So if you've read my book Broken Summer (available on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.ca/Broken-Summer-summer-through-hell/dp/1697433987/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=melanie+elliott&qid=1572893338&sr=8-1) - then you're probably wondering about my life before this summer. I've been writing down what I remember of my life as it comes to me - so here is what I've gotten so far...
At 3 years old my biological father left my mother and I. Before that he was in and out of our lives and in and out of jail. He’s the kind of guy that laughs at the fact that he once stabbed a police officer. Until 1995 my mother and I lived in Osbourne Village – which in the 90’s wasn’t the worst area, but still pretty sketchy. There were plenty of times where she had to feed me and stop at my Grandma and Grandpa’s in the morning to pick up leftovers so she could eat something.
At 5 years old my mom and a friend went out, and the friend’s daughter and I were left with a babysitter (who was the friend’s brother). He told us we were playing hide and seek, and showed me a good hiding spot – up in the top of our linen closet. I agreed, so he lifted me up and shut the door. After a while of being in there I started getting scared, I didn’t know how I would get down, and I couldn’t hear anyone walking around. Turns out he had put me up there and went back to the living room to watch Ms Doubtfire.
At 6 years old I remember having a nightmare so vivid I can still see it in my head to this day. I was laying down and couldn’t move, and hoards and hoards of snakes were descending upon me. At the helm of the snakes was a large, evil looking kind cobra with red eyes. When I was finally able to wake up I could hear screaming and crying. It was my mom. She had woken up and couldn’t move from her waist down. I didn’t know what to do, it was so scary hearing her screaming and crying and thinking she couldn’t move. She had managed to reach her bedside phone to call my Auntie Bev and 911, who end up breaking down our door to get into our townhouse. It was a two storey townhouse with a steep, narrow stairway and the ambulance attendants weren’t sure how they would get her down the stairs (she’s a larger lady). Finally the firefighters came in with a backboard and hauled her out. I didn’t know what to do or what to think. Years later I found out that night hadn’t actually been due to a physical condition, but rather a physical hallucination brought on by an undiagnosed, untreated mental illness.
After we moved out of Osbourne Village we continued to go down there every evening to have coffee with moms friends at the Country Style coffee shop. There were a few other kids that would be there on occasion that I got to be friends with. One evening, while hanging out down there a guy came into the coffee shop looking a little sketchy – but that was just the area so no one thought anything about it. Suddenly, in came another man who grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back into the vestibule. Once in the vestibule the second man took the first mans head and started smashing it into his knee. Myself and one of the young boys that was there that night ran over to the window to see what was going on. I remember the first guy looking up and catching my eye for a second – I don’t remember much about what he looked like, just the chill that went through my body at how scared he looked, and I felt. The second man started back out of the building and into the parking lot, still with his hand entwined in the first man’s hair. He gave the man a bit more of a beating and then it happened – before any of us even knew what was going on – he took the man’s head and smashed it against the corner of the brick wall as hard as he could. At this he dropped the man on the ground, head gaping, and took off.
In 1998 the first of my beautiful little sisters was born – Natasha Rachel Marie. She was such a cute, chubby little baby and I was more than excited to be a big sister! I wanted to do all the things I could to help out with her. That summer my mom also got married to my step dad. It was a great year for our family! And in the fall we found out that mom was pregnant again! This time around though, with her age and the short amount of time between the birth of Natasha and the following pregnancy, it caused a dormant epilepsy to come to surface, subsequently causing mom to lose her drivers license. This loss of license hit us hard as my school, my daycare and moms work were not all that relatively close to where we were living. So from there on out, for at least the 9 months that mom was pregnant, we were up at 5:00am to get ready and catch the bus to get everyone where they needed to go.
In early 1999, before my second sister was born, we had an incident with mom that we now believe to have been another psychotic episode. I can’t tell you exactly what lead up to it, as I don’t remember. What I do remember is grabbing the baby (Natasha) out of her crib in the room kitty corner to mine, running into my room and pushing my dresser up against my door. I can’t recall what was being said or why, but I remember hearing her kicking at my door, and feeling scared and crying, and holding the baby tightly against my chest in an attempt to block her from all the noise. Once all was calm and I was able to leave my room, I noted a large hole in the bottom of my door from where she had been kicking at the door to get in. That summer, Jessica Lynn was born, and I got to name her!
