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      "body": "I don't remember a lot of what happened in the days following my abduction. I remember the police being at my house when I woke up.  They were walking around and talking to my parents. My Dad told me a few years ago that I had spoken to a child psychologist that worked for the police. I don't remember that at all. I do remember a lot of police going up and down the road looking for the screen to my window. The screen I am told was never found. Did he take it with him? I never heard a car so I thought maybe he walked there. Did he carry it back to his home. Something else I will never know. \n\nAnother memory I have is talking to my little friend next door over the fence. Her mom wouldn't let her come over with all the commotion. When she asked me what happened I remember telling her very matter of factly, \" I got kidnapped\".  \"Oh\", she said.  We never spoke of it again. This would become a pattern for me and my family. I was not honest with anyone about what happened until I was grown. Mostly because we never talked about it. I never got counseling. Whenever my cousins or anyone else would try to ask me about it they would be reprimanded by my parents. \n\nWhen I finally came clean and told the whole story to my dad I was already nearly 40 years old. I had already told my sister the whole story a few years earlier and I told him because she asked me to one day when we were eating together at a restaurant.  I really didn't think about it much at that point and didn't realize how much he didn't know. Apparently I told very little to that child psychologist.  I don't remember if I ever told my mother the full story before she passed away. By the time I was ready to tell anyone that wanted to know she was already in a poor mental state.  Another part of my story to come. \n\nWhen I told my dad at the restaurant that day with my sister he asked me if I remembered seeing my kidnapper a few months after it happened. NO! He told me a story that I had never heard (again, we didn't speak of it).  He told me that I was with my mother as we ran into a convenience store not far from our home. We just ran in to get some milk and cigarettes for Mama. When we returned to the car I told Mama that the man who kidnapped me was in there.  The story goes that she grabbed me and we ran back in and went all around the store looking for him but did not see him. It was a small store. Did he see us come in and slip out? Was he hiding somewhere? I don't know but it does add some validity to the theory that the monster lived in my neighborhood.  Still, as I write this, I have zero memory of that event. \n\nMy mother later told me that she was very angry at my dad when this happened because a day or two after it happened he had to fly out somewhere for his job. She was still very shaken and not ready to be left alone in that house with \"the girls\".  He left anyway. He says he doesn't remember if he left or not. He probably did, anger has a way of holding on to memories. In his defense he was the sole bread winner and probably didn't want to lose his job. Men were proud in those days and taking care of their families was a top priority.  \n\nI do remember my mother being very sweet during that time and trying her best to comfort and deal with a daughter who now could not sleep. A daughter who went from occasionally wetting the bed because she didn't wake up to a daughter who wet the bed almost nightly because she was to afraid to get out of bed to go to the bathroom when she did wake up. I refused to sleep with the windows open so it was very hot in our room making it even harder to sleep.  I was so afraid someone was going to come through that window again. I obsessed about it being closed and locked.  My mother would put little things like wadded up paper or small toys on the window sill. She would explain to me that it was a \"booby trap\" and that if someone opened the window the items would fall to the floor and she would hear it and come save me.  I believed her because she was Mama.  I would eventually fall asleep from exhaustion. \n\nMy present life interrupts me now and I must quit typing.  I plan to continue this story until it meets me here. It will be a long journey. I am 51 now after all.",
