The Road to Visibility

By Susan Davis

Because of the bad economy and personal circumstances, I found it necessary to combine my middle book, Shadows of the Past, with this book, The Road to Visibility. My first book, Invisible Me, tells of my four-year hospitalization because of a life of abuse and betrayal. With no real support system, I simply lost my will to live. I hope you find this book informative and helpful as I reveal the reasons I lost my will to live and was hospitalized. I also share my healing stages and setbacks as time has passed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662474521

Susan Davis

Susan M. Davis graduated from California State University Fullerton with a degree in English. She has been an 8th grade English teacher for 27 years. She is a former Teacher of the Year. Susan also has a Masters of Science in Educational Counseling. She just completed her MFA in Creative Writing Non-fiction from Fairfield University in Connecticut. Susan resides in Southern California with her wife, Karen Kozawa and their 3 Cocker Spaniels. Her favorite color is purple. If you know her, you will know this.

Book preview

Chapter 1

 A Shadow

You are the result of all the Previous pictures you have Painted for yourself…and you Can always paint new ones…

—Dr. Wayne Dyer

I lived most of my life in the shadows of others. In my first book. Invisible Me, I spoke of looking and feeling invisible. It has become a lengthy journey to unlock the shadows of my past. The expectation of finding a healthy outlook on life has become an important part of my focus now. I cannot effectively heal from the wounds of my past by simply ignoring.

As I learned to be more thankful for each day, a healing takes place. I don’t understand how, but I do know facing the past helps me heal and become stronger, In the shadows of my mind, I have reached the ability to revisit those dark times in order to face life. I’m sharing some of the most vital parts of my story that had broken my spirit and will to live.

I do not profess to know everything concerning the topic of building self-worth and a healthy way to heal from the damage done. I do hope to help others find hope, cope with the challenges this life can present, and find peace in their future also.

I am letting the skeletons out of the closet in an effort to distance from the shadows of the past! This process is truly helping me be thankful for today. The more I tell, the less I fear the shadows that lurk behind every bush, around every corner, outside every window, down every hall, and behind every door. The understanding of these fears has helped me be less afraid and more able to face the problems I encounter daily.

I was once a shadow in my mother’s womb, and I wonder what she was thinking on the morning of my birth!

A Shadow

As a shadow growing Inside of my Mother’s womb, oh! no!

I am running out of room.

My body is growing and looking just right,

It won’t be much longer until I am born and see the light…

It took nine months to grow from a shadow into a baby, will my parent’s love me? Maybe!

Too small to remember what happened before my First breath of air.

Possibly given a swat on the bottom, does this seem fair?

I did it!

I took my first breath of this mortal life…

By Susan Davis

I was born on Saturday, September 9, 1950, in St. Mary’s Hospital, Long Beach, California. The Time Chronicle stated, The President for the first time, drafts Doctors, Dentists, and other needed specialists through the age of fifty. This information alone would have no effect on me personally yet. My father was in the service of our country on my birthday!

One of the other things that made news, the Federal Communications Commission granted Columbia Broadcast System the right to telecast in color.

Matters of interest (consumer price index):

A loaf of bread: $0.14

A gallon of gas: $0.18

A gallon of milk $0.84

A new home (average): $8,450.00

A pound butter: $0.73

Average annual income: $3,216.00

Harry S. Truman was the president of the United States (Democrat). Alben W. Barkley was vice president.

My father, Norman, was stationed overseas on the day of my birth. When I asked him to share some of his experiences with me, he told me they were too painful for him to repeat. I wonder if the fact that he didn’t see me being born was the reason he felt little bonding with me throughout my life? Could it have been a partial reason that it didn’t matter for him to abandon me most of my life when he was alive?

Rumors of him finding a woman other than my mother to love could have aided in his ability to become distanced from me. Only he knows the answer to these questions, for sure.

I have one biological sister—Beverly Ann—born March 30, 1946. Many of my childhood experiences remain fragmented, lost in the shadows of my mind.

My parents were divorced when I was three. I have heard conflicting stories about the reasoning behind those actions, This, of course, is really their story to share. I grew up thinking that my birth led to the divorce actions taken. Being taught to have low self-worth kept me stuck in that mind frame for many years.

At the age of three, I lived with a woman who constantly complained of a black widow spider bite. My sister lived with us also. While living there, my sister and I were kidnapped. I shared our horrifying experience in book one. The memories of the man in a black leather jacket and sunglasses grabbing me and putting me in his broken-down cart are a part of the abuse issues left in the shadows of my mind, from time to time.

