Dear Diary, I think I said too much.

Dear Diary, I think I said too much.

by Cjet Raymond

Copyright 2013 Cjet Raymond

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

Foreword

September 8, 1995

October 15, 1995

November 7, 1995

December 28, 1995

March 22, 1996

April 16, 1996

May 12, 1996

July 11, 1996

October 17, 1996

January 31, 1997

April 20, 1997

July 10, 1997

November 15, 1997

December 8, 1997

January 6, 1998

April 9, 1998

August 18, 1998

Dear Diary, I think I said too much:

There’s more to say:

7 Piece

To RuthAnn

for your influence in my life,

your courage, your faith,

your love, your care,

our friendship, your help,

your encouragement, your wisdom,

your belief in God, in yourself,

and in me, and because I know

you’re looking out for me still.

Thank you

Foreword

I started this diary in 8th grade. The only editing I did was spelling and some reformatting, as I wanted the language to be authentic to my middle school youth. I typed up most of the entries while I was still in high school, so even the editing is from my youth. This diary will take you through three of my most formative years.

Mrs. L told me to write. And so I did.

I now know that I had an obsession with her at times, but I’m pretty sure that’s what kept me sane, and that’s what got me out of trouble. I loved her dearly; may she continue to rest in peace.

Most names have been changed. I had many social workers over the years, but I’ve named them all Sue to make it easier to follow. Town names have been changed as well. Otherwise, this is my true story.

Please Handle with Care.

[Author's note: I'll write an author's note every once in a while, and it's simply a note that I added while I was editing this book. You should know that Mrs. L was my guidance counselor in middle school.]

September 8, 1995

Dear Diary,

I saw Mrs. L today after school. I was walking down the hall in my gym uniform, all red and sweaty from field hockey practice. She said I should try doing cross-country this year, so I think I will. I was hoping that she would be the supervisor for it, because she was last year, but someone else is in charge. I would be more encouraged if she was the supervisor.

Melyssa B, a really nice friend that I met at camp last summer, is earnestly begging me to tell Mrs. L about what dad does to me. I'm afraid to. Even though Melyssa and I talked about dad this summer, and we both figured it's wrong, I don't know. Somehow, I feel like his harassment isn't even that serious. He doesn't just go out and do it; he does it when he's tickling me. That's what he calls it anyway. Maybe he thinks it's a game, I don't know.

When I say something funny and sarcastic about him and sometimes others, he'll at least do the motion of pinching my breasts. I hate it. Today, and other times, he pinches my breasts really hard, and it hurts. I mean, my breasts aren't exactly that big to begin with. Dad says he does it because I react to it, and because he thinks it's all right. I think that both he and I know that I don't like it, and that it's wrong. Dad wouldn't do something like this because he thinks I like it would he?

All the time, he teases me about my breasts. It's really stupid. He asked me if it really bothers me one day. I said yes very defensively; he didn't even listen to me; I know because the next day, he sort of forgot that we even had the conversation. He still teases me about my breasts, like the fact that they're small, and that they're pointy, and I hate it. Of course I'm small; I'm only 13 years old. He says real pointless things, he makes fun of my success in school, and he tells me I'm ugly, or that I'm deformed. He's meaner than some of the jerks in school. I wonder when he'll stop.

On a different, happier note now; this is a song I learned at Camp N, a really great Christian camp that I attended last summer.

"Father God I wonder how I

managed to exist, without the

knowledge of your parenthood, and

your loving care; but now I am

your child, I am adopted in your

family, and I can never be alone,

`cause Father God you're there beside me

I will sing your praises." (3 times)

My counselor, Miss Laurelle; she's so pretty, and incredibly sweet; she taught me this song on her guitar one afternoon when we were by ourselves in the cabin. I like this song because I can relate to it. I really do wonder sometimes why I have managed to survive, you know, why haven't I just given up on life; why haven't I done something drastic to myself? I wonder why I never got much love when I was younger, and I wonder why I always felt so alone when I was in trouble at school, or why I didn't have any friends to play with on the playscape. But then I realize that God is my true father, and he has been here by my side through thick and thin to protect me. At times, I have thought that even He hasn't been here for me. As the poem Footprints says, when you look back and only see one set of footprints, those are the times when God is carrying you. I guess this just happens to be one of those times, and God is stepping in where my parents have fallen through the cracks. I think I need to take more time to realize this in my life.