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      "body": "Picking up where I left off:\n\nMy abductor was a novice at this kidnapping business or so it seemed. He was unable to perform his disgusting deed. I was still petrified when he suddenly gave up and pulled up his pants. His belt jingled. Every sound was amplified by the still night that surrounded me. The tall pines were like monsters all around me but they did not compare to this monster in front of me. This monster that had my family tied up in the church basement down the street from where we stood. I guess I should have been relieved when he started pulling my pants back up. I was not. What would happen now? Would he kill me? Take me to the basement with my family. I was hoping that he would take me to my family, at least my Daddy would be there and he was strong and brave, unlike me. \n\nIt wasn't to be. I was informed by the monster that he was going to return me to my home. He suddenly became very friendly and wanted to be my friend. So confusing. He hoisted me onto his shoulders and we began walking back out of the woods and down the road back towards home. He was trying to put my mind at ease. He was being very chatty and nice. I was so confused. I didn't want to go home. Home was empty. The now friendly monster said so. What was I to think? In my mind I was going back to an empty house while my family was together down the street, tied up in the church basement. I was terrified of being alone in the house but wouldn't it be better than staying with the monster? \n\nAs we approached my house and began the trek across the front yard it was apparent that he was going to put me back into my room by the same window that was now missing the screen. My heart was pounding. He asked me if I could count to something, 50, 100, something. Yes I can. The monster gave me one last order. \"When I put you back in this window I want you to count to 50 (?). I don't want you to move from that spot until you are finished counting. Do you understand?\"  I nodded my reply while my mind was screaming, \"What do I do, what do I do? No one is in there!\".  This was before the days of 911. I didn't know how to call the police. \n\nI was hoisted up and over the window sill. It was a short drop to the floor and I was pretty much sat right down on the floor. As soon as my feet were planted I looked over at my bed and there was my sister sound asleep! (Remember we slept with the light on). As soon as I saw that wonderful sight I knew that I had been lied to. If my sister was still there my parents must be there too. I didn't count to one, I ran. I ran straight to my parents bedroom which was just across the hall from ours. \n\nThe last thing I remember from that night was running to my parents room and standing between the door and their bed. I could see Mama's outline in the bed. I could breathe again. I yelled, \"Mama, mama, I was kidnapped!\".  I remember my mother turning on her bedside lamp, looking at me then turning to my dad and shaking him. She said, \"Honey wake up, I think she is telling the truth!\"  That's the last thing I remember. Standing there with pine straw on my clothes and that sock still dangling from one hand. My next memory is the next morning. \n\nSounds like a good place to stop.  Until next time.... Hopefully it won't take me 5 months.",
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      "body": "This is a continuation of my last two blog posts as this blog will be a continuous telling of my story.  \n\nAfter walking for what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes we took a turn and headed down into the woods. My mind was reeling. I was afraid of the dark and always slept with the light on. Being in the woods, in the dark, with a stranger, inexplicable terror. We walked a little way down a hill off of the side of the road, aptly named Hurt Rd. I was finally placed on the ground. Standing there in terror I tried not to look around because the woods were so, so scary. The night sounds were terrifying. Those crickets and tree frogs and other southern night sounds that were normally soothing became menacing and mocking.\n\nMy captor reminded me again that I had to be quiet and do what he said. He pulled out a sock from somewhere, maybe his pocket. It was a long sock. We used to call them \"knee socks\".  It was a girls sock. He used it to tie my hands behind my back.  I was frozen. I couldn't move. It was like I was in a nightmare and was unable to move my limbs. My arms felt useless.  I was somehow watching this happening to someone else.  He began to remove my pajama bottoms tugging from side to side. I couldn't figure out why he was doing this. What was going on? He seemed very nervous and soon started to unbuckle his belt. He pulled his own pants down. \n\nWhat happened next is etched in my mind. It could have been much worse. He began to rub himself against me. I know now of course that he was trying to arouse himself.  He did this for some time. I was grossed out and completely befuddled. I had no idea what or why this was happening but I knew it was wrong and bad. I knew he took me for this reason and still I couldn't understand. A child barely out of toddlerhood would not, could not understand. \n\nFor what seemed like forever he tried to stimulate himself using my body. It didn't work. I think now that he was probably too nervous. Was I his first victim? Maybe. Or maybe I was his first kidnapping victim. I don't know. I will never know. \n\nI have to interject here that while I was typing this I was watching \"Crime watch\" on TV.  As I was typing the sentence, \"Or maybe I was his first kidnapping victim\" the announcer was announcing tomorrows show about a girl that was kidnapped from her bedroom window....I set it to record. Now I have to stop for today as life has taken over, the husband is home and dinner needs to be dealt with. To be continued...",
