time, that my mom needed to have several major back surgeries, and she was on heavy pain killers.  Low and behold, my mother, after taking these heavy pain killers, became addicted to them.  She was a prescription drug addict.

Oh how those pain killers changed her.  On top of it, I think that my mom was also suffering the affects of that horrific marriage that she was in, plus, I don't believe that my mother had a good, and healthy childhood growing up.  I believe she grew up in an abusive environment.  Needless to say, the drugs affected my mother...she became a different person.

It was approximataely 3 1/2 years later that we would move from Westchester, NY, to Florida.  We moved the summer after I completed the 6th grade.  I started middle school in Florida not having any friends.  That was horrible.  To make matters worse, I had short hair which my mother insisted that I have; I wore glasses; I didn't have the clothes that the popular kids wore, and I was quiet.  All of that put together made me a walking target.

Day in and day out, I was tormented in school.  Not just by one class bully...I was getting tormented by boys and girls...whether they were in my class(es) or not.  I had gum thrown in my hair; spitballs thrown in my hair; I was pushed; threatened....one day I remember walking down the hall when a guy that wasn't in any of my classes walked by me with his group of friends following him, and he shoved me in to the lockers.  It was after that day, that I started carrying a sharpened pencil with me in my hands (along with my books) in case something like that happened again.

I cried every morning.  Every morning I would pray for God to let that day be better then the previous day, but it never was.  All of the constant name calling day in and day out...along with the threats, put me in to depression.  I literally wanted to die.  I wanted to just go to sleep one night, and not wake up.  I always woke up though...and every day from 7th grade through 12th grade, I got tormented horribly.  So much so, that even though I was an honor roll student, I almost dropped out of school prior to my senior year of high school.  I just couldn't take the abuse any more.  But I did finish....fortunately, I had my own car during my senior year and I only went to school for half of the day, and then went to work for the other half.

I had no escape.  School was pure torture, and my mother was verbally abusive due to all of those prescription drugs.  Oh, the way they altered her.  I hated life.  I remember that I went in to depression at the age of 13....this is on top of the anxiety and OCD that I had.

I was a good student.  I did have one problem though.  I was verbally abusive to my parents.  Not to anybody else.  I had so much anger inside me, and that is how it came out.  I would say the most hurtful things to my parents.  Not to the people that were tormenting me at school...when they would torment me, I would never defend myself.

I was never overweight; however, on top of my other problems, I had extremely low self-esteem, which brought on anorexia at the age of 16/17.  Oh how I hated my life.  I hated my home life, and I hated school.  I graduated with honors, and I even received a scholarship that I didn't even apply for, or expect.  I didn't go to college though.  I had suffered enough abuse from the kids at school...why go to college and be surrounded by those same kids?  No...that wasn't for me.  Plus, eventhough I graduated with honors, I felt too "stupid" for college...that's how low my self-esteem was.

So in to Corporate America I went.  I hated my home life.  I hated the way my mother was, and my father would always take my mother's side.  She would say the meanest things to me which hurt me badly.  Words hurt.  All of the words that were said to me at home and at school stayed with me...I internalized them, and I started telling myself the things that were told to me.

Approximately one month after turning 22, I moved out on my own.  I had to get away from my mother and father.  I just couldn't take it any more.  I moved in to a tiny apartment about an hour away from my parents.  It was in a bad section of town, and I only had my clothes.  I slept on the floor because I didn't even have a bed.  Nevertheless, I was just happy to be living on my own, and to be making it on my own. 

I still was suffering from all of the problems which had started when I was young.  I was filled with anger.

No child should have to grow up in violence...

I was born in Westchester, NY.  I am the youngest of two, as I have one sister that is 2 years older than me.

I grew up in sheer violence.  My mother was married to a man who drank in excess.  And when he drank, he would go on violent rampages.  The horror that I was exposed to as a child.....no child should ever be subjected to the violence that I was surrounded by as a child.

Most of my childhood is blocked out.  Many years back, a therapist told me that the reason that I can't remember much of my childhood is because it's a self-defense mechanism, and that my brain is subconsciously trying to protect myself which is why I can't remember much.  If that's the case, then so be it!  Who wants to remember such horror?

