The Angel Chronicles

The Angel Chronicles tell the truth about CHILD ABUSE. Victims believe they are worthless and Bad. They spend their lives overcoming these feelings. This is meant to point out TRUTH and Glorify GOD. Today I have an amazing life. I can't believe I was chosen to have such GRACE bestowed upon me. This is happening among your friends and families. Show compassion...I know Hell and it's lonely and shameful...Proceed with an Open Heart & Mind...Be An ANGEL!

Location: United States

I am a child, a mother, a survivor, a champion for childrens rights, a lover, a fighter, a woman, a friend, a professional and most importantly...A Daughter Of The King...God!

Friday, December 30, 2005

My Mother...My Friend

I really want to take some time to describe my mother. She was a 17 year old mom and I was a child conceived in the Vietnam era when men left their "best girls" to fight for our country. She was a raving beauty. She had long blond hair that seemed to flow forever. She had long tone legs and she turned every head. I would watch her put on her makeup and I always thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I wanted to be just like her! She had the most lady like hands. I would always touch them and wish my hands were like hers....Guess what...They are!My dad was away for the first year of my life. When he came home to his young wife and baby girl he was a drug addict and completely different. He beat her so badly that he left her for dead with me in the crib crying. He left the apartment and she became conscious and she grabbed all she could in about 5 minutes and left. She was on the missing persons list for 2 weeks. I can not imagine the horror she must have felt being so young. She never saw him again until she decided to marry Daddy #2. They met him in a bar and threatened him to sign over paternity to my new dad so I could be adopted. He signed, I was adopted and my name was changed so he could never find me. He made it his life ambition to find my mother and I and hurt us. Really scary guy! I shiver to think I have his genealogy!

My mom married an upper class gentleman (so she thought) and now that I was adopted, she settled in to what she thought would be a happy secure life. The problem was, she chose the same sort of man in a different package. That is the funny thing about women who are abused. They choose the same guy over and over until they get a clue. Sadly, she never got the memo and continued to pursue men who hurt her and took advantage. She thought she had me in a safe environment, however, I was physically and emotionally abused by Daddy #2. Her heart was broke when she realized that she walked her sweet child right into the lions den. When the abuse became too much, and it began to break my little spirit, she became strong AGAIN...And told him to get out. Once again she was a single mommy.

She was like so many other single mom's. She worked 2 and 3 jobs to make ends meet. She drove old cars that always broke down and waited for the support checks that always came too late. I remember a Christmas when she took an abandoned bike and painted it yellow so I could have the bike I wanted. Times were tough and food was always low...Scary We moved to Alabama looking for a better life, only to have found a sexual predator. The guilt she felt was enormous. We packed and moved...AGAIN! I began to think my name was "Who Are You?" The positive side was that I had ample opportunity to develop skills in making new friends!

When she met Daddy #3, she was completely broken, scared and hopeless. She did not know what to do. She could not seem to make ends meet and really wanted help. I understand that many single mom's go through this sort of thing. She made really bad choices, but at the time, she saw no other options. I do not blame her. I forgive her. I just refuse to make the same mistakes she made. I have learned and lived through many of the consequences of her actions. She is a kind loving woman who lost her teenage years and young womanhood raising a child. I don't know that I could have done any better.

Thursday, December 29, 2005

The Anatomy Of a Troubled Kid


Click the Word "Answer" above...

Wow, isn't this the gospel. I can absolutely relate to being in constant fear. Although, as he speaks about the biological aspects of aggressive kids, I know that can change. I remember being full of Rage. I remember years without crying a tear because I was so numb from abuse and neglect. I also remember the moment God entered my life and changed me from the inside out. I can not even imagine any of those feelings. I feel empathy and love unconditionally. Only God could do that. I tried and tried to change but could not. God came into my life and changed all my opinions, my likes, my really is quite fun to walk a new life with him. I have had a relationship for about 7 years and each day is a new adventure. I am still learning about my new mind, body and soul. Yeah God! I wish such Grace on ALL young victims of abuse...