Sincerely yours,

Cjet

September 13, 1995

Dear Diary,

I saw Mrs. L again after school today. She said it was great that I was running cross country. I told her I'm not going to continue though, only because I am doing field hockey as well, and I am much better at that. Also, I would rather not go every other day to both sports, and would rather just go every day to only one.

As each day goes by, I get even more scared to tell Mrs. L about dad. I basically just want to visit her, because I feel better after I talk with her. A while ago, I had planned on reading my diary or at least sections of it to Mrs. L, but now I think it would be silly to read it. I should be able to just go up and tell her, but for some reason, I feel I can't. I guess I'm afraid of what dad will do to me when he finds out that I told Mrs. L. Also, I would feel better if she gave me a pass to go see her. I can't believe I am so chicken when it comes to talking with her.

Last school year, in April, she gave me a pass to go see her. I was going to tell her about dad, and I was in her office, sitting down, and then she started off by telling me about the commercial that we were to be in. I was too excited about that and I figured it wasn't going to be a good time to talk about dad. I had to wait the whole darn summer to tell her, and now that I want to talk with her, I'm too chicken.

So shy and afraid,

Cjet

[Author's note: The name Abbie will start to appear in these journal entries. She is my very best friend. At this time, I had only known her for two years, but I had told her a lot about my life. I had told her about dad by this time.]

October 11, 1995

Dear Diary,

This is just a quick note. I really hate the way dad will use the excuse, I don't like your whole attitude or You weren't showing any respect to us, in order to punish me. He doesn't have any logical reasoning for these excuses either. For example, last night, when I asked mom to help me look for something, we were both in my room searching, when I found what I was looking for. I said she could stop looking because I had found it, and I jokingly started pulling her out of my room. For some reason, dad was in my doorway, and yelled out that I wasn't showing mom any respect. He made me stand an hour in the corner. (There is this corner at the end of the hallway, where I have had to stand for hours at a time as punishment, since I was three.) He hadn't realized that I found what I was looking for, and he couldn't admit that he was mistaken. When I asked him why I had to be punished, he just made the time one and a half hour. I find that to be so stupid.

Anyway, I am really glad that Abbie and I are planning on seeing Mrs. L soon. Maybe we can get this problem fixed before the end of the school year. Dad is so mean the way he says such rude comments about me, and the way he treats me with no respect anymore. I haven't been mean to him at all. Why does he have to be this way? Why can't he stop harassing me about my breasts, and the way I look? He's always pinching me there, and it really hurts. He won't stop either. I know I clearly told him that I didn't like it, but has he listened to me?

Entirely confused,

Cjet

October 12, 1995

Dear Diary,

About five minutes ago, dad was pinching my breasts like crazy. It hurts so badly, and it's like he's not even playing either. I was just lying on my parents' bed, talking to mom, and dad came in and started tickling me. (That's what he claims it is anyway.) Normally I would have protected myself, by crossing my arms over my chest, but I wanted to see if dad would pinch me. I asked him earlier today to stop, and he didn't, so now I really hate it. I am just so glad that Abbie and I are going to Mrs. L, hopefully tomorrow. I'm going to write something like this down every time dad does this to me, in case I need it for proof in the future. And I'm sorry I've waited this long to realize what he's doing to me.

