Another serious entry from my main blog



Blood washes Away

Sometimes we tuck those bad memories and incidents far away and deep down inside, and sometimes they pop up without prior notice, And most of the time they manifest themselves into some other fucked up baggage we carry around, even if our hands are already full.

Drama goes on with people that are connected to my mothers blood lines.
I don't really consider them family anymore, due to my judgments of their behavior.
I don't consider blood thicker than water. I consider TRUST thicker than everything.
And on that note it conjures up some not so pretty details from my childhood, that I feel may have some importance today in my life and chosen to disconnect with my mothers other daughter, and anyone else from that side.

When I was 7, we lived in Cambridge Massachusetts. We lived in this high rise apartment complex of 3 buildings, The building called 808 was the one we lived in, it was 10 stories high. and lots of apartments with family's and such, most of us all knew each other, Kinda like a small community. we went to each-others birthday parties, and celebrated holiday's together and created some very long lived bonds.

I lived on the 8th floor, and my best friend lived on the 3rd floor.
One afternoon I was leaving her apartment and going upstairs to mine, I got on the elevator and it stopped on the 5th floor. One of the older boy's got on, I knew him, His name was Paul Poindexter, He had other brothers as well, he was the tallest of them, actually he was rather large for his age, and a little slower mentally than the other kids his age, He wasn't as popular as his brothers. Even at age 7, I could tell that something was a little off about him.
He was about 16 then.
After he got on, he asked me where I was going, I said, I was going home, he pulled me off the elevator earlier than my stop, and down the hallway to the "Dark Staircase".
There were 2 Staircases, the light one which had windows and was overly bright, and the dark one with no windows, that you could barely see your hand in front of you, I mean almost pitch black.

He sat down on the bottom stair, and I was facing him standing, he started to rub my lower back, I started to cry. he begged me to stop my crying, as his hand went further down the back of my pants. He rubbed my 7 year old butt, and the more wrong this got the louder my cry's were.
He told me he would let me go, but that if I told anyone he would hurt my parents.
I wasn't raped in the sense of penetration, but I was fondled and I was very aware that this should not be happening.

I ran to my apartment, my mother let me in, and I locked ALL of the locks on the door, and turned around with a face full of tears and snot, and said to my mother" Mommy if I tell you something will you promise not to tell anyone in the whole wide world"?

Quickly I found myself at the hospital getting an very embarrassing physical ( rape ) exam and asked to draw pictures of the incident.
Then later in family court, as my mother dropped the charges against him on the terms that he get mental/psychological help.
The entire building was a buzz about the incident. My then SISTER didn't seem to stay away from the Poindexter family.
I avoided him at all cost, not only did I avoid him, but when ever I had to enter the elevator I would go to the main lobby and call upstairs to my parents and tell them that I was heading up, so they would look for me, and for the rest of the time that I lived in 808 I never got on the elevator with strangers.
A few years later at the age of 10, did my OCD ( hair pulling) start, at the time people were saying that I was pulling my hair out to make myself unattractive. Studies show that most people with Trichotillamania are young prepubescent girls whom have experienced some sort of trauma.

Later when we moved from Cambridge to Boston, the Poindexters moved to Boston as well and owned a bar around the corner from us, I spotted Paul walking down the street when I was 15 once again, all of the timid little girl feelings came flooding back, And I made sure I wasn't noticed.
My Sister went and worked for them at the bar as soon as she found out they were in the neighborhood.



Never did she once ever address the situation on how it made me feel. Never did she care what that incident had done to me, She felt more remorse for him and how he had been labeled by the 808 community, whom soon forgot anyway, then she cared what it did to me.

That incident very much so put the distance between her and I,
But I also realize that it reinforced the trust I had within my mother, by finding the courage at 7, to risk losing her by telling her the truth.

And to my "Mothers Other Daughter" whom stalks this blog looking for anything she can to discredit me in MY MOTHERS heart, I hope you realize that all the energy that you put forth into lying, manipulating and scheming comes back to haunt you in the form of Karma. FORGIVENESS IS NOT AN OPTION.

After I wrote this, I looked on Face Book and found this more recent Picture of Paul P, He is the very tall black man in this picture. If you think It's wrong of me to rip this image offline and post it with this story, then just think how wrong it is to steal the innocence of a 7 year old.