It's like.. you can tell someone about it with words and the words go into the air and away from you but writing it in black and white is really playing on my fear of commitment.
As an infant, I would have multiple seizures and become very ill. This was puzzling to the pediatricians because it's not common for a baby of that age to become that sick, so I was basically a phenobarbital baby. I didn't talk much, and I hid from things. Having primary Raynaud's disease, light and sound always startled me but back then there was no way of telling that I had a compromised immune system. It makes sense in hindsight, but it left me very skittish.
The 'spare the rod' wasn't an issue in my house as a kid. We just beat the crap out of each other daily. I have so many floaters in my eyes from getting knocked clean out by my brother that wearing glasses is sort of futile. Hell, I can't even tell when my glasses are dirty. My parents also liked to get physical. My mother likes to slap, choke, pull hair, call names etc., but my father didn't really do all of that. He would let things brew and boil up to a point of explosion. If you were on the other end of that explosion, it didn't matter who you were. You were getting a man-beating. It was rare that this happened, but you never forget it. He was a commercial fisherman and also a drinker. When he went out, it was usually for about 2 weeks or longer, and when he came back he was pretty drunk from what I hear. I wouldn't know because my mother shipped me to my grandmother's house when that happened.
My grandpa taught me how to play cards. He was such a calm, gentle man that you couldn't help but feel at ease. However, my grandmother had earned herself the nickname "Little Hitler" from the town. That's where things went wrong. The sexual abuse started at 6, and lasted until 8. I told my mother and father, but they didn't believe me since it never happened with any of the other kids. I brought it up again in my teens when I entered therapy, and they flipped out and yelled at me. It wasn't until grandma was 95 and confessed to it herself that they believed me. By then, I was 32. She apologized, and I accepted. Nobody else has apologized for making me give her rides, make her coffee and pastries when she comes over, cater to her for the last 25 years. It's a hush-hush thing see, because she's 97 now (yes, she is still alive) and probably won't live long so just forget it type thing. She was a devout Catholic for all of those years as many second generation Sicilian woman were or are. For years as I became sick with my immune system, grandma was sort of convinced that I was possessed instead, because that makes more sense? Whatever. So, her and her sisters would put me on the table and pretty much drown me in a bowl of holy water and say a bunch of prayers in Italian that i didn't understand. I don't think it was until one day my mother went to drop me off there, and I threw up in the driveway from stress. She told me I could stay home that day, but I couldn't do that the next day because she had something to do.
I resented my mother so badly that we constantly fought. In fact, we fought viciously up until the day of my father's accident, and not a day more. When I was 32, my father fell into an empty pool that we were installing and broke his neck in 3 places. I found him in the foot of water, and ran to get a construction worker that was working on my apartment at the time to help me bring him out. We did cpr for a few minutes until I realized that air was not getting in. I knew that he as aspirated. I instructed the worker to push on his diaphram as firmly as he could. He did, and it all came out of his lungs. I had to scoop it out with my hands and take out his dentures so that it could come out. When I put his head to the side to allow it to spill to the side, I noticed that his neck was not right. I knew. We were both covered in blood and vomit when the emts came, his eyes were fixed and dilated. During that moment, I called my brother who is a doctor and lives in Nevada and told him to make travel arrangements. At that time, he was not responsive at all and was going into shock from hypothermia. He did regain consciousness a day later and was told what happened. He couldn't speak, or even breathe for himself and was told if he chose to live on the machines to blink once, and if not to blink twice. He blinked twice. I knew he wouldn't ever choose to live on machines beating his heart and breathing for him. I know I wouldn't want to. It was his decision which makes it easier somehow, I guess.
