My middle school and high school years were a blur. I was bullied in middle school, but by high school nearly all of the bullies were nice to me again. I dyed my hair odd colors, and acted like I was tough in high school, but that was just a persona I created in hopes that people would not be mean to me. For the most part, that worked. Except at home. My stepmother at the time was an alcoholic. Granted, both of my parents were huge alcoholics, but my stepmother was a MEAN drunk. She was always yelling at me for one reason or another, and my Dad wouldn't stand up for me because he didn't want to "rock the boat". They worked the night shift at the same place, and I recall one night in particular when she decided to wake me up at 2:00 in the morning (on a school night) to yell at me about the guy I was dating at the time.
I was sad in high school. My friends either moved away, or went to the alternative school nearby. I remember begging my Dad to let me go to that school. I felt so alone. Often, I would eat lunch alone, or I would find acquaintances to sit with. I just concentrated on my schoolwork, and tried my best in school. I did fairly well. I refused to go on my senior trip. I was not about to pay $100 to hang out with people that I really did not know all that well. I did not even want to go to my graduation. The only reason I did was because my mother really wanted me to go. So I got the cap and gown, only to get a call from my mom the week before stating that she would not be able to attend because her dogs were sick. At this time, she was married, and her husband could easily take care of the sick dogs. I told her that if she did not attend, she would never hear from me again. She had pulled so much crap on me in the past that I was hardly talking to her in the first place. So she came out and attended the ceremony. Here's a funny story: my class was standing out in the back of the school, getting ready to come in, and my sister and mother came up to me asking where they should go. They had bypassed going through the front door somehow... Even though the front door is pretty obvious! lol. As soon as that ceremony was done, I lingered out front of the school for a bit talking to my parents, and getting hugs from various people. Then I got the heck out of there! I got together with a few of my friends from Redmond and Woodinville and celebrated my own way. That was a great night!
I stayed with my Dad for a short period of time before I met a guy that I thought was "the one". I was 18, and he was the same age. I had met him on the internet (my first time meeting a guy through that technology). Oh he was a beautiful specimen, and oh so sweet. We moved in together in a one bedroom apartment far away from my home town. I was so in love. However, I had my own problems that were boiling inside of me. I had not reconciled with my past, and it was running my life. I was unhappy internally, and my emotions showed it. Bless his heart, he put up with me as long as he could, but he left me after nine months. Unfortunately, he left me on my birthday. That was kind of a hit to my heart. I gathered my friends around me to live with me in the apartment that I was left with. My ex had offered to pay half the rent until the lease came up, but I declined. My decisions after that were very poor, and a lot of things happened. However, I will save that for another time.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Starting Life Over
The time following life with my mother started out a whole lot better, and I was finally allowed to be a child during my sixth grade year. I had spent far too long raising myself and being more of a parent to myself than enjoying my childhood. (I was a crappy parent to myself too though, always telling myself how worthless I was). During sixth grade I spent a lot of time with friends, both new and old. The neighborhood that I lived in was surrounded with people with whom I was friends with. All in all it was a pretty dang good year aside from the times that my mother would call. She rarely called, but once called to say that she was going to have the police come and get me to take me back. I told her that if she did so, I would make her life a living hell. Also at this time, I found out that my mother was still getting child support from my Dad because she had told him that she would turn him in for kidnapping if he didn't still fork over money.
I was disgusted with her. However, I was glad that I was able to finally have a childhood - aside from the few times that she stepped into my life. I met several people who are still in my life to this day. I met Sara and the Mantle family, Mark and the Montgomery family, Kenny, and Nathan; who all lived near enough to me for me to be able to hang out with them. Of course my neighbors - Josie, Patti, and Alex - were always around to hang out and play. We all spent a lot of time at my house due to my Dad and stepmother working nights. I didn't mind that they weren't home when I got home. They still provided all of the necessities, and there was always plenty of love received on the weekends. I became vaguely aware of just how much of an alcoholic my stepmother was, but she had not yet shown her real face. Yep, that was a pretty good year.