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      "body": "If you didn't read my first post you might want to go back and do that now. You don't have to but you will better understand this post if you do. \n\nMy sister and I shared a room. We were two peas in a pod and loved sharing a room and a bed. This would change when we got older but for now we enjoyed it. My sister and I sometimes argued over who got to sleep by the window. Fear didn't yet exist in our lives. We wanted the privilege of sleeping by the window because of the breeze that the open window would let in.  It was a wonderful feeling when you were hot and sticky and a nice breeze would blow across your damp body.  I would win tonight. I would sleep by the window.  My victory, my defeat.\n\nAs was the case most nights my sister fell asleep long before I did. I don't ever remember being able to fall asleep quickly even before this night would permanently steal my sleep from me.  I have always had trouble getting to sleep. I got in trouble regularly for talking when I was supposed to be sleeping. I tried so hard to keep Terri awake so that I didn't have to be \"alone\".  Unfortunately for me Terri didn't have that problem. Once her head hit the pillow she could hardly stay awake. Thus my loud talking. I tried my best to keep her awake. Our dad would yell, \" Donna, pipe down!\".  I would think to myself, \" How does he always know that it's me? \".  \n\nThe other sleep issue I have always had is that once I do go to sleep a freight train can't wake me. I once slept through a fire.  We were living in a townhouse and the lady in the adjoining townhouse caught her mattress on fire after falling asleep with a cigarette in her mouth. It was a large building with 5 or 6 townhouses in it so there were a lot of fire trucks that responded to the call. Or so I am told.  Now remember, this townhouse was attached to our house. There were many fire trucks with sirens blaring and everyone was awakened but me.  I didn't even believe it when they told me about it in the morning until I was led outside to see the ladies burnt mattress lying on her patio. The firemen had tossed it out of her upstairs window and there it was plain for all to see. I really had slept through all of the commotion. I have also slept through our burglar alarms going off in the middle of the night....twice.  Ok you get the point. \n\nAt some point I did finally fall asleep by my coveted window. When I woke up I was being carried. This was not that unusual as like most kids my dad would sometimes carry  us girls to bed when we fell asleep on the couch or floor. I soon realized that I was cold. I was damp either from sweating or wetting the bed, I'm not sure which. I was groggy but my eyes were beginning to focus and what I saw confused me. I saw my house and it was getting further and further away. Where were we going? We slept with the light on in our room and it was the only light on in the house. \n\nAs we got closer to the street light and my eyes adjusted better I looked up at what I assumed was my daddy. It was not. I didn't know this person. Why was I in this man's arms? Where were we going? Where were my parents and everyone else? Let me insert at this point that a neighbor would report to the police that they heard a scream in the middle of the night. I don't remember screaming so I'm not really sure if I did or not. \n\nWhen the man saw that I was awake he started talking to me. He told me that I had to be quiet and do what he said or something bad would happen. We kept walking. It was a busy street during the day. This was a suburb of Atlanta after all. I knew what was down this road, I had traveled it many times. There were a lot of woods. There was a bridge coming up and a Baptist church. I had gone to Vacation Bible School there once. \n\nWe kept walking. Our busy street was quiet. We were walking in the open on the side of the road but there was no one to see us.  It must have been in the wee hours. While we were walking what seemed to a little girl to be a very long way he took the time to explain to me that he had my family tied up in the basement of the church down the street. If I was not quiet or gave him any trouble he would have to kill them. I had no reason not to believe him, he did after all have me. He could have taken them first. He must have. I had to do what he said, their lives depended on it. \n\nTo Be Continued....",
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      "body": "It is but it wasn't on the list so I wasn't sure if anyone would actually see it once it was not popping up just because it's new. Thanks again.",