My Dad stopped drinking in the mid-eighties, got a regular job and became who we always knew he was. He was 66 when he died, which is the age my mother is at now. Even though my Dad stopped drinking, my mother sort of always treated him as if he were drinking. She was angry at him for leaving her with 3 kids alone so much, and I can empathize.. but I think some of that anger was guilt, too. Since his death, my mother and I have come together to get to know one another as adults. I didn't know her or understand her as a child or a teen, or even in my twenties for that matter. It took something like this to make us become trustworthy of one another. We are still working on it since we live together. I'm on permanent disability, and cannot afford to live on my own with my son, so instead the lower level of our family home was made into an apartment. It's very much a shared house in it's entirety, though. We have also come to an agreement that my grandma can't come over anymore, no matter how old she is. It's a start.
Wow. That's tiring. I could take a nap after thinking about all of that (coming from a person that can stay awake for 4-5 days in a row). I understand that people are animals. Animals aren't always smart, or right, or even healthy. All I can do now is accept that my fears were valid, and also accept that people can only do with what tools they are given. These women had no tools to give to me, so expecting some is not realistic. Outside sources have helped me gather enough to pass onto my son whom needs them sooo very badly. The cycle will not stop in the future.. it IS stopped as of yesterday as far as I'm concerned. I refuse to carry it anymore. My niece is 6 now.. I mean really. Mother stands in front of a moving train for child, it took a confession of a sociopath to tell an entire family of women not to send their lambs to the wolf.. but alas, do not give up. My niece is safe now. If I have to be the family jerk for that to happen, so be it. I'll tattoo it on my forehead with pride.
I haven't spoken to my brother in a few months. He is Mr. Right, and I am Ms. FU. at the moment. I do not trust him, however I like him a lot. He is funny and the life of the party, so easy to get along with.. until you really need him. Then he disappears for a few months and will not return any calls or texts, or even emails. He will occasionally "Like" something I post on Facebook which I do not understand why he bothers. He triggers me like no tomorrow. Like right now lol I can feel my blood pressure soaring writing about him. In his wedding speech, he called me "The other half of my soul, my sister Jen", but in the same week he called me a sociopath crappy mother who's kid doesn't love her, so I guess he is a bit confused. Perhaps more than I.
Okay, now I can take that nap. That's exhausting.
As an infant, I would have multiple seizures and become very ill. This was puzzling to the pediatricians because it's not common for a baby of that age to become that sick, so I was basically a phenobarbital baby. I didn't talk much, and I hid from things. Having primary Raynaud's disease, light and sound always startled me but back then there was no way of telling that I had a compromised immune system. It makes sense in hindsight, but it left me very skittish.
The 'spare the rod' wasn't an issue in my house as a kid. We just beat the crap out of each other daily. I have so many floaters in my eyes from getting knocked clean out by my brother that wearing glasses is sort of futile. Hell, I can't even tell when my glasses are dirty. My parents also liked to get physical. My mother likes to slap, choke, pull hair, call names etc., but my father didn't really do all of that. He would let things brew and boil up to a point of explosion. If you were on the other end of that explosion, it didn't matter who you were. You were getting a man-beating. It was rare that this happened, but you never forget it. He was a commercial fisherman and also a drinker. When he went out, it was usually for about 2 weeks or longer, and when he came back he was pretty drunk from what I hear. I wouldn't know because my mother shipped me to my grandmother's house when that happened.
My grandpa taught me how to play cards. He was such a calm, gentle man that you couldn't help but feel at ease. However, my grandmother had earned herself the nickname "Little Hitler" from the town. That's where things went wrong. The sexual abuse started at 6, and lasted until 8. I told my mother and father, but they didn't believe me since it never happened with any of the other kids. I brought it up again in my teens when I entered therapy, and they flipped out and yelled at me. It wasn't until grandma was 95 and confessed to it herself that they believed me. By then, I was 32. She apologized, and I accepted. Nobody else has apologized for making me give her rides, make her coffee and pastries when she comes over, cater to her for the last 25 years. It's a hush-hush thing see, because she's 97 now (yes, she is still alive) and probably won't live long so just forget it type thing. She was a devout Catholic for all of those years as many second generation Sicilian woman were or are. For years as I became sick with my immune system, grandma was sort of convinced that I was possessed instead, because that makes more sense? Whatever. So, her and her sisters would put me on the table and pretty much drown me in a bowl of holy water and say a bunch of prayers in Italian that i didn't understand. I don't think it was until one day my mother went to drop me off there, and I threw up in the driveway from stress. She told me I could stay home that day, but I couldn't do that the next day because she had something to do.