My mother married Ted, and together we were taken to live with them near Knott’s Berry Farm in California. I was not allowed to enter kindergarten because we arrived there too late in the year to start school. My mother did not teach me anything of that nature to aid me in the first grade, and so school started out very difficult for me to understand.

I remember my teacher’s name was Elm, and she alone helped me pass the first grade. She was a tall slender woman with a light complexion and short dark brown hair, very nonjudgmental, and caring. Her confidence in me helped me start trusting my ability to learn.

My homelife was not as good. My mother and stepfather spent most of their time and money betting on the horse races. This left my sister and me alone often. We were not given the proper care. Many days we were left without much food, and our clothes were tattered.

From the outside looking in, our house was a worn-down unpainted mess. The yard unkempt, the lawn mower only used on occasion, and weeds seldom pulled. Our neighbors often complained and asked for the yard to be better taken care of, with little success I might add. This only caused a rift not good for my sister and me. We were not liked much (our legacy!). My sister and I were pretty much avoided and often treated as if we were bad and dirty because of our parents’ lack of interest in our well-being. We often felt unsafe behind the closed doors of our home. My stepfather was an avid beer drinker, often drunk, and unruly, and abuse was imminent. When my parents became bored with wasting money on the horse races, they became longtime residents of Lynbrook Bowling Alley in Anaheim (seldom at their real home).

Many days and nights, I was sexually abused and physically beaten by not just my parents. My stepfather would become very angry at me at the dinner table because I had crooked teeth and could not chew without making noise. He often dragged my body outside and made me eat dog poop because I could not control my sloppy, noisy eating, stating I deserved to eat like a dog. Dog poop instead of food did not taste good, nor was it a healthy replacement for food. It has made me have many eating issues, anorexia, and etc.

Sometimes I would bang my head against the bathroom wall as hard as I could to help the emotional and physical pain go away. I was young, hoping the locked bathroom door would protect me from him.

Really, whenever my stepfather wanted in, he used whatever he could find to unlock the door and let himself in. So did anyone who wanted to invade my privacy and/or abuse me. I continued to use the lock because it gave me some time to escape at times.

Because of poor parenting, a lot of burdens, and abuse, studying was barely allowed, this often made learning hard for me. Basic math, social studies, government, and history were my hardest subjects to receive good grades in. Music and art were my strongest subjects because I had a natural God-given talent.

I loved the beauty of nature and painted the view outside my bedroom window. Afraid to speak to anyone of my homelife, I remained in the shadows, invisible to anyone who could help me be put in a more protective environment. My abusers knew what they were doing was against the law, and I was told to keep those behaviors secret (never tell!). I knew if I revealed my unprotected life, abuse would be worse. I didn’t know how to break the cycle and told on them more than a risky few times. When I did actually try and protect myself by telling, I was not listened to or believed. I gave up and suffered.

One bright sunny morning, I went outside to play on the street where I lived. There was no school that day. Two neighborhood boys grabbed me and took me to the side of their house, unnoticed. They held me down and stripped me. After doing what they pleased with my body, they took me to the orange groves a few houses away from where I lived and tied me to a eucalyptus tree naked and left me there.

I felt panic, screamed in fear. Pain enveloped me, and I was merely a shadow for some time. In fact, for the remainder of the day, I screamed. Thoughts of the tramps who roamed the orange groves and drank the water from our backyard faucet tormented my mind. Horrified! I knew if found they would also hurt me while tied to a tree defenseless. During the experience, I disassociated. I don’t know for how long or how often. I felt myself out of my body at times. My throat was sore from screaming, and dehydration possibly set in. A whisper was all that surfaced after much exhaustion. When I felt helpless and tired, not able to go on any longer, I simply disassociated, It became automatic. When I came out of it, my circumstance was still the same, tied to a tree, naked. As the day passed, the sun did also. I was screaming still in the darkness of the night.

Suddenly, I saw a back porch light turn on. A slender middle-aged woman heard me and came running toward me. It took her a few minutes to untie the ropes that kept me bound for so long. Once set free, I collapsed. She carried my frail body, limp in her arms, to her home. She fixed me a warm bath, and such soothing warmth entered my body that shivered only moments before, and I felt momentary relief.

