My Dad married his second wife, my stepmother, when I was 5. I glomped onto her pretty quick I was desperate for a mother, she was nice enough (then) so it was a good fit. I am sure Dad was thrilled about it because he was over the moon for her, still is.
She had 3 kids, a daughter, 10, a son, 8, and a toddler who grew up to become my primary abuser. The little boy got the master bedroom for some reason, Dad got the shady bedroom, and I got the remaining, third bedroom. It was decorated in orange (!) and yellow, cheerful. My stepsister and her brother were relegated to the basement, Dad made rooms for them, with doors and walls but not a "real" room.
I am ashamed to say she came up to my room late one night asking if she could sleep in my room and I said no. I regret that. I think the fair thing would have been to double up the kids, girls in one room, boys in the other.
When I was 10 we moved to CA. Much better arrangement for the older kids, everyone had their own room and my stepsister, now a teen, even had her own bathroom. She was thrilled.
I had a room at the top of the stairs, across from a bathroom I shared with the two boys.
But I had a problem that had started some years back. Someone would go in my room, steal my school books, library books, etc. steal homework I had done, even. I had been doing very well in school until this started, no one wanted to believe a family member would sabotage me like that so my protests were written off as childish fables. Forget about keeping a diary.
But it continued, if anything it got worse after we moved. Everyone had been ripped away from their support structures, my stepmother took it very hard for a while (it was Dad's idea to move). So I don't know who did it to this day. Honestly? I think they took turns.
So I had no privacy, no space of my own, no "stuff" that was just mine and no one elses. This continued until September 23, 1992 when I moved out. Finally my stuff was mine.
I value that. It is one reason I have, over the years, had trouble letting even a repair man into the house because I am intensely territorial, and one reason I was so happy I could use one contractor through the whole repair process.
And I was right, wasn't I? I even had Ron's box of syringes and b-12 vials go missing. I am lucky I got back what I did and glad I had very little of monetary value. And it will be a cold day in hell before I let a pack of unknowns in my house again.
Notice I am not turning this racial or anything - but they were not known and I was right to distrust them. I am not interested in making a claim because I'm not getting back what was taken in December of last year - that is long gone. I am interested in protecting myself from further problems.
The house is fine for visitors now, the front room is a little cluttered, and I have a laundry basket on the floor of the bedroom, but overall it is "fine" by social worker standards. I can let anyone in and know they're not going to walk away going "OMG how awful!"
Yes, the house probably smells a little pissy... not much I can do about that until we rip out the carpet. But structurally it has a good flow and is a safe place to live. And I guess that is what it comes to, for me, even with Ron at his worst my house is a safe place for me. I want to keep it that way.
I don't want to find out, days to weeks later, stuff is "walking off" again. I don't want people looking at my disaster kit, taking photos, messing with my cats. I just DON'T.
So I try to do it all on my own for now.
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