Daddy #2

It seems that the Daddy that I so loved was abusive as well. Imagine that! As I was growing emotionally I had some tough questions to ask myself. For instance...If he was so GREAT then why did he let a fight with my Mother come between us? Also, why didn't he take a stand to make my life better and get me out of there? Why did he throw me down the stairs? Why did he backhand me in the mouth at least once a day? Things that make you go hmmmm. I remember him being very hard on me physically. He expected me to speak "perfect" English at 5 years old. He believed that children should be "Seen and not heard". He always disciplined me, and then rewarded me with money or gifts. He wanted me to be a "Showpiece". My mother told me about their breakup. Apparently, we were eating dinner and I spilled my milk. He hit me so hard that he knocked me out of the chair. She told him to leave that night. I remember him carrying his things to the car. I was crying and asking him why he was leaving. He just pushed me away and told me to "ask my mother". I was devastated. I had to face the facts that all three of the Dad's were awful. It was the truth that I tried to run from for years. You see, if I didn't have Daddy #2 on a pedestal, then the truth was...There was NEVER a man in my young life that ever loved and cared for me. This is the point in which the internal dialog really took over. I really believed I was worthless and bad. I did not deserve to be loved and apparently caused all this grief in my life. One of the life lessons that was hardest to learn was "It was not my fault". I was a child and it was not my responsibility to "fix" things. I carried these daddy experiences into my adult life and chose men that would abuse and control me. Obviously children learn from their example and I had 3 whoppers to choose from. When I talk more about the men in my life, it will be easy to see why I made the choices I did. I never really knew that men could or would simply "Love Me" for who I was. For that matter, love me, without a price. I went into every relationship looking for the price tag. Then when I was ultimately proven right, I just submitted and paid the price. Abusive situation after abusive situation. As I look back on it now, it really amazes me that I was ever in that frame of mind. I simply did not have the tools to move into a normal adult life. All can say is Praise GOD! Just by Grace, I can have a normal relationship now.

Sunday, December 25, 2005

Poof---He's Gone!!! - Age 12

Every little girl's first love is her Daddy. I was just like every other little girl and thought that Rob (The only "Daddy" I every knew) hung the moon. He was funny, charming, handsome and classy. He saw me every weekend after the divorce. I loved to go HOME to my beach house and my friends. Each time he drove up to get me, I felt as if my "Knight in Shining Armor" was coming to rescue me. My mother's recent revelation about the biological dad "Jack" who was trying to hunt us down was quite terrifying for me. Also, my relationship with my step father continued to get worse and worse. He would tell me to "Shut Up" all the time. He had no manners. He called my mother names and humiliated her. He seemed to do this for my benefit. I could never understand why he would treat her this way. I would go to my room and cry myself to sleep. I could not process the entire situation. Whenever I asked my Mother why she let him talk to her like that, she would tell me it was none of my business. I really believed it was my fault. If I never agreed to the new Dad and brother, we would not be in this situation. My stepfather never smiled. He cursed like a sailor and barely spoke. All he did was bark orders and demand. He was the rudest, crudest person I had ever seen in my life. I could not comprehend why my mother stayed with him. They weren't in love when they moved in. It was simply a matter of convenience. She needed a hiding place for me and he needed a mother for his son. By far one of the worst nights of my life occurred when I was 12 years old. I called my Grandmother at the beach to talk, like I did often to escape for a minute and get a glimpse of "hope". When I hung up the phone I said to my mother very matter of fact "I think I heard my Daddy in the background. I wonder why he didn't talk to me". My mother began a series of events that would alter the entire path of my life. She called the police and sent them to my grandmother's house to have my father arrested for child support. Of course I knew nothing of the events. About an hour later, the phone rang. My grandmother asked to speak with me. She said the most painful thing I have EVER heard..."You are working as your Mother's spy. Your Mother just had your Father arrested. You are disowned from this family. Never call us and don't expect to ever see us again!" I will never forget how I lost my breath and began to sob and beg her to not leave me. I promised again and again that I would NEVER tell my Mother anything again. I wasn't trying to get my Daddy in trouble; I was simply stating what I heard. I did not even know about things like "child support" and "jail". I was so confused. She hung up and true to her word...I was disowned...poof! I cried myself to sleep for months. I had tremendous anxiety attacks. I just wanted to die. When I heard of a child that was hit by a car, or who suffered an untimely death, I was secretly envious. I begged God to take my life. I could not escape the pain. My first love...The only man who never hurt me...My Daddy...Was gone. I believed it was my entire fault. My relationship with my step dad got worse. He continued to abuse my Mother in front of me and I grew to hate him and his manipulative sociopath son. It was so very odd. My mother acted like nothing was wrong. I now realize that she had to lie to herself to justify her actions of staying in this horrible relationship. She was simply tired of being a single mother. At least she had a man bringing home money. She didn't have to work 3 jobs any longer. She so desperately wanted a man to love her. Even if that meant that he would abuse us. She eventually married the step dad. We moved out of the trailer and into a house in the same lower class lake town. When I turned 18 my Mother and my Step Father handed me a bill. Apparently my Daddy paid too much child support and they were required by law to pay it back. They told me "I had to pay the bill because it was used to raise me". I took the bill and paid it. As if they needed to add any insult to injury in this situation. It was absurd! The pain I felt after I lost my family and my Daddy was the worst pain I ever felt. I Swore that I would NEVER fight with my husband or do anything that would jeopardize the relationship between him and my son. I refuse to make the mistakes my Mother made. I will NOT parade men in my son’s life and I will NEVER and I mean NEVER allow a man to treat my son bad. I keep this pain fresh to remind me of what happens when children are put in the middle! When I lost my Daddy and my family, I lost all Hope of ever being safe and loved. I lost the ability to feel. I went into survival mode and simply existed. Many of the years and events that occurred around the "Dad's" is just completely a blurr. It was too complex for a young girl to handle. So I didn't cope until years later.

