I do want to preface this post with a warning for animal cruelty and death, I'm not trying to just casually throw this story in unexpectedly, but it is something that happened. So I got to talking to my mom today about our time in Colorado. I think it was something about the weather and one thing lead to another. I told her that I was writing about our time there and that the more I thought about it the more confused I was about the timeline and how everything was kind of jumbled. I know that time isn't easy for her to talk about but it did clear up quite a few things. To start, appearantly it was just her and I that moved there first. She said it was to get away from my dad. She asked us kids if we wanted move with her now or stay with dad and she would come get us in a few weeks. I was the only one that went with her. That's when we moved in with her friend Colleen and her husband Kermit. Dad found us not too long after (she said it probably wasn't too hard to figure out) and that's when we all moved into the rv park. We moved twice more, once to a little mountain cabin with a yellow lab I remembered who died of drinking anti freeze. I couldn't remember that dogs name, when I asked, mom said he was a very good dog and she didn't want to talk about it. My dumbass blurted out that dad had poisoned him. More as a question, but she didn't deny it. She just restated she didn't want to think about it and that it wasn't uncommon for dogs to die that way because of its sweet smell and taste. Though I don't see how it would have just been poured out for a dog to get into in the first place, and this wasn't the first instance of animal death from my dad. I had mentioned before that we had dogs growing up. We had a blue healer named Jake who was mauled to death my a mountain lion my dad found later when he didn't come home one day. After that we had a chocolate lab we named Bone. My mom found a female mutt who we named Shilo, and her Bone had a litter of puppies. We each got to name one. My brother named the little all black puppy Gunner, and I named the chubby white speckled one Poocho. We had given away most of the other pups but one day Bone had gotten set off by Gunner and started attacking the pup. By the time my dad got into the fray there was no saving him. So my dad put Gunner out of his misery, then took Bone out and shot him. We ended up giving the rest of the puppies away and Shilo ended up running off shortly after that. That was also not the only time my dad had taken matters into his own hands. My cousins who we spent a lot of time with also had a few blue healers (good cattle dogs). I remember one in particular, Layla, she would always hang around and make sure we didn't get into too much trouble. But before Layla they had another one. I can't remember his name, but I had probably been messing with him and getting too much into his space and he bite me right above my eye. My mom was worried I'd lose it, but he just missed it by centimeters. I still have the scar right under my brow. Anyway, my dad decided he was a menace, and without saying anything to my aunt and uncle about it, took that dog into the pasture and shot him too. I guess in someway I saw it as my dad trying to protect me, I later realized it as a misguided sentiment. That aside, during the time after my dad found us and before the divorce was finalized, I had mentioned that my memory was jumbled and I remembered specific events but the timeline was confusing. Like when I was visiting my dad at his mechanic job and told him I was thirsty so he gave me his beer to drink. A beer, to a six year old. I think that was one of the contributing factors of my mom getting temporary full custody of us while they were separated. It was then that she informed me that my grandparents (his parents) visited and took my sister back to California with them. As my dad didn't have custody, they essentially

kidnapped her. When my mom couldn't find her, this is when my dad gave my brother and I the choice to move back to California with him, or stay with my mom. She told me my brother had said to her that he was sorry, but he was afraid dad would kill my sister and he needed to be with her to protect her. And I took the cowards way out and chose my mom a second time. So a little different than I remembered. Though I got the location right, so I wasn't as far off as I thought. That's when we were separated and my mom started seeing Scott shortly after. She did mention also during that time that she had a restraining order against dad and had three separate opportunities for the police to arrest him. She was more afraid that doing that would just piss him off more, and the repercussions of him getting out would be so severe that she ever declined to have him arrested or press charges. She told me now that she should have just done it. But I cant fault her for that, she was terrified and abused and in a bad situation. We worked out a lot over the years but bringing this up, she apologized again for everything. I told her that she didn't make my dad the way he was and that I don't blame her for any of it. She just feels bad for not being able to protect us. But honestly, that conversation it did clear up some of the fog and a few pieces that weren't connecting. Which is kind of the point of all this. Trying to reconcile the past, acknowledge it and move on. Maybe help someone else out too by sharing my story. I Dunno, but it does seem to help.

Back to the car ride with my dad though. This is getting its own post because it has a lot to do with my trauma and mental health and how I learned to respond to it.

