Phyllis Benton
Monday, January 22, 2007 at 5:48PM
BIO
I was born in Maine but now live in North Carolina. I am married to a wonderful man, which I like to call my guardian angel. I have two dogs that I love dearly. I spend much of my time planting flower bulbs in my gardens, working in the yard, and writing.
In 2002, I went back to school to get my high school diploma and then continued on to college. Getting my high school diploma was just the beginning of all to come in my ventures. Going back to school was not easy but I was determined. My determination got me an Office Systems Technology certificate, in 2004.
I started writing my first book, Living Nightmares of Abuse, while in college—finishing it and getting it published in 2006. I am now writing my second book, a fiction fantasy. Writing is a highlight in my life. Along with working a full time job, I am involved in several organizations. I have regained my self esteem and feel like I can concur anything.
I am very much a people person. I love to meet new people and love talking. I also listen to people, especially to the elderly—they have much knowledge to share.
My goals in life are; to be the best that I can be, in whatever it is. I hope to become a great writer and have at least one best seller. I believe in dreaming but make it worth while - dream big!
Email: dianebenton@roadrunner.com
Homepgs: www.pdbenton.org
www.myspace.com/phyllisd
Q & A
1. What is your favorite coping skill?
I like to get on the computer and write. I write articles and do other fun things. I also like to go outside to listen and watch the birds—play with my dogs. They are such good friends. I also spend quality time talking with my husband or my family.
2. What was the best piece of healing advice you ever received?
That you can’t change the past, you have to go forward.
3. What was the worst piece of healing advice you ever received?
It will always be there, you’ll never get over it.
4. What were the three hardest obstacles to overcome?
1. Learning to believe in myself, regaining my self esteem.
2. Excepting that I am a good person.
3. Not being afraid to go forward.
5. Have you ever hit "rock bottom"? What kept you going?
Yes, I have hit rock bottom. What kept me going was a voice inside of me, telling me that one day it would all be over and things would be better. I told myself that I was a fighter, that I wasn’t going to give in, and that I would fight back.
6. What does forgiveness mean to you?
Forgiveness is a hard word to define. I think most people do forgive others for their wrong doing. Sometimes if you forgive them, you are giving them permission to do wrong again, and saying that what they did was okay. But in some cases, you can’t forgive. That doesn’t mean that because you don’t want to forgive, you can’t still go forward with your life and not have any regrets later on.
7. When did you know that everything was going to be okay -- that you were going to make it?
The day I decided that I had to deal with the pain and go on with my life. I had to put the past behind me or I could not survive. I realized that for too long in my life I had waited, and now I had to make up for it. I needed to start living for me and what was important in my life—my goals and my needs. I am a survivor.
8. Is there anything that you would like to say to someone just beginning their journey?
It is a rough road. I took one day at a time at first. There is no rush in healing. However, there is, only if you are in a hurry to get on with your life like I was. Life is short and we have to live our lives to the fullest. Sure, the hurt, the bad dreams, being afraid, is all normal but there is help for us all. Talk to positive people; get involved in projects that you enjoy. Don’t get defeated. Especially, have a list of hotlines or websites that you can go to for help if you feel you are losing the battle. Be positive and know that you are a good person. Be stronger than you've ever been - it’s your life you are getting back. Go forward and be proud of the person that you are.
9. If there was one piece of advice you would give, or one thing you would want the significant other, best friend, etc. of a survivor to keep in mind through out the survivor's healing process, what would that be?
Never give up! Survivors are important, not just to others, but to themselves. Putting the past behind them and living for today, for themselves, is the most important step they can take. Let them speak what they feel and encourage them to go after their dreams. There is a rainbow afterward.
LITERATURE
Written by Phyllis Benton
Happy Birthday to Me
Written by Phyllis Benton
I was awakened on my birthday with my husband singing happy birthday to me. He whispered, "happy birthday", in my ear.
Seven years ago I met a man that was unlike any of the men I had ever been involved with. He intimidated me at first. I almost passed him by because I was afraid of getting into another abusive relationship. He told me stories and I questioned if they were true. I was so used to being lied to. But somehow this man was different and I felt it was so right. He was laid back and didn’t let much upset him.
We laughed and talked and it felt good. We wanted the same things in life: happiness, loving each other, and working together to achieve those things. We had good communication. He told me the truth about everything. Even if he felt I wouldn’t like it, he was honest.
He encouraged me to do the things I wanted, and not to do anything that I was uncomfortable with. He encouraged me to be myself and to go after the things he knew I wanted. I now know the true meaning of love, and of loving. With so many accomplishments in the past seven years, I am a lucky person to have such a wonderful husband.
I Remember When
by Phyllis Benton
I remember in my childhood, of not having enough to eat, sharing with seven brothers and sisters. Wanting more to eat at supper time but the food was gone. I remember of the hunger in my belly while trying to sleep at night, remembering the taste of rabbits and hens that my father raised, the vegetables in the not-big-enough garden he planted. The berries we picked and ate during the day to help the hunger.
I remember when the shoes on my feet were too small and hurt my feet, or so big they wouldn’t stay on—shoes that another child had worn out already. The clothes that people had given me, outdated and falling apart. Taking what clothes were left after my sister picked through the hand-me-downs, and of having only a thin, worn out coat in the freezing winter to wear.
I remember going to school and being laughed at because we were poor—walking home from school in tears—having no friends except the for the immediate, neighbor kids to play with. Wishing that I had dolls to play with like the other girls. In the winter, sliding on hills on tire tubes and cardboard—having no sleds.