Summer of 2000, after finishing the Grade 5 school year, we moved from Winnipeg (800,000) to Baldur (350) – a culture shock to say the least! I was excited to make new friends and be the “cool city girl” (which, to note, I was not!). The adjustment was difficult. My old friends were living their lives without me. I was 2 hours away from my Grandpa – who was my favorite person in the whole world. Mom seemed to like the change at first – and then things started going down hill. I self harmed for the first time in 2002 at 12 years old. Early on in the school year mom and Billy-Joe decided to take a break, and mom hauled me and my sisters back to Winnipeg, where we lived and I went to school for 3 weeks, and then we were back in Baldur. When I got back to Baldur I was told I should have stayed in Winnipeg as no one there liked me and no one in town wanted our family there. It was after that moment that things went down hill for me internally and I cut my wrists to numb the pain. And things never did get better between my mom and step-dad.
2003 – at 13 years old – I found alcohol. What a wonderful thing! I could actually feel all the feelings! If I was happy, then I was ecstatic…if sad then I was devastated…but mostly I was a whole lot of FUN! That summer we moved to a different house in town, and while my parents were busy moving I was upstairs in my new room piercing my nose. When they finally noticed later in the day I was given an ultimatum, to remove the piercing or keep the piercing and start going to counselling. Of course I chose to keep the piercing and go to counselling, it would be someone to talk to and it would get me out of school, win/win. Unbeknownst to us, that move would also be the catalyst that would lead to events which would affect me for years to come…
It was a rule in our house that everyone had to go to church on Sunday mornings. The church wasn’t far away – only about a block and a half. There was a short cut through someone’s drive way to the back lane of the church that we would cut through on the way there and on the way home. One Sunday in October, on our way back home from church that someone who’s driveway we cut through was sitting outside with a friend having some beers; his name was Denis. As we walked down his drive he commented on the Homer Simpson hoodie I was wearing. My heart instantly skipped a beat – an older man was noticing me! After getting home I decided I wanted to go back to Denis’ house to see if I could hang out there. So I grabbed my pack of cigarettes and told my mom I was going for a walk. When I got to the house I slowed down my walking, lit my cigarette and slowly made my way down his drive, acting as though I was on my way elsewhere. His friend stopped me to chat, and I ended up spending most of the rest of the afternoon there smoking, drinking and chatting with them. From that moment on I was obsessed. I needed to prove to myself that I was good enough even for a man so much older than me. It didn’t matter to me that he was in his 40’s – the same age as my parents – if I could get him to like me then I would feel good about myself and have a companion at the same time. So I was over there almost every day. My parents knew; and I knew they knew, but nobody said anything. Every time I went for a walk we all just pretended I was leaving for a cigarette.
Eventually things progressed with Denis and we would cuddle, and hold hands and just talk all the time. One day I decided to pierce my nipple because surely he would think that was sexy. So I did it, and later that evening I went out for a “walk” again. After a while of being there I mentioned that I had pierced my nipple, and asked if he wanted to see. His eyes got big and he said yes, so I lifted up my shirt and bra (at 13 I was already in a C cup) to show him the tiny hoop hanging from my left breast. “That is so cool”, he commented in awe, “I’ve never had a girlfriend with a nipple ring before”. The last part of his comment made us both stop in our tracks. “Really?!”, I said slyly, trying not to act too excited. “Well, I mean…if you want to be”, he stammered. My heart raced, I was so excited, I really was good enough! I didn’t know what to say, so I just sat down on his lap, straddling him on the couch, and started to kiss him. It was my first real, passionate kiss. My breast was still exposed, and he grabbed it, not missing a beat in our hungry kiss. Suddenly he stopped, pulled back and said, “let’s go to my room”. My heart stopped – I wasn’t sure I was ready for that…but my body was aching and I didn’t want to upset him, I didn’t want him to decide he didn’t like me. So up I got, and off we went to his room behind the couch. It was dark, the lights were off, and the door was most of the way shut. He was on top of me, his pants were off, and I grabbed him in my hand. I don’t remember much else. I don’t remember how far we got or what he did to me in return. I do remember feeling awful…why was I doing this, I didn’t want him to leave me but this didn’t feel right, all I wanted was for it all to stop….but I said nothing. Then suddenly his door was being kicked in. We had been so engrossed in what we were doing that we hadn’t heard my stepdad knocking on the door. The sound of his voice calling for me startled us both, and we were up like a shot, pulling up pants and doing up zippers and clambering out of his room. To say my stepdad was upset would be an understatement, I was well passed curfew and he had just interrupted something no parent wants to walk in on. Nothing was said about what was going on, I was just in trouble for being so late.