I had basically always been generally afraid of my dad, but there was also always some sort of buffer for the worst of it. My mom or brother would take the brunt or I could just run outside and get away for a few hours while he cooled off. I was also getting older so I could suss out a bit more and understand a little better about what was actually occurring.

So that time in the car, it was just me and him. I remember being on a mostly deserted highway at night, so there wasn't anyone to flag down if I was in trouble either. I remember it just being quiet and then him starting in with the questions. Knowing how this usually went I tried my best to answer in the best way that wouldn't make him mad. I was in high alert but it seemed no matter what I said I was either lying and he was mad at me for that, or the truth which he would then turn on me anyway. The realization of my situation was becoming clear to me, and as a first grader I wasn't going to be able to overpower or out think a grown man. And that was the precise moment true fear got a hold of me.

The other instances had been bad, and I had been afraid before, but this was different. I was alone, I was in a moving vehicle on a highway at night where no one could see me with an increasingly volitile man. The tension felt like a pressure cooker and I thought it was going to physically crush me. My whole body went cold, I became hyper aware of everything around me, and there was an intense feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. I was starting to hyperventilate but I knew that would only make him more upset and this feeling of absolute dread that I had, convinced me if I kept going down this road that he would just lose control of his anger and kill me. I was afraid for my life. So I did the only thing I could think of. In the long pauses between being questioned, I started yawning and leaning my head against the window. One to look and act tired and to also hide the silent tears that had started. I pretend to fall asleep and at first he wasn't convinced. He said I was faking and berated me some more, but I guess the fact that I didn't move, slowed my breathing and had no reaction to him finally convinced him that I was actually asleep.

I was returned to my mom unscathed but that feeling of fear, of absolute dispair, of helplessness, changed everything for me. There are a handful of times that I had felt like that after, but I knew how to recognize it after that. And it changed how I viewed the world from that point on.

Right after the divorce my mom started seeing another guy. I don't know where they met and we don't talk about it much but in a conversation we had years and years later she said the main reason for being with him was she was scared of my dad and she felt a lot safer with this new guy. I get bits and pieces of the story here and there from her. My dad would leave hand prints on the front door, or footprints in the snow under the windows, make threatening phone calls and other scary stalker things. So she met a guy she felt safe with that would protect her.

His name was Scott and I remember him being so different from my dad that (even with how weird it was seeing my mom with someone else) liked him pretty much from the get go. He was nice to us and treated us well. I didn't have to walk on eggshells around him, or figure out his angle to not be punished. I honestly don't remember thinking too much about the situation other than my parents were divorced and now my mom is with someone else.

That was the majority of the rest of 1st grade, adjusting to a new family dynamic and then at the end of the school year was when my dad asked who we wanted to live with. As I said before my brother and sister left with my dad and I stayed with mom and the new to us, Scott. I don't remember him being there for that, which was probably for the best. Right after that happened my mom, Scott and I moved to a large town about 45 minutes away called Durango. We got a little apartment and for the first time in my life I had my own room. They even put an old wooden box tv in it and I would stay up watching Bewitched, Gilligan's Island, and I love Lucy on nick at night. I think my mom was surprised I enjoyed those old shows. Right around then I think TCM had just become a thing so my mom would have me watch the classics with her. I remember watching Ginger Rogers and Fred Astair dancing and singing, Carey Grant and I myriad of elegant beautiful women (who I later have a bit of an obsession with.... Looking at you Grace Kelly and Rita Hayworth) co star in dramas and comedies. I was sick from school one day and they had a James Bond marathon playing so my mom stayed home from work and we 'Bonded' the whole day. She still tells me how clever she thought I was for coming up with that phrase. Gorgeous Hollywood movie starlets aside (which should have been the first indication I was absolutely not straight), I went through the 2nd grade being separated from my brother and sister. I don't remember ever talking to them or seeing my dad at all that whole year. But my mom was happier than I had seen her pretty much ever and Scott treated me like his own daughter. He would take me out to dinners just us, and plan special days for us to go hiking or fishing or just palling around town. It was so different from my dad who never paid any special attention to me, or at least not in a way that I wasn't on the verge of an anxiety attack waiting for him to grill me about something then berate me.

