The beginning...
I've started to write an auto biography... its compiled (or going to be) of my life. Events that have taken place, people who have touched my life in a huge way. HOw God has worked. The times that I have stumbled, the times where I was walking in victory. Its going to be about my past - how I grew up. The heart wrenching things that I had to experience...
Here is a part of it... and more shall come as I write...
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When I was growing up I had always kept a journal on the night stand right beside my bed. But for some reason or another I had thrown them away thinking that maybe I could just start off fresh again - however as life has gone on, I have realized that the journal beside my bed had always brough me comfort in time of need. And may I take this time to share my heartaches, joy, laugther and experiences with you..
It all began back in 1980 when my mother had given birth to me. I am the youngest of 5 children. Christine, Joanne, Michael, Douglas and then there was me. Michelle Lynn Lavoie was born on in Kamloops BC Canda on March 20th 1980.
I'm sure my parents had no idea that I was going to be a huge part of their life. And I had no idea while growing up that my life would be filled with so much pain and heartache.
While growing up - my father was a very abusive man. A man with a lot of anger deep inside of his heart. Anger that no child should ever have to come to face with. My afther ould go out ot work in the mornings and come home late at night. I don't really remember having any really great childhood memoreis of my father. The things I do remember are things that I wish that didn't even happen. The abuse that i can remember, probably started way before I had come in to the picture. But what I do remember is my father always beating me with a belt, with his hands and with whatever he could basically get his hands on to and beat me with. He was an alcohoic and drug addict. A man who seemed to hate the world, to hate his family, hate his children and his wife. I don't uderstand what my afther was going through while I was growing up. And most of all I don't understand how a man who is to be your Father can lay hands on you and hurt you over and over again. There were many endless nights where I would be lying in bed, would hear my father yelling at my mom - things being thrown around the house. My old sister would always get all of us 5 kids in to one room, we'd sit there cry in eachothers arms - she would comfort us until the fighting was over. Finally there would be silence. But only for a moment. There are specific times where I would remember hearing my father beating my mother so badly that us kids would rush out of our rooms to see if she was ok. Admist one fight - I see an image - my mother, being thrown down a set of stairs. My father went racing down the stairs after her to beat on her some more. Then, the five of us kids, standing at the top of the stairs seeing our father slam the door on our mother. We cry out - he sends us out side to sit on the lawn in the front yard while inside he beats our mother some more. Confused - scared - we'd huddle together and cry. Comfort eachother and try and keep eachother warm. The police come - take my father away. But he comes back again, appologises for what he has done. The abuse continues on. He just doesn't hit my mother and beat her in front of us kids. But he woul dbeat us too. One time all of us were hanging out in the living room playing around, then all of a sudden our father starts to yell at us, tells us to stand in a line. Lined up shoulder to shoulder we are confused, scared of what is going to appen. He ended up spanking us until one of us "confessed" that we had put our finger in the icing of the cake that was sitting on the kitchen counter. My older sisters would always take th rap for the rest of us. Even though they didn't do it - they took the beating. As my father took the thick leather belt off around his waist - He'd spank them like there was no tomorrow. I was alwas scared of my father. Scared of when the next beating would come. Scared of what he would do next. All I had always longed for when I was a child was a father who loved me. I had no idea back then - that later on in life I would come to know Jesus a father who loves unconditionally....
(To be continued....)
Here is a part of it... and more shall come as I write...
_____________________________________________________
When I was growing up I had always kept a journal on the night stand right beside my bed. But for some reason or another I had thrown them away thinking that maybe I could just start off fresh again - however as life has gone on, I have realized that the journal beside my bed had always brough me comfort in time of need. And may I take this time to share my heartaches, joy, laugther and experiences with you..
It all began back in 1980 when my mother had given birth to me. I am the youngest of 5 children. Christine, Joanne, Michael, Douglas and then there was me. Michelle Lynn Lavoie was born on in Kamloops BC Canda on March 20th 1980.
I'm sure my parents had no idea that I was going to be a huge part of their life. And I had no idea while growing up that my life would be filled with so much pain and heartache.
While growing up - my father was a very abusive man. A man with a lot of anger deep inside of his heart. Anger that no child should ever have to come to face with. My afther ould go out ot work in the mornings and come home late at night. I don't really remember having any really great childhood memoreis of my father. The things I do remember are things that I wish that didn't even happen. The abuse that i can remember, probably started way before I had come in to the picture. But what I do remember is my father always beating me with a belt, with his hands and with whatever he could basically get his hands on to and beat me with. He was an alcohoic and drug addict. A man who seemed to hate the world, to hate his family, hate his children and his wife. I don't uderstand what my afther was going through while I was growing up. And most of all I don't understand how a man who is to be your Father can lay hands on you and hurt you over and over again. There were many endless nights where I would be lying in bed, would hear my father yelling at my mom - things being thrown around the house. My old sister would always get all of us 5 kids in to one room, we'd sit there cry in eachothers arms - she would comfort us until the fighting was over. Finally there would be silence. But only for a moment. There are specific times where I would remember hearing my father beating my mother so badly that us kids would rush out of our rooms to see if she was ok. Admist one fight - I see an image - my mother, being thrown down a set of stairs. My father went racing down the stairs after her to beat on her some more. Then, the five of us kids, standing at the top of the stairs seeing our father slam the door on our mother. We cry out - he sends us out side to sit on the lawn in the front yard while inside he beats our mother some more. Confused - scared - we'd huddle together and cry. Comfort eachother and try and keep eachother warm. The police come - take my father away. But he comes back again, appologises for what he has done. The abuse continues on. He just doesn't hit my mother and beat her in front of us kids. But he woul dbeat us too. One time all of us were hanging out in the living room playing around, then all of a sudden our father starts to yell at us, tells us to stand in a line. Lined up shoulder to shoulder we are confused, scared of what is going to appen. He ended up spanking us until one of us "confessed" that we had put our finger in the icing of the cake that was sitting on the kitchen counter. My older sisters would always take th rap for the rest of us. Even though they didn't do it - they took the beating. As my father took the thick leather belt off around his waist - He'd spank them like there was no tomorrow. I was alwas scared of my father. Scared of when the next beating would come. Scared of what he would do next. All I had always longed for when I was a child was a father who loved me. I had no idea back then - that later on in life I would come to know Jesus a father who loves unconditionally....
(To be continued....)
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