This little spurt of happiness could not last long enough. Each year after that, things just got more and more confusing. A lot of this dealt with how insecure I was (and still am). When I was twelve, I wrote a poem that explained my deepest feelings after I had moved in with my Dad and had some semblance of happiness. I could not understand why I was always constantly unhappy in the back of my mind. This is what the poem said:
Memories are all too often unfair
In your brain, they claw like a bear
You remember only the bad times, though rare
And you give your mind no energy to spare
Stop living in the past, try for the now
So many horrible memories to plow
You wish you could, but the answer is "how"?
Someday though, "you will" you vow
You hate the memories that hold you back
You think that your future is cold and black
You hold these thoughts tight, your mind's like a sack
You pin them on your brain with a stiff jagged tack
They're the only thing you live for
These memories you'd even die for
Why don't you just let the past soar?
Just what in the hell are these memories for?
I never gave that poem a name, but it was always kept in a journal. I did not write many poems, but even at the young age of 12, I knew that I had a problem. I put on a happy face when I was around others, (and there were definitely times that I genuinely WAS happy), but I was always thinking in the back of my head that I was not wanted - that nobody really liked me, and I was just waiting for something to go wrong. I made a lot of mistakes in my life by letting these thoughts get to me. I hope that after writing all of these things out that I will be able to turn that around.
I was disgusted with her. However, I was glad that I was able to finally have a childhood - aside from the few times that she stepped into my life. I met several people who are still in my life to this day. I met Sara and the Mantle family, Mark and the Montgomery family, Kenny, and Nathan; who all lived near enough to me for me to be able to hang out with them. Of course my neighbors - Josie, Patti, and Alex - were always around to hang out and play. We all spent a lot of time at my house due to my Dad and stepmother working nights. I didn't mind that they weren't home when I got home. They still provided all of the necessities, and there was always plenty of love received on the weekends. I became vaguely aware of just how much of an alcoholic my stepmother was, but she had not yet shown her real face. Yep, that was a pretty good year.
This little spurt of happiness could not last long enough. Each year after that, things just got more and more confusing. A lot of this dealt with how insecure I was (and still am). When I was twelve, I wrote a poem that explained my deepest feelings after I had moved in with my Dad and had some semblance of happiness. I could not understand why I was always constantly unhappy in the back of my mind. This is what the poem said:
Memories are all too often unfair
In your brain, they claw like a bear
You remember only the bad times, though rare
And you give your mind no energy to spare
Stop living in the past, try for the now
So many horrible memories to plow
You wish you could, but the answer is "how"?
Someday though, "you will" you vow
You hate the memories that hold you back
You think that your future is cold and black
You hold these thoughts tight, your mind's like a sack
You pin them on your brain with a stiff jagged tack
They're the only thing you live for
These memories you'd even die for
Why don't you just let the past soar?
Just what in the hell are these memories for?
I never gave that poem a name, but it was always kept in a journal. I did not write many poems, but even at the young age of 12, I knew that I had a problem. I put on a happy face when I was around others, (and there were definitely times that I genuinely WAS happy), but I was always thinking in the back of my head that I was not wanted - that nobody really liked me, and I was just waiting for something to go wrong. I made a lot of mistakes in my life by letting these thoughts get to me. I hope that after writing all of these things out that I will be able to turn that around.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
A Child's Heartbreak... Continued
When I was younger, I truly looked up to both of my parents. However, I was given mixed signals from my mother. She would say "I love you" to me, but would continually tell me how fat and ugly I was. She would lie to me about my father not sending child support (I've seen the stamped by the bank checks, my father did pay). She'd make me think that my father did not love me, and... well... she would abandon spending time with her children for time with other men. My Dad was the only rock in my life. I would call him often just crying. He would send us care packages with food in it, send Christmas presents with my mother's name on them (because she spent all of her money in the bars), and he was also the only one to clothe my sister and I.
