Faith Not Fear

Part I
My name is Madison Skye. I prefer not to use my surname because I feel as though I have let my family down. I don’t believe that I deserve to be a member of a family because of the thing that I feel I did wrong. I can’t help but feel like I am the reason why my step father is dead, that my brothers have stress and anger management problems, the reason my younger brothers won’t eat or sleep, the reason why the tension and stress levels in this house have skyrocketed, and the reason why my mother is sleeping with the coach.

I was sexually abused by my stepfather at least once a week, every week for four and a half years. The abuse began shortly after my brother and I were abandoned by our biological father and our grandfather (who I believe was the perfect role model) passed away. I would soon be making the transition from elementary to middle school. I had no friends, confidence, or sense of self worth. For the first little bit, I have to admit that the abuse didn’t feel like abuse and in some sick sense I kind of enjoyed it. Robb told me he loved me, he always talked about us getting married and having our own family if I were only a few years older and he a few years younger. He started out slow and gentle and made me feel a little more than nothing both physically and emotionally. When school began I had enough courage to make a few friends, they were odd and I obviously stood out In the crowd but they were friends none the less. My marks were honour role material and all my teachers loved me.

But as time went on I began to fall. My marks started slipping I began cutting and my friends began to turn on me. I received many phone calls home from concerned teachers in regards to my marks and attitude. These phone calls enraged my mother thus creating a very stressful home environment. Robb began drinking more frequently and in noticeably larger quantities. I even began drinking with him just to numb the pain of my day to day life. As a result of the stress and alcohol the abuse became much more frequent (3-5 times a week) and the level of intensity increased greatly. The abuse would last anywhere from 15 minutes to 4 hours. There were times where I would struggle in attempt to break free of his grasp but Robb was 220 pounds and I was lucky to be 85 pounds at that time. Out of fear, physical pain, and extreme emotional instability my body would shut down enabling him to do as he pleased with me and my body.

I had lost the group of people I once knew as friends in early to mid February of the seventh grade. I was left alone and vulnerable without any direction as to where I should go from there. I became every bully’s favourite target. I can’t recall a school day that went by where I wasn’t confronted, hurt, or humiliated in any way. I got into a lot of fights, many of them physical. I would walk home crying nearly everyday hiding my open wounds and bruises from everyone but my step father because he told me that the bruises may look suspicious to other people and some may jump to the conclusion that Robb was the cause of my physical deterioration.

My life seemed to follow a similar routine for the next several months, going to school to get beaten, phone calls home and failing marks, coming home to get raped, drinking and cutting to release the pain. Then band camp rolled around and I met the one person who would introduce me into a world of insanity. I met Miranda.

Part II

Everyone could put a name to her face, but still to this day not even I can put a story to the name. I mean ya I can tell you Miranda and my story without missing a detail, but nobody really knows for sure why she acts the way she does. I had lost count of the times she had been kicked out of school for violence, defiance, possession, for being Miranda, but every time she got kicked out, she was let back in. Her appearance said it all. She was never up to anything good but she would soon become my very best friend.

She taught me a lot. I learned how to shoplift, I could affectively steal anything from eyeliner pencils to belt buckles and t-shirts without getting caught. She introduced me to death metal and rock and roll. I snuck out a few times to go to concerts with her where she would teach me how to survive a mosh pit by throwing me into the middle of them. We dyed each others hair and pierced our bodies. We even acquired fake IDs so we could buy our own booze. We’d come to school with water bottles and thermoses filled with vodka and whiskey then buy mix from the school vending machines. We’d be smashed by lunch.

Miranda took me tagging once. I don’t think I slept the entire week before, trying to create my tag so I wouldn’t look like an idiot trying to figure something out on the spot. The night I tagged my first bridge was also the same night I popped my first pills even though I told Miranda I had done it a million times before. From that night on ecstasy was my drug and everyone I partied with knew, where there’s Maxxee, there will be ecstasy. Oh! That’s the other thing, people I went to school with knew me as Madison. But everywhere else I was known as Maxx, Maxxee, or Maxxeen.

The things I did that I regret
-Drinking (daily habit became addicted) have been sober since June 24, 2010
-Smoked cigarets (smoked a pack a day for 6 months then quit)
-Ecstasy
-Marijuana (Blazed daily for 2 years)
-Cocaine (did once and won’t ever do it again)
-Mushrooms (did three or four times in the eighth grade)
-Heroin (once and won’t ever do it again)
-Graffiti
-Shoplifting
-Partying
-Sneaking out
-Running away for three months
-Cutting (I’ve been cutting for six years and still struggle)

THIS IS WHY

In the eighth grade, late October if I remember correctly, Miranda and I were out for a smoke when asked me why I never “got it on” with any of the guys at the parties we went to. Actually her exact words were, ” Dudeman it don’t matter if you’re drunk as shit or high as hell you never get it on, what gives?”

