Just to get this out...
I know this sounds stupid but probably no one's reading this anyway so, like I said, this is just to get this crap out. It's now been about 8 months since I told my dad what happened to me as a kid. What happened, EXCEPT for the fact that my mom already knew and has known since I was about 12. She "left it up to me" to tell my dad. She told me he might not believe me. Wrong or right, what I heard as a child was not let's do something about this, but rather, "He WON'T believe you". If you tell your dad he might kill him (and go to prison). If dad goes to prison, ?????, mom doesn't work. We'd all go to foster care. It would be my fault. We would all (my mom and my 2 brothers)be split up. I chose not to tell. I held it for my whole life. In January I turned 44.
As I reflect, I'm thinking about all the serious episodes of depression I went through. They started as an early teenager and have weaned and waned my whole life. I usually hid them from most everyone in my family. dad. When I was about 15 I tried to kill myself by not taking my insulin. (I had been a juvenile diabetic since the age of 10). I remember the fits of anger that I used to have and got in trouble for. I remember being a small child and being TERRIFIED to go to sleep at night. At first I used to climb into the back of my closet and rock, and bang my head eventually on the wall. My parents would hear that and wake up and put me to bed. Where I would then wait for them to leave and I'd sit in the middle of my bed and rock. I was sleep deprived my whole childhood. When I was a little older, but like toddler size, I used to sneak into their room at night and bring my blanket and pillow and try to sleep at the foot of their bed. They started to yell at me and punish me for it. I kept doing it even though I got yelled and and spanked. I didn't care, anything was better than the nightmares or worrying that he might get me at night. Finally they moved my bedroom next to theirs in the house. I still stayed awake all night. I had to have the hall light on and the door shut almost all the way so I could see him in the shadows if he came to my door. Then the nightmares and fear, or more like terror, got worse. I would crawl into the bathroom and turn on the light, lock the door and either sleep in the floor or the bathtub. Sounds silly right? But the tub had a set of shower doors. If someone got through the first door, I could hear them if they tried to find me in the tub because the shower doors ALWAYS made noise. Thus my life with sleep issues was born. I never let go of that fear though. I was always scared.
When I was about thirteen I was cleaning the bathroom as 1 of my chores and I remember the anger in me rising. I had no idea why, but I was LIVID. I went into my room and destroyed it. I ripped all the posters down, cried, screamed and just threw every cassette tape as hard as I could against the wall. My mom ignored it and let me rage. Maybe she understood why or was afraid to ask why, I don't know. I broke the window in my room. I was terrified I was gonna get it! My older brother fixed it for me a couple of days later in secret. That day, I realized why I was so mad. It was the smell of Pine Sol. It was the first trigger I ever really figured out. It reminded me of the abuse. Shortly after that , I started drinking a lot. I had already experimented with alcohol. The first time I got drunk I was 13.
I became depressed, cried all the time (my parents laughed because I was so sensitive that I "would cry if someone looked at me funny"), and I began to withdraw. I hid out. If I went outside, I hid back on the backside of the five acres I grew up on. I used to fight with my brothers, but I did have some good times with them too. That was the only happiness I felt. To be honest, I probably wouldn't have gone outside except my mom used to throw all us kids outside to have her alone time. I used to lay in my bed and cry when I was inside. I remember feeling so alone. Like no one loved me. I failed at school and got made fun of and picked on. I was shy, chubby, ugly, scared and cried at the drop of a hat. That's just begging for bullying in school.
When I was 20 I moved out and rented a loft from my brother and his new wife. I used to have a friend who bought me alcohol. I got drunk all the time. I had heard you could get "alcohol poisoning" and it could kill you. I drank most of a fifth of tequila one night to kill my self. GOD was looking out for me because I didn't die, but I was sick as heck from the tequila. And I mean for days I was sick. I quit drinking so much. But I was still depressed. I struggled and struggled until one day I KNEW no one loved me, i was garbage, a slut, scum, fat, ugly, nasty, damaged in more than one way and now suicidal. I wanted nothing more than to doe that night. I had bought a gun a couple of months before. I took the gun, I drove to a nearby lake and parked. I sat in my car for hours and cried and prayed. I didn't pray for GOD to help me get through this. I prayed for the courage to do it. I never got the courage. I had the gun right there several times. But all I could think about was how my mom and dad might deal with it. My mom had had agoraphobia when I was growing up and wouldn't even leave the house. So I knew that she was "fragile". I was afraid of pushing her over the edge.
