https://www.npr.org/2021/10/28/1049910345/kyle-beach-reveals-chicago-blackhawks-coach-assaulted-him
It’s another difficult week. I hate when I don’t sleep well, it makes the day even more difficult. The noise harassment has continued at the Abandoned House like all the other places I have tried to live. My ex would always wake me around 3am, I never knew until the end of our 20yr marriage, it was all deliberate! It’s still hard to accept what him, his family, and friends have done, especially how they just wanted to dispose of me. That my family was involved from the beginning is even more difficult, but things are getting better—I’m getting stronger!
My SIL struggled with the same issues around the same time, then she passed brutally away. A few years later, my fate would be the same they planned, but I’m still here. It’s been extremely difficult, each day I’m a little better, but the constant police attacks trigger so much of it all back over again.
This time they busted in the door, pointing 3-4 guns at me. I became triggered again, and thought I would have a heart-attack! I think about putting something on here to tell people some of the things I write about can be triggering, but after struggling with it for so long, I don’t want to make it seem so removed from everyday life. I would often see these notes that an article could be “Triggering,” and I would feel more nervous. These things go on with people you least expect; neighbors, family, and friends! I didn’t want it so censored it becomes like it doesn’t happen to you, to me; not us, not our family, friends, community. My goal is that by raising awareness in this way we look at it as more normal, not that the behaviors of predators are, but that they can be closer than we ever thought. We usually teach kids about “Stranger-danger,” but more often the predator is a relative, friend—your husband! Your mother’s new boyfriend that pretends to overly care about you and only later do you find out he only considered you a whore, not like a daughter, not even like a human being, but more like a toy.
I had recently been reading about Kyle Beach, he came forward about a sexual assault by a coach. His story was triggering because it reminded me of the “Football parties,” I had first attended when I met my ex-husband. Kyle was made out to be a liar, had issues, and was not believed, but so many knew—just like with me.
The first couple “Football parties,” I attended where my 20yr marriage was setup and the last one where all the same group got together to have me sexually assaulted as my ex-husband stood there and did nothing—I had a seizure, partly after looking to him to help me and realizing he wouldn’t, before I lost control of my body.
I couldn’t feel anything from my neck down after being grabbed and then what seemed like thrown up in the air a few times, similar to what your not suppose to do with children by throwing them up in the air, which one of the other friends at the party had just done to my new puppy I was implored to bring. I hung like dead-weight not knowing what to do, but he did, he was a cop! He dangled my feet until finally I was able to move them and he put me down as I stumbled into their Lakehouse telling his mother I had a nice time—it was a nice party, I heard myself say. I never got medical attention.
She had been at the other parties too. It was always some kind of inside joke. Her and my ex had been friends long before I came along. She knew he was a violent coke-dealer and had a violent felony around the time she married. The wedding was the talk of all these friends. People got thrown in pools, got really drunk, and it lasted all weekend. My ex supposedly stealing a sign with “S,” on it, the fist letter of their last name, it caused a lot of hard feelings. He still denies it, but after all his other lies, I believe today he lied about that too, but they all stayed friends, especially his flirtatious relationship with her—this cops mother. I wonder if he slept with her too, like my best-friend and mother!
We really want you to come, her husband implored me in front of a full-table of quests at a large wedding of my ex’s goddaughter. I was hesitant, after years being told it was my fault they never got together even though I invited everyone all the time and was often in a lot of pain over the abuse I was often targeted with. They had been talking how he used to water-ski, coming up to our Lakehouse way back when we were first dating before I was told that I “kept his friends away!” and they never visited again. I had no idea it would be to assault me sexually—a “Friends Reunion.”
“I’m not into Football” anymore my ex informed me when we first started dating. I know this was a lie to deceive me today, but back then believable. “I want to be with my wife,” he would say, not watch games all weekend or sit at bars with them and bet on Sports. It seemed genuine, but back then so much did seem sincere from him and these people that seemed so elite, so wealthy—successful.
Their house so luxurious and plush, she would come out in what reminded me of the Soap opera, Another World, popular back then. I didn’t really watch, but remember the fancy lingerie the lead actress would wear. Long gowns that you wore in the evenings; flowing layers of sheer toile and satin with sheered skirts, matching house-coats. It seems so over the top today, but they were very wealthy, she had one in every color. A rainbow of these dressing gowns that were bragged about as she pushed the large closet door open that revealed all these matching gowns, all hung in a long elegant row, which seemed to take up the whole wall of the large master bedroom. I was of course taken in by how beautiful it seemed, but she hated me. I had no idea why back then, but today know I was thought of as a whore!
Whores are Trafficked at Football games. Whores are molested like I was, which she knew about, made fun of; as she danced around in her hot-pants at one party, mimicking the jokes about the hot-pants I wore that the cousin who molested me talked about. It was all jokes back then. The snickering behind my back, her son and his friends laughing about being told to “jump in the pool,”—the whore was here. I had no idea the jokes were about me or him. He was a boy, a kid. By the time I would see him again, a cop—a man. The toxic masculinity had taken hold. I remember a little boy crying, a strong premonition I had upon first meeting his mother, she never introduced me to her children—I was not good enough. Over the years, I often wondered about the crying little blond-boy, but chalked it up to being nervous. Her hatred so apparent.
I was not into organized sports; I skied, hiked, ice-skated, jock culture wasn’t my thing. I didn’t have children, I had a career, I wasn’t part of the group, she told me repeatedly in such a contemptuous way, I would usually go home and cry after seeing her. She being the perfect wife and mother.
All the popular guys in High school played sports and were destined for the big time and had no interest in me. I never had rides to any events or dates, and even if I did; recoiled from the group type of violence that seemed to permeate the air. I remember one of my classmates supposedly raped by many of the guys on the Football team and had to leave.
They always are more covert than stranger-danger, it wasn’t like she was attacked in the woods, but it started out as a boyfriend, then another, then it got so out of hand she had to leave. I didn’t know what to believe at the time because of course she was blamed. My best-friend was pregnant at 16yrs old after she slept with numerous friends of her then boyfriend. Another girl in the group was raped by a few guys one night. They all hung out, but I wasn’t sure if I knew any of the guys involved.
She was also blamed and sent away to a similar place—“Utica!” They have a psych ward there, she was blamed and told she drank too much. People would joke about being sent to Utica NY—it was for “crazy people!” I was sent to Hutchins NY, people often go to Utica and then are sent to Hutchins NY, especially it seems women that are victims of sexual violence where sexist, misogynistic psychologists label you delusional, psychotic, and a drunk to cover up for entitled, privileged men in other communities—many from the “Jock culture,” or it’s equivalent, the jock mentality!
My SIL was also told she was “crazy,” she’s gone now! I have been saying her name, “#SayHerName,” but told when I confronted another cousin of my 1/2 brothers, a doctor that threatened me with these very psychologists that my SIL Renee was “old news!” These are the types of people involved, a relative by marriage no less, involved in also falsely labeling me.
Mother issues aren’t hard to see here. When your mother is talking about other women as “Whores,” at Football parties she gives, making comments about boy’s erections and their need to “jump in the pool,” it’s no wonder we have problems here with sexual violence.
Boy’s grow up to be Men and continue this type of extremist attitude towards women often condoned in the jock environment that Kyle Beach and others coming forward now heartbreakingly are giving light to.
I grew up also believing the erroneous idea boys can’t be raped! We think they always should want sex, all sex is good; power and abuse aren’t part of their experience, but sadly that’s not the case.
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