She caught me off guard with that question, I didn’t know if I could trust her with my deepest darkest secrets, but then again she had seen me at my worst at the best of times. But I replied, “family shit mang no biggy dee” but within seconds of my reply she opened her mouth again and said “what, they want you to be a nun or some shit?” she seemed irritated. I gave in, “Fuck, Randy. My dad rapes me aight.” the look on her face will forever be impossible to imitate. I saw the most emotionally numb person I have ever met break down and cry. I won’t ever forget that day. It was also the first time she hugged me.

Part III
I recall walking into school a few days later and just not feeling right. I dat down in homeroom but the second I made contact with the chair my phone vibrated. It was a text from “Daddy”. I don’t have the exact contents of that particular text message documented. However I do know that the text was in regards to the three police cruisers that were parked down the street from the school that day.

Considering Miranda’s absence I was convinced that it had something to do with the contents of her locker. But as the day went on I could tell I was wrong. The whole school was talking, and the people who’s lips weren’t moving were staring, and they were all staring at me. Turns out Miranda couldn’t keep her mouth shut, she told Hailey the gossip queen of our group with the boyfriend who was raised by cops.

By lunch I was hysterical, terrified, and extremely pissed off. I was shaking, crying, and sweating bullets. Robb’s words came flooding in my head as I sat in silence drinking the Jack and Coke I had mixed for myself only a few minutes before.

” If anyone finds out about us they’ll call the cops, and before the cops can find me I’ll kill myself. I’m not joking Maddie, I will take that gun and I will pull the trigger you have my word. They would have no proof, no way of knowing anything that has happened between us if they only had some little girl telling them what happened. They’ll call you a liar and you’ll go to jail. Your mother will hate you more than she already does and she’ll lose the company she worked her ass off to start. You guys will be broke and no one will work. Think about how that would effect your brothers, little Anderson will grow up without a father and Sawyer has already been hurt by Joe. Think about what will happen to the family. They all need me, you need me. Don’t tell anyone.” he would say these words to me every day as he drove me to school and every night after he would abuse me. His words scared me.

The bell rang lunch was over and I was now in extreme panic mode. Heading to silent reading I realized that i forgot about my smoke break. As much as I needed my little shot of nicotine, I wanted to avoid the police for as long as possible, and if they were still in the school they would be in the office. I’d have to pass the office to go out side. WRONG AGAIN! There were two police officers standing by my desk waiting for me. The whole school seemed to watch as I was escorted out of my class room on the bottom west wing of my school to the upstairs east wing by two massive police officers.

They took me to the guidance counsellor’s office, a horrid bitchy woman she was. My phone vibrated in my pocket and I winced. I knew it was Robb, he always texted me around then. The female officer asked to see my phone I shot her a dirty look and let a profanities slip through my not so sealed lips. They went over the introduction who they were why there were here and asked me a lot of questions. At first I told them the truth, I admitted that Robb was an alcoholic, I also said he had touched me once but it was only by mistake. The male officer spoke this time but before he said anything I remembered Robb’s threats, and I started fidgeting. I refused to speak or cooperate in any way after that, so they called my mother.

Part IV
For any of you who have heard, read about or met my mother you know that her and I haven’t got along for the last 9 years. Being your classic wannabe Barbie doll she has gotten breast implants and plastic surgeries that have cost our family a fortune and a half. She likes her lattes to have a triple shot of narcissistic bitch in the morning and cares only about herself while despises her three children.

She was rarely ever home any more, blaming work for her absence my mom could be found bar hopping any night of the week finding random guys looking to score. There was one night during the previous August that I had gone to a bar with Miranda and watched as my mother removed her shirt and road a mechanical bull. But that’s besides the point. What I’m trying to get here is her lack of knowledge and complete ignorance towards the things that truly went on under our roof.

As the police began to explain to her the reason behind their visit, and what they had found in my text records I think it is safe to say that I watched my mother become possessed by the devil. She was livid, complete with a blood thirsty glare and clenched teeth my mother had obviously intimidated the principal, the guidance councillor and the police officers. When she had taken in more than she wanted to hear she exploded, swearing, and yelling she repeatedly cut off the cops in mid sentence. “That bitch is a liar. She’s just looking for attention she always does this. I’m sorry that my daughter wasted your time officers, she has a compulsive lying disorder, we’ve tried everything to help her but nothing seems to be working.”

The next thing I knew I was under arrest and taken to the Calgary children’s hospital under the mental health act. I was put through a series of psychiatric tests then later transferred to unit 26 at the foothills hospital where I would spend the next six months being watched from within glass walls.

My hospital experience was something of very little detail. It was here that I acquired an eating disorder that I still battle today. Other than that life was dull. I spent hours upon hours being interviewed by police officers, dealing with psychiatrists and chartered psychologists asking me how I felt. My life in the hospital is irrelevant to the story. If you would like more detail, I will go more in-depth when I begin telling you my recovery story so please, be patient.

Part V
COMING SOON