Hidden Courage

     This will probably be the most personal blog I will ever write. I'm actually extremely nervous to post this when I'm finished, but I feel it's important to give courage to those who need it. I've been reading some articles lately about women who are too afraid to come forward when they've been raped or abused, neglected, ect. It's a tough thing to find the fortitude to tell the truth. You might think you are alone or that know one will listen or believe you. So I thought I would tell you my story and hopefully inspire bravery in others.
     I was drugged and raped on January 3rd, 2002. It's a date that will forever be burned in my memory. Although I don't remember the specific details of the actual event, the aftermath is something I will never forget.
     I was 19 at the time and a friend of mine and I decided to have a couple guys over at my moms house while she was out of town and have a few drinks. I didn't know the guys, but my friend did. One was a co-worker of her's and a bishop's son and the other was a friend of his. They were both pretty good looking so I was excited.
     They brought drinks with them, consisting of Mike's Hard Lemonade and Gin and Tonic. Now, I don't condone under age drinking and of course I don't ever want my kids to drink until they are of age, but that was the 'cool' thing to do. I was young and stupid and this was definitely not my first taste of alcohol.
     I started off by drinking a Lemonade and then had a shot of Gin. I didn't really start feeling anything until I downed the 2nd Lemonade, but even then I was only a little tipsy. Definitely not drunk by any imagination. I remember flirting with the friend, and maybe some light kissing, but that was about it.
     I drank my 3rd and final Lemonade followed by a mixed drink of Gin and Tonic that the boys made for me. I remember the guys attempted to get my friend and I to kiss, but that wasn't going to happen, We laughed and giggled as we said, "No way." That's the last moment I recall from that night.
     Now, let's count just how much I've drank to this point. I had 3 Hard Lemonades, one shot, and one mixed drink (that I don't believe I finished.) For some people, that amount might knock them on their ass, but for me, that was nothing. I might be drunk, but certainly not enough for me to black out.
     The next morning was the worst I have ever felt in my entire life. I woke to my head pounding and throbbing so hard I could barely keep my eyes open and my stomach was in so many knots that I thought I was dying. I was dizzy to the point I felt I was still drunk. My sister was screaming at me asking why my friend was sleeping in my mothers bed and I had no recollection of how she got there either. I staggered in there and told her she needed to get out. I was still incoherent so I don't recall if I asked her what she was doing in there in the first place.
     I crawled back in bed until my mother got home and was immediately furious, not that I blame her. Of course at the time, I was defensive and rude because I knew I was up shit creek. The bathroom had been destroyed, the towel rack was ripped from the wall as well as the toilet paper dispenser. Her bedding was all over the place, along with all the leftover alcohol that was still sitting wide open on my bedroom nightstand. I had no reasonable excuse so I locked myself in the bathroom to soak away the sickness I felt in the tub. I was so dizzy and nauseous that I could barely stand.
    I turned the water on to fill up the bath while I undressed, as I was doing this I noticed my underwear was on backwards and there were bruises on my legs. Seconds later I had to sit down because everything in the room went black. My eyes were wide open, but I couldn't see a thing. I was blind and I was terrified. It only lasted a few minutes before the light slowly came back into my eyes, but I knew something wasn't right. I laid in the bath crying and shaking from the chills. As I was washing down below I felt that I was swollen.
    I didn't put two and two together until, my friend later called me and told me I had had sex with one of them, the friend. I couldn't quite believe what I was hearing. I didn't recall any of it, but I knew right then and there that she was right, the pieces fit. The only problem was I knew I wouldn't have consented no matter how drunk I was because it was that time of the month.
    I later found the evidence in my trash can inside my bedroom but the actual condom was gone, the only thing left was the wrapper. It took me a long time to process it all and I searched my brain to figure out the details of that night. Nothing was coming together.
    The next day I went to my mother and told her what happened. I was so scared that she would think I would be making it up just to get out of trouble, but I had never had the courage to talk to her about sex before, so she knew I was telling the truth. She talked me into going to the police, I agree as long as she went with me. It was a terrifying experience, not because they were rude or anything, but because I had to tell intimate details about myself. I had to admit things that would normally get someone that was underage in trouble. Luckily, they were extremely nice.
    After I gave them my statement and told them the names of the people involved, they took the photos of the bruises on my legs. They also collected my clothes  as well as any of the bottles and trash that was in my bedroom. Unfortunately, I had already washed away any evidence on my body so a rape kit was unnecessary. I went home and waited for them to call.
    They called me later and said my friend wouldn't say anything on my behalf. Her parents were very religious and she was too scared to come forward. At the time, I was less than pleased, but looking back now, I understand her hesitation.
    The detective then told me about the odd conversation she had with the boys. The bishop's son had already covered his tracks and had his father in his corner, ready to lawyer up. The other one had nothing to add and also had the backing of the bishop. All the evidence was gone and out of my system. My case was dead in the water.
    Now, for those of you who don't know me, I live in Utah which has a very heavy population of followers of the LDS church. I have never been a supporter of the Mormon religion and I never will. I don't judge anyone for their beliefs, it's none of my business. I do, however, want to paint a picture for you so you can see where I got my conclusion of why the detectives refused to push it further.
    You have a girl that comes to you and openly tells you that she has drank more than once in her young life and that she was drugged and raped. The accused were good Mormon boys and one just happened to be the bishop's son. Who do you think they are going to believe? I'll tell you, it sure as hell wasn't me.
    I don't want anyone thinking that I blame the Mormon church because that's not at all what I'm getting at, but they do take care of their own. I was not one of them, so I was the outcast. I was the harlot that drank too much and dressed to sexy, why would they take my word over theirs? I felt powerless and there was nothing else I could do.
    It's been years since it happened and the two involved have gone unpunished. I can't prove what happened to me, nor do I know which one (possibly both) guys took advantage of me. I don't believe it was the bishop's son, but then again, who's to say it wasn't. My money is on the friend since that is who seemed to flirt with me the most.
    I felt I had no choice but to leave it. I wish now that I would have pursued it more, but I didn't want it to run my life either. I wanted to move on and forget about it and thankfully, I have. I married a wonderful man and have 4 beautiful children. My life is nothing like it used to be and I'm thankful for that.
    I guess my purpose of telling you all of this is to give others strength and hope. Strength to stand up for yourself (whether or not it goes in your favor, just make yourself be heard,) and hope that one day things will get better. Life does go on, but you have let it.
    A lot of people out there might not have the support system I had, but know that there is someone out there that has been through the same thing as you and they may need your strength to stand up and fight as well.
    Courage isn't having the strength to go on- it's going on when you don't have strength. -Napoleon Bonaparte