It was also at this point that I got my dog. We had always grown up with dogs, but I came home one day to a surprise from my mom. A Rottweiler puppy. We named him Adtakis Finch after 'To Kill a Mockingbird' and he was my whole world. He was my 7 year old responsibility and I was dedicated. I took him for walks and fed him and bathed him, and tried my best to train him (though I may have had some help with that one). And for the first three or so years of having him, he was a menace, but he eventually mellowed out and was my protector and best friend.

So we were a happy little family, my mom, my nice step dad and the best dog a kid could ask for. Except for my missing siblings of course. As much as we fought and everything we were going through, I missed them. This is another part that gets fuzzy. I remember finishing 2nd grade and eventually all us kids and my mom and Scott moved to Texas before 3rd grade started but I can't remember how my brother and sister came back to be with us. The only thing I vaguely remember is driving back alone with my dad (presumably after visiting for the summer?) to a public place to drop me off back to my mom. She never wanted him to know where we lived so it was always like a public park or grocery store parking lot. I remember him asking me a lot of questions about what she was doing and what she was telling me about him and asking questions about Scott. Nothing I responded with was to his liking and I remember him getting really worked up and taking it out on me. It got to the point I was so scared and helpless in the car that I really felt if we continued on like this he was going to hurt me, badly. Maybe even kill me. Luckily it was a late night so I pretended to fall asleep to avoid any more conversation to set him off. I don't know why I was alone with him or where my siblings were, but he dropped me off and reunited with my brother and sister we moved to texas that summer.

I've been meaning to catch up on this. A lot has happened since last I posted, but I'm ready to start to continue on. After kindergarten my dad decided to get out from under my grandpa's shadow and strike out on his own. All the way to Colorado. I guess he knew some people out there or found a job opportunity, not really sure. I don't really remember the move at all. We stayed in a few different places and that all kind of gets muddled up. I think we stayed at a friend's house first. I only remember that because his name was Kermit, like sesame street. I thought it was funny a person would have the same name as a frog puppet. I don't think we stayed with them long, but we moved to an rv park shortly after. The rv was small and my brother, sister, and myself shared a bed loft hanging above the kitchen table. It had a latch to close us in so we wouldn't fall out. I think my brother sometimes slept on the kitchen bench when my sister got too wiley. We didn't spend a lot of time in the rv, but instead played outside a lot and tried to catch crawdads in the pond that was on the lot. We actually got pretty good at it, but never had a use for them so let them go. I remember liking that a lot. My mom got a job at a local sea food restaurant and started putting down roots and making friends. I don't remember what my dad did. Odd mechanic or hauling jobs probably. But before long we rented a house and I started the first grade. I remember liking school a lot. I made a new friend, Crystal, who's mom worked with my mom too. We'd have sleep overs from time to time and I was starting to adjust to living in a big town. I mean going from a 400 person village far from anything, to a town that had 2 whole stop lights and a movie theater was big time. It was probably just under 2000 people. But we didn't have to drive an hour just to go grocery shopping, so that was pretty sweet. Most of those memories are touch and go, because by the time I finished first grade everything would change again. My mom finally decided to stand up for herself and us and divorce my dad. I don't know what the final straw was but It wasn't pretty. I can't remember if it was two separate occasions or it all happened the same time, but I remember them having a huge fight and my little sister was so distraught and scared and wanted him to stop that she ran into their room to try and plead with him.  My dad picked up my 3 year old little sister and threw her against my mom. She broke her arm trying to catch her so that she wouldn't get hurt. She had to wear a cast for a while because of it. Shortly after I remember standing outside my mom's friend's apartment and my dad asking all us kids to decide who we wanted to live with. My sister, who had always been a daddy's girl chose to go with him. My brother, who was scared for her wellbeing went with my dad as well so he could look after her. He was 7. I didn't want to leave my siblings, but I was so terrified of my dad that I chose to live with my mom. I think he's always hated me for that. I'm sure he said some choice words to me, but I can't remember much else other than being scared he was going to do something to me for not picking him. Before my dad made a bunch of young kids decide something they had no business deciding there were court proceedings about the divorce. They were separated at some point and we'd switch who we stayed with every other week or so. I remember my dad asking questions about what mom was doing and asking loaded questions like if we liked it more with him then her. It was exhausting trying to figure out what the right response was supposed to be. If we said we liked it better with mom he'd get upset and tell us how ungrateful we were and how she just lies to us about him so that we'd hate him and how bad we were to hate our own dad. If we said we liked it with him better, he'd say we were lying and just saying what we think he wanted to hear. It was impossible. The psychological war he waged on us as kids still messes me up. Because my memory is shoddy and everyone was caught up in