I do have 2 vivid memories....one of them was a night when my biological father was drunk and he went on a violent rampage.  I remember him chasing my mother, my sister and I down the hall.  My sister and I shared a room, and the three of us got into that room, and all 3 of us had our bodies pressed up against the door, as he was on the other side banging and pushing on the door trying to get in.  I remember being so terrified of what would happen if he got through that door.  I was small...maybe around 6 or so....and I remember when he managed to get his arm through the door, that I bit it with all my might.  At that, he pulled his arm back, and he finally gave up and went in to the TV room, and then he finally passed out.

My mother, my sister and I stayed locked in that room, too scared to come out.  My mother had started making us dinner before he went on his violent rampage....she was so scared to leave the room to get the food off of the stove, and out of the oven.  My sister and I crept out of the room and got the food, and the 3 of us ate dinner on the floor with the door to the room locked.  My mother felt so bad because the chicken that she had in the oven got slightly burnt.  But it wasn't her fault.  Yet she felt so bad, and she was apologizing to us.  As I am writing this and remembering that day, tears are falling down my face.

That's one memory.  The other memory that I have of my biological father is of one day when my mom was lying on her bed.  Again, I would guess that I must have been around 6 or so.  I can't remember everything fully, but my biological father must have just finished one of his drunken rampages and passed out again.  I don't know.  All I remember is that my mom was lying on her bed, and I laid down beside her, and I put my arm around her.  I kept thinking in my head "if he comes in to the room, I will jump on top of my mother and cover her with my body....this way if he tries to kill her, he will have to kill me first."  No child should ever have those kinds of thoughts running through their head like I did.  But that was what I lived through.  I was living in fear.  I was afraid that my biological father was going to kill my mother, and I was also afrad that he was going to kill me.

That's what I remember.  Mostly everything else is blocked out.  Sure, there may be a small memory here or there, but not as vivid as those two, and just as well, as I'd rather not remember.

That's how I spent the first 8 or 9 years of my life until my mother was finally able to divorce my biological father. 

In this life, things affect each person differently.  One person can tell a story or even a joke to two different people.  One person may think nothing of it, and maybe even laugh it off.  The other person may take great offense, and even get hurt by it.  As far as me?  I'm a sensitive person, and the things that I have gone through in my life has had a great impact on me over the years.

During my posts, I will be giving you "snapshots" of how my life has been, just as I did above, and how it all affected me; and how my life completely shattered in 2008.

A few things that I have learned throughout my life...

I am in no way a writer, nor do I claim to be one.  I have been thinking about how I am going to write about my life, and I guess the best way for me to tell my life story, is by starting from the beginning.

Before I begin my life story, I will tell you a few things that I have learned throughout my life.

1. Everything that we have gone through in our life, both good and bad, makes us the people that we are today.
2. We are all entitled to our feelings.  If somebody says something along the lines of, "you shouldn't feel that way", or "that's stupid to feel that way"; what they are doing is negating your feelings.  You have a right to feel how you feel, and don't let anybody try to tell you otherwise.
3. We can not control other people.  The only people we can control in this world is ourselves.
4. Anger is a secondary emotion.  When a person is angry, there is always an underlying emotion i.e. fear; self-worthlessness; sadness; a fear of abandonment, etc.

As I start to write about my life, I'm sure there may be some parts that are very tough for me to write about.  But, the past is in the past, and it's as I wrote above...it's everything that we have gone through in our life that makes us the people that we are today, and you know what?  I like the person that I am.  I am in no way perfect, nor will I ever claim to be, none of us are, but I am happy with the person that I have become, and the mother that I am.

Yesterday is history; tomorrow is a mystery; and today is a gift...that's what they call it the present.

Thinking about the past causes depression; thinking about the future causes anxiety, which is why we must focus on the present.

I will go back in my past though to tell my life story knowing that my inner strength will prevent it from affecting me in any negative way.

A New Year...One Full of Hope! Welcome 2011!

I am so very happy that it is 2011!  I am full of hope of what this new year will bring for me and for my little boy.

My first post is going to be short.  But over the course of time, I will be writing about the life that I have led...the struggles; the abuse; the trials and tribulations that I have gone through.  A court system to me which seems unfair.

It will take time for me to post everything, but I invite you to follow along on the true story of my life.  Where I've been, and where I'm at now, and how far I've come despite all of the obstacles life has thrown my way.

The purpose of my blog is go get my story out there.  A true story from a single mother who would do anything for my son.