Sincerely yours,

Cjet

October 14, 1995

DD,

(DD is just easier than saying 'Dear Diary')

Yesterday, Abbie and I went down to Mrs. L's office. I told her about the problem with dad and me. Oh man was I scared. We went down to her office right after lunch, and if Abbie wasn't there to introduce the topic, I wouldn't have done it myself. Everything came out so fast, and I didn't even have time to look at Mrs. L's face, or even Abbie's to see what either of them was thinking. I was just trying to state the whole problem as quickly as I could, because I was having a hard time getting it out. Abbie left after a few minutes, and Mrs. L and I finished alone. I'm surprised at how well I was able to tell her what was going on. She seemed so relaxed and comfortable, but you know, I guess she's probably heard the story from other people before, and so she probably knows it's easier for the student, if she's comfortable herself. So anyway, I finally got it out.

Her job requires her to report any abuse or neglect to the Department of Children and Families. (DCF.) So she informed them of the sexual harassment, and they called the police. I guess they have to do that as well. Anyway, Mrs. L said that the police would probably call my family to go to the police station on Monday, but instead, mom and I had to go there last night. (Friday, the thirteenth) I left my friend Sarah's sleep over birthday party, and was at the police station with mom for about two hours. I had to explain the whole situation in detail, which seemed to take forever. The police wanted me to describe how dad touched me, when he did it, for how long had he been touching me like this, and they wanted me to tell them all my thoughts, feelings and emotions about it. Then they talked to mom forever. I'm not too sure what they talked about with her because from what I know, she didn't even know about anything until last night.

The two social workers who were there from DCF said that they talked with dad before they got to the police station. Dad said that he would punish me for a long time for telling on him. They said he was very mad, and were concerned about me for the weekend, but were grateful that I wasn't going home that night. Dad also admitted to the two workers that he sometimes touched me high up on my inner thighs, which I hadn't even told anyone yet. The police man asked me why I hadn't told him about that before, and I admitted then that dad also tried several times to stick his finger up my butt. I had to have the police officer write a statement of everything I said, for me, which took another half hour. The statement will be used if I have to go to court, which luckily, I won't need to do. My parents will have to though. The police officer and the two social workers kept on telling me that I was doing the right thing, and that I didn't have to worry. Yeah right. I’m worried though about the things I didn’t say.

When I got back to Sarah's party, the first thing Abbie K, another friend, asked me was, Were you feeling dark and lonely? That was so freaky! Abbie K and Sarah were playing with the Quiji board while I was gone, and it had said I was feeling dark and lonely. The strange thing was, one of the social workers had asked me what I was feeling all this time, and I eventually said, I feel sad, and like I’m in a room all by myself. It was pretty cool.

When mom picked me up this morning from Sarah's house, she said that dad was really upset, depressed and discouraged. She said he told her that he isn't appreciated at work, and that he wants to get another job, and move. He says that I've ruined his life, and now he'll have a permanent record. (Think I care?)

Dad is punishing me, by taking my TV and VCR away, plus the tapes I use to record TV shows on. I think it's cruel, and I don't think I should be punished. I can't wait till Monday to tell Mrs. L about the way dad is punishing me. He isn't speaking to me I guess either, because he and I avoided each other all day. I don't think dad will get violent over this subject, and throw chairs at me or anything, but rather I think he'll stay quiet, and ignore me. I don't necessarily want that, but I suppose it could be worse. I want dad to be able to talk with me, I think. Actually, if he talks with me, his words probably won't be very nice, so I'll end up feeling even crummier. If dad doesn't speak to me by Monday, I'm going tell Mrs. L. Maybe she can do something. I have a feeling that she'll give me a pass to go see her, since she'll want to know how this weekend went. (I hope)

I didn't want any dinner tonight because I didn't feel like talking with my parents. Dad said the potatoes that I cut were probably contaminated because I certainly don't want to make him happy. (That's what he said) Mom said to him, She can't help it if you're not appreciated at work, she's not responsible. Then dad said, I suppose you’re not responsible for her either? Mom said, No, not totally. What kind of argument is that? It was as if I really wasn't their daughter or something, and as if I wasn’t in the room. It's not my fault that dad isn't taking this right. He's supposed to be sorry that he hurt me, and he should be saying stuff that lets me know that he won't ever do something like this again. Isn't he? I guess I shouldn't set my expectations high for him, because I am sure he won't reach them. I am just so glad that Mrs. L's shoulder is available for me to cry on, if I needed it. I feel like I could cry right now, but I won't. I am going to do my best to stay strong.