their own version of the truth,

There's still a lot of things that I can't confirm did or didn't happen. Which only frustrates me more. I don't feel like I can trust my own instincts or memories. I don't really have gut instincts now, and it's a hard thing to re learn. My memory is also mostly just jumbled pieces and it's hard to remember things that happened later in life too, and when I try to it's hard to trust that what I remember is accurate or true. Even when it's not been wrapped up in trauma. But I can read people really well so it's a bit easier to navigate away from potentially harmful situations. Working through this part is a bit frustrating. It's like I have these puzzle pieces and some fit together, but others seem to be part of a completely different puzzle. It's hard to trust any of it even happening like I think I remember. And the timeline seems to jump around too. Why do I remember staying in an apartment if we had a house? I don't remember my dad not being around before the divorce, but then why do I remember having to visit him somewhere else? I know he and my siblings left back to California after he made us choose who to live with, but why did we move away again if he was gone. I'm going to take a little break and try and work through it some more.

The Beginning part 2

As I said earlier, there’s not a whole lot of my early childhood I remember, so in order to understand why you need to understand my family dynamic and most of all need to understand who my father is.

(TW and CW ahead for domestic violence, child abuse and bodily harm)

My mother married my father when she was 18 because her mother fell ill and didn’t think she was going to make it. She wanted to make sure my mother was taken care of so pressured her into marrying her high school boyfriend. My grandmother never ended up dying, and she’s still kicking to this day, but the deed was done and my mom had her first child shortly after. 

My brother was the first male grandson for my father’s side of the family. Coming from a traditional Italian Roman Catholic family this was a huge deal. He was like the second coming. He would continue the bloodline, the family name was secured and he would take over the family trade after my father and his father before him. The family trade being cattle ranching, more on that later. Then I came along 18 months later. From what I was told my brother could not be more upset. He wasn’t getting the attention he was used to anymore, and I was (by everyone’s account) not a great baby. Constantly sick, screaming and never sleeping. He once asked my parents to take me back where ever they got me, but who could blame him really, I was a terror to the whole family.I eventually got older and traded the screaming for shy silence, still sick a lot (probably mostly stemming from the kidney issues in the previous post) but I was quiet now. Three years after me came my sister who ended up being the exact opposite. My brother and I found our groove together eventually but this other girl threw a wrench in our system and I treated her much like my brother treated me at first. We both had a history of pushing each other off things (this is late 80′s early 90′s so not a whole like of child protected anything going on there) but we all came out relatively unscathed. At least from each other. 

Mark, (not my brother’s real name) and I had a past time of playing Nintendo together. He usually kicked my ass at everything as he was a little older and better coordinated; but I remember competing to see who could get to the highest level in Mario, him beating me in every game of Tecmo bowl (which I still refuse to play to this day because of it) and some other ones. I also remember sitting on my dad’s back when he would take over and play himself and I would just sit and watch him. I remember he would come home from work and would take a nap on the couch and I would sit behind his legs and watch TV with my brother and sister.

My mom was always around the house as my dad preferred she didn’t have a job. After all, who would watch the kids and make dinner and clean the house if she was at work? So I never liked leaving her side if we ever had to go anywhere. The only person who could hold me without my immediately starting to cry was her and my grandma. So I was a stage 5 leg clinger from an early age. Since we didn’t have anyone around other than family, going anywhere with any sort of crowd made me nervous. I’d rather stay home and play outside than go into town to run errands.My siblings and I played a lot outside, my mother insisted on it. We we’re allowed to even come in the house most of the time because she didn’t want us watching TV or spend all our time playing video games. So we ran around like crazy wild children on our property.

Growing up on acres of land with no one else around definitely gets the creative side going in kids, at least it did in us. There wasn’t a whole lot around so we made up games to play with each other. There was this hill behind our house that we used to jump down and climb back up for hours. In the winter since we didn’t have central heating or air (I know right), we had a wood burning stove instead. So my dad would go out and cut wood and bring it home and that was our source of heat when it was cold. We’ll all those coals and ashes needed to be cleaned out of the stove every so often and dad would throw the old ashes off to the side of the yard. One day when we were playing out back I fell down the hill in the backyard like I had done so many times before, but this time there was an added element, hot burning coals. 