After the bath, my body trembled spontaneously, probably still in shock, traumatized, and in fear of what would happen to me next. I had not met her before and did not know what to expect. The once uncaring neighbor now blessed me by taking care of me. She fed me lobster, and for the first time in hours, I felt at peace. What if she would have avoided my cry for help? Would I have died then? Some people don’t listen to a cry for help because of fear; becoming involved could put them at risk themselves.

I was lonely and shy, not accepted by many at school. The friends I did make were from low-income families. During those early years, I did not know life was different for others. My sister was a companion and comfort to me only at times. She was young and left in charge of me. Not to repeat what was shared in my first book, I will say she tried to protect me on some level and abused me by lying and making me do her chores as well as my own. Shopping at the store was among the scariest times for me. I walked the pathway from our street to the store parking lot, alone and vulnerable. (Repeated abuse occurred!)

My mother gave birth to two sons by my stepfather. Teddy and Stanley were their names. I was pretty close to Stanley, and Teddy looked so much like my abusive stepfather, I could not bond with him as well. (His looks were not his fault or mine!) A subconscious reaction from my abuse issues, not really a conscious act of blaming him for the actions of his father.

My sister left home without finishing high school. She became pregnant and married the child’s father. I felt abandoned and betrayed. I became the oldest. A larger amount of abuse was shown to me in her absence. Given the role of babysitter by taking on the role of the oldest child in the home meant more emotional, physical, and sexual abuse from my stepfather. My mother made my life miserable as well. Again, good grades at school did not happen then.

I was raped by a man at the bowling alley, a friend of the family. When I told, no one believed me, and the abuse continued. Witness to unruly and drunken behavior while people bowled in leagues, my brothers and I were kept out until early morning hours, Not given much time to sleep, I was expected to attend school and obtain passing grades. (What a joke!)

It was a lifestyle I did not want once church became a better part of my life. Though I was baptized at age nine into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormon), I was rarely allowed to attend during my younger years, but old enough to sneak out at the age of sixteen. My mother was a Jack Mormon, a term commonly used in that day referring to inactive members, not wanting to have their names taken off the records but not willing to abide by the standards taught either.

At age sixteen, the love and friendship shown to me by some members at the time literally saved my life often. The principles taught were very welcomed by me and wholesome.

My life was far from protected by good values offered at home, and I constantly received mixed messages. An outsider of sorts, not fully understood or accepted by my peers.

A sinner and a child of God were complex concepts, hard to understand at that age. I felt a love offered by a few members who took me under their wing and nurtured me as much as they knew how during that time period. I didn’t really feel fully accepted by my family of Christians either. I was gone during the summer month’s church activity lessened! Some of my nonmember school friends were lost, my standards changed, and, simply, I didn’t fit in anymore.

Some of the less popular crowd accepted me more than the more well-to-do peers because of the latchkey kid effect. I started attending the church seminary, and more girls started befriending me at church. I woke up very early in the morning and snuck out to attend seminary because of trouble with my stepfather. If caught, I was punished for attending. So many mornings I tiptoed quietly out of the house and walked over two miles to the church building before school started. I was taught the scriptures and more gospel principles while there. After a while, I made a friend who had a car, and she would pick me up as quietly as possible. We planned that she would arrive after my stepfather left for work. Sometimes he gave me permission to attend, but couldn’t be trusted. I left little time to risk, becoming caught in the act.

I learned the Bible, Book of Mormon, Pearl of Great Price, and church history during the early morning hours before school. I was able to attend graduation, but couldn’t receive an official diploma because of not being able to pay the registration fees and it wasn’t caught until four years had passed. I attended, and no one really knew my dilemma but me (fell through the cracks again!).

My home environment was pretty scary at age sixteen. I became rebellious and started refusing to attend the bowling alley. Punishment for not wanting to be raped was being banned from church attendance. I, being a typical teenager, snuck out to church anyway! I didn’t always get caught, and the reward of things spiritual was a peaceful blessing.

The boys attended the bowling alley without me along, and this left me alone and unprotected at home. I received a phone call one night. A stalker told me that he knew I was alone and would be until the early morning hours. He also told me that he intended to rape me and no one would be there to stop it! He was right, and this, of course, terrified me.

Nonetheless, no matter what happened to me at home, I was expected to attend school by law, remain silent about the abuse, and be able to understand the courses and receive good grades. (Again, what a joke!) If it were not for the law, I would have been totally uneducated. Yet I was not believed when I did tell.