The next night while I was sitting in the living room playing with my sisters, Denis snuck up to our house to the front door. “You didn’t tell them what was going on, did you?”, he asked. “No, of course not”, I said. “Okay good, this has to stay between you and me – I can’t go back to jail”, he told me. “Don’t worry”, I assured him, “I won’t tell them”. Earlier that day I had written a note to a good friend telling her that things had gotten “hot and heavy” between myself and Denis the night before. Little did I know she was concerned about the relationship, and had taken the note to an adult. The day after Denis stopped by my house my parents picked me up from school. It was odd, because my mom never gave me a ride to or from school, so I knew something was up. She assured me we were simply heading to Killarney to do some shopping so she wanted to leave right away. I knew something was up, I just wasn’t 100% sure what. When we got to Killarney we pulled straight into the police station, where an officer was already waiting for us. He was a shot, stout man with short black hair and a reddish tone to his face. He took me into an interview room with a couch and some plants and a tape recorder in the middle of the coffee table. He explained to me that they had questions about myself and Denis and had received a note from the school (the one I had written to Kaitlyn) as proof of what was going on. I tried so hard to deny it. To tell them I wanted it, I had brought it on. I was crying. I was angry at my mom for knowing this whole time I had been hanging out there and not saying anything until it got to this point. How could he get in trouble if my parents had let me go there? How could he get in trouble if I was the one being the little slut? After some talking and interviewing the officer left me on my own in the room for a few minutes. I lost it. I cried and cried, harder than I remembered ever crying. He was going to jail, I knew it…and it was all my fault. When the officer came back in he explained that because I was only 13 that Denis would be getting charged with something called statutory rape – or, having sexual intercourse with a minor. This tells me we must have done something more in that dark room that night, or the charges would have been different.
As an adult with my own children I see now how a 13 year old could have no concept of repercussions or decision making in the face of sexual attraction versus the decision making and critical thinking of a 40 year old. But as much as I understand all of this now, I still, even to this day, feel a sense of guilt. Feel like I shouldn’t have “gone there”. Feel like I should have said “no”. And the term ‘statutory rape’ still doesn’t sit well with me. Rape is violent, or against the other person’s will or consent, or without their knowledge. At 13 how can you know enough to truly give consent – but can it still be considered rape in the connotation of the word? I’m still torn on the subject.
Within the days that followed I was so upset. I started drinking and smoking more, I was self harming more. I had the worst self harming episode of my life shortly there after – I used the biggest safety pin I could find, and I drug it as hard as I could across my arm, again and again. I went over the same spots multiple times until I was bleeding and tired, and finally out of energy. In total there were about 20 gashes in my left bicep. About 6 of those scars are still clearly visible and raised now, 16 years later. Many of the rest are also still visible, but not raised. I get asked often if I had a run in with a cat, and people can’t fathom I may have done it to myself – it’s not even on their radar. About two days after this episode I was sitting in a near empty computer lab at school, one seat over from the boy that would end up being my first love. My arm was burning, like there were a million hot branding irons on every cut I had made. I ended up getting a paper towel from the bathroom, wetting it down and putting it on my arm under my hoodie. Over the next few weeks I talked more and more to this boy – Jared – and while that was going great, I was also getting more and more depressed and suicidal. I was naïve and didn’t know how many Tylenol it would take to kill me, but I assumed tripling or quadrupling the amount on the back of the bottle should do it. So at any one time I was carrying 10 – 20 Tylenol in my pocket just incase. I was ready in the case life pushed me even further. One Friday night before Christmas I was on my way from Baldur to Glenboro with my then best friend Katie (and her mom, driving). In the back seat I snuck 10 Tylenol and started drinking. If this didn’t kill me at least it might make me feel really fucking good.
That month I also had a weekend getaway to my Grandpa’s in Winnipeg. Just him and I. We hadn’t had time like that for years, and I was excited. I did decide to go to the mall with an old friend, and we ended up getting caught shoplifting (make up) at Zellers. Security asked for my home number, and I had no problem giving it. Call my parents, see if I care….see if they care. He hung up with my mom and looked at me and said because my mom wasn’t able to come get me he was going to have to call my Grandpa. That stopped me real fast. Not Grandpa. Please don’t let him know, he would be so disappointed. And he was. “I told your mother”, he said pointing his finger at me, “I told her if she didn’t smarten up you would end up messed up, and now look at you”. I sounds rude, but I knew he meant it lovingly. I knew he was looking at the self harm and the drinking and the smoking, and now the shoplifting, and wishing his daughter had been a better mother to me.