I felt lost a lot of the time. It got to the point where I wasn't doing my schoolwork (I was getting straight A's before), and the school had to step in. I knew this was not the way I wanted to go, and I decided that I wanted to do well in school. That was the only thing that gave me positive feedback. Well, not the only positive feedback... I want to thank my neighbors in Roberts, the DeVries' family, for making my life a little easier. They would do things like pay me to watch their animals for a day or so. When I was in a skit, and I wanted my poodle skirt that was $12 to buy after we did the skit, my mother said no, and so my neighbor bought it for me. That was so special to me that I still keep that poodle skirt to this day. There were also other neighbors earlier (when I lived in Red Lodge) that took pity on me. One friend of my mother's also treated me like a friend. She would let me spend the night at her house when my mother wasn't home. She would take me out exploring in the hills behind our house. So I did have people who took over the mother role from time to time for me. My friends Becky and Karla also made life easier at that time.
After my mother spent that time in jail, (she was arrested for being overly drunk in public, and spit on a police officer), my Grandfather paid for her bail, and we had to move. My sister remained in Montana living with friends while I was toted off to Sun Valley. That was when I was 10. The year in Sun Valley was filled with good and bad things. I made friends there, but not many. I got to see famous people. Honestly though, for the most part I was living alone. My mother would be there in the mornings, but she was generally in bed with some random guy. And here's the kicker - I had a tiny bedroom that was basically a closet in itself, yet had no closet - so I would have to go into my mother's room each morning to pick out my clothes for the day. It is always oh so special when you have to walk into a room with your mom and some dude lying naked in the bed while you are getting ready for school.
My best friends there were these two brothers who I spent a majority of my time with. They were great kids, and I will always remember them. We would roller blade together, go into town together to walk around, play ding-dong ditch... All of the things children sometimes do. I was an active kid, and I even had a little dog-walking business to make a little cash for myself. My mother was not around to see these things, and this was the year that she apparently vowed to make me "not fat". My step-grandmother and her were in cahoots. My step-grandmother told me she would buy me a whole new wardrobe if only I would just lose 20 pounds. My mom decided that I should ride the stationary bike for 20 minutes a day (as I said, she was never around, so she couldn't check on me to make sure I did it). I did this MAYBE twice. At the time, I was generally outside on my roller blades that my step-grandma lent to me, or on the scooter that my Dad bought for me.
The final straw came along that year around Easter. My mother promised that she would get eggs for us to color on her way home from work that day. Only she did not end up coming home until 2 A.M. the following morning. I cried and screamed and yelled at her in front of the new guy that she had brought home. I had had enough. Plans started forming in my head. I knew I was too young to choose which parent I wanted to live with, but I had to do SOMETHING... My mother knew something was going on, and tried to prevent me from going to my Dad's for the summer. Between my Dad and I, we immediately cut that short, and I was out there for my summer with the only parent who actually gave a crap. The plans that were forming in my head were shut out for that summer. I had fun with my neighbor friends back in Washington (thank you to Josie, Patti, and Alex - you always made summers fun). When the time came to go back to my mother's, both my sister and I did not want to do it. My sister was not going back to Montana, thus she would be living in that closet with me in the other bunkbed.
I begged my Dad not to take me back. He said that if he kept me, it would be illegal. However, he also said that if I spoke to my mother about it, that maybe I could go back with him after all. At this point, I was 11 years old. I remember going back to the condo. My mother wasn't even there to greet us. Guess what? She was at the bar. She left a note saying that she would be back later. Good mothering, huh? My Dad said that since I couldn't talk to her, that maybe we should try for next year. My sister was old enough, so she was going back with my Dad either way.
*On a side note, my father is not my sister's biological Dad. However, he paid child support for her, took care of her, and treated her just like he treated me.
I broke down sobbing. I could not stay another year with my mother. My Dad cried along with me (and he rarely cries), and he decided that we would leave a note for her saying to meet us down in the Elkhorn Lodge when she got home. The four of us (including my stepmother - that story is saved for later) went and had lunch... then dinner... It wasn't until after dark (keep in mind that this was summer, so it did not get dark until later) that my mother finally arrived - DRUNK. The memory of what happened next is kind of fuzzy to me, but I remember being there with my sister and telling my mother that we wanted to go and live with Dad. She started yelling and she pulled out her usual stab me in the heart phrase "You don't love me anymore". I was starting to feel like that was true. I had been hurt too many times by her, and I stood up to her. I told her that I was going back with my Dad. PERIOD.