My Name Is Sarah...A Story of Child Abuse

My name is Sarah I am but three, My eyes are swollen I cannot see,
I must be stupid I must be bad, What else could have made My daddy so mad?
I wish I were better I wish I weren't ugly, Then maybe my mummy Would still want to hug me.
I can't speak at allI can't do a wrong Or else I'm locked up All the day long.
When I awake I'm all alone The house is dark My folks aren't home
When my mummy does come I'll try and be nice,S o maybe I'll get just One whipping tonight.
Don't make a sound! I just heard a car My daddy is back From Charlie's Bar.
I hear him curse My name he calls I press myself Against the wall
I try and hide From his evil eyes I'm so afraid now I'm starting to cry
He finds me weeping He shouts ugly words, He says its my fault That he suffers at work.
He slaps me and hits me And yells at me more, I finally get free And I run for the door.
He's already locked it And I start to bawl, He takes me and throws me Against the hard wall.
I fall to the floorWith my bones nearly broken,And my daddy continuesWith more bad words spoken.
"I'm sorry!", I scream But its now much too late His face has been twisted Into unimaginable hate. The hurt and the pain Again and again. Oh please God, have mercy! Oh please let it end!
And he finally stops and heads for the door, While I lay there motionless Sprawled on the floor
My name is Sarah And I am but three,
Tonight my daddyMurdered me.

Friday, December 23, 2005

Stop Child Abuse: Child trafficking still going strong in Aceh a year after the tsunami

Stop Child Abuse: Child trafficking still going strong in Aceh a year after the tsunami

This absolutely Horrifies me! I was so afraid that the innocent children affected by the Tsunami would be prey for human trafficking. This just confirms the nightmare. I think the more we shine the spotlight on this horror of selling children, perhaps we can begin to address this is a BIG way! I can tell you as a child abuse survivor, I would rather have been killed by my captures then to endure what these children go though day in and day out.

Human trafficking is a much more profitable business than drug trafficking. Why? Because you can only sell a shipment of drugs 1 time. However, you can sell a child 15 times a day for years. It is repulsive and must be stopped. 50% of the predator customers are American. I would love to post the buyers pictures...Call their bosses....Spouses...Neighbors...And expose them to only a portion of the Shame they have forced an innocent child to endure.

God Bless these children. Please say a prayer each night for the "innocents" with no voices...

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Daddy Who??? - Age 10

When I was 10 years old it was still safe to ride your bike to school. I stood on the front porch and waved goodbye to my mother one sunny school day. It seemed like any other day as our little beach town was busy with cars and the trash crew was making their rounds. My mother looked at the trash crew and began screaming and ran into the house. She immediately pulled me out of school and we moved an hour away. At the time I did not understand why I was being taken from all my friends and my incredible school. I learned quickly what it is like to run from your past. You see, my mother recognized one of the trash men as my biological father. Apparently there was a death threat against our lives by him. He made a lifetime goal to find us. My mother was so frightened. She had been dating a man for several weeks named Art. They decided that considering the dangerous situation she was in, they should move in together immediately. Art had a 4 year old son as well. Hence, I gained a step dad and a brother all within a week. It was such a bizarre time. Art did not like me and he made that VERY apparent. He thought I talked too much and took up too much of my mother's attention. We moved from the beach town to a trailer infested with rats. I remember them moving the bunk bed away from the wall and into the middle of the floor so the rats couldn't get us in our sleep. It was a nightmare! Worse, I was transferred to a new school where I was a white minority. All I wanted to do was move back to the beach with my Grandmother Angelina and get the heck out of dodge. The demographic was VERY different and I was not adjusting. Considering the terror of realizing I had a father that I didn't know (Jack), who was trying to kill us, I had a new step dad (Art) who clearly hated me, and I missed Rob (the only father I ever knew). I felt safe with Rob. He represented the ONLY stability in my life! My Stepmother Rose (Rob's wife) would drive an hour into Hell to pick me up each Friday to take me to stay with them for the weekend. I loved being back at the beach. I remember crying and being so sad to go back to "The Lake" where my mother was playing house with a stranger. This was the beginning of the end for me. I became emotionally retarded at this point. I lost the ability to cry and began to feel an internal RAGE. I was so angry and I had no outlet. I begged my mother to let me live with Rob and Rose (Dad #2). She always refused. Rob and Rose came to the trailer to speak with my mother and Art to see if they would let me move in with them. My mother said "you are NOT taking my child". I know she regrets this now. I was so lonely and so hurt. I missed my home, my friends and my family. I was a stranger in my Mother's home. I never went to counseling to deal with being sexually abused several years earlier, then the move and all the terror at "The Lake". It was too much for a 10 year old to deal with. Whenever I complained to my Mother she always said "I asked you if you wanted a new daddy and brother and you said 'Yes'". After hearing that for so long, I realized that it was no use, and possibly even my fault for our situation. I took responsibility that Jack was trying to kill us and our current living situation with the step dad who hated me in the rat infested house. Let the Games Begin!

