And there could have been scars

School 6, grade five. I remember only a few things from then, and most of them unpleasant. To me at least. Granted until recently I have been thinking I didn't remember much about most of my childhood. Its amazing what you remember when you actually take the time to sit and think. I do apologize though if things seem out of order sometimes, you know how it is - the longer past something you get the less you remember of it.

I think it was for my birthday that year that my dad got me books 1-3 of Harry Potter. I want to say Christmas actually. I can't remember which exactly but I got the first three (only four books were out at the time). I read them over and over and over again. I read them because I loved the world that was in Harry Potter, I read them because they were from my dad (who I only saw for two weeks in the summer because I lived on the other end of country), I read them because my friends (I'm sure I had friends then) read them, and I read them because I could relate so well to Harry. I read them so much that the first page fell out of the third book. Me and my friends at lunch would play games surrounding the Harry Potter universe and what we think would happen in future books. The first movie came out in theater's then. Not that I got to go see it. But when it came out on VHS my dad sent it to me (as well as a movie poster) because we didn't have a DVD player. We even watched it in class once. Which was odd, remember, since I went to a Catholic school.

I also got lice in grade five. That wasn't pleasant. My mom blamed my dad, and she blamed me. She would do the anti-lice shampoo herself and then give me the lice comb and tell me to comb out my hair. Like a ten year old has the patience and dedication to go through their own hair with a lice comb to the point of getting rid of all the lice and nits. It wasn't fun. So of course they came back. Multiple times. Of course every time they came back it was 'my fault' because I was a 'pig' according to my mom and Dean. Dean would also tell my mom it was my fault that he could spend time with his daughter because me having lice meant she couldn't come over. Which of course led to fights. I learned quickly how to not itch my head when people were around.

I never did like Dean's daughter. She seemed to be stuck up. She was a year younger then me, but was allowed to do more then I was. If I was at her house we had to do everything her way cause it was her house, and if we were at mine we had to do everything her way because she was the guest. Truthfully though, I think the reason I didn't like her was because it seemed like my mom loved her more then me. Things that got me in trouble (like lots of trouble, groundings and spankings) she would either get away with or just be told 'no'. I remember once feeling like I could be the sickest person on earth with an illness that could be curable if you looked for the cure, and she could have a cold - and my mom and Dean would spend more time making sure she was comfortable and was getting over her cold then they would be looking out for me.

About this time to (remember please that I was TEN) I started to make a list of people in my head who I thought loved me. And by loved me read: would be sad and miss me if I was to die. The list was short. My Grandma, my Grandpa, my Oma (grandma in German), and my Dad. I could have added aunts and uncles and cousins to the list, but I hadn't talked to them since summer/grade four so they didn't count in my mind. It was this list, these four people that kept me from wishing I was dead.

Now I did promise that I would keep this blog about God and what He brought me out of. I believe, I truly truly truly believe that if God had left me in Ontario to grow up I would have eventually tried to kill myself. How do I figure this? you may ask. Quiet simple. I was already half wishing I was dead. At the time I would never have had the nerve to kill myself for sure, but as I got older I'm sure I could have convinced myself it was a good idea. And even my list wouldn't have helped me. I saw my dad two out of every fifty-two weeks. Every time he called my mom and Dean would fight. And all my grandparents lived in BC (and if my Oma ever called mom and Dean would fight because my Oma is my dad's mom.) I could have convinced myself that they wouldn't notice to much if I was gone. It's sobering to think, looking down at my arms that are still smooth and unmarred that it was really only one summer that kept them that way. If things hadn't of changed that summer, my wrists and arms could have been covered in scars. Praise God, He is good.

But, hallelujah, God took me away from that. Now, if you don't believe in God you are probably thinking (with good reason I guess) "Well if God was so concerned that you didn't kill yourself why would He take you there to begin with?" Well I had a few things to learn about Him first. And about love. See while I didn't feel loved at home, one of my favourite places to go (even if Dean's daughter was there) was to Dean's ex-wife's house. She would take me to Church every Sunday without fail. She would come to the door of our house, she would whether the glairs she would get from her ex-husband and the looks of distaste from my mom, she would take me away from the house for the day, and she would bring me to church. Do I remember much from church then? No. But I remember how nice it was to get away from my mom. Looking back now though, I think Carla, Dean's ex-wife, mucst have been an extra special and blessed lady. She took me in and loved me (even if culturally it would have been fine for her to dislike me), just as we are called to do in the book of 1 Corinthians. I really think she understood what love is.

That summer the Church I was going to, was having a garage sale to raise up the money to send one kid to camp. They raised enough money to send four people to camp. All the kid had to pay was $10. Dean and Carla's daughter was picked to go, so Carla petitioned the church so that I could go as well. They agreed. So I got to go to camp that summer. It was so much fun. I remember one dinner wearing crazy shoes (that was the theme for the night) and that the director of the camp and his wife were 'Shrek' and 'Fiona' (Shrek had just come out sometime that year). And at the end of the week at camp people were given awards that their cabin leaders thought would suit them. My award was "Most Likely to Succeed at Jeopardy."