I remember being cold in bed at night, with only one wool blanket to keep me and my sister warm—the ice that hung from the nails coming through the roof. My hands and feet numb from the cold. Getting up in the morning, hurrying to get to the wood stove to get warm in hopes there would be room for me with all the others.
I remember summers of picking berries to sell and shoveling snow in the winter for neighbors to buy Christmas gifts—a candy bar for each one of us. I remember at Christmas when the few toys I received had already been played with. I remember of eating turkey for supper on Christmas that social services had brought the family.
I remember the water being carried from the well and heated on the wood stove to bathe in. Being able to bathe only once a week in the steel tub—sharing the same water with my brothers and sisters. Wishing I could bathe in a real tub with running water—using as much hot water as I wanted.
I remember the man that tried to molest me as a child. I remember the loneliness and heart-ache of the separation of my family—not knowing where my brothers and sisters were. Moving from home to home—having to share space, food, and a bed with other foster children. Being physically abused by a foster boy in one of the homes—running away to find help.
I remember the abuse I endured as a young adult—being emotionally drained and feeling useless—wanting to end the pain. I remember leaving everything behind and being left with no place to go—no money or food—sleeping in a car—feeling alone. Having to find a new job and making new friends in a strange place.
I remember the beatings in a new relationship and not being able to find a way out. The nightmares I once still had from that relationship. The guilt I felt, with mixed emotions, when I watched him die. Wanting to find someone to share my life and love with—wanting not to waste the rest of my life.
My brother, Bobby, was the oldest of eight children born in our family. He was protective of his sisters—always hugging us and watching out for us. He loved his family until one day we were taken away. He would eventually turn to drugs and alcohol to escape the hurt and pain.
Bobby was so proud of himself when he graduated from grade school—dressed in his suit—he looked handsome. He was a good student and loved to write. He wanted to one day become a writer. He had dreams of being somebody. But that all changed the day our mother walked out on us. Bobby stayed with Dad while the rest of us went into foster care. He stayed in school and graduated, and then went into the Navy. He came to see me once in my foster home dressed in his navy whites. He looked good. Then, having some medical problem, he was discharged early. At that time Bobby went back to live with Dad again.
He found it difficult to deal with the separation of his family—he turned to drugs and alcohol. The painkilling effect of drugs and alcohol became a solution to his discomfort.
I went to visit Bobby a couple of times in my adult years. He lived in a shack that he had built for himself in the woods. He was either drinking or had been drinking when I would see him. He worked either at the local fish factory or in some other seasonal job - enough to just get by. He had no ambition to do anything anymore.
While visiting him one time, a bird landed on his only window sill. The bird sat there and looked in, not seeming to be afraid. Bobby talked to the bird who seemed to be listening. He told me that he talked to the birds as they often visited him. He said he had lots of friends in the woods. On another occasion that I visited him, he told me that at night he would see a pair of red eyes out by the edge of the woods, looking at him. He did not believe it was a wolf, but rather some other strange animal. He explained that it came closer each night - that he talked to the animal and they became friends.
Bobby became friends with all those living things in the woods. I believe he knew that they would not turn on him or abandon him. After the family separation Bobby lost his will. He dug himself deep inside a hole and didn’t want to come back out. He had chosen drugs and alcohol as a solution to his unwanted problems.
Many years later, I got a call from a sister—she was on her way to the hospital to see Bobby. He was very sick and the doctor said that he didn’t think he would live much longer. Bobby never went to the doctor very much, but instead used drugs and alcohol to help kill the pain that he'd been feeling. My brother passed away that evening. He was only 53 years old. The family made the decision to have his body cremated. There was a ceremony for him, but the ashes were saved until all the family could be there.
A year later, we took Bobby’s ashes out beside a small Island in the ocean to lay him to rest. I lost my brother twice - once to drugs and alcohol, and the second time on the day he died. Bobby was misunderstood by many people. He had a good heart and soul. He just could not deal with the discomfort and unhappiness of losing his family and every day life.
The cycle of drugs and alcohol addition begins with a problem, discomfort, or some form of emotional or physical pain. Everyone has experienced this in life to a greater or lesser degree. There are other solutions to deal with problems without using alcohol or drugs, which only create a new problem. Talk to friends, family, and if necessary, get professional help. Digging yourself in a hole with drugs and alcohol like my brother did, is not the answer.
Written by Phyllis Benton
LETTER
To My Abuser:
It’s been a long time. I am doing very well. I don’t know if you are dead or alive. But it really doesn’t matter because alive you aren’t really living, you are hurting—yourself and others. Being dead, you probably would be better off, but how could you get off that easy? You made me and others suffer and took away part of our lives, my life. I hope that you have found help because you really needed to be helped, and all the time, I thought it was me. Ironic, isn’t it?
You can’t hurt me anymore—I have grown beyond you. I do feel sorry for you—you wasted so much of your life being cruel to good people. People, like me, that saw you had a problem. I know you are in pain if you are still on this earth and how awful it is to be in pain. But honestly, I can’t forgive you for all the pain you've caused because what you did is wrong. If you have come to terms with your problem and have really received help, I will pray for your soul but I will never forgive you for hurting people.
I have put you out of my head and have become stronger than ever. I still am the person I've always been, but now much wiser. I know where I am going in life and have goals. You can’t hurt me anymore.
Good-bye forever.
All Writing Copyrighted by Phyllis Benton and 'The Survivor Archives'
© 2007
Reader Comments (1)
A very good job at expressing yourself! Best wishes in your journey!
With love
Sister Shari