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

I Believe In Angels

"I Believe there are Angels. I believe they lift us up and carry us through the night. I've got Hope in the other side. I've got Faith in Paradise" - Regie Hamm

I really do believe in Angels. As I ponder my testimony, I can clearly see the Angels and know that they were present. Sometimes it was a person...other times it was simply a situation that led me where God wanted me and kept me safe. People always say that "nothing in God's world is an accident", and I have come to believe that. I have Faith that all things will work out for the best and if we continue to search our hearts and ask God for guidance we will stay in his divine will. I am living proof that doing it "My Way" is to no avail. I almost always make the wrong decision when I am not seeking spiritual counsel. As you read further, notice the Angels present. Sometimes I will point them out. Look for the Angel's in your life. They are all around us.

Rehab Round One Ding Ding - Age 13

Rehab-Round One
I was ripped out of the car with my friends only to be greeted by the stepfather (who seemed to be the cat that ate the canary) and his mother and father who clearly simply tolerated me. They put me in the back seat of their car and we drove for what seemed like an eternity. I tried to watch the street signs so I could find my way back, but quickly got turned around. We arrived an hour later at the secret destination. I was taken out of the car and a duffle bag that my mother packed was carried in with me. I still was not sure where I was going? Was this an institution? A Jail? A Foster home? The buildings were very close together and they staff kept referring to them as the dorms. Ah Ha! My step father finally found a way to get me out of the house. He convinced my mother that at the young age of thirteen, I was out of control and there was no hope for me.
A man who looked like so many others who raped and took advantage of me stood there explaining that I would be spending the next 90 days here. I was in a drug and alcohol rehab for troubled kids. I was rather surprised by the conclusion that I was that out of control considering I had never tried drugs up until this point and I was simply acting out as any child would who was not getting the love and affection I so desired from my mother and her new husband.
I was taken to my dorm where I was introduced to a heroine addict named Angel who worked as a prostitute and ran away from home. This was going to be my new best friend for 90 days. Little did the parents know, but they sent me directly into the depths of Hell. My trip to Bowers Hill taught me to feel less, lie more effectively and manipulate my way out of any situation. My parents thought they bought a summer free of teenage rebellion, but they set themselves up for the longest mile.
My parents did not inquire much about what sort of therapy would occur there, and when I told my mother years later what I endured she was completely remorseful and surprised. It really is difficult to be a parent and make decisions for your children that you think will be in their best interest. I wasn’t trying to hurt her or blame her; I just wanted her to see the pattern. They really thought they were helping. Tanya (my other roommate) sold herself to the boys for cigarettes since her family never visited, and Angel had a pimp who would drive by once a week and throw a bag of cocaine on the property for us to use while we were there. One night, the nurse on charge lost her wallet and immediately assumed that we lifted it. We were all called to the boy’s dorms where we sat on the floor in our night clothes. The program director interrogated each one of us. Then he went through each and every file and read aloud all the things that happened to us that brought us there. We all cried hysterically and clutched one another as he told story after story of teenage prostitution. He told details about another girl who was repeatedly raped by her father and brothers. All the while, saying things like “It’s no wonder they did these things to you”….”Look at you…You are a whore and scum and will never be anything more”. I got off easy because the only thing he could tell about me was that I was sexually abused at an early age by George Monday the serial sex offender. Heck, everyone there had been sexually abused. It was the stories about the boys that really wrenched my heart when he told Jon, “I bet you liked it when your father did you in the butt, you little faggot”. This went on for hours and hours. He kept asking us where the wallet was and we kept saying that we did not know. Eventually the night nurse realized she dropped the wallet when she got out of her car and it slid under her seat. Of course, she was fired, but the damage to 18 young souls was more than complete. We were all broken and exhausted after being up all night and shamed beyond comprehension.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Family Watchdog Home Page

Family Watchdog Home Page

This Site is an Incredible resource that champions for children. They have done tremendous things to prevent child abuse. Listen carefully...THREE CHILDREN DIE EACH DAY from child abuse and neglect. The predators are becoming more and more violent. So many laws make it impossible for perverts to work under the radar. I believe this is why we are hearing so much about abusers killing their young victims, rather than resorting to intimidation and shame.

