After learning that my doctor in England doesn’t think he can search any longer for the mutation that has caused my disease, I went to all of my saved emails. I deleted every correspondence from the last 11 years with him. Hundreds of saved emails pondering, hoping, trying. Since, in 11 years I am no closer to an answer, I deleted them all. Chapter closed. Future of this muscle disease and finding out what is wrong with my daughter marked :unknown.
While there in my “Doctor emails” I discovered a few other emails that got saved in that file. One was from Mikell who I loved dearly. Later in life he sent me a poem that he had written for me dated march 1989. I met him in a mental hospital after trying to take my own life. I looked at that date and proceeded to stay up the rest of the night with my mouth hanging open.
I was only 16 years old. I turned 17 the next month. Putting together the time line of my life has been hard but as pieces keep fitting together and I see the full puzzle it brings up emotions that I have to come to terms with, accept, and move past. Right now, since last night, I am furious.
My social security records, that I found during the burning of my medical records, old photos, baby book, the past, etc, said that I went to my job in Indiana in 1989.
So let me get this straight…I tried to kill myself based on years of abuse that no one cared about and my parents allowed my brother to continue to be around this man. I was then put in a mental hospital where I met Mikell who I fell in love with and he wrote me a lovely poem. Then, my parents felt, it was ok to send me off to Indiana to waterski for the summer? They weren’t there. My “twin” brother was there. That was the year I was picked up at the airport by “The manager” which if you search my blog for that title you will learn all about him. Anyway, my parents felt it was in my best interest to send me to a mental hospital, then send me away to another state without them for a summer. What on earth?!!!! It is no wonder I quit school,, got my GED, went to live in my car in the parking lot of seaworld while my mother had her newest fuck buddy to keep her focus on. Not caring that while looking out my bedroom window was a child molester still free right across that lake.
I am constantly trying to grasp the magnitude of what happened to me in its entirety but I get fragments and put them together to see why I am struggling now. I am understanding myself more and more as I piece together the past. I blocked out so much due to dissociation and PTSD.
I was only 16 years old. I turned 17 and it was OK for me to be sent away to work? Oh my parents will tell you that I loved waterskiing and I was just living my dream.
Yes, this is when parenting comes into play. Be a fucking parent!!!!! Was it important for my brother to keep skiing with a child molester to live his dream. At 16? And me living a dream at 16 to ski in a professional ski show? Was that more important than stopping LIFE until they made sure their daughter felt safe,, protected, recovered? Be a fucking parent for fuck’s sake! My parents did not know how to be parents. As many parents do not and yet they find a way to help their daughter feel loved and feel like she mattered after tragedy struck.
I shake my head as I write this. Over and over again I shake my head.
My parents failed on so many levels. We are talking like parking garage levels 1-10 and they created a basement floor on the levels of bad parenting. Basement parenting. That is what they did.
The anger at my parents, I felt came from their leaving 3 years ago in the midst of my daughter’s illness, my muscle disease, at the truth of the extent of the abuse and my life and their inability to handle that truth. I thought I was angry at their inaction, their running away, their denial. I didn’t realize as a teenager their decisions and how bad they were. A 45 year old I can clearly see that they contributed to where I am right now and that makes me sick.
A pastor tried to help me, that was denied due to my father’s own secrets (so I was told).
My parents let my brother keep waterskiing with the man who had molested me for years.
My parents sent me to ski in another state with no supervision or protection at 16 years old RIGHT after getting out of mental hospital and attempted suicide.
No wonder they ran off as soon as I called them on their bullshit in my letter. They had to face what shit job they did as parents.
Out of the millions of options they had to help their daughter, they chose none. They chose 1. Ignore. 2. Not validate 3. Blame 4. Abandon 5. Deny 6. Tell no one that could have helped, lie to their friends 7. Turn away someone who could have helped me 8. Put me in situation after situation with adult men, unprotected. Just read my past blog posts over the years.
And I have wondered for most of my life why I could just not recover!
I put the blame on the abusers.
But my parents…they could have been present. They could have tried, and tried, and tried some more. Even now.. three years ago I guess I gave them an out. They got to choose a letter as a reason to end THEIR NEGLECT and shit parenting. But made sure they blamed me, accused me,, on the way out..
My “twin” just stopped talking to me. My older brother blamed me for purposely hurting our mother. That brother that my mother put up for adoption who she won’t even claim to others as her real son!!!! But I am the one who hurt my mother? No. my mother hurt herself.
At least I own up to my own shit. I know the level I am fucked up. I don’t pretend to anyone that I am ok. I can tell you that I stayed up all night long because my husband is gone. I have worries of him coming home with a thousand smells that will trigger PTSD. I know this will happen so it is a realistic anxiety. I sleep when he is here because I feel safe. When he is gone I don’t feel safe for my daughter or me. That vulnerability brings on and triggers PTSD all by itself.