So at 21 I had a very close friend die. He was my best friend in the whole world. We were constantly together since we were kids. I almost fell apart then. I moved back home with my mom and dad. I was miserable. They were fighting all the time, I was extremely depressed and now had absolutely NO ONE I thought. Then out of the blue I met this wonderful man. We dated for a few months and I was in love. I told him about what happened. This was the first date I had ever let get in my head. Otherwise, they could have any other part of me they wanted. I remember telling him very explicitly one night, "You don't want me. I really f&@%$@ up. I told him briefly what had happened. Not all the gory details but the truth. I told him, so now you have permission to walk away. I'm damaged goods." He looked at me and for the first time EVER in my life someone said, "I'm sorry that happened to you. And I'm not going anywhere." We've been married 21 years now.
Right after we got married, I was having night terrors all the time. I was working shift work and found a new love. Night shift work. I loved working at night cause then I could confront all those bad things at night that might catch me in the dark while I was asleep. I started seeing a counselor. Which is funny because I had started seeing my mom's therapist in high school. I used to drive there and pay for my own visits. I didn't trust the first on because she told me about a secret that my mom told her that I didn't know. I didn't tell her anything but what she wanted to hear after that. Eventually we stopped talking about that and talked about controlling my weight. Anyway, the new therapist was ok. I liked her. She used to cry sometimes when I told her some of the things I went through. I never told her everything. BUT, she made the night terrors go away. So after that happened I stopped going because we had a glitch with my insurance company and I stopped going so I could pay off her debt. My husband had gotten cancer and I was having a hard time paying her for 2 months. I got a loan and mailed her the balance. The day she received the payment she called me and said that she had sent me a letter a couple of days before and I should tear it up. It was pretty nasty and hurtful. Basically she told me I broke her trust and that she wouldn't ever want to have another client like me. She called me because the day she mailed it she got my payment in the mail. She apologized. I never told her my husband had cancer. I never went back. I was humiliated. Eventually the depression came back.
Depression has always been with me. For me it's like a jackets. Sometimes, I have a small one on, but it's there. then I have to get heavier ones and heavier ones until eventually I'm in full eskimo gear and am unable to move. But whenever it waned, it came back worse. Each time was more and more debilitating. I was a mess, I missed a lot of work, I almost quit my job, I almost lost my job, I was feeling more and more depressed every day. I was so desperate, I went back into therapy. It was getting worse. Therapy wasn't helping. I tried taking a whole bottle of sleeping pills from the drug store. Once again, I threw them up before they killed me. Now I understand people use them all the time to get high. Just like me to even mess that up. I'm a loser. I can't even do that right. I started going to church with my husband. Then we started to study the bible together. I eventually made the changes I needed to make at work and my husband was a rock. He is the 1 constant (other than GOD for me)in my life. But I still had that winter coat on all the time. Eventually a good family practitioner prescribed some anti depressants which worked so so, but kept me going.
Now through all my life, I have been very close with my mom. Even though I was her "difficult child to raise" as she told me many times. I called her daily almost. I went to family outtings but sometimes I had to work and couldn't be there. I always felt out of place anyway. Like they were my family, but they didn't know the real me. I felt what they did know about me they didn't like. So I kept them at arms length.
