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Beckie Bacon, My father’s house was a violent place, cloaked behind religious fanaticism, but filled with fury and brutality. I was afraid for night to fall because in the dark I was beaten, molested, and raped. I was always frightened and very sad. I ran away many times, but each time was brought back. When I was 14, I went to the Youth Center to report the abuse. I was told that I was stuck until I was 18. I went home and slit my wrists. When I told my mother why, she taped my wrists, and beat me for lying about my father. I was then taken to the Youth Center and put up for adoption. It was here that the idea of championing the helpless first occurred to me. I was at the Youth Center for a month, until I was placed at a foster home—the first of many. They weren’t much better than what I came from, and some were far worse. Yet I endured, and the dream of helping others grew stronger in my heart. At the age of 17, I was released from foster care as an independent adult. I will never forget the event. It was mid-November, cold, raining, and about 10:30 at night. I carried only a small brown bag with a change of clothes. I had no money and no place to go. Though I was frightened, I also felt great relief. It seemed to me then that abuse and violence were gone from my life forever. I determined that I wouldn’t so much as think of it again. Blocking the memories seemed to work for a time. I got a job, formed my own business, and went on to manage 11 stores. Yet I found myself in one abusive relationship after another—the pattern I learned when I was a little girl. Over and over bad things would happen, and I could never figure out why. I married my fourth husband and moved to Montana, only to learn that he was already married. I returned to Seattle to stay with a friend and "regroup." Instead, I entered into a downward emotional spiral. All the feelings from my early years, all the pent-up memories of abuse and violence crashed into my present, suddenly and with great force, like a tidal wave. I was hospitalized with a complete and total breakdown. I was diagnosed with a severe mental disorder and began therapy. For almost 10 years I could not work. I lost everything. I went from being a well-paid executive to being homeless, frequently having to choose between medications and food. Still, I worked hard in therapy, reading everything I could get my hands on and enduring eight-hour long, deep therapy sessions. I wanted so much for the rest of my life to matter. Finally it began to pay off. I learned that I had choices. I could have boundaries. When the pain was the worst, I tried the hardest. My symptoms constantly confirmed that I could not return to what I had been. I could only go forward to what I was becoming. I kept finding new awareness and new strengths. The strength of spirit that would not die when I was a little girl carried me through the depths of despair. I was able to endure my father’s trial, where he was convicted of 16 counts of child rape. It took years to claw my way back. I’m not the person I was, but I am stronger and braver. I’ve learned to believe in my dreams. I started playing the piano again, and painting. I followed my heart and despite strong opposition from my caseworkers began Human Services classes in at Skagit Valley College. I was told I was too sick to ever be of help to anybody and that I should never be in Human Services to begin with. It’s true that there were special difficulties. The classes on Child Abuse in the Family were hard for me emotionally. But I was also in constant pain from a herniated disk, and I was being stalked. Most traumatic, however, was the day I came home to find all my belongings soaked in blood, because a housemate had taken a knife to himself in my room. Through it all I maintained a four-point grade average, never earning less than A on any of my work. Even so, and perhaps most difficult of all, I had to fight my caseworkers to be allowed to remain in Human Services. They wanted me in secretarial training, and even began proceedings to withdraw my funding. To my amazement, however, the Co-Chairman of the Human Services Department and the Dean of Student Affairs went to bat for me. With their support, the matter was resolved in my favor, and I’ll be forever grateful to them both. Today I work in a job that enables me to stand up for people in trouble. I’m able to listen to them and hear with my heart what they themselves may be unable to express. Every day I prove I can be of help. Finally I’m exactly where I should be. I’m living my dream. About the author: Beckie is an Ombudsperson—a consumer representative. It is her responsibility to respond to calls for help from individuals who have a problem with the system from which they are receiving treatment. No call for help is ever too trivial or too daunting. Beckie spends long hours meeting with consumers and helping them bring their cases before those officials who have the power to make a needed change. We are all enriched by the vital work that she does. |
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