Now maybe my dad thought they were out or maybe he just didn’t care (because who throws themselves into a pile of ashes), but needless to say, I threw myself into a pile of hot ashes. One bloody scream and a trip to the hospital (mind you was at least an hour and a half away) I had burned my arm from my wrist to my elbow to the third degree. The doctor told my my mom they removed most of the burned skin and wrapped in some kind of burn aid that needed to be on for a few days and to come back in a week but to expect a high amount of scarring and tissue damage. Dunno how it happened but when I came back for my follow up appointment and they removed my bandages it was like nothing even happened. They honestly couldn’t explain what happened. They took pictures to document and everything because there should have at least been some scarring. My arm was perfectly healed. Not sure how I got away with that, but I’m grateful.

Back to the story at hand though. So stay at home mom, with three young children and a dad who I guess at the time was starting to get irritated with his lot in life, and his wife, abuse the verbal and physical abuse started shortly after that. My dad isn’t the best of guys on a normal day and knows exactly what to say to tear you down when he’s sober, so when he was drunk (which was more often then not) he’d just get mean and violent. Anything we did to piss him off would mean being yelled at an belittled. He used to call my brother all sorts of names and tell him he was stupid. He would do the same to my mom in front of us and my brother after he got a little older (maybe 6 or 7) would try and stop him. This of course only enraged my dad and couldn’t let a little kid stand up to him so he had to put him in his place. He used his hands mostly, but if belts and electrical cords were handy those were convenient to used too. Which of course would send my mom into bear mode trying to protect her kids and she would get the worst of it. Me being the tiny emaciated kid I was didn’t stand a chance. So i’d let him yell at me and berate me and say all kinds of horrible things because it was better than being hit. I still have a scar on the back of my head from when I caught the buckle on a belt. Living in constant fear and panic because I never knew what was going to rub him the wrong way on a day to day basis made me an extremely cautious kid. I spent a lot of my time figuring out the right things to say and do in order to avoid being punished. Mind you, this is all before the first grade. 

So that is were my journey with trauma started, this is where my brain started making neural connections in my flight or fight response to survive and be on alert at all times instead of appropriate times. This is where I started leaning on my mind and trying to out think a grown man to get the desired outcome of not being beaten instead of getting to be a kid. It’s also where I started forming the distinct mindset of survival at all costs. I didn’t know until recently that my childhood trauma was the basis for most of my mental illness today (figured people grew out of that and now that I am no longer in those situations that It didn’t effect me anymore). I also didn’t know that living in that state for years and years and years actually mapped my brain for fear and anxiety to be the baseline for how my brain and body worked. 

All that is to say, that is one of the reasons I am doing this. To help get my thoughts straight, to confront my memories on my own terms and to work through them with techniques taught to me by my therapist in a safe environment that I can control. It’s not reliving my trauma but identifying what happened to me and learning to accept and let go. 

That’s enough for now, but I’m feeling pretty good about this so far. I’m not as freaked out as I thought I would be airing out things so far, maybe it’s because it was the oldest abuse and I’m far removed from it, or maybe that part of it was so normalized that It doesn’t hit me too hard to talk about it. At any rate, i’ll be ending it here tonight.

Where to Start

I think the best way to do this is to try and start with my earliest memories. Or what I can dig up anyway. I don’t really have a very good recollection of the first ten years of my life (reasons I’m sure will come up sooner than later) so it’s choppy at best. Bare with my ability to put my life into an accurate timeline. Some of this will be bookmarked by stories I’ve heard told back to me, some I don’t remember at all, so I have to take some of it at their word.

Either way, here goes nothing

I spent the first few years of my life in a small town outside San Diego. When I say small, I’m talking around 400 people. My grandfather owned and ran a dairy ranch in the mountains that was a family business. The main ranch had a few buildings including a duplex house that we shared with my aunt and her family. The only thing I really remember from living in that house was being sick and throwing up in the hallway. At some point we moved across the highway (literally) to another small house that was a part of the property. I remember going to kindergarten and catching the bus. Once I tripped and skinned my knee and ran back to the house and the bus driver waited for my mom to clean me up and send me back out. I also remember playing tee ball, I remember my kindergarten teacher and how nice she was, making those paper plate masks and being best friends with a girl named Jessica. From what my mom tells me we had a crush on the same boy named Cody and she used to tease me lightly about it. She would sing ‘Going to the Chapel’ and replace the words to add Cody and myself and I would get embarrassed and mad, I guess it was cute because I think she did it a lot.