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      "body": "I am fairly new to the site, too, but my understanding is that you cannot change the first tag, i.e. the category.\n\nHaving said that - is \"autobiography\" not a reasonably good category for your post?",
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      "body": "Thanks, lol!  Maybe you can answer a question for me pussycat. I didn't know what the categories were so I didn't put the right \"first tag\".  I figured out how to edit but it will NOT let me change that first tag. It took off the others but will not change the first. Is this impossible??",
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      "body": "\"In the beginning. I was born.\"\n\nEntry for Hall of Fame of best story beginnings ever :)",
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      "body": "Several people in my family have told me I should write my story. My standard reply is , \"I would but no one would believe it\".   I don't consider myself a writer either so my confidence is low.  I also realize that there are aspects of my story that will go against the grain of different people in different ways. All I ask as that you take it at face value and know that I am being as truthful as possible. And for heaven's sake don't be a mean guy or gal in the comments. I will read those things you write and try as I might to recite sticks and stones to my fifty plus year old self, it still does not work! It didn't work when I was 5 and it still does not work. Stop telling your kids that words can't hurt them. They can and they do. That said I really am a big girl now and I can handle constructive criticism. Key word here is constructive. I need all the help I can get in this endeavor and hopefully you can help me grow as a writer. I do love words when someone else writes them! Let's jump right in to my story, told in small bites. \n* there is a good chance the names will be changed.... because I want to. \n\nIn the beginning. I was born. It was uneventful for me but somewhat eventful for my beautiful dark haired mother who I was sure was as beautiful as Natalie Wood. My mother already had three step sons and one daughter when I made my appearance on a warm spring day in Georgia. Mama was twenty one. Family lore says that when Mama brought me home from the hospital my big sister stood in the corner and cried. ( I think she did that again just the other day when I went to her house)....\n\nMy Dad was about 6 years older than my mom and had already been married twice before her. Dad loved to be on the road. He was a man with a wanderlust. He was in and out of our home as were his other children. Dad worked for several companies that took him across the country until finally going to work for Lockheed as a mechanic. When Lockheed offered him a chance to go to Zambia or London he jumped at the chance. Most of the time it was just \"the girls\" and Mama.\n\nWhen I was about 3 years old we moved to a little ranch house in Georgia. I loved that house. It had a fenced in back yard and lots of pine straw to design our homes with. We spent hours arranging the pine straw on the ground into our houses. We outlined our kitchens and bedrooms, our bathrooms and even our cabinets and beds. We played house for hours! We also had a swing set that we played on with our new friends from the neighborhood. When the brothers came to visit we became cowboys and Indians or soldiers in imaginary wars. Life was good.  \n\nMy sister Terri and I shared a room and a bed. We thought our bed was huge. It was so tall that we would go to the end of the hall and run as fast as we could to jump onto our bed. We had a toy box that I still have to this day. My dad brought it home from Lockheed. It was technically a cargo locker on a C5A Cargo plane. When Dad traveled he would bring us home stickers from whatever state he had been to. The toy box had stickers all over it and I loved every one of them. They meant that Daddy was thinking about us when he was away. \n\nThe one unpleasant thing about our house was that it did NOT have air conditioning. In Georgia. Nights were spent with the windows open. It was still hot at night in the spring and summer. And fall. In Georgia.  We did have screens on the windows so at least we didn't have to contend with mosquitoes. Sometimes we would wake up in the morning wet from sweat. Sometimes I would wake up wet because I wet the bed. I was a sound sleeper. A very sound sleeper. I would dream I was on the toilet and never wake up...\n\nThen one night I would wake up. The night was cooler than usual. I was about 4 years old or close to it. It seems crazy that I don't know for sure. My dad remembers me still being 3 and my mother, now deceased, remembered me being 4.  This is what happens when you don't talk about things for 25 or 30 years. Details are lost. Only my memory survives and the memories of my sister and dad. I feel like my memory of the event is pretty intact but I admit that I have probably lost some of the details over time. \n\nIt being 1 am and all, this is probably a good place to stop. I will tell you in my next post about finding myself in the arms of a stranger going across my front lawn. And so it begins.",
