If you are new to this blog, you may want to read the posts “In a Nutshell” or go to July 2012 and read “Sending out a Letter.” My daughter Emma Katherine Roey lied about a friend being raped and attempting suicide, claimed to have been molested by a priest, and then, just as her attorneys were about to file a law suit, Emma accused her mother (me) of physically abusing her and later of poisoning her with DDT. Emma claimed to have a toxicology report to confirm that her mother (me, again!) poisoned her, but would never turn over this report to my attorney. If you read through the blog, you will find many other examples of Emma’s lying. At one point, she even complained about the way her dad touched her and that he called her a “bitch” and a “slut” everyday. (I refused to listen to her when she talked about her dad like that.) As long as Emma continues with the lies, I will tell her story. Love and thanks to all of you who read and have written to me. If you have any questions or comments, please contact me at: losingemma@gmail.com Please continue to share the blog with others.

Emma painted her face while helping with a 12Stone Church project where people went out to do things in the community.  Some of our friends from Bible study belonged to this church, and Emma wanted to go.  She ended up making balloon animals and doing face painting.

Hi Emma,

I realize your 1st anniversary is coming up, and I’ll write a little about that later.  I just wanted to mention that I got an e-mail that you might want to read.  Let me know, and I will forward it do you.  I’m certainly not going to contact you without your permission.  After all, we don’t want you to have to go to the trouble of taking out a restraining order against your mother.  Anyway, I’m not going to post it here and embarrass the person who sent it.

I got a little chuckle when I was at WalMart the other day.  Look what I found:

Not what I was looking for, but this caught my eye and reminded me of when you kicked your bathroom cabinet “accidentally” and you SCREAMED and Daddy and I came running.  I checked you over and said that if your toe was broken, a doctor wouldn’t do anything about it anyway, and since you could move your foot, and it wasn’t swollen, I wasn’t worried.  Then  two nights later you got Dr. Genie Burnett (Manna Treatment and Counseling, Lawrenceville, Ga) to call the police because she was so worried that you were in danger from your evil mother!  The police came, and when they spoke you you alone, you told them how your mother had abused you and you showed them your “broken toes” which were all pink from the cherry popsicle sticks you used to secure your toes.  (We always had a house full of Popsicles due to you frequent vomiting.)

I won’t retell the whole story here because I’ve already done that, but I saw these in Walmart and they did give me a chuckle, thinking about that incident.  I was thinking that when you want to accuse Tyler of abuse, here you go!  A product for securing your toes when your husband breaks them.  Oh, and by the way, you might want to use grape popsicle sticks instead of the cherry ones.  Having broken my toe a couple of years ago, it should look more like this:

and not be pink from the popsicle sticks.  Details, darling.  You want to get it right!

In all seriousness though, I would love it if when I publish the column about your vomiting issues, if you wanted to contribute.  I would love to have your side of the story as to what you think made you throw up all those years. (I know you claimed I poisoned you with DDT, but we all know that’s not true.  That was one of your lies that you didn’t really think through.)  If you are still studying to be a counselor, you may have some good insight as to what was going on in your head.

Also, I’m hoping one day you’ll be able to explain to us, why all the drama?  Daddy and I used to joke about how boring we were.  We loved you and we loved each other.  You had a pretty carefree childhood and got, within reason, pretty much whatever you wanted.  Why was that not enough?  Was it just too boring to be happy?  Why the need for all the drama?  Why all the need to be the victim?  (Volunteer, actually.)