What if???

     There's so many topics that I could cover with that small little phrase, what if? For instance, what if you're meant for something greater? Now, before anyone misinterprets my meaning, I should first state that I love my life. I love my husband and I love my kids to the fullest capacity. However, I do feel like I should be doing something more with my life.

     I know deep down that I am capable of so much more in life, but I lack the motivation to do anything about it. Does anyone else feel this way? I know if I just put the time and effort into it, I could lose all the child baring weight that I desperately want gone. Or I could finally finish the 500 projects I have going all at once if I just could get the energy to do it. 

     Everyone always says, "You know exercising gives you a lot more energy." Well, okay, that's all well and good, but where do I get this initial energy to exercise in order to achieve this stamina? I can have all the motivation to exercise in the world... for about a week. After that point, I'm too exhausted to give a shit. 

     I have never been one that enjoys running. Anyone who has ever known me, knows this. I have very short legs, and when I went through basic training for the military a long time ago, I hurt my hip and it's never been the same since. So for me, running is out. I hate it. When I do have to run (usually chasing after my kids or dogs) I feel like I resemble the Stay Puft Marshmellow Man from Ghostbusters. THUD! THUD! THUD! 

     Now, granted, I'm not nearly that large or anything, but you get my point. It's not pretty. Don't take me wrong though, I am not sitting here saying, "Oh poor me, I'm so fat." That's not at all what I'm saying. I could change it, if I really wanted to. Some people can't and struggle all their lives with weight or other things they don't particularly care about themselves, but that's not me. So I ask myself, what if I did put in that effort? What could I achieve then? Would I then have the energy to make a difference?

