first diary

Darlene Morgan
Feb 9
6 min read

Updated: Feb 11

Tonight as I was looking for something in the garage attic I came across a tub that had many old Peanuts books of mine. I was relieved to find them knowing that was my first love of books.

But what I did find that I had been thinking about lately was my very first diary. The little light blue one with Peter Rabbit on it and a lock. I must have gotten it was I was about 9 or 10 (obviously based on the cover), but never used it until my early teen years ... like when I was getting ready to leave my moms house even though I didn't know I was leaving her house.*

So, all the hurt, pain, anger and rebellion I felt in those early teen years was written in my diary before I had to leave my moms. I didn't actually read it all but recognized the boyfriends names I had written down. Thus, I was 12 when Jeff was my boyfriend ... 13 when I walked home with Jim by my side and 14 or 15 when Ronnie was the last boy I would see before I had to leave my moms.

Then, there are several pages that are not written in.

Later, the writing continues and now I am writing about my dad. My dad whom apparently I did not like when I was living with him. Hence, the reason why when the early teen years arrived, I had to leave my mom's house and I ended up living with my dad and step-mom.

Many journal entries of me being stuck in my room unable to go anywhere.

Of how I never wanted to see my dad.

Of how, I hated living with him.

Entries of how I just wanted to leave.

And wow, did I use the F bomb many times.

*Let me explain this little asterisk mark you seen earlier when I said, I had no idea I would end up having to leave my mom's house.

When I was 15 we lived in a trailor court. These were some of my best days. Especially during the summer. My friends were Marcy, Ronnie, Merle, Kim and many others would gather around the swimming pool each day and stayed there until dusk.

Marcy and I already dabbled in weed, so we often got her older sister to get us some. Then we'd have Ronnies older brother get us alcohol. Wow, this is incredible to write about. And remember.

There were no such thing as vapes, but we sure did get plenty of cigarettes.

My dad paid a child support and my mom would give me cash from it each month she got the check.

One time, I took 10 dollars and walked into town to buy me about 4 packs of cigarettes. How did I get them? I was only 15! I remember this vividly because I really was afraid to make the walk but determined to get Marcy and I cigarettes before our big weekend party.

No idea. I vividly remember doing the approximate 6 mile round trip walk.

A few days later when my mom found the packs of cigarettes in my dresser she came at me and attempted to spank me. She didn't succeed as I locked myself in my room.

When she went to bed, I grabbed an overnight bag and went to someones trailer and thought I was running away. The person's trailer I went to? A 30 year old man who was making advances on me throughout the summer.

I had no direction, instruction or guidance. I had no discipline or structure. I was free to do as I pleased most of the time because my mom worked days and went out at night.

I find the irony in how she never discovered all the alcohol my friends and I would stash in the fridge, but she sure did find the cigarettes buried in my dresser.

My mom drank ... alot. It was how she coped with life. More on that another time.

I never hated my mom. I knew her life sucked.

Oh yes, the diary where my writing went from talking about summer days at the trailer court to hating living with my dad....

I got sent to live with him the day I came home from staying out all night with Ronnies older brother whom I can still see in my mind. Yuck. He was 19 and I was 15.

He asked me to go out one night and of course, I said yes. I thought I was all mature because this guy asked me to go out.

He took me to a drive in theater where he got me in the back seat of his car and raped me. There I said it. I used the 'r' word.

He had given me a few beers to drink first. Afterwards, I clearly remember him telling me to hurry to the bathroom to clean myself up so I wouldn't get pregnant. I did. When I returned I was blurry and unable to think.

We drove away and he did not take me home.

No idea where we ended up but I fell asleep and next thing I knew he was waking me up and it was 7 in the morning.

I asked him to take me to a phone as soon as possible where I called my mom.

She told me to get right home.

I did. He took me home.

I walked up the 2 metal stairs to our trailer home door where my mom opened the door and said, "I can't keep you. I'm taking you down to the court house."

Suddenly I found myself sitting in a small office in front of a probation officer or similar. My dad, his wife, Dolores and my mom was there. But I remember my mom standing back near the door. The man asking, 'who wants to take care of this girl?'

Dad and mom were quiet. Dolores spoke up, "I'll take care of her."

Nobody asked if I was okay. They assumed I chose to stay out all night.

I didn't. I really thought I was just going on a date. Didn't even know we were going to a movie. I was naive. I really thought, he asked me to go out because he found me to be the most mature of the girls in the trailer court. No, he knew my mom was never home and I did what I wanted which made me vulnerable.

As I read my diary of my first days at my dads, I read words that I hear some of our clients say out loud. I know they have gone through similar ordeals like me.

And I realize, I was no different than some of them.

And how, I just wanted to run away from it all.

And how, I needed someone to love me but I didn't really know what love was so I accessed it from the wrong places.

In one entry, I wrote of how much I disliked my dad because he wouldn't listen to me and how I wished Dolores was home. She never yelled at me. She was strict but never yelled.

She treated me like a teenager. And she listened to me. She showed me she cared and accepted me for who I was. And she let me play my music loud in the basement where I could let out all my anger and hurt.

And that is what I gathered from those few pages I read from my diary.

I survived. I went through worse than that in later years.

I survived. My mom suffered more, too.

We survived.

And here I am, being someone who deeply cares for these clients who have experienced similar stuff as me and we wonder why they feel angry, hurt, sad, depressed and alone.

It is why, I feel what they are feeling.

It is why, I know God kept me alive from tons of dangers.

He took all that bad in my life and is now using it for good.

I do have a purpose. Those scary events in my life lead me to here.

And it is likely why, when I see the hurt and blank look on some of those faces, I feel what they are feeling.

We all have a purpose. I hate I went through all my trials; but I thank God for saving me; because helping these young girls provides me with immense gratitude.

God is using my pain for good. And I am okay with that.

I dislike all the current political bashing and talk about funds being cut back on mental health.

I am trying not to think about it or worry.

I know the clients I work with need someone like me who has been through it all and has come out this side and can empathize.

I'm sure reading that part about my tragedy is not easy for many. And that wasn't even the only time. But I won't hide behind those pains anymore.

I won't hide behind the horrible things that have happened to me and think I am just one big scar tissue and feel guilty for being so open.

It is when we become transparent, real, authentic and raw in the most appropriate way is when our hearts open, we begin to heal and we are able to help others heal.

#anxietyattacks #diary #journal #prayfirst #believeinyourself #daterape

#thehereandnow #life #thinking #shiftingthoughts #singlemomlife #unmakingamess