I resented my mother so badly that we constantly fought. In fact, we fought viciously up until the day of my father's accident, and not a day more. When I was 32, my father fell into an empty pool that we were installing and broke his neck in 3 places. I found him in the foot of water, and ran to get a construction worker that was working on my apartment at the time to help me bring him out. We did cpr for a few minutes until I realized that air was not getting in. I knew that he as aspirated. I instructed the worker to push on his diaphram as firmly as he could. He did, and it all came out of his lungs. I had to scoop it out with my hands and take out his dentures so that it could come out. When I put his head to the side to allow it to spill to the side, I noticed that his neck was not right. I knew. We were both covered in blood and vomit when the emts came, his eyes were fixed and dilated. During that moment, I called my brother who is a doctor and lives in Nevada and told him to make travel arrangements. At that time, he was not responsive at all and was going into shock from hypothermia. He did regain consciousness a day later and was told what happened. He couldn't speak, or even breathe for himself and was told if he chose to live on the machines to blink once, and if not to blink twice. He blinked twice. I knew he wouldn't ever choose to live on machines beating his heart and breathing for him. I know I wouldn't want to. It was his decision which makes it easier somehow, I guess.
My Dad stopped drinking in the mid-eighties, got a regular job and became who we always knew he was. He was 66 when he died, which is the age my mother is at now. Even though my Dad stopped drinking, my mother sort of always treated him as if he were drinking. She was angry at him for leaving her with 3 kids alone so much, and I can empathize.. but I think some of that anger was guilt, too. Since his death, my mother and I have come together to get to know one another as adults. I didn't know her or understand her as a child or a teen, or even in my twenties for that matter. It took something like this to make us become trustworthy of one another. We are still working on it since we live together. I'm on permanent disability, and cannot afford to live on my own with my son, so instead the lower level of our family home was made into an apartment. It's very much a shared house in it's entirety, though. We have also come to an agreement that my grandma can't come over anymore, no matter how old she is. It's a start.
Wow. That's tiring. I could take a nap after thinking about all of that (coming from a person that can stay awake for 4-5 days in a row). I understand that people are animals. Animals aren't always smart, or right, or even healthy. All I can do now is accept that my fears were valid, and also accept that people can only do with what tools they are given. These women had no tools to give to me, so expecting some is not realistic. Outside sources have helped me gather enough to pass onto my son whom needs them sooo very badly. The cycle will not stop in the future.. it IS stopped as of yesterday as far as I'm concerned. I refuse to carry it anymore. My niece is 6 now.. I mean really. Mother stands in front of a moving train for child, it took a confession of a sociopath to tell an entire family of women not to send their lambs to the wolf.. but alas, do not give up. My niece is safe now. If I have to be the family jerk for that to happen, so be it. I'll tattoo it on my forehead with pride.
I haven't spoken to my brother in a few months. He is Mr. Right, and I am Ms. FU. at the moment. I do not trust him, however I like him a lot. He is funny and the life of the party, so easy to get along with.. until you really need him. Then he disappears for a few months and will not return any calls or texts, or even emails. He will occasionally "Like" something I post on Facebook which I do not understand why he bothers. He triggers me like no tomorrow. Like right now lol I can feel my blood pressure soaring writing about him. In his wedding speech, he called me "The other half of my soul, my sister Jen", but in the same week he called me a sociopath crappy mother who's kid doesn't love her, so I guess he is a bit confused. Perhaps more than I.
Okay, now I can take that nap. That's exhausting.