    For me, I know I have plenty of other things in my life that I can be proud of and happy about that certainly outweigh the bad. My husband for one, is my number one supporter in everything I do. I think, at times, he is the only one that truly gets me. Then, of course, comes my four children. They are everything that is precious to me in the world, and my weight is just battle scars from having those beloved little rascals. So, really, how can I complain?

     I do still feel at times though that I could be out doing something, and not necessarily for me, but for others instead. I love being a helping hand for someone in need, but I can't always help in the ways I would like. I sit back and hear about all of the wealthy muli-millionaires and wish I had that kind of money. I won't lie and say I wouldn't buy my family and I a bunch of awesome toys with that kind of money, but I'd also like to think I would give back to those that need it. 

     If I ever make it big as a writer, I promise to do just this. I solemnly swear to use my wealth to help others. I want to make a difference in peoples lives. I'm not a religious person so I can't shout to the world about Jesus or 'Go tell it on the Mountain' or whatever, but the next time I see an elderly person walking across the street, I can help. If there's a stray kitten stuck in the middle of the road about to get hit by cars, I can get out of my car and move him to safety and possibly find them a home. It's nothing huge, but to the people or animals, ect. that you help, it could mean the world. 

    When you sit down in bed tonight ask yourself that question, only gear it towards your life. Ask yourself, what if I just changed one thing, would it make me a better person? Would it? Tell me, what would you change?

At my wits end

     I know my blog states that I will answer anyone's questions to the best of my ability, but today I have a question for any parents, doctors, teachers, ect. Almost everyone has had experience with a 'difficult' child, but what do you do when you have a child that's more difficult than your typical.
     I love my son, there's no question about it, but there are times where I am at my wits end. Like tonight for instance, he got upset because he wanted someone to come help him rearrange his room. I would have, but I had to help my oldest son with homework since he is struggling tremendously in math and reading comprehension. His sisters didn't want to because they were watching something.
     He didn't get mad like you see in old black and white films where the child just sulks off and says, "Ah shucks, mom!" He didn't say what some kids/teens might say nowadays either with the traditional, "It's not fair," statement. That's too easy and much too tame for my child. It's the full-blown-scream-from-the-stop-of-your-lungs meltdown.
     "No one wants to help me. Everybody hates me. You don't ever want to help me, all you ever do is help everyone else. You don't even want me here. Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!" This was all followed by slamming doors and kicking walls and continuous screaming to the point my head was pounding and my nerves were about shot.
     I attempted to go after him before he breaks another door or puts yet another hole in the wall. (Luckily, the holes are all in the old house, for now anyways.) I follow after him as he's knocking everything to the ground that's in his path to the kitchen. Thank goodness there wasn't any glass dishes in the way. By the time I reach him we are both screaming at each other and I am hot. I grab hold of his arm so he can't walk away further and I plop myself onto the ground and force him down into my lap. We just sit there for a few minutes in silence before I speak.
     "Why are you so angry?" I ask. He doesn't answer so I ask again, Still no reply. I have to close my eyes and breathe because I am so frustrated by his loud, piercing screams to his sudden silence and blatant ignorance of my question. I calmly tell him, "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong. I want to help you and I am trying everything I can to figure out what's going on, but I need some help. I need you to talk to me."
     "I want someone to come upstairs and me in my room," he finally says. "I want you to come up."
     "I know you do, bud, but I have to help your brother right now, he has homework that's due tomorrow. He needs more help with that kind of stuff than what you do right now," I reply.
     "You don't ever help me."
     "Yes I do, and besides, you just rearranged your room a couple days ago. Did you ever ask your sisters to help you?"
     "No."
     "Well, why don't you ask them?" I ask.
     "Because they won't."
     "And they may not, but it's your room. They might be willing to help you though if you ask them. If they don't want to though, I can't make them help you rearrange your room."
     "I know," he says, "I know they don't have to."
     "But what happens if they say they don't want to, then what? What happens then?"
     "I'll be mad."