A few days later, on Christmas night once all had calmed down I was very suicidal. I took apart a razor and took out the blade. I sat up in my room and stared at that blade. It could all be over so easily. I put the blade against my neck, and slowly drug it across, just to see how it felt. And it hurt, and stung. I didn’t know if I could do it with a razor if it stung that much. I tried again, and again…about 5 or 6 times ending up only with superficial scratches. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone about it, so I did my best to keep them covered up with my hair. But they noticed. It didn’t take long. The next day – Boxing Day – I was hauled into Brandon to the Child and Adolescent Treatment Centre (CATC) where I spent 5 long, boring days. It was Christmas holidays, so there were only a few of us there, and little programming. By day 5 I was able to convince the psychiatrist that I realized it had been a stupid move and was just ready to go home. And so off I went with the blessing of the doctor. From that point on I drank more and more, getting others to buy it for me, sneaking it from my parents, anywhere I could get it. I also started getting closer and closer to Jared.
During the early winter of 2004 I left for a party much to my parents dismay. We were in a fight and they had tried telling me no when I brought up going to the party. I had already arranged with my friends to pick me up, so when they showed up at my house I walked out the door and was gone. The party was at Jared’s and was packed both inside and out. His Dad had set up their tipi in the yard with a bonfire for those who were so inclined. My parents called to tell me to come home. At some point I believe they said they were coming to get me. So when a friend from another town said he was ready to leave I hopped in his truck without a second thought. Him, I and another of our friends went back to his house and crashed in the basement. Sometime during the night we heard someone come in the house, and Adam woke up confused as to why his Dad was here in Wyatt’s house. I could hear my name come up, so I meekly made my way over and told Adam he could go back to bed, and I went with his Dad. “Your parents are very worried and looking everywhere for you, you know”, he scolded me, “they’ve phoned the police and woke us up wondering if you were at our house”. I apologized as we turned out of Wyatt’s lane on to the gravel road. We didn’t get far when we noticed a police cruiser on the road. We stopped when we met up with them, and Vern explained that he had found me with Adam and Wyatt and was driving me home. Lieutenant Gibbs told him she would take me off his hands, and I was placed in the back of the police car. She radioed in to the station that she had found me and the search could be called off. The officer on the other end asked if she would be bringing me back to the station in Killarney. At that point I didn’t care. I was staring out the window, hoping I didn’t have to go back home. “No”, Lieutenant Gibbs advised the voice on the other end, “I think she’s been through enough tonight, I’ll take her home”. Shit. I wasn’t in trouble when I got home – and I just went straight up to bed after Gibbs had finished chatting with us and left.
I turned 14 in March of 2004 and a few months later ‘lost my virginity’ (willingly, after much discussion about it). I was head over heels for Jared. He was the one, I knew it. We were on and off for the next 4 years until we were finally “off” for good.
That Thanksgiving my Uncle Erroll was being released from Milner Ridge correctional. While my mom was getting supper ready at Grandpa’s apartment, Grandpa and I made the hour drive from Winnipeg to pick up my Uncle. Jail had been good for his health and physical wellness. A steady supply of his HIV medication and access to a gym had done him good. In fact, he was so built that day that he had to sit at an angle in Grandpa’s little Ford Ranger. Everything seemed to be going well that day – and then Uncle went into the bathroom, and came out sniffling. No one else noticed, but I did. I knew. He hadn’t cleaned up, he had just gotten sneakier about it.
The last 2 weeks of October 2004 I was back in CATC for a second time. This time, it was fun. There was a mix of different people in there, and I made some new friends. I was there over Halloween and convinced the staff to order some pizzas so we could celebrate. This time while I was in my bio dad decided he wanted to be involved in my life. He was calling non stop. Finally we had to put a limit on how many calls the staff would transfer to the group phone. Why did he only seem to pop in when things were going well? Did he have some motive to make the bad worse? After leaving there for the second time, I was right back to my old tricks. Drinking, and sleeping around any chance I could. It was the only time anything made sense, the only time it felt okay for me to be crazy and out there and emotional – it’s expected when you’re drunk. And in general I felt invincible when I was drinking!