I was forced to walk over two miles to school. This left me victim to kidnappers and stalkers. Some of the time, I was able to get away when stalked, though not always.

My abusers were always able to get away with the acts unpunished. I tried to kill myself at the age of twelve. I took out a knife to stab myself, and my sister stopped me. My mother was witness to some of the abuse I suffered and didn’t stop it. She dislocated my jaw out of anger. (She didn’t protect or know how to!) At times, she wanted me out of the house and told me to leave. I had no idea what to do about that, and she didn’t push the issue much. After all, I took care of her chores as acting wife and mother to her boys and husband. I felt unclean and believed myself to be a sinner, perhaps some displaced guilt from rapes and abuse. I wanted to escape but didn’t know how.

My biological father didn’t want to be my parent most of the time. I had nowhere to go for safety and was not of legal age to officially leave home. I was finally able to leave when I turned seventeen.

My Grandma Ann took me during the summer months to stay with her. She showed compassion and love to me. We had fun together. I went to the roller rink at night and swimming during most of the days. I walked everywhere because my grandma didn’t ever drive a car. I taught myself to swim well. I didn’t like to swim under the water. Memories of my stepfather throwing me in the deep end and almost drowning caused me to fear being underwater much. Roller-skating was fun; I learned how to perform figure eights and could skate better than most of my friends there. I enjoyed watching the mascot roller-skating donkey! Newspaper articles were written about him, and I still have an article today.

I went to the Cherry Valley Fun Festival. The carnival was fun, and I enjoyed rides most of the time. One night, I was riding the Octopus, and the operator was drunk and left us spinning round and round for a long time. Many threw up, and one lady fell out and died. I still don’t like the ride anymore because of the experience. I helped take care of the landlord’s horses and rode them as a welcome bonus.

I learned to ride bareback, and one day the landlord’s grandson let a calf in the arena while I was riding bareback. The horse bucked me off, and I was in danger of being trampled; I was led to safety and told to get back on and ride him (so I would not fear riding bareback again!). Another horse story was when a horse called Midnight became jealous of me caring for another horse and bit me on the leg. I refused to take care of him after that.

I tasted yellow cherries for the first time while staying at my grandma’s. A tree was in the alley near her home, and I was given permission to eat all I wanted. They had a sweeter taste than Bing cherries. I never wanted to leave my grandma’s house because no abuse happened there. Summers were over too fast, and the school year started along with abuse on the home front.

Again, my mother told me to leave home during an argument I did not want to take part in. Her anger was not appropriate, and something inside of me snapped. I could take no more abuse and planned to leave home after our Wednesday church meeting. I told my best friend at the time and said I didn’t care what happened to me. I thought nothing could be much worse than the environment I was currently living in. I was willing to take my chances living on the streets, not really knowing what that would entail exactly.

In summary, up until that time, I felt unwanted and very unclean. I had experienced a lot of abuse, and many awful things happened to me. I felt bad and thought of myself as a bad person. In spite of it all, I attended school and learned how to read and write, graduated from high school at the age of seventeen. I was not an A student but maintained a C average. I lived as a latchkey kid during the daytime. When did I have time for normal childhood experiences? What did normal even look like—I had no idea? My life had been broken, shattered into many pieces! Judged by many people incorrectly, victim to circumstance, I was betrayed by my parents.

Chapter 2

Distressed

Should you meet resistance, take Comfort—it’s a great way to Build muscle…

—Author Unknown

Feeling alone and unloved, I made the decision to walk out of the home environment. I needed to find a purpose for existing. I wanted to learn what someone really loving me would feel like, no strings attached, and no real plan, just a need for survival. I went to church; the bishop stopped me, and I was guided to his office. I understand you have a plan to run away tonight! he said. Will you give me some time before you leave? My best friend in the whole world told him of my plans, and I was in complete shock.

I felt betrayed yet also relieved. When I entered his office in a broken state of mind, he asked me to talk about my life at home. I did so, and he seemed concerned. (I didn’t tell him all the details!) He then told me that he would like me to come and live with him. I babysat for him and sat with his family in church at times. He needed to ask his wife and thought she would accept the idea. Needing time to prepare for me, he asked me to return home.

Though time was needed to set his plan in motion, returning home was risky. My mother had really told me to leave, to make a choice: attend church or jive by their lifestyle of abuse and bad choices. I knew nothing would change. If caught attending church, I would be punished. Abuse, neglect, and suffering were not punishment enough in their eyes and warranted.

