Chapter 2- Sex, Drugs and Rock-n-Roll

Chapter 2 – Sex, Drugs and Rock-n-Roll

       When you see a child whose behavior is out of control, do not point the finger at them and be astonished at the way they are behaving.  Stop and think about what hell they are surviving to make them behave this way.  Children do not just go out of control.  Something has forced them out of control.  Someone created the monster.  Ask yourself what pain is so deep inside this person to cause them to act out like this.  Try to see the hell deep inside of them.  All they want is attention, someone to help them, and most of all to be loved.  You could save someone and help them to live a better life if you just try to hold out your hand to them. ~ Natalie Newman

Being a teen in the 80’s was all about big hair, sex, drugs and rock-n-roll.  We had smokers’ bathrooms in the school. They were a haven for selling and doing drugs.  When you hear the song ‘Smoking in the Boys Room’ it is the perfect explanation for what was happening.  It was a cloud of marijuana and pockets full of speed.  It was in my teens when I learned music was my medicine.  We walked around with our big boom boxes all drugged up, head banging to hot, heavy metal hairbands.  I spent my entire teen years running as fast as I could consuming as much drugs and alcohol as possible.  Nothing or nobody could hold me down or stop me.  I just wanted to party and forget the tortured side of me.  I wanted to die.

Finally, at 15 years old I lost my virginity for real.  Now it was time to welcome a whole new level of self-abuse.  Adding sex to the game gave me a new power I had never quite experienced before.  Suddenly, I began to realize I could control men and use them to empower myself.  Sex had caused me so much pain and now I found it could give me power.  It was a sick and twisted way to think.  But, I had not been taught the rules of sex properly.

I don’t know what it is about men but all I have to do is walk by or look them straight in the eyes and they are mine.  I learned that my seductive, naughty, eyes along with my great personality were a formula that men do not have a resistance to and it was thrilling.  Today I NEVER look a man in the eyes unless I want it.  I know my eyes are dangerous.  Men became my little toys from that point on.  The eyes worked for everything, including a lot of free drugs and alcohol.  The art of manipulation had been born in to my life.

There was never a moment of sobriety.  Just shove as many different kinds of drugs into my body and as much of it as I could do at once.  Then add a half gallon of whiskey to that.  I did not care if I died.  I was aiming for that.  I had spent the first 15 years of my life in pain so I decided I wanted to party until I ended it.  Partying was a release and a band aid for the hell.  I never for one second believed I was going to see 25 years old and honestly I DID NOT want to.

School for me was just a landing strip at the airport to flying high.  I had to get there in order to take off and get as high as possible with my friends.  Needless to say, the last day of ninth grade the police raided a house looking for some friends and me.  We were just taking off on a fabulous LSD trip.  We were loaded into the police car and off to school we went.  Not for one second could I keep a straight face.  They kicked me out of school and told me to never come back.  I had skipped 2/3 of the school year to go get messed up.

Also, I was always running away from home to escape the nightmare.  My mother would walk the rivers and through woods looking for me.  She was tormented by my endless need to run and never knew if I was alive or dead.  My mother would call the police after I was missing for 3-4 days.  The police would bring me home every time.  I would walk in the front door and while they talked to my mother I would go straight out the back door immediately.  I would run as fast as I could for miles through the woods to get back to the city, my friends, more alcohol and more drugs.  I only wanted freedom, intoxication, fun and friends.

At twenty two years of age I was in a bar and the entire law enforcement was there. One of the police officers said out loud, with a moment of dead silence in the entire building, “Natalie, you are the only girl every cop has taken home.”  Red-faced I laughed because I knew what he meant, but I am sure it added to the rumors about me.  I also made a contract with myself that when my grandfather dies I am going to throw one hell of a wild party and dance for days with people I love.

August of my fifteenth year of age was my first trip to inpatient drug treatment.  I was a horrible mess.  I had been awake for 5 days, anorexic (never ate), and stripped from the security of the chaos I had created.  When I entered the treatment center they told me I was pregnant.

Because of all the legal paperwork my mother had to tell me the truth about the lies she had told me for my entire life to that point. I found out my step-father had never adopted me but they had given me his last name.  I felt like someone had put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger.  Everything about my life was a lie at that very second.   I had to make a decision about the baby immediately.  I had to have an abortion that week or it was too late.  I knew in my heart at 15 years old that I did not want a child.  I already felt I had my children because I had been raising my brother and sisters.  I know I did a horrible job with them.  They were also living in my hell and so very young.

I also knew that I had not stopped pouring drugs and alcohol into my system for over a year.  Therefore, I was not healthy at all.  That was no way to start a life for a baby even if I had adopted it out.  I knew because of my behavior something would be wrong with it.  I chose the abortion and my drug treatment began.  I was spun out in every direction and it was the first time in my high speed life of destruction I had come to a complete halt.  I knew I had no plans of sobering up.  So I took advantage of the program to work on myself, learn a few things and get the hell out of there.