My 15th , 16th and 17th years went about the same as my 14th – minus any visits to CATC; I refused to go back. But there was lots of drinking, lots of fights with my mom, and lots of watching my sisters while my mom ran away to Winnipeg for the weekends (which she had been doing since I turned 13 and could stay home alone with my sisters without her getting in trouble). These were also my overtly promiscuous years. By the time I started 12th Grade I had more partners than I have in my whole adult life. I had also experienced my first “real” sexual assault when I woke up one night in the hotel room some friends and I were staying in after a concert and one of said “friends” had his hand down in my underwear, having his way with me. I froze. I didn’t know what to do. Finally I opened my eyes, rolled over the other way and got out of bed. I didn’t say anything. I just went over to the other bed and went back to sleep. Where people think this is acceptable when someone is sleeping I will never know. It was one of the most violating moments I’ve experienced. But 2007 was also the year I met Deeker. Our first meeting wasn’t anything spectacular. But after a few weeks we started dating and we jumped in head first. I was at his place every free moment I had – anything was better than being at home. We got serious fast, and one night, while out drinking and partying I convinced him to propose to me. I didn’t care that we were young. I would be graduating early in a couple months (January 2008) and then turning 18 in March. Everyone called us crazy – and we were, there was no way it was going to work out, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was someone (and their family) who would love and care for me better than my parents did. It felt so secure; it was a feeling I was chasing and could never find or keep.
At the end of January 2008 I wrote my final Grade 12 exam, went for lunch with my mom, and was off to Brandon that afternoon to move with Deeker into our new apartment. I was a small one bedroom in the second storey of an old house, but it was ours. I felt so alive, so grown up, and finally disconnected from my roots. We both worked at a telemarketing firm for a telephone company until the spring. It was a great job for kids our age. Hourly bonuses for making all of your shifts added up to a great cheque at the end of the month. I turned 18 in March, and as a birthday present for myself I got a tattoo on my left arm with my sisters birthdates and angel wings – they had been the only thing that kept my mind from truly going over the edge of being suicidal. I needed to be there for them, they had been my reason for living. I made all my shifts that month, so April 1 I got a nice bonus cheque that we used to go out partying with. A friend we had made at work, Daryl, came over that afternoon to pre-game with us. Because of past experience with my Uncle Erroll I really wasn’t into hard drugs – but Daryl was into cocaine at the time. So there he was doing it in my bathroom. The thought that it was even in my apartment gave me so much anxiety, and I started drinking hard to drown it out. That evening we went out to the Roadhouse and partied the night away. Daryl had disappeared for a while, and when he came back there was some commotion on the other side of the bar that the police had shown up. He came over and told me he needed me to be a donkey. “Huh?”, I said…but before I could finished he had grabbed my hands, shoved something in them and said, “put these in your bra, and act normal” and ran off. I looked down…there were 7 baggies of cocaine in my hands. My heart raced. I felt like I was going to pass out. I shoved the baggies in my bra so as not to be caught with them and went over to the bar. I had drank so many Snowshoe shots that evening that when I went back to the bar for another I was told to choose a different shot as they had run out of peppermint schnapps. Damn it. I can’t even remember what I switched to, but we closed the bar down that night. After we all piled out of the bar Deeker and I started chatting to two guys, and invited them back to our place to keep the party going. I drank so much that night that an ambulance had to be called and I was taken to the hospital. I was released around 6 or 7 in the morning, and then a few hours later we met Deek’s mom for breakfast.
The next month I quit at the telemarketing office and started working two jobs – full time at Tim Horton’s and part time at the Husky diner across the highway. There were a lot of 16 hour days put in at that time. Deek had also quit at the telemarketing office, but had yet to find another job, so my 16 hour days were making for long, lonely days for him. He would go out at all hours of the night while I was sleeping, and sleep all day while I was working. One weekend he decided to go home to his parents and I stayed in town as I had to work. Something in me told me to check the laptop – and there it was, conversations with another girl about how I wasn’t paying enough attention to him, wasn’t sleeping with him enough, etc. And this girl….this girl was telling him how she’d like to beat me up for not treating him properly, and he was responding with laughter and encouragement. I was furious. And broken. I was in touch right away to ask what the fuck was up. After some arguing and tears we agreed to try again. But my head nor heart were truly in it. He came back and nothing changed with either of us. I started flirting with a guy at work while I was supposed to be making things work again with Deek, and a couple weeks later he moved back home to his parents and we were over. Engagement cancelled. I was supposed to be graduating in a month and I had just ended it with my fiancee. That June I decided I just couldn’t live on my own – and if there was nothing for me in Brandon I needed to move back home and be with my sisters again. I landed a job at the local credit union, quit at Tim Hortons and moved home.
Stay tuned for more as I get more written down. And let me know what you think of getting it all put together into another book.