Both sets of parents did not want to accept true responsibility for their child. To the world, I was a disgrace from a broken home. In those days, divorce was accepted less by the world. I had no center, just broken pieces, an outer shell and no me! Empty inside and willing to take a chance and leave the life I knew as my legacy (something received from the past) and step into the darkness of the unknown.

When you come to the end of everything you know and the next step Is into the darkness of the great unknown. You might believe one of two things: Either you wilt step out onto firm ground or you will be taught to fly. (Author Unknown)

By returning home, I would be hit or given some other kind of punishment. I was frightened and willing to do what it took to change my situation. I could try living with the bishop, and if it didn’t work out, I could leave. I agreed to return home for a short time.

As time progressed, it was arranged I would go to live with him in two weeks. My sister was expecting a baby at any time. I lived with her during those two weeks in case she needed my help! Her daughter was young and needed to be taken care of.

My sister’s husband was an alcoholic! He was a nice man when sober! He became violent one night and got into a scary fight with my sister. He screamed and yelled at her, not liking the way she cleaned the pool in her backyard. He picked up a heavy work boot and threw it at her belly. Afraid her unborn child would be hurt, I didn’t know what to do! I cried and became afraid for us all as the scene continued.

I called the bishop’s wife and told her what happened. She took me to live with them a week earlier than planned. I feared my sister’s husband. My two half brothers were left on their own. I regret it now, because I loved them. They were children of divorce, with no real family as a whole.

I was given a room of my own, next to the master bedroom. It had an adjoining bathroom, with doors leading to the laundry room and kitchen area. The house was huge, but they needed it! They had six children of their own. I enjoyed babysitting at first. For a while, I felt as though I earned my keep.

Even though I knew my new family, I was nervous and didn’t know what they expected of me. I had an unexplainable empty feeling buried deep inside me. I was a mixed-up child, hungry for parental affection.

Many foster children have mixed feelings. I was not alone in that! After some time, I wanted to call my foster mother Mom. Up until that time, I watched for eye contact and then spoke to her. I locked myself in the bathroom, crying. She tried to get in. I was afraid to ask. I did ask eventually, and she told me I could call her Mom. It felt uncomfortable at first. Waiting for eye contact seemed safer at times.

It was hard to get used to a completely different lifestyle. I knew them as an outsider would. Reality of their life at home was completely different than I expected. While living with them, my poor health issues were taken care of. Little by little, my teeth were not hurting and my tonsils were taken out. It was a painful experience, and I ate a lot of popsicles during the healing process. With my body no longer being poisoned by them, I felt better.

I was taught some beginning basics of being less afraid of people in general. My foster mother didn’t understand my fear of leaving the windows open at night. Many times, she forced me to leave the curtains open because my reaction seemed silly to her. I didn’t sleep well those nights. She had no knowledge of my experience with stalkers, but why did it really matter to her? She insisted no one would hurt me while living in her home and wanted to make a statement. I was just supposed to believe her and accept it! Easier said than done at that point.

One morning, I was told to get up and dressed. My new mother was taking me to the shopping center in town. She dropped me off in the parking lot with instructions to apply for jobs. Given no prior warning, I was terrified. I was told not to call for a ride home until a job was found. When her mind was made up about something, I wasn’t given a choice, There was no mention of that expectation of me prior to that experience. (By the way, it was the same shopping center the former abuse to me had taken place.) The orange groves by my biological mother’s house were turned into that same shopping center. Imagine my distress, magnify it times ten, and you would only begin to understand my feelings.

I applied at quite a few stores before I was actually hired. I accepted a job at May Company, a big store. Sears turned me down, and rightly so. My ability to apply basic math in my life was horrific. I had no idea how to interact with the normal public, but I accepted the job out of fear of being left at the mall during the dark lonely night.

My true desire was to become a nurse. I enrolled in the vocational nursing program. I earned a C in the college class I took. It was a struggle to even pass the class because of my prior experiences with school in general as a latchkey kid. My mom asked my biological father if he would help finance the program. His reply was I didn’t have the brains it took to attend college. (How did he know?)

My real father knew nothing about that part of my life, nor did he ever care to show an interest. They argued a little because she was angry at his words. He just didn’t want to fork out any of his money. My foster mother told me not to listen to the you’re dumb label.

I worked at the store for two years and saved money for college. In 1971, I went back to college. I was told to change my major because chemistry was a required course for the nursing program and I