The last thing I remember is her saying "F*** you" and watching her walk off into the night with her cowboy boots clicking against the pavement. I was free from her! I was going to go back with my Dad! I was proud of myself for sticking up for myself, yet I was heartbroken from hurting my mother. At that time, I still did have love for her... It's not like I don't care for her now, but that is all it is... caring. I don't love her anymore, and I know this, because on the rare occasions that I talk to her and she says "I love you", I have to take a deep breath and choke those words back to her. As a child though, my heart hurt to see her crying and so angry, but I knew it was the right thing to do.
I felt lost a lot of the time. It got to the point where I wasn't doing my schoolwork (I was getting straight A's before), and the school had to step in. I knew this was not the way I wanted to go, and I decided that I wanted to do well in school. That was the only thing that gave me positive feedback. Well, not the only positive feedback... I want to thank my neighbors in Roberts, the DeVries' family, for making my life a little easier. They would do things like pay me to watch their animals for a day or so. When I was in a skit, and I wanted my poodle skirt that was $12 to buy after we did the skit, my mother said no, and so my neighbor bought it for me. That was so special to me that I still keep that poodle skirt to this day. There were also other neighbors earlier (when I lived in Red Lodge) that took pity on me. One friend of my mother's also treated me like a friend. She would let me spend the night at her house when my mother wasn't home. She would take me out exploring in the hills behind our house. So I did have people who took over the mother role from time to time for me. My friends Becky and Karla also made life easier at that time.
After my mother spent that time in jail, (she was arrested for being overly drunk in public, and spit on a police officer), my Grandfather paid for her bail, and we had to move. My sister remained in Montana living with friends while I was toted off to Sun Valley. That was when I was 10. The year in Sun Valley was filled with good and bad things. I made friends there, but not many. I got to see famous people. Honestly though, for the most part I was living alone. My mother would be there in the mornings, but she was generally in bed with some random guy. And here's the kicker - I had a tiny bedroom that was basically a closet in itself, yet had no closet - so I would have to go into my mother's room each morning to pick out my clothes for the day. It is always oh so special when you have to walk into a room with your mom and some dude lying naked in the bed while you are getting ready for school.
My best friends there were these two brothers who I spent a majority of my time with. They were great kids, and I will always remember them. We would roller blade together, go into town together to walk around, play ding-dong ditch... All of the things children sometimes do. I was an active kid, and I even had a little dog-walking business to make a little cash for myself. My mother was not around to see these things, and this was the year that she apparently vowed to make me "not fat". My step-grandmother and her were in cahoots. My step-grandmother told me she would buy me a whole new wardrobe if only I would just lose 20 pounds. My mom decided that I should ride the stationary bike for 20 minutes a day (as I said, she was never around, so she couldn't check on me to make sure I did it). I did this MAYBE twice. At the time, I was generally outside on my roller blades that my step-grandma lent to me, or on the scooter that my Dad bought for me.
The final straw came along that year around Easter. My mother promised that she would get eggs for us to color on her way home from work that day. Only she did not end up coming home until 2 A.M. the following morning. I cried and screamed and yelled at her in front of the new guy that she had brought home. I had had enough. Plans started forming in my head. I knew I was too young to choose which parent I wanted to live with, but I had to do SOMETHING... My mother knew something was going on, and tried to prevent me from going to my Dad's for the summer. Between my Dad and I, we immediately cut that short, and I was out there for my summer with the only parent who actually gave a crap. The plans that were forming in my head were shut out for that summer. I had fun with my neighbor friends back in Washington (thank you to Josie, Patti, and Alex - you always made summers fun). When the time came to go back to my mother's, both my sister and I did not want to do it. My sister was not going back to Montana, thus she would be living in that closet with me in the other bunkbed.
I begged my Dad not to take me back. He said that if he kept me, it would be illegal. However, he also said that if I spoke to my mother about it, that maybe I could go back with him after all. At this point, I was 11 years old. I remember going back to the condo. My mother wasn't even there to greet us. Guess what? She was at the bar. She left a note saying that she would be back later. Good mothering, huh? My Dad said that since I couldn't talk to her, that maybe we should try for next year. My sister was old enough, so she was going back with my Dad either way.
