Converting to new blog page...

I am so grateful to all my readers! 

The support has been overwhelming!

Due to such heavy traffic, I've made the decision to convert this blog over to

A new domain. It needed a new name also, since I discovered that this one

Happened to be rather popular in the blog world. 

So popular, in fact, that I couldn't even find my blog with major search engines.

So, I've settled on the name "Broken Picket Fences"

And am continuing all my blogging on this new site. 

Don't lose heart, I have transferred all my previous blogs 

Over so we will be able to refer back to them.

My YouTube channel will be up shortly as well. 

I think you will find that it is much easier to comment 

And subscribe as well.

Here's the direct link:

http://brokenpicketfences.wordpress.com

Looking forward to seeing you all there!

Secrets Buried in San Antonio

I finally put the puzzle pieces together in the summer of 2012. 

 The horrid truth revealed it's self to me in all it's glory, each piece fit perfectly.

There was no denying it.

In disbelief, I was overwhelmed with a sickened feeling. 

Some part of me had known this all along.

I had most of this information for years. Why had I not connected the dots until now? 

I hadn't even honestly asked myself the question!

I mean, every time a therapist or someone asked, I just laughed it off as a ridiculous (and uncomfortable) question.

Some of these "puzzle pieces" are blatant red flags!

It's Textbook!

I couldn't believe I had never suspected it before!

All the signs were there.

***

I come from a very religious home in a small town in Utah Valley, Utah. 

I'm the oldest of 9 children.

When I was 2 or 3, my father was temporarily stationed in one of the San Antonio Air Force Bases. 

I have very few memories from that time. But the memories I do have are solemn. 

I remember my mom crying a lot. She was withdrawn. 

I remember a lot of police. 

I remember being alone. 

My earliest memories are overshadowed by a feeling that I'd  done something wrong. I felt I needed to take care of my mom, to protect her. I was afraid the police would take her too. 

I felt I had to fix my mistake ???

That I had been bad, and that I was just bad by nature. 

A deep rooted fear of heavy footsteps torments me to this day. 

I have memories of my father coming home or his footsteps approaching my room, and my little heart nearly pounding out of my chest.

My breath caught in my throat. 

That man has, on many occasions, been known to make dogs roll over and cower and piss all over themselves by the mere sound of his voice. 

I have no memories of ever being cuddled or loved on by either parent. My father was always this looming shadow to be feared, with the eyes of a demon and only self serving motives.

I always say I should have been a daddy's girl, because for the majority of my childhood I tried tirelessly to make my father proud of me. To crack that shell. 

I took violin lessons for 8 years, from 5 years old until I was 13. 

My teacher, convinced I was the next child prodigy, had planned tours at Disney World for me. 

No reaction from Dad.

I overheard him once, talking about how impressed he was with this young actress in Jurassic Park, and what a wonderful career she had ahead of her. (He's never impressed with anything!) Severely jealous, I set out on my own pursuit of an acting career! I'd surely be better than her-and finally win his approval!

Among my accomplishments, I auditioned for a major production shortly after this Jurassic Park incident, and landed the lead role of Alice, for Alice in Wonderland. 

He actually acted slightly annoyed.

I had no trouble landing the lead in other productions, built a reputation for myself as an actress and my new aspirations seemed to cause tension at home. 

I never made the connection, but stayed determined. Each rejection made me more hungry for my daddy's approval.

To hear those coveted words:

I'm proud of you.

My talent finally caught the eye of an acting and film agency and I was signed on as a talent. 

Surely this would make him proud.

I came home beaming!

Still ZERO reaction from Dad.

*sigh*

by this point I'm 14 years old...

It's my birthday party.

Nothing big, small party at home, with a few friends over. 

Pinata,

Strawberry Pie instead of a cake. (I've always marched to the beat of my own drum)

My friends have arrived, and we have been waiting way too long for my parents to come out of their room to start my party. 

We are impatient.

Then, right in front of my friends, my dad comes walking down the stairs as fast as he can with my mom tailing behind, yelling the whole way. She has obviously been crying.

Doors slam.

They storm out the front door, into the car and squeal out the driveway and down the street. 

Me and my best friend are left on the front porch in a daze, wondering what just happened. My mom NEVER talks to my dad like that. 

Something must be really wrong!

Maybe an hour or two later, the sun is setting and my friends are leaving. I'm crying. 

My party is ruined. 

My head in my hands, my best friend and I sit on my front porch and my stomach twists into knots.

I don't know what I would have done back then without my best friend. We went through some unspeakable things together. 

I really don't know how much time passed before my parents finally showed up. My mom, silently locked herself in her bedroom again. My dad stayed and pretended nothing was wrong, and robotically went through the motions of the birthday party with only one friend there. 

To be honest, I would have rather have cancelled the party at that point, because that was a painfully awkward experience for everyone. 

My parents refused to explain what happened for days afterward. 

I stayed upset.

Finally my parents called me into their room. 

My ears began to ring as their words took me back to my infancy. 