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      "body": "Several people in my family have told me I should write my story. My standard reply is , \"I would but no one would believe it\".   I don't consider myself a writer either so my confidence is low.  I also realize that there are aspects of my story that will go against the grain of different people in different ways. All I ask as that you take it at face value and know that I am being as truthful as possible. And for heaven's sake don't be a mean guy or gal in the comments. I will read those things you write and try as I might to recite sticks and stones to my fifty plus year old self, it still does not work! It didn't work when I was 5 and it still does not work. Stop telling your kids that words can't hurt them. They can and they do. That said I really am a big girl now and I can handle constructive criticism. Key word here is constructive. I need all the help I can get in this endeavor and hopefully you can help me grow as a writer. I do love words when someone else writes them! Let's jump right in to my story, told in small bites. \n* there is a good chance the names will be changed.... because I want to. \n\nIn the beginning. I was born. It was uneventful for me but somewhat eventful for my beautiful dark haired mother who I was sure was as beautiful as Natalie Wood. My mother already had three step sons and one daughter when I made my appearance on a warm spring day in Georgia. Mama was twenty one. Family lore says that when Mama brought me home from the hospital my big sister stood in the corner and cried. ( I think she did that again just the other day when I went to her house)....\n\nMy Dad was about 6 years older than my mom and had already been married twice before her. Dad loved to be on the road. He was a man with a wanderlust. He was in and out of our home as were his other children. Dad worked for several companies that took him across the country until finally going to work for Lockheed as a mechanic. When Lockheed offered him a chance to go to Zambia or London he jumped at the chance. Most of the time it was just \"the girls\" and Mama.\n\nWhen I was about 3 years old we moved to a little ranch house in Georgia. I loved that house. It had a fenced in back yard and lots of pine straw to design our homes with. We spent hours arranging the pine straw on the ground into our houses. We outlined our kitchens and bedrooms, our bathrooms and even our cabinets and beds. We played house for hours! We also had a swing set that we played on with our new friends from the neighborhood. When the brothers came to visit we became cowboys and Indians or soldiers in imaginary wars. Life was good.  \n\nMy sister Terri and I shared a room and a bed. We thought our bed was huge. It was so tall that we would go to the end of the hall and run as fast as we could to jump onto our bed. We had a toy box that I still have to this day. My dad brought it home from Lockheed. It was technically a cargo locker on a C5A Cargo plane. When Dad traveled he would bring us home stickers from whatever state he had been to. The toy box had stickers all over it and I loved every one of them. They meant that Daddy was thinking about us when he was away. \n\nThe one unpleasant thing about our house was that it did NOT have air conditioning. In Georgia. Nights were spent with the windows open. It was still hot at night in the spring and summer. And fall. In Georgia.  We did have screens on the windows so at least we didn't have to contend with mosquitoes. Sometimes we would wake up in the morning wet from sweat. Sometimes I would wake up wet because I wet the bed. I was a sound sleeper. A very sound sleeper. I would dream I was on the toilet and never wake up...\n\nThen one night I would wake up. The night was cooler than usual. I was about 4 years old or close to it. It seems crazy that I don't know for sure. My dad remembers me still being 3 and my mother, now deceased, remembered me being 4.  This is what happens when you don't talk about things for 25 or 30 years. Details are lost. Only my memory survives and the memories of my sister and dad. I feel like my memory of the event is pretty intact but I admit that I have probably lost some of the details over time. \n\nIt being 1 am and all, this is probably a good place to stop. I will tell you in my next post about finding myself in the arms of a stranger going across my front lawn. And so it begins.",
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