     This scene went on for another 15 minutes as I tried to explain to him that he can't always get what he wants at the second he wants it. He finally calmed down and agreed to ask his sisters. Of course they said no and it's like he hit the repeat button and it started all over again. This happens every day. There's no stopping his rants. My husband or I will tell him to just stop or drop it (whatever the subject, each day it's something different) and he won't. It's like he is trying to egg us on by continuing to say just one more word.
     I'll say, "Okay, it's fine. Just stop, please," and he's always there going, "but... I was just telling you, or that's what they said or...but I didn't do it." I want to just scream at the top of my lungs, "ENOUGH!"
     I can't even begin to count the days that I have hidden my tears from my kids because I have hit my breaking point and feel completely and utterly helpless. I have tried everything I can think of to help him and save all of our sanity, but I don't have a clue what our next step should be. His doctor prescribe him with some medication for anxiety, but it doesn't do much. It does nothing for his anger. He's only 9 years old and can be the sweetest, most caring little boy one second and then completely do a 180 in 2.5 seconds flat. I don't understand it. If anyone has any suggestions, please feel free to comment. I would really appreciate the help. Thank you so much.

UPDATE!! Little Addie

For those of you who haven't read my previous blog about Little Addie, I'll give you a brief recap. Addie is a 6 year old girl from Fountain Green, Utah. Her brain is shrinking and filling with fluid and isn't expected to live much longer. Last Christmas her family had asked for a lifetime of Christmas cards for this would be her last Christmas. She received an incredible amount of support from all over the world and is still probably opening cards to this day.

Although the support was overwhelmingly great, little Addie's family could do nothing, but watch this sweet little girl continue to get weaker and weaker. Without a diagnosis, all hope was lost. Now, she has an opportunity to get a second opinion and possibly get the help she needs. She has an appointment in June to see a specialist in Boston.

 The family is asking for any kind of donations to help pay to get her there and any other medical bills. You can follow her story on Facebook either on her page Little Addie or the newest page For the Sake of Little Addie. Please donate and share. Thanks so much.

Little Addie (photo taken from Facebook)

My Spirited Children

With it being Easter Sunday, I thought I would dedicate this next post to my children because without them, I highly doubt I would celebrate this holiday. I'm aware that the 'true' meaning of this holiday is the resurrection of Christ, but we aren't the church going type, so it's about Easter bunny's and candy at our house.

So with that being said, I'll start with my oldest, Aydan Lewis Evans born July 24, 2003. My pregnancy with him was easy until it was finally time to deliver. He was two weeks late before the doctors decided to do an ultra sound and found there was too much fluid around him. I was admitted shortly after that and within minutes of my water breaking, nurses flooded the room. His heart rate was slowing because of a prolapsed cord.

I was rushed into surgery and in extreme pain as the nurse shoved the cord back into my uterus. That was definitely a holy shit moment if I've ever had one. Shortly after surgery I was able to hold my precious baby boy. He was so beautiful and flawless in every way. Everything was perfect, but it wasn't until a couple days later I realized I wasn't gaining any strength.

During surgery, I had lost a lot of blood and wasn't healing. I opted for a blood transfusion. If you've ever had one then you'll know that it's much more pleasant having blood drawn rather than having it pumped into your veins. It's painful. The nurses would bring me heated pads of some sort all throughout the night. In the morning, however, I felt incredibly relieved because I could tell I was starting to feel like myself again. I can't remember just how long I spent in the hospital, but I do know it was much longer than the typical.

Fast forward to now and Aydan is still my beautiful precious boy, just with a bit more attitude. He is probably my most emotional child out of all of them. He's always been sensitive, but he can spit fire just like the rest of them. He's very quick witted, friendly, and sweet. He's extremely bright, but unfortunately, he doesn't apply himself the way he should. He's more interested in video games and playing with friends than anything else.

We have tried all kinds of things to get him to stay focused on school work, including grounding and taking his games away, but nothing works. We finally contacted the school to have him tested to make sure there's no underlining issue we are unaware of. Hopefully, we will have answers soon.

As for my second son, Zander Lewis Evans, he hasn't ever had issues with academics. He is extremely smart and quick at everything he does. He can see a word once and know how to spell it and read just about anything. He is our most challenging child though.