Back to San Antonio...

The Rhythms of Life: What your body clock means to you from eye disease ...

The Eternal Misfit (Let Us Commence)

"You need to write a book" is her only shocked response,

 as I sip my coffee, staring out the blinds at yet another colourful character moving into the apartment across from me.

I take a deep breath in

 "I don't think there's any way I can fit  it all into one book," I sigh, taking another sip. 

"besides, the bigger problem is telling my life story in such a way that people believe it actually happened. 

I mean seriously the Lifetime Movie Network would have a heyday with my story!"

I stare at the cream swirls in my mug...deep in thought.

She inquisitively nods her head my way and asks "You go back to those days in your head a lot, don't you?" Of course she already knows the answer. 

I only slightly make a gesture in the affirmative. 

She then starts "How many times have you been told that you should write a book?"

She knows the answer here too. 

But I chuckle "A hell of a lot," sip "but every time I sat down and started writing in the past, another catastrophe would tear my world apart!" In exasperation I throw my head back and cry "I sometimes feel like the universe just keeps taking a giant shit on my head! Why God?! Aaargh!" 

Letting out a nervous laugh, I half way moan "If I don't learn to laugh at it, I'll just cry."

She smiles, looking down at her hands and shaking her head in what I can only assume is amazement. Her reaction to my story feels liberating. 

I'd just explained a horrifying experience. One that people only write novels about. Yet this had beed my everyday life. 

I have had many experiences. 

I've walked through the fires of hell. 

Yet somehow,

By some miracle, 

I'm not drooling on myself in a state mental hospital.

(Although I do have experience in one and will share)

I've hurt myself (cutting, eating disorder),

Been beaten (domestic violence, childhood abuse),

Done drugs and gotten clean on my own (13 years clean),

Lost children (miscarriage, adoption), been victim to vicious criminals (rape, childhood sex crimes), run for my life and the life of my child, been homeless, on the streets, in shelters, gave birth in one, experienced paranormal attacks, and even underwent an identity change. I'm a single mom battling serious health issues including a brain tumor, and more. 

I've given up,

Fallen down,

Gotten back up,

Lost my will,

Lost my strength,

Yet,

I'm still here.

I believe that at the end of the day, 

There's a reason for everything.

Always the peculiar one,

The odd one,

Like a cockroach, I can take an insane beating,

But I just don't die.

;)

I AM 

THE

eternal

MISfIT

*** 

The MISFIT

I am a Misfit.

I grew up knowing something was eternally and permanantly wrong with me. I didn't know exactly what that was, but I knew that it was no small thing. Otherwise, why would my parents treat me so badly? and why would the neighbors and kids at school look at me like I grossed them out and they all avoided me like I carried some illness?

I must have done something wrong, or there must be something wrong with me. I had no friends, and the teachers weren't very nice to me either. 

It was a lonely childhood, but it was normal to me. 

I hit the 3rd grade, and I became more aware of my surroundings. I developed more of a desire to do something about my situation. Bullying became a problem and I wanted to make some friends. I saw other girls my age getting into grooming, pretty hair clips and accessories and nail polish. I felt a longing for those things too. I wanted to be pretty. To feel pretty like that. 

My parents bathed us at home once every other week, maybe once a week. So I began to take showers every day. 

I started to try doing my own hair for the first time.

I remember going to school with my first, self-done hair style. I showed up, crooked pony tails hanging off the side of my straggly head and hand-me-down clothes that were worn at the knees.

I got teased and made fun of pretty bad that day. 

Nobody noticed that I had showered, and smelled good. 

But it made me go home, and sit in front of the mirror for hours until I could do my hair better, and better every day. Soon I was a pro at it!!

The clothes were more difficult. I had to be more selective with the stuff I chose when a neighbor donated something. My parents never took us clothes shopping in my younger years, and I don't remember wearing a stitch of brand new clothing. To be honest, they really didn't put much consideration into what we wore at all. 

So with me being the only person making the decisions on what I would be wearing, I had to be mature about it. 

My wardrobe was small, but I chose quality things that would last, and that fit. 

However, the reputation my family had developed, followed me everywhere I went.
 I would never be able to live it down. 
I would NEVER be a "cool kid".
 I'd always be that awkward outcast. 
I'd never quite be able to shake the underlying feeling that something was inherently wrong with me.

 But at least I'd eliminated the crazy looks and the tendency to clear the room every time I walked in...

I know what it feels like to be the misfit. The one nobody understands or relates to...

and at the end of the day, the misfits are left alone.

Which leads me to my next entry...

Feedback Needed

As I launch into the new year, and this (yes I'm saying it) AWESOME blog, I'll need lots of feedback in the entire creation process. But especially in its infancy. This is where you as the reader come in. I  would like to spark conversation, advice and debate here.

Right now, I have some direction on where I'd like to take things but first I'd like to hear from you, what some of your questions are along the way, if you need clarification, and requests for topics.

My first question that I'm throwing out is this:

How often do you think you'd like to see new blog postings?