In 2007 I had a very personal significant and VERY triggering event in my life. At this time I was not in therapy I was just trying to maintain with antidepressants. The event was too much. I became debilitated by depression. I could focus, I cried all the time, I screwed up so bad at work, if not for my longevity and previous good work, they would have fired me. I was falling out of everything in my life. I was also shutting everyone out and isolating. I even shut GOD out, or so I thought. I thought every day about how to kill myself. I kept going deeper and deeper in depression. My husband tried but he was helpless. I saw my practitioner and finally after seeing him for 10 years told him what had happened. Luckily, he "insisted" that I go see a therapist. Through some trial and error I found my current therapist who is actually my psychiatrist. After I started seeing him, he could see without me saying where I was. He knew what I was thinking every day. He made me talk about it. I told him the whole plan I had and that I was just trying to get the strength to get there. After all of these Doctors, other that the practitioner, no one had ever asked if I was thinking about suicide. This guy did. I broke down and lost it and told him how I wanted to die in the worst way. I was hospitalized for about 2 months. The last three weeks I don't really remember because I went through ECT. I was basically a vegetable for about 3 weeks, or so my husband tells me. Eventually after a couple of more months I was able to go back to work half time. Then finally full time. I've been continuing therapy since then, working and trudging along. I've had a few set backs, but nothing as bad as 2007. In Early February this year, I wrote my mom a letter. It was vicious. I was angry that I was put there and then back there after I told. I was angry no one fought for me. I was angry no one comforted me. I was angry no one cared enough to see I had been suffering my whole life. My mom was very hurt to say the least. "How dare I put her in the same catagory as some scum who wouldn't protect their child". We stopped talking. My abuse started when I was 11 months old. I remember all of it. I had some B@%^@$ therapist in the hospital tell me that I couldn't possibly remember that because children don't have cognitive memory before the age of 3. I REMEMBER!!! At 12 I told someone what was going on and essentially we made it a shameful secret for me to carry. Because it was a secret we couldn't make good enough excuses to keep me away from him. And because that was a secret, I never told her about the others. There were 3 family members and a high school teacher who hurt me. Like I said, In January I turned 44. 43 years was a pretty long time. I was agonizing because I wanted it out in the open. I talked to my brother and told him how I was suffering one day and told him about the other family members. He was extremely supportive. To this day I think my brother had as much to do as anyone who has saved my life. On of the first things he said when I told him that my grandpa had messed with me was , "I remember seeing him with his d$%^ out and you in his lap with your hand on it. He said I think I was about 3 or 4, but I remember it." He offered to go with me to tell my dad. Just knowing he would go is what I needed. I told him I'd go with my husband. So I went and told my dad.
My dad and I NEVER got along. He related to me by taking me fishing, teaching me to hunt, and playing baseball. Otherwise he related to me with criticism and anger. I had honestly thought all my life that he didn't really love me. I was just the kid in the way before he got his second son. I was definitely NOT a daddy's girl. The first time I remember him telling me he loved me was when I was hospitalized as a child at 10. I heard it again when I was 11 and then when I was 12. The next time I was an adult.
I was terrified. But I went and told him. I told him I wanted to kill myself and that's what ended me in the hospital and that's why I was so "difficult to raise". I told him that the perpetrator had told me he wouldn't believe me or he'd cut my tongue out or that he wouldn't love me. I believed it all. I still worry about that til this day. But at least now I've told him and it doesn't have to be a secret anymore. I WAS surprised when I told him that he said , "At least you don't have to go through this alone". I said, you mean because of (my husband)? He said no, you have your family. Me and your mom and brothers. he asked me why I didn't tell my mother. I simply said, "She had her own stuff to deal with". I still protected her instead of her protecting me.
So now we're here today. * months later. I've talked to her 7 times total in 8 months. I feel like she's punishing me. I needed her for years to talk to about this and she always refused or made it into something about her. Then she'd be off on a tangent instead of just listening. I had questions. I wanted answers. I was trying to figure out timelines and significant points in my life. I only have about 3 total memories between 8-10 years old. They lived in the same house with us then. I don't think I want to remember anything that might be in there. I'm just going to believe that it was just to stressful being in the same house to remember. Fathers day came and everyone got together for breakfast, I found out the day before. My nephews birthday there was a family barbque, I found out less that 24 hours in advance. My older bothers birthday dinner she held. Found out 2 weeks after the fact. Younger brother's birthday dinner, no invite.
So tonight she posts on Facebook. "Re-post If you love your sons with all your heart." Funny how big a part facebook has become in my life. Her last post before today was in August and then last year. So in 3 posts in a year and a half, she loves her son and has some antidotes x2. Do we love our daughter? Apparently not. Am I being too sensitive? Yeah I guess so. Obviously I'm no where near where I need to be in therapy. But that 1 little thing sent me from being actually ok today, even laughing and joking to hating myself.
I hate myself for hurting my mother, because she's really a good woman who made several mistakes. Kids don't come with instructions. She had her own demons to deal with. But that still doesn't keep me from hurting like H%ll now. I have often wondered if my brother had told her that happened what she would have done. My older brother is her favorite. She's even told me she could relate more to him because he's the oldest. My other brother is the baby and has had some horrible marriages and needs her a lot more than me. So I hate myself for being jealous of their closeness. I hate myself because I don't want to go visit them. I love them they are my parents but when I think about them right now, I fall apart. I can't think about them and not become very emotional. I cry whenever I think if them. I can't even come close to controlling my emotions. I'm crying so hard now I can't see to type. I'm supposed to be able to see them for Christmas and I know I can't. I won't be able to hold it together. I can't do it now and I'm not around them. No one wants to see that at Christmas.
Please don't hate me for this being so long. I just needed to get this out. If for some unbelievable reason anyone has read this whole tirade....thanks.