*On a side note, my father is not my sister's biological Dad. However, he paid child support for her, took care of her, and treated her just like he treated me.
I broke down sobbing. I could not stay another year with my mother. My Dad cried along with me (and he rarely cries), and he decided that we would leave a note for her saying to meet us down in the Elkhorn Lodge when she got home. The four of us (including my stepmother - that story is saved for later) went and had lunch... then dinner... It wasn't until after dark (keep in mind that this was summer, so it did not get dark until later) that my mother finally arrived - DRUNK. The memory of what happened next is kind of fuzzy to me, but I remember being there with my sister and telling my mother that we wanted to go and live with Dad. She started yelling and she pulled out her usual stab me in the heart phrase "You don't love me anymore". I was starting to feel like that was true. I had been hurt too many times by her, and I stood up to her. I told her that I was going back with my Dad. PERIOD.
The last thing I remember is her saying "F*** you" and watching her walk off into the night with her cowboy boots clicking against the pavement. I was free from her! I was going to go back with my Dad! I was proud of myself for sticking up for myself, yet I was heartbroken from hurting my mother. At that time, I still did have love for her... It's not like I don't care for her now, but that is all it is... caring. I don't love her anymore, and I know this, because on the rare occasions that I talk to her and she says "I love you", I have to take a deep breath and choke those words back to her. As a child though, my heart hurt to see her crying and so angry, but I knew it was the right thing to do.
Friday, January 20, 2012
A Child's Heartbreak
Throughout this blog I will be talking about my past, my present, and what I hope for in the future. I think this will be a great way to get feelings out. Just to be up front, I have had problems with depression since I was about nine years old. My anxiety, however, started when I was seven. So a lot of this is going to be about things that have helped me through the rough times, and to try and also focus on the good times. There are times when I really dislike being me, and there are rare times when I truly enjoy being me.
I hope to help other people who have maybe had similar things happen to them, or for those people to maybe help me with their tips on getting through similar problems.
I was a happy-go-lucky child, as well as a quite outgoing little girl until I was five years old. That is when my Mom divorced my Dad and promptly hauled us from Washington State to Montana. The first man my mother dated was her divorce lawyer. She (my mother) was constantly jumping from man to man. There was a different man in the house all of the time. My mom would stay late nights at the bar, leaving me with my sister to watch me. That was great. My sister hated me, and never had a nice word to say to me when I was a child.
After my first summer with my Dad, I had gained weight. My Dad was a bigger man, and as soon as he drove us to meet up with our mother, all she had to say when she saw me was "What did you do?? She is so fat! Are you trying to make her look like you?" I was an energetic kid. It wasn't like I was pigging out at my father's. I was out playing all summer. The difference was that my Dad actually HAD food in the house. He actually bothered to COOK for us when he was home from work. There was even a time where we had to call my mother's friend to come and get us because my mom had not been home for three days, and we had no food to eat. I mean NOTHING. We stayed with her for two days. Five days of my mother being gone. It turned out that she was in jail. However, that was when I was eight, so I digress and will return to the subject at hand.
Needless to say, after my mother's comment, I felt as if she no longer liked me. It didn't help when she exclaimed "You look so much like your father" after going on and on about how much she hated him. I cannot completely blame it on her. She was mad at my Dad because he cheated on her, and the woman that he cheated with was now living with him. She also grew up in a dysfunctional family where her mom treated her kids similar to how my mother treated us. Apparently it did not occur to her to break the cycle. As I said before, she would spend many nights out, and it was rare if she spent time with us. When I once asked her "Why won't you spend time with me"? She replied with "Well, don't you want me to have fun"? It crushed me. My insecurities and anxieties started right around that time. After all, if my mother didn't love me enough to spend time with me, then who WOULD want to spend time with me?
I found friends at school, but I was constantly being moved around. The longest I stayed at one school in elementary school was when I was in Roberts. That was for two years. I made friends, some of which are still friends to this day. However, even while hanging out with my friends, there was always this nagging voice saying "they don't REALLY like you". Unfortunately, that voice has stayed with me to this very day.