Then I went home, and the week after that I left for my Grandma's and my Dad's. Little did I know what God had planned for there.

Hollie.

Imaginary Escape

The decision was made. With only two months left of the school year me and my mom packed up (sort of) and left. We didn't take much that I can remember. Just some clothes, books, movies, and toys. Things that would fit in those big rubbermaid containers. We left pretty much everything in the apartment we were living in. We even left Happy, this gigantic stuffed bumble bee that was bigger then me (not that big of a feat). That broke my heart. We took a Greyhound from Northern BC to the middle of Ontario. If you don't know, that's a three and a half to four day journey by bus, since they stop so much. It was a bit more comfortable for me then for most people, since at age nine I was still small enough to lay head to foot across two seats and not have my feet in the isle, so that's how I slept much time. But it was LONG and BORING. Thank goodness God gave me an imagination, I don't know how else I could have lasted it.

When we arrived in Ontario it turned out that Dean didn't have a house. He didn't own one, and he didn't rent one. So we long-term rented a hotel room. That wasn't pleasant. And so began School 4, and I was still in grade four. It was my first Catholic School. I don't remember much about that hotel room other then I preferred being outside - it was quieter - and there was a restaurant across the street that had really nice people working there. And that I once won pizza at school. Since at that school every week if a teacher caught you doing something good you could put your name in a draw and at the end of the week the principal drew out a name and that person won two full pizza's to take home. I won because I would always read when I was finished my school work.

School 4 was also where I was introduced to Harry Potter. The two friends I had manged to scrape together both liked Harry Potter, and they had it into their heads that they were witches, me too of course, and that when we were eleven we would be heading off to the Canadian version in Hogwarts (I believe it was supposed to be hidden somewhere in Toronto). Please remember here, that I was only nine and I had a vivid imagination. I also spent more time in a fictional world I had created then in the real world. So at the time I really truly believed them. Looking back I realized they were just playing, like normal nine year olds do.

Speaking of which, my imaginary world. Where would I be without my imaginary world? I truly believe that God gave me an imagination as a way to keep me sane and safe and alive until I was to encounter Him. Do I have scripture to back that up? No. Will I ever have scripture to back it up? Probably not. It's nothing more then a vague impression I have.

See growing up I felt like a slave child. A true Cinderella in the making. My mom would always need "help" around the house. Help meaning (not stretching the truth I promise) keep every room except hers clean. And if I complained she would scream and threaten on how I never help around the house, that Dean was too much for her to handle, and that she was tired of having to do anything. I was the ungrateful brat. Her favourite saying was "I brought you into this world. I can take you out of it." As a friend of mine just recently pointed out - "I didn't realize giving birth made homicide legal"

However, feeling like this I would slip out of the 'real' world so to speak. Instead of being the slave child that had to do everything I was a princess who wasn't allowed to do anything. Instead of being forced to clean and getting in trouble if I didn't, I wanted to clean but would get in trouble if I did. I would pretend that I was sneaking around to help the servants - always on the look out to make sure the King and Queen didn't catch me cleaning.

At night I had issue's going to sleep. Mom and Dean would be fighting, or other things that make it hard for one to sleep. Or if I moved around to much my mom wouldn't think I was sleeping and I would get anything from a spanking (truly terrifying to wake up to) to being yelled at to go to sleep. I was also afraid of the dark. Sleep didn't come easy. So at night in order to fall asleep (and be able to stay asleep) I would fold my blankets as if they were a hospital bed, arms over the blankets and me on my back. I would pretend I was in the hospital with IV's in both arms so I couldn't roll over or one of the IV's would pull out (and would thereby hurt). Pleasant I know.

So finding out about this school in Toronto (which doesn't exist) and thinking I would actually be going there and getting away from my mom was amazing. That summer when we went to visit my dad, my cousin lent me book 2 in the Harry Potter series. Granted I had never read book 1 but I spent almost the entire time I was there reading that book. I didn't quite finish it though before I left. But it was enough. Enough to spark an interest and love for this fictional world. Enough to keep revisiting in my imagination when I went back to Ontario. Enough to start me off on a subtly wrong path.

When I returned after that summer we had found a place to rent. This place wasn't a hotel room. It was a house. It was also too far away from where I had been going to school at the end of grade four. So the beginning of grade five was the beginning of School 5. I don't remember School 5, other then it was very small. It only went up to grade six while all the other elementary schools went up to grade eight. It was also Catholic. After about two months we moved in to a smaller (and cheaper) place. And again it was too far away from School 5 for me to go there. School 6 was in walking distance of me. So two months into grade five I started School 6. I had officially been to more schools then the grade I was in.

But what happened there will have to wait until next time.

Hollie.