Hurting...

Monday, May 9, 1994

"Actually the thought of having a big illness sounds kind of fun. Then I'd actually get attention for once.

Basically that's the only reason I do most of the stuff I do. I'm insecure and so when i do stupid things people get worried and then I know they care. Kinda stupid, huh?"

"Everything (everyone else's lives) sounds so wonderful. To not have to live up to so many expectations and not be so isolated from the world!"

My Mommy

Looking back, well before I met my alcoholic, I had just as many dysfunctional relationships with women as I did with men. None of them were ever really sexual but looking back on them, I don't understand them, even to this day.

When I was 13 there was a girl that was either a junior or a senior. I think a senior and I would call her and talk with her and hang out with her. What 17 year old girl hangs out with a 13 year old? But she did. Now she is one of my facebook friends. I looked up to her and sort of acted like she was an older sister.

Then there was a "best friend" of mine, also at the age of 13. Her and I had only one thing in common, horseback riding. She, once again, had a troubled home life and her and I spent A LOT of time together. Then, just as quickly as we became friends, suddenly we weren't any more.

Finally there was a girl who was a year ahead of me in school. This relationship, still to this day, baffles me. I called this girl my mommy. As I look back through my diary entries all I see is a scared, depressed 12, almost 13 year old girl.

"Well, got to go where the people who have no life or best friends go. The only comforting place, asleep!"

I was grounded once for being in a bad mood and I wrote frequently of being depressed. Right now, as I'm writing this, it depresses me. At 12 or 13 little kids should not be depressed. They should not be hurting like I was and what really gets me is I still don't know why. So, through all of this, I reached out to this girl, I think for nurturing or kindness. She, as is the story of my life, didn't have the greatest home life.

I'm not sure what my parents thought of this relationship, as reading about it today creeps me out a bit. I know that I had a horseback riding accident and my whole world kind of changed. I looked scary for awhile and my best friend sort of ditched me and so I just attached myself to that girl during the fall.

My diary is filled with I miss my Mommy, etc and the only thing I can guess is I was looking for acceptance and I was trying to get it from her. My mother was not very "loving" at the time. I'm not sure if I remember hearing her say I love you much throughout my childhood. That has changed a great deal since the Munchkin has been born and DH and I started having problems.

"Christmas is almost here! All I want for Christmas is a one way ticket out of this house. I hate it here. Mommy says I can move in with her [...] I don't care if they don't get to see their grand kids! They'd probably find something un-perfect about them too!"

30 pages of diary entries from 1993 to early 1994 filed with carvings in my arm and thoughts of going to sleep and never waking up.

No wonder I attached myself to someone who I thought would love me unconditionally. The real question to me is why? Why was I there? How did I get to that place?

Life Altering

Somewhere along the way I learned that it is was very important what people thought of me and that I needed to do what they wanted to get them to like me. I learned it early and I told it to f&^$ off just a few years later. That thing that I learned, it changed my whole life. I will never know for the better or the worse.

In 6th grade R & I were still "dating." Somehow my "friends" had convinced me that it wasn't official because even though by this point we were talking to each other we weren't holding hands or sitting with each other on the bus or doing "official" dating things.

Somehow I took these words to heart and I decided that I had to make him tell everyone that we were together. It backfired on me. My little plan to make him tell everyone. I don't remember exact details but I think there was a note and somehow through all of it he didn't like the attention, the being put on the spot, hell maybe it was all in my head that we were together in the first place but I'm pretty sure he checked no.

I don't have the note, but the memory of crying in my room for days is still there. I let my friends convince me that it wasn't real because they said it wasn't and then suddenly it was all gone. I tried grasping at straws to get it back but it was gone.

Some days, when I'm lonely, I wonder what he's up to. What would have happened if I wouldn't have believed my friends. Wouldn't have been so pushy and demanded and answer from him. Would it have still just fallen apart or would he be the man downstairs right now instead of DH.

First Kiss

I was in elementary school. I think 3rd grade. This boy R and I had been "going out" since Kindergarten. Which looking back now seems a bit odd since I'm not even sure we were in the same class in kindergarten and if we weren't how in the hell did we meet?

Either way, it was well known that we were an item even though we did not talk, or hold hands, or play together. We just were and that was enough. As an aside, are you seeing a pattern here? Dating guys but not really "dating" them. Apparently it started early for me.

So we are on the playground. I chase him down clear out by the far fence and he falls, or I tackle him. Who knows but somehow he is lying down and I lie on top of him and kiss him. Just a little peck. Another boy, K, who I end up dating in 6th grade by the way, is there. He immediately starts saying she KISSED HIM!!

I jump up!! No I didn't!! I didn't kiss him. I just fell!! R & I "dated" for three more years. This is the the only "physical" interaction we ever had.