George Monday

I don’t want to disguise his name or give him any sort of anonymity that sex offenders think they deserve. His name was George Monday. He was a serial sexual offender and he committed countless acts against children getting caught time and time again, only to get out of prison to re-offend. I have a black and white picture I hang in my hallway that was taken a couple of months before he stripped my innocence. I was 6 years old and walking on the boardwalk with my mother and father when an artist did a chalk picture of me in black and white. I look at the picture each morning and realize that I am still here. That little girl was not lost forever. George befriended all the children in our small southern neighborhood of Dothan, Alabama. My cousin and I would ride bikes along our neighborhood streets like many other American kids in the 70's. George would fix broken bikes for the kids and he always had an endless supply of Coca-Cola. That may not seem like a big deal, but I was not allowed to have soda, so it was definitely a treat to partake of the sweet Cokes. As many as I would like! He wouldn’t even tell my mom. So begins the lie. Year after year I would say to myself, “I can’t believe I fell for that for a Coke”. The shame was tremendous. He would start by giving us cokes and fixing our bikes then he would invite us into his house. I will never forget the smell of moth balls as he told me he lost something in his bedroom and had me crawling around on the floor helping him to locate the missing object. Then I felt him move my panties to the side and begin to take liberties. He reminded me many times as he touched me that he was also the “Keeper of the Coca Cola”. As an adult, I think about this and realize how truly simple it is to manipulate a young mind. I was the typical victim. My mother and father were recently separated and my Mother and I moved to Alabama so she could put her life back together. The abuse went on for a period of time until one time we were riding in the van to get ice cream with my mother, my aunt and my cousin. My cousin and I were talking in the back of the van speaking candidly about George and comparing notes as we did often. Our parents heard and stopped the van immediately. They drove us directly to the police station. We told our story and went to the hospital to get confirmation that we were in fact raped and abused by this sick pervert. I remember how confusing it was to be left alone in a room with a male officer as he asked questions. I was waiting for him to touch me as well. He used all the same dialog that George used and I just assumed that’s what men did to little children. George told me I was the perfect age. I believed that all men thought that. I thought this was just part of being a child…You drink coke and have strange objects put inside of you. This was my introduction to "SHAME".

We went to court and all the promises that were made to me as a young victim were broken. At one point I was walked into the judge’s quarters only to find George sitting in a chair right next to me. He could have reached out and touched me. I felt sheer terror! During the trial they were not allowed to bring in any information about his previous convictions and accusations. I was a very dramatic little girl and well spoken. The exact quote from the jury was “She watches too much TV; she had too many details for it to have actually happened”. Hence, George walked out of court that day and went home across the street from me. I was so incredibly scared. My mother pulled all our furniture on the front lawn and said “Everything Must Go, Name a Price!” and we took the money and moved back up North within a week, never to look back. Some kids from my hometown heard about what happened to me in Alabama and their mothers wouldn’t let them play with me because I may “teach them things”. I came home, broken, alone and confused. I had my first label; “Bad News”. I tried and tried to overcome that, but no one would listen. I decided the ONLY thing I could do is own the title and do it proud! My new best friend was "SHAME".

The Angel Chronicles

The Angel Chronicles vividly display child abuse. There is a pattern that is undeniable regarding children who are abused. They believe the internal dialog which tells them they are "worthless" and "Bad". They spend their entire lives trying to overcome these powerful feelings. I will put a face on abuse and help you to understand that their is HOPE! No longer do we need to slither through society with shame and remorse. Although many of the situations you read about will seem as if they are my fault. To be completely understood, I KNOW that some of the choices I made, put me in these horrible situation. These writings are not intended to impose blame, but to simply point out truth. Today I am a productive member of society. I not this person any longer by divine intervention. I am not broken. I am released from shame. I will NEVER know why I was chosen to have this Grace bestowed upon me, but it has been. I feel survivor remorse each and every day as I watch my "Friends", die, go to jail or become institutionalized. Extend compassion and love to those who are in the midst of Hell because I know Hell and it is lonely and shameful...