I was a pretty introverted kid so any sort of attention would immediately embarrass me and I remember feeling uncomfortable in a lot of situations. My older brother was outgoing and he could make friends easily, though I don’t ever remember anyone coming over to the house.....ever. It could have happened but I can’t recall anything. 

At some point during those first few years I was diagnosed with severe vesicoureteral reflux. Cliff notes version (content warning ahead for weird body stuff I guess), my ureters  didn’t work right and I was going to die if I didn’t get surgery. I remember the few procedures while doctors were diagnosing me. Shoving a tube up my urethra to fill my bladder up with some kind of liquid to run a test to see how my ureters held up (not well). They told me to hold my pee as long as I could then let them know when I couldn't anymore. I was scared of telling anyone I really had to go, and holding it for way longer than I should have. To the point of pain. I was terrified of adults, and being half naked with tubes shoved up me while a staff of people waited for me to pee was horrible. My mom not allowed to be in the room with me. If my dad ever came to a single appointment I don’t  remember it. When it came time for the surgery I spoke to the anesthesiologist and was able to pick what flavor of gas they would use to put me under. I chose bubblegum, it was not a great choice. They told me to count down and I disregarded that entirely to try and fight falling asleep. I think I told them that too, but that may not be accurate.

 I woke in the hospital bed with even more tubes coming out of me. My arms, my face, but mostly my lower abdomen. I recall seeing tubes filled with red and purple fluid, red and orange fluid like lava, and several others. I remember they had a  Super Nintendo and being stoked because it was new and we only had a regular old Nintendo. I was so excited to get my chance to play Super Mario World only to get the controller and realize I was too weak to push the buttons. I couldn’t understand why my body didn’t work they way it used to. I spent the next few days to a week in the hospital recovering. The first time I tried to walk I didn’t get far, my legs were too weak to carry me and I had to do some minor physical therapy to learn to walk again. There wasn’t much of me to begin with so I guess the atrophy didn’t take too long. I don’t really recall eating too much. 

They did have an awesome Rube Golderberg machine that I think I cold watch forever. I picked it apart and seeing how each piece connected to the other to create this momentum to keep these billiard balls moving from each story. The thing was massive. I also remember an uncle coming by (not sure which one) and gave me a stuffed lion, which (don’t judge) I still have today. I named him Samson because he was strong and that’s what I needed to be. I eventually went home at some point but had some weird scars left over that I became self conscious about (more on that at some point). 

I haven’t really had any issues since then, but from what I was told the surgery was experimental at the time and could fail at any point in my life. So I try to make it a habit to not hold it in if I can. But since this is already starting to get long, that may as well be a good a place as any to put a pin it it. 

Not sure I’ll be tagging any of this with anything other than trigger/content warnings, but we’ll see how it goes.

In the Begining

So I’ve decided as a sort of catharsis and way to organize my thoughts, to write out what I remember of my life. I am in no way any sort of writer so I apologize in advance for poor grammar or structure. 

Know that in no way am I doing this for anyone but myself, but I also know sharing stories about (mostly) overcoming hardship and trauma can help people going through similar issues. 

That being said, some of this will be rough. Especially in the earlier years. I’ve come a long way since then, but it’s important for me to acknowledge certain things that I have been burying and avoiding for a long time. This is something that was suggested to me by my therapist and I think I’m in a place now I can handle facing my past and I think It’ll help me put certain events in perspective.

Also know that this is all coming from my personal viewpoint and knowing that memories are not always accurate, the main points still stand. This is also a way for me to self check and look back to see how my memory stands in light of new information that seems to be coming out.

For those of you actually reading this, know that I am ok. Thoughts are appreciated, but I’m not looking for sympathy or attention. This is more or less just me working my past out.

Trigger warnings ahead for just about everything. Also, I intend for this be relatively anonymous. I know that people I know will find their way here and I just ask my family be left out if you know them. That is something I am working out with them, or deciding what to do with certain pieces of information so I would appreciate no one trying to insert themselves in this.

Here goes nothing.