This is just the beginning of my story. Today, I am a happily married woman with a wonderful husband. That bad nagging voice still says to me "he is going to leave you", although we have been together for over ten and a half years. I have gone to psychologists, psychiatrists, and doctors; I have also been put on several cocktails of miscellaneous drugs meant to make the emotional pain go away. None have worked, except for one: neurontin. It makes me feel like myself when I take it. I see the world in a happier way. But it only lasts for so long, and if I don't want to go without for a long period of time before my next refill, I have to space it out. I also still go to a psychologist, but it does not help all that much.
I hope to discuss various things with other people who may be going through the same things. Or just hear from people. I don't want this to be a "woe is me" story. I do not blame people for how I am. The experiences I have had in life have shaped who I am, but ultimately I am in charge of my happiness. I just want to share my experiences with others, and I hope to hear their experiences as well. I also hope to be able to get out some of this lingering sadness through blogging. Or at least I am giving it a good try.
I hope to help other people who have maybe had similar things happen to them, or for those people to maybe help me with their tips on getting through similar problems.
I was a happy-go-lucky child, as well as a quite outgoing little girl until I was five years old. That is when my Mom divorced my Dad and promptly hauled us from Washington State to Montana. The first man my mother dated was her divorce lawyer. She (my mother) was constantly jumping from man to man. There was a different man in the house all of the time. My mom would stay late nights at the bar, leaving me with my sister to watch me. That was great. My sister hated me, and never had a nice word to say to me when I was a child.
After my first summer with my Dad, I had gained weight. My Dad was a bigger man, and as soon as he drove us to meet up with our mother, all she had to say when she saw me was "What did you do?? She is so fat! Are you trying to make her look like you?" I was an energetic kid. It wasn't like I was pigging out at my father's. I was out playing all summer. The difference was that my Dad actually HAD food in the house. He actually bothered to COOK for us when he was home from work. There was even a time where we had to call my mother's friend to come and get us because my mom had not been home for three days, and we had no food to eat. I mean NOTHING. We stayed with her for two days. Five days of my mother being gone. It turned out that she was in jail. However, that was when I was eight, so I digress and will return to the subject at hand.
Needless to say, after my mother's comment, I felt as if she no longer liked me. It didn't help when she exclaimed "You look so much like your father" after going on and on about how much she hated him. I cannot completely blame it on her. She was mad at my Dad because he cheated on her, and the woman that he cheated with was now living with him. She also grew up in a dysfunctional family where her mom treated her kids similar to how my mother treated us. Apparently it did not occur to her to break the cycle. As I said before, she would spend many nights out, and it was rare if she spent time with us. When I once asked her "Why won't you spend time with me"? She replied with "Well, don't you want me to have fun"? It crushed me. My insecurities and anxieties started right around that time. After all, if my mother didn't love me enough to spend time with me, then who WOULD want to spend time with me?
I found friends at school, but I was constantly being moved around. The longest I stayed at one school in elementary school was when I was in Roberts. That was for two years. I made friends, some of which are still friends to this day. However, even while hanging out with my friends, there was always this nagging voice saying "they don't REALLY like you". Unfortunately, that voice has stayed with me to this very day.
This is just the beginning of my story. Today, I am a happily married woman with a wonderful husband. That bad nagging voice still says to me "he is going to leave you", although we have been together for over ten and a half years. I have gone to psychologists, psychiatrists, and doctors; I have also been put on several cocktails of miscellaneous drugs meant to make the emotional pain go away. None have worked, except for one: neurontin. It makes me feel like myself when I take it. I see the world in a happier way. But it only lasts for so long, and if I don't want to go without for a long period of time before my next refill, I have to space it out. I also still go to a psychologist, but it does not help all that much.
I hope to discuss various things with other people who may be going through the same things. Or just hear from people. I don't want this to be a "woe is me" story. I do not blame people for how I am. The experiences I have had in life have shaped who I am, but ultimately I am in charge of my happiness. I just want to share my experiences with others, and I hope to hear their experiences as well. I also hope to be able to get out some of this lingering sadness through blogging. Or at least I am giving it a good try.
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