With a successful c-section on February 7, 2006 he was another perfect, bouncing baby boy. We noticed quickly that he seemed to have separation anxiety when I wasn't around. Not many people could hold him without him screaming and reaching for me. I learned fast to do things one handed.

At his yearly check up, his doctor noticed that he should be saying more words than what he was and referred us to an early intervention specialist. She came every week to visit with him and often brought a speech therapist with her as well. He very rarely left my side and refused to speak to them. When he turned 3, he was enrolled in the Harold Lewis Center for developmental disabilities in Marysville, Ohio. He went there for 3 years and never spoke a word until year 3.

The excitement we all felt when they finally heard his sweet voice was incredible. If we would have had fireworks, I guarantee we would have lit them. He only said one word at first, but then it was a phrase. Before you knew it, he was talking like crazy. You would never know now that he ever had an issue with talking. He loves getting up in front of his class and speaking, he never shows fear. I don't know why he wouldn't speak for such a long time, but I am forever grateful to the staff at the Harold Lewis Center.

His struggles didn't stop there, I'm afraid. He speaks extremely well now and screams with the same wild fervency. His anger is uncontrollable and his fits come and go quickly and without warning. He can be the most gentle little boy and two seconds later turns into a tornado, destructing everything in his path.

Doors are slammed, clothes and toys being thrown to the floor or against the wall. Continuous kicking and stomping, screaming at the top of his lungs and shoving or hitting his siblings. It's hazardous for anyone in his path.

Charts don't work, time outs are a joke, spanking doesn't do anything except bring on more screaming. I'm completely at a loss. I attempt to talk to him, but usually takes me about 30 minutes before he's calm enough to hear me. It's beyond frustrating at times and I won't lie, sometimes I lose it. I've spent many hours, hiding my tears from my children because I'm at wits end. The medication he's on helps, but only very little. It's a constant and every day struggle, but I wouldn't change a hair on my 'little buddy's' head.

I suppose it's time to tell you of my 'queens of the castle.' My oldest daughter Zayna Elizabeth Evans was born on February 20th of 2007 just a year and 13 days from her brother. She is one of the cutest and lovable little girls you will ever meet. It's actually scary how social she is. My husband and I are always telling her that she can't talk to strangers and never to go with anyone she doesn't know. I'm terrified she will be lured by some psychopath with a dog.

She loves everyone she meets and will be the first in line to lend a helping hand. Although, I adore this quality in her, it usually means she is on my heals ninety percent of the day. When she is in her 'helpful' moods, I can't even use the restroom without her following me.

Out of all of my kids, I see myself in her though. She literally walks around singing all day and thinks her life is a musical. I'm fairly certain she get's this from me. She's my mini-me.

I had her name picked out since I was about the age she is now. I'd heard it when I was young on a tv show, Hanging With Mr. Cooper and fell in love with the name. I used it every time I played Barbies with my friend and it stuck with me. My husband didn't have much choice in the matter.

Sticking with the trend of A's and Z's, we had our 4th and last (at least that I am having) daughter named Autumn Shay Evans. She was born on December 30, 2009. She is my baby and KNOWS it. She owns the roost or at least thinks she does. Although I don't think she's that far off. She can pretty much get what she wants because if she doesn't get it from one person, she will just keep asking until someone gives in.

She was a surprise to say the least. My husband and I (especially myself) were in denial for the first little bit. I was supposed to stop at 3, but didn't know that until it was too late to have the doc tie my tubes. Needless to say, they're tied now.

All of my kids have picked up my husband and I's sarcastic attitudes, but Autumn definitely takes the prize on the most off-the-wall responses. She always has some random comment or two cents that she will throw in at the most awkward times.

Now that we have moved into our new house she is getting slightly better at sleeping in her own room, but most of the time she still ends up in my bed making my king size bed into a size much smaller than a twin. I won't lie though, I enjoy our snuggles.

Each years my children get older there's always something new and different that they pick up and personalities they've left behind. Each day is a new adventure and I welcome them with open arms. I love my children and am truly grateful and blessed to have them near me each and every day.