Well to my surprise, my mother decided to put me in a foster home in a big city 20 miles away.  I left that 28 day treatment center to a new home with a woman I had never met.  I was starting at new school and with no friends.  My family did not even want me anymore.  Well, that was the way I had seen it.  The last thing I said to my mother before I started this new life was “You are not my damn family, my friends are my only true family.”  Believe it or not, it really has not changed all these years of my life.  I love my family yes, but not very close to any of them.  I was completely alone and wondering what I had done to deserve this.

I started a new school that was triple the size of the last one I was in. I turned 16 and I was looking for some fun. Oh hell yeah, I found it immediately.  This high school was nothing but rich kids.  The parents had really good drugs or they could afford to buy them.  So, I let it all begin again.  I partied like a rock star for two years at that school.  I had great friends to help me through it.  I occasionally got to go home on home visits but I always screwed that up.

I had parents, foster-mother, social workers, counselors, psychologists and psychotherapists all trying to dig in my head continuously trying to help me.  I felt like a mental science experiment.  I felt none of them really knew anything about what had happened to me.  First session with them was always telling them my life history.  Then I would look at whoever was trying to save me next and ask “Has this ever happened to you? Have you ever been sexually abused, raped or any of the hell I have been through?”  99% of the time they replied NO.  I always shook my head and laughed.  Calmly I would reply to them, “Then how the hell can you tell me how I feel when you read it in a damn book?  How will you ever understand me if you haven’t felt it and lived through it yourself?”  I learned to reverse it back to them by this point in my life.  I seriously believed that only the damaged should counsel the damaged. Painless people should not counsel the pained. Just like sober people shouldn’t counsel addicts.  Go be a nurse instead. Counseling another’s life needs understanding, not book smarts.  If you haven’t lived it, how can you teach it?  I am being judged by someone who isn’t even close to having their own shit together.

The world was my puppet.  I knew in my heart I was much bigger than my life.  I knew I would be someone famous that helped many people.  I was intelligent enough to never let people know they were the star of my show for my entertainment.  It is scary what a smile can hide. I was smarter than all those trying to help me.  Except one day I got a new psychotherapist who looked me in the eyes and said, “You’re lying”.  I knew at that moment she understood me and had been there.  That psychotherapist truly helped me and emptied some of the pain load.  Finally, I was able to carry less baggage.

Truly, that was when I had made the decision to take my hell and turn into healing for others.  I wanted to be a psychologist because I knew I could help 1000’s of women and children survive what I had been through.  My dream of helping the world heal their pain had begun.  My heart went out to everyone what was hurting on this earth.  At that point my intuition heightened.  I began to see into people and I could see their pain inside them.  I could see what their problems were and how they could heal themselves.  If I see someone was hurting, I was drawn to them immediately and tried to help them.

My foster-mother was an amazing role model for me.  She taught me how to empower myself as a woman and gave me so much self-esteem.  She gave me a great gift by teaching me that everything that had happened to me was not my fault and I was NOT the one who was sick.  God gave me an angel, a wonderful teacher and one of the greatest gifts of my life.  I will be eternally grateful to her for everything she taught me.  She continues to be a part of my life and a wonderful second mother to me.

At 17 years old I was finally able to return home.  Almost two years of being away from home and it was a few months before the end of my junior year in high school.  When I returned I began right where I had left off full speed ahead.

One night at a party I had taken some LSD and was having so much fun with my friends.  A local man asked me if I wanted to go back to his house to get some more drugs.  I knew him and did not feel any threat from him.  We got to his house and he gave me more LSD.  I am not sure how much he fed me.  We got in the car with me thinking we were going back to the party.  He had other plans for me.  We drove an hour from civilization deep into the woods.  I was 115 lbs. (52kg) and he was 350 lbs. (158kg).  He was three times my size.

Completely trapped, I did not know where I was to even attempt to run away from him.  You can’t just start running through the woods here.  It is endless.  He began his selfish game of raping me.  I fought, kicked, punched and screamed for days.  He never stopped trying.  My will and strength was the only thing that kept him from taking me over.  He had kidnapped me for over three days.  He was holding me hostage with sex as the ransom.  If I wasn’t so drugged up on LSD I am not sure I would have had that physical strength to keep fighting for so many days.

Finally, he gave up the nightmare he was dragging me through and brought me home.  I sat in hell, bruised head to toe and my eyes were swollen shut from crying.  Shame and guilt had flooded me and I could not tell anyone about it.  Only three people on earth knew that happened.  They were the kidnapper, my dear friend and I.  I hope nobody has to experience that type of hell.  Never give up the fight, you are stronger than you ever imagined.

Thank you so much for reading. I love you!

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