my first memory was at the age of two.  I remember walking through the smell of lumber, and dirt. this was not home, it was to be, but at this point, i cannot remember where i lived.

my next memories are those of playing with my little friend ,a boy who was about one year old.  we played in my backyard, under the window of my kitchen.  we dug into the earth, and found many green tiles which were now inside my house in the upstairs bathroom.  we played soda fountain with the sprinkler in my garden, and used paper cups and dirt to make our soda fountain drinks.

Life seemed so simple and easy, until i became aware of a large and looming presence of unhappiness.  this was my sister.  seven years my senior, she terrified me.  with threats against both of my parents life. and this i do remember from a very young age.  i remember that  my parents did not know what to do with her.

after coming home from a movie with my little friend next door one bright sunny day, happiness shined from our day.  then i walked into my house, and i saw that the summers sunny day was gone.  the shine had dimmed as i saw my mothers white sleevless shirt spotted with blood.  our big red wooden front door was splintered.  this was the beginning of my life filled with anxiety.  filled with the thoughts of 'if i stay home, i can stop these things from happening.''.. this was the beggining of my seperation anxiety from my mother, and obsession, and rituals.

That day, my sister's boyfriend had come to pick her up and they were going to go out.  but, my parents, both, did not like this boy, they did not want my sister to go out with this boy.  i just felt, hell, let her go, let her do anything that will stop her from being the monster she was becoming.

One day my mother, on her cleaning day, was vacuming, ..all of a sudden the vaccum stopped.  my mother was told by my sister that she cannot vaccum because it was interfering with my sisters shows.....    i saw my mother cry that day...  and used a broom to clean the carpet.     

then there were the slamming of doors...     she slammed her door, to the point of the door jams comming loose.  one day she slammed the door while she was in the bathroom, she was so angry.. what happened was, because she had slammed the door of the bathroom so hard, so many times, she had broken the lock....   God how she screamed, and i was so frightened at what would come next, that i went into my b ed room and closed the door..i put on my music so loudly,, that i heard nothing.

Then there was the day, my mother came up from downstairs with a load full of laundry.  my sister came down the stairs and tackled my mother.  she put her hands around my mothers neck and started to choak her to death...  i screamed so, that she stopped... all of this, because, mom and i were going to a state fair, and my sister would not be allowed to see her boyfriend..  these things were very important to sister.   and she railed at me, eyes bulging, and veins pulsing blue in her neck..  i thought that this must be what i was like to 'bust a gut'..   heard by my parents, and not knowing what it meant..  i thought this is it...  she told me how much she hated me, and that day at the top of the stairs she punched me in the stomach...  i was the worst feeling in the world.. i felt unable to do anything, i had no air, and i thought i would die literally...  there are so many stories i could tell about that... but then  she became pregnant, it was the early sixties, and my mother was embarassed, and kept her in the house....

sister was a horrendous mother. a psychiatrist sister was seeing, told my mother , never allow her to have a child, but she did have a child, and my mother was her mother, then she had another child and put it up for adoption...   

she abused her child terribly... cigarette burns,  hit over her back with a wooden guitar, made to stay outside in the cold in her underwear....   it was a horror...  i was unable to take any more of what this was doing to me.

 i made my way to daytona beach...  and worked in cocktail bars, as a dancer, as a waitress... anything..  i would have done anything not to go back...

my niece would speak to me when i called home...  my quilt was overwhelming.. why? because i felt i should be there, and no bad thing would happen while i was there...

i  have since over come this..it has taken me over thirty years....  but i am still on the run...

and now my sister is nothing more than a small vicious woman , still spewing her vitriol to anyone who will listen.....   and my neice and i are not the ones who listen any more.

mother is gone now four years, and dad is gone too...   i never speak to my sister, who is the queen of drama, and is as fake as a barbie doll....   to bad.. one bad seed broke up a loving family....