Peter Rabbit

A few birds later after the opossum incident we stumbled upon Peter Rabbit. He was a baby rabbit that one of our cats had plucked from his nest. I remember going outside and hearing this thing scream. Until this point I didn't know that sound could come out of any animal, let alone one so small. Just as always, I promptly set out to find this poor creature and attempt to "save" it. I don't quite recall whether Peter was lying in the grass or if I had to wrestle a cat for him but somehow he made it into our house.

We had a large cat kennel that we deemed as a makeshift rabbit den. For several days we fed this bunny and he seemed to be doing all right. Then one day he decided he was strong enough to explore and he slipped through the bars of the kennel and out into our house. We're not sure if it was the fall from the kennel (it was sitting up on a TV tray) or whether our cat got him but somehow this poor little bunny damaged his equilibrium. From that point on he could no longer hop or sit up and with in a day or two Peter was no longer with us.

The Opossum

When I was about 6 I remember that my father shot an opossum in our back yard. When you live on a farm this is commonplace, and maybe it was because I was just raised that they were mean, but I didn't really grieve for the opossum. However, this was not just any opossum. This was a mother opossum, which had four or five little babies in her pouch.

I can remember seeing one of these babies scurrying around a large bush in our back yard. I had told my mother that I wanted to save it to which she promptly replied, "Don't you dare touch it, it might have rabies!"

For two days we would go out and just stand around on the sidelines and watch as this poor opossum slowly starved to death. Looking back it seems so awful, us standing around this poor creature taking his picture as we watched him die. I wanted so badly to do something for him but my mom was terrified that it would have some disease.

Somewhere in our house an old photo album still contains pictures of that opossum. It was from this point on that I decided that rabies or no rabies, after all, the chances that the mouse-sized opossum actually had rabies were petty slim; I would try to save anything I could.

The Shirt

I'm five. In a few short months I will be leaving the baby sitters house to go to kindergarten. I live in a different school district than her so I can not stay at her house any longer. As a going away present she is making me a shirt. Every kid gets one when they leave, a way to remember her.

We go to the fabric store. A trip with my mom to pick out the fabric for my "special shirt." I pick one, my mom asks me if I am sure. I tell her that I am. It is BRIGHT. Not just a little bright, but a lot of bright. Primary colors, horizontal stripes.

She makes the shirt. I don't know how many times I have worn it but I know that I still own it. After I got married I cleaned out my room at home and there it was. Obviously I will never fit into it again but I can't bare to part with it. Somewhere in a tote up in our attic sits my shirt.

This year my baby sitter passed away. She will never make another shirt for another little kid. I'm so glad I still have mine.

The mole..

I'm at the baby sitters. My mom comes, it is the middle of the morning. She doesn't ever come this early. She tells me that we are going to the doctor. We get there and he looks at something on my back. Something that my mom is concerned about.

Suddenly there is pain. Enormous amounts of pain. Horrible pain, I think I am going to die. I cry. Huge hot wet tears. I'm scared and that hurt. My mom tells me to stop crying, that the worst part is over. I can't. It hurt, I can't let him touch me again. It will hurt.

Finally the doctor leaves the room to give me time to calm down. I'm pretty sure at this point I'm screaming. She doesn't hug me. There is no comfort. Just angry words. I'm acting ridiculous. The shot wasn't that bad. I'm embarrassing her and I need to just stop it right now.

Finally I calm down and the doctor returns. I lay on the table and brace myself for the worst. It is over in two seconds. No pain, I feel nothing. He puts a bandaid on my back and I am free to get dressed. See? You should have listened to me. I told you it wouldn't hurt and you made that entire scene for nothing.

She is right, I am wrong. She takes me back to the baby sitters. The pain is long sense gone, the trauma will never go away.

You show me yours

We are under a picnic table in the back yard. All the other kids are playing on the swing set. It is just T and I. We told all the others to go away. Leave us alone. We have to be quick. He wants to see, I want to see.

1,2,3... show...

Wow... is that what it looks like? That's like daddy's only smaller. He has done his duty, I do mine. Does he realize I have nothing for him to see? In five minutes it is over. We are innocent, just want to look. Want to see what all of the fuss is about. Then back to the swing set we go as if nothing ever happened.

Playing Doctor

There's a big chair in the baby sitter's basement. A large 70's type recliner. We have something similar at home. We go behind it, so the other kids don't see. T, J & I. Two boys, one girl all behind that chair for the same reason. T doesn't have any sisters, I don't have any brothers. J has a sister but she's mentally challenged. Perhaps she looks different.

We want to see, but we are caught. Just as we are getting to the "good" part someone comes down stairs. Asks what we are doing. Nothing, just playing. We come out and move on with our day.