I wonder fucking why!!!!
So will I blame my parents my whole life? Use them as a crutch to not get better and move forward? Oh hell yes I will blame them for the rest of my life. I despise their existence for what they have done. Will I let it stop me from moving forward, hell no!
I am just putting pieces together.
As the pieces fit I see who fit them together for the better part of my life and I was not the puzzle maker. My parents were, they tried to mold me into a copy of the perfect painting that they wanted. They are IDIOTS. Had they just seen they had the sweetest daughter! Had they just looked at me and really seen me…It’s so sad. I shake my head again.
So here I am reading this poem that Mikell wrote to me back in 1989. It said that we would be together no matter what because even death could not separate our love. Mikell died a few years ago of a heart attack while traveling in Asia but he and I had reconnected (friendship) right before that. The memory of why we didn’t stay together is a little shaded. I know my parents and “twin” didnt like him because he wore eyeliner and had a mohawk (I got your back Mikell as I mohawk my own hair in memory of you all the time now). I don’t know if they sent me off to ski in Indiana and that was why. Memories are still sketchy.
Many people try to do some sort of odd sympathy thing/comparison thing with my memory loss lately. After the 5 grandmal seizures, I remember 10 years and before much better than I can the last 2 years, yet I remember 20 years ago pretty well with the exception of the PTSD blackouts. Ugh. What a mess. So the latest comments are “ It is just your age. I forget things, names, lately too.” Another favorite “ I walk around looking for the phone when I’m on it, your memory cannot be worse than that!” Somehow sharing their own memory loss with age is supposed to make me feel more normal? NO it makes my memory loss feel minimized.
No shit age affects things, as I have walked around looking for a brush while the brush was in my hand many times. Comparisons just minimize though.
After the seizures, I will look at the toaster and not know how to toast my bread. I will pull up to the key pad at the gate and not realize why I cannot get to it because my window is rolled up and my brain does not compute to roll the window down.
My brain was scrambled in the grandmal seizures that put me in the hospital. My brain was royally fucked by constant trauma and PTSD and dissociation and black out periods. So while I am sorry that your age has set in some word recognition issues, you are not me and I would fucking LOVE people stopping trying to minimize my life in every area!!!!
If you lost your dog. I could say that I experienced loss of my dog as well. But do we feel the same? No clue. After my dog died I wished I were dead as I had lost my best friend and the last living thing that loved me unconditionally. If your mom died and mine just left could I say I understood loss? I could understand what loss feels like but I would have no idea how it felt to have a death of a mother that I adored. Just like a mother who has lost her child. I would not know how she felt. My daughter has been critically ill for 4 years now. If your child is sick with a cold, flu, broken leg, you have NO FUCKING CLUE how it feels to be me. If your child has a chronic illness then you probably know some of the emotions I am feeling. But do you have a helpless child and also sufferer from PTSD and a muscle disease with a husband gone?
Right…we all are going through our own shit. Everyone. This is not a comparison game especially with memory, illness,, and abuse. We have a “sense” if we have been raped what another rape victim may have felt but still have no idea what that person is going through.
I am processing the past, processing the present. Trying to find the best way possible to heal. I need love. I need empathy. Empathy is not sympathy or pity or comparing. Empathy is saying “I am so sorry you are hurting. Is there anything I can do.” And sometimes empathy is just presence.
Oh what I would not do for the presence of my dog right now. Or Mikell who seemed to at 16 know that laying my head in his lap and stroking my hair was. ENOUGH. Or Laura who held me in her arms while I cried even when she herself was dying of cancer. Each of us knew HOW to really love.
Oh what I would not do for someone to just say,” Bethany, I love you. I am here for you.” Instead it is “ bethany you are strong. You’ll be ok.” You know what. I am not strong. I am not ok. And I do not know if I will be ok. I do have persistence and fight in me..
I am sharing this entire very long story to shed light on my life a little more so that others can maybe learn, the importance of
2. Unconditional love
5. Not giving up on your children
6. Protecting your children
7. The long term affects of parents who chose to be narcissistic and keep secrets
8. The long term affects of PTSD and trauma
9. The importance of giving empathy
10. The wisdom of silence
11. The power in the truth
12. The healing in validation
13. The road to recovery needs support
14. Don’t give up on those you love
I have to end this blog post with two things. I could have easily made this 4 posts and who knows if anyone will read the entire things. I can hope they will.
I recently realized after seeing a baby onesie how early parents sexualize their children. Here are some of the onesies I found online just with a quick search.
For fuck’’s sake people.. let your children just be children!!!!!!!
For me. For every part of childhood lost, let your children be just children..
To end this on a good note…your child is worth fighting for. Fight for your children.. please..