Sad, but not sorry,

Cjet

October 15, 1995

DD,

In the car on the way to church this morning, dad said the reason why the garage door opener fell off the sun visor and wasn't working was because of all the times that I've dropped it. But every time it has fallen off, I've caught it. It was only two days ago when I didn't catch it for the first time, and it landed in the tissue box. When I softly said, I haven't been dropping it, dad cruelly yelled out, You have too you lying idiot! Then he shouted, I don't believe you; I'm not going to believe a word you say, so just be quiet. You're all full of lies! Mom tried to back me up a little, and she said, No, I think she's been trying to tell the truth. (Pathetic!) Why can't mom do a little more so I don't have to be hurt so much?) And why can’t dad lighten up a little?

What dad said to me really did hurt. I don't think I'll be able to take much more verbal abuse, before I start crumbling inside. I have a feeling that if dad wants to blame me, and convince me that I am wrong, he’ll probably succeed. I'll fall into a large hole, and I'll have a hard time climbing out. That's the type of person that I feel I am. I don't like feeling this way of course, but that's just the way it is. I need help from someone to figure out how I am supposed to stand up for myself. I guess I should talk to Mrs. L about this, but I don't want to look afraid, or worried about this, which is what it would appear like. I hate this.

At the restaurant that we went to for lunch today, mom said that I didn't like her purse because it's too old lady looking, which I agree with but didn't comment on. Dad said, Well, it doesn't matter anymore what she thinks; she can't keep her mouth shut anyway, so why should we care what she thinks? That comment made me feel so little and helpless. Some of the stuff that dad says isn't really all that bad, it's just that he says it all with such cruelty, and hate. And he says such mean things, all the time.

I really don't like the way dad is treating me. (Obviously) I have to remember what the police officer told me though, think positive, know that your dad can't hurt you, and that you didn't do anything wrong. I am actually sort of glad that dad feels this way, not because I like seeing him in pain or anything, which he isn't, but because now I know that he will never touch me again. I am definitely going to tell Mrs. L about all the cruel comments that dad has said to me. I'm sure I'll feel a little better once I talk to someone else about it.

Also, dad wouldn't even let me eat dinner in the living room with him and mom. He said he didn't want to see me. When we were watching TV before dinner, he kept his hand up to his face, so he couldn't see me. I think that is so mean. It's worse than mean. It's like he disowns me or something. Am I just supposed to ignore these things, and pretend everything is fine? It's not. Dad is such a jerk to do this to me!

Sincerely yours,

Cjet

October 16, 1995

DD,

I saw Mrs. L today, because I guess one of the social workers that were at the police station the other night called her. Mrs. L told the woman that I didn't go to Abbie's house Saturday night, like I was asked to. I just told Mrs. L that I didn't think dad was going to get violent, but that he was staying quiet about things. The woman, and I'm sorry I don’t know her name, was concerned, and she figured she should check up on me. I think it's almost strange that dad can be arrested, and I can still live here. I guess as long as he doesn't do anything bad from now on, everything will be all right. (Hopefully)

Mrs. L was at least glad that dad didn't deny his actions towards me, and that he actually admitted some things that I hadn't mentioned. I forgot to tell Mrs. L though that dad had called me a lying idiot last night. I mean, I don't want to be tattling on dad, but I think if she knows what he's saying to me, and if she knows what it's like at home, maybe she can let my social worker know, and then maybe they can do something. I don't know, that might sound kind of stupid. I'm sure that there are plenty of people that have to go through what I am, and they don't tell anyone, and they just live through it all. I won't though. I want my life to become better, and normal, and I will do my best to make that happen. Who even knows what normal is? Well, whatever, I'm sure it's better than this hell I'm