Happy Easter everyone!

The new house

It's been awhile since I have posted, my computer has been under the weather, but now it seems to be working "most" of the time, so I'm back. I still haven't finished editing my book, but I'm 1/3 of the way through, so I'm hopeful it won't be too much longer before I can finally publish and actually call myself "an author." Plus, it will be nice to be able to start the sequel.

For now though, I deal with the day to day life of being a wife and mother in our new house, well technically, our very old house, we've just moved into. My husband and I love this old house, but with all old homes you tend to have lots of unexpected quirks. For instance, unexplained water that splashed all over the bathroom floor in the early morning hours with absolutely no tell of where it came from. Then, there's the broken water heater and the flooded basement as a result of the landlords putting in a new one and not changing the old hose attached too it.

Don't worry, it get's better. After having an assembly line of kids up the stairs to empty the six inches of water covering the basement floor, a day or two later I start having problems with my washer. What some people don't know is that with a lot of older homes, the washer and dryer hook ups are in the kitchen. I thought it would bother me at first, but surprisingly it's helped me keep up with laundry a lot more, until recently that is.

Unfortunately, along with the convenience of having everything in one place, the sink and washer also share the same pipes. When one is clogged, both are virtually unusable, unless you get creative. Luckily, I am. Not only do I have to stay in the kitchen or turn the washer off every time I leave the room (so the garbage can I am using to empty the water doesn't over flow, trust me, it sucks when that happens) I also have to empty the sink about fifty times in order to do my dishes three times a day. Needless to say, I'm sick of water.

I attempted to have the landlord come fix the problem and they sent the handyman. He looked at it and gave me an assessment saying that basically it will be a pain in the ass, but he'll get it fixed for me. At around five o'clock he tells me that he has to run and grab something and he'll be right back. He never returned. If this was the first time he's said he'd return and hasn't I might be concerned something happened, but unfortunately it's not. I guess I'll try again tomorrow.

I attempt each day to get something else accomplished in our new home, but for some reason, there's always a set back. I guess that's how it is with everything in life. You have to take in the bad with the good and just make the best out of it. If it weren't for my family, it may not be worth it, but as they say, home is where the heart is.

Little Addie

     With the Christmas spirit lingering in the air, there is one little girl out there that has touched  my heart, as well as the nation's. Her name is Addie Lynn. You may have seen her Facebook page "Little Addie" or seen her story televised on the news. 

      The one's that haven't had the pleasure of hearing her story, let me tell you a little bit of what I know. Hopefully, I can tell her story correctly because I don't know her personally. I only know what has been on the news as well as what I've been following on her page.

      Little Addie is just 6 years old and the doctors have said this will be her last Christmas. When she was 3 years old her motor functions began to deteriorate making even a crayon hard to hold. Her brain is shrinking and filling with fluid. Cerebral Atrophy is only a small part of her mystery, and without a diagnosis the doctors have grim new for Addie and her family. With no way to help, Addie is estimated to only have about 1 year left to live. 

     Her mind will go before they loose her physically and there will come a time when she won't even recognize her family. Just as you think times can't get worse for Addie and the family, her father passed away unexpectedly on November 29th. 

     Her mother and father were separated, but was still a big part of their lives. Little Addie and her two older sisters, Audree (7) and Shayley (10) were devastated, along with everyone else who knew him. 

     On the day of the funeral the girls had a surprise visit with Santa. Poor little Addie was so tired from the long and tearful day, she fell asleep on Santa's lap. Santa watched her as the 23 pound girl slept in his arms. 

     I am fortunate to live close enough to the family to be able to attend the light parade in her honor on December 23rd on Fountain Green, Utah, but for the people can't, I hope you see this and contribute in helping fulfill her wish. 

     Since she is unable to play with other children, her family is asking for 'a lifetime of cards.' She enjoys homemade cards the best. Please send them to-

Addie Lynn and Her Sisters  

Box 162 

Fountain Green, UT 84632. 

Her mother's name is Tami Jensen if you would like to send something to her as well. All is appreciated. Let's make the world shine just a little bit brighter this Christmas season.