Sometimes I get a ton of ideas and they spill out, seeming to never end, while others I simply go blank. I aim to keep a steady flow coming here whether it be once a week, every other week, once a month, or more frequently. Let me know how your thoughts by leaving your comments below, and as always, I appreciate seeing you here!

Circadian Rhythm Disorder

It's so damned painful to wake my sorry ass up in the morning!!! 
I set the alarms the night before miticulousely. Three alarms.
"Is this going to be enough?" I think to myself?
Paranoid questions run through my head so fast that I don't even realize the self inflicted torture I put myself through...

"Okay...first alarm, double checked, it's on and ready to go, no chance that it can malfunction for any reason. It's plugged in, plenty of electricity, it's set for AM and not PM (I've made that mistake before too many painful times)...is there ANY other reason why this thing would NOT go off in the morning? is it going to be loud enough?" (okay okay deep breath) *sigh*

then I move on to the next two alarms in the same method...painfully aware of all the times I have done this and yet for some unexplainable reason the damned things did not seem to go off...

...but lately I have come to face the reality that perhaps I have actually slept through them. All of them...Hit snooze, or turned them off in my sleep and had absolutely ZERO recall of doing any of it. 

Is it possible? 

Worse yet, I feel like sleep is controlling me, my life, and everything in it. 

My routine is all backwards. I have lived a nocturnal existence for years, and it depresses me to no end. I believe without a shadow of a doubt, that this is a symptom of the brain tumor.

Here is a link I found that supports my theory. This is exactly the same type of tumor I have. 

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/15865328

This patient had circadian rhythm disorder for three years. My complaint has lasted for longer than that.

I have gone years being called LAZY, and feeling this way. Asking myself why I can't seem to get on the same schedule as everyone else. Why was it so hard for me? I must be really lazy and a really bad person to not be able to complete the simplest tasks in a day. 

Waking up just to get my son to school is physically painful for me. There are harder days than others. I worry about the kind of lessons and discipline I am teaching him, especially as his single example to look up to in this world. 

Is there anyone out there who experiences what I go through? 

Followers!

For my new followers and viewers in Korea and the States, welcome welcome!

The Looking Glass

I've debated with myself for quite sometime on whether to include for you just how desperate life as a single mom got, while dealing with severe health problems related to the brain tumor.

Without parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, grandparents or anyone significant in our lives to help us deal with this crisis, it made my already difficult life, now impossible. 

Never mind the financial ramifications of losing job after job for taking too many sick days, and not even being able to attend school,

But imagine what that does to ones self esteem? How it felt to face my friends, who were all graduating college and marrying successful men and starting families on a comfortable living. 

Oooh how I longed for that life. I watched with envy, feeling like Alice staring in from the other side of the looking glass where I lived in an ever darkening world that was closing in around me...

And this was just as I began to fall down the rabbit hole, before the diagnosis. 

I was sick far too much, Catching every bug that went around and my weakened immune system did not seem to fight it off before the next bug hit. 

Doctors wanted to blame it on depression, quickly prescribing yet one more SSRI to mess with the brain chemistry going on. 

Why is it that a doctor needs all this "proof" to justify certain testing, yet no evidence whatsoever to make a hasty diagnosis of depression, and then treat it with a drug that he does not know will work?

I'd like to take this moment to declare that if I was not depressed before, this was enough to drive me to it. :) 

Today's logic (shaking head) 

This was the beginning of the road to despair, and wound up with me wearing pink underwear and black and white stripes in the not-so-sought after Miracopa County Jail run by Sherrif Joe Arpaio himself. .. An experience I involuntarily relive at night when the world sleeps. 

I hope someday you have a child just like you

I have been blessed with a child that is remarkably like the child that I was! I take this as a positive challenge because I can relate to him better than anyone when, as a child I felt alienated and alone. I look forward to twenty years from now when I can evaluate how I did as a parent. I'm excited to see how things turn out.

So for everyone who ever told me as a child that they hoped I ended up with a kid just like me someday, I'm super thrilled that I did, this way I can show you how easy it is to show a child the unconditional love that each and every one of them deserves, and how much that comment to me was an excuse to shift the blame for your inadequacy as an adult onto an innocent child. 

Welcome

This is exciting isn't it? 

Approaching a brand new year represents new beginnings, out with the old and in with the new.

For me it represents so much more. 

...on a day not unlike any other in the waning heat of Phoenix, I sat in my doctors office while I heard the name of the thing that had been causing me so much aggrivation for years....

Pituitary Microadenoma

and then, almost as if it was a side note worth no attention at all, she mentioned another thing was found in my MRI scan. This is called a Chiari Malformation.

These two conditions would launch a five year, painfully lonely fight for my health, and much...MUCH more...

I'm Audrey. I am here to tell my story of how I never gave up, against unbeatable odds, no matter how much the deck was stacked against me. I am an educated woman, facing desperate circumstances. 

A single mother, with no family to turn to...

Born a LEO, some might say it's in my nature to always land on my feet.