A thief

I can still, even to this day see the image. We are walking along in the grocery store. On the ground I see a grape. I don't want anyone to step on it so I pick it up. I look around but there are no garbage cans. I can't put it back up with the grapes, someone might eat it, it has been on the floor.

I don't offer it to my mother, perhaps she is busy, perhaps it doesn't cross my mind. I put it in my pocket. When we get home I will throw it away. It is garbage. But we get home, and I don't remember. It stays in my pocket and then my mom does laundry and she finds the grape.

I remember she's screaming. I'm a thief, why would I steal? Hasn't she taught me better than that? What was I thinking? I'm crying, I can't help it. I try to tell her, try to get it through to her. It was on the floor. I didn't want someone to step on it. I didn't' steal it.

Finally, I think she gets it. I'm unsure that she believes me but she knows my side of the story and I am free to go. No apology, nothing. Just free to go. My mom thinks I'm a thief, why would she think I would steal? I'm a good girl....

Kindergarten Roundup

I have just turned five. I will be going to Kindergarten in the fall and it is now time for that wonderful tradition of kindergarten roundup. The one week at the end of the school year where all of the kindergartners go home and all of the preschoolers get to go to school.

I was a big kid. I could do this. I don't remember my mom taking me to school on the first day. I remember the big laminated paper crayons with our names on them. Something they could never do in today's day and age. These crayons were safety pinned to my front and my back. I stood on the deck for the obligatory picture and then the bus came.

The large bus that the big kids rode on. And I was getting on it to go to school all by myself.

Forgotten...

I'm at preschool, I'm waiting outside for my daddy to come and pick me up. I wait and wait. All of the other kids are gone and I am alone. Finally the teacher comes and tells me to come back inside.

They call my dad, he has forgotten to come and pick me up. They tell me I can play with the other kids that are there for afternoon preschool so I am happy and don't really notice how long it takes for him to get there.

Crying Game

I'm small. Four or five. I'm sitting in a room alone, dinning room, living room, I'm unsure. I'm crying. Not real crying.. fake doll crying. But I don't stop. I am holding my doll and I'm crying, boo hoo hoo, boo hoo hoo, 2 minutes, 5 minutes, maybe ten minutes. Over and over.

Finally my mom looks in on me. Is everything ok in here? I stop. I'm embarrassed. I'm just playing I tell her. She goes away and I am alone.

A Donut...

It's Christmas morning, I run downstairs and I see it. Our very own kitchen set. Every Santa we have visited, every person who has asked my sister has given them the same answer.

What do you want for Christmas little girl?

A Donut...

There, in the refrigerator, two large Texas donuts. One for her, one for me. Our entire present seems based on her one request. Am I happy that we got a kitchen set, or sad because it seems as if she requested it?

Even now, I don't know the answer to that. I find it odd that my memory remembers that it was "her" present, even though it had both of our names on it. Her donut, her kitchen.

The Scar...

My elbow bears a scar. A scar I remember only briefly acquiring but that still remains with me to this day. I'm outside, it is warm, I'm riding a big wheel. Suddenly it over turns. A crack in the sidewalk, a lean too far to the right, I'm unsure but my arm hurts. I look down and it is bleeding.

The blood is long since gone. The scar... yup... just checked, still there...

Hospital Visit

We walk down a long hallway and I see her. There in a room sitting up in bed. The memory is fuzzy but I can definitely tell that it is my mother, I look to my right and my dad is walking next to me carrying my sister.

This is all I remember, a black and white image of my mom sitting in a hospital bed. It was several years later when I put two and two together enough to realize that this was when she had her hysterectomy. The one, and only, time my mother has been in the hospital for herself since my having my sister.

Come to think of it, the one and only time I remember my mom going to the doctor ever for anything other than a routine exam.

Showering

I'm three perhaps four years old. I'm in the shower with my dad. He wants me to wash my own hair. I won't. I don't want to, don't think I can. I know I'm in trouble, I remember the taste of the bar of soap he put in my mouth.

I don't know why I was still in the shower with him at this age. Looking back it seems very strange to me but I don't remember feeling uncomfortable at the time. Just angry that I had to wash my own hair.

The Butterfly

We were in the store, trying on clothes. The plastic collar off of a collared shirt, the plastic clips that hold it together. I had them all, sitting in front of me on the dressing room floor. Nothing but time on my hands as I started hooking them together in an effort to form some sort of coherent shape.

Next thing I knew it was done. A butterfly. Crude and not quite in shape but my creation just the same. I carried that thing all over with me. I have no recollection of how long I had it, all I remember is how I lost it.

I took it to the baby sitters. I was showing it off to the kids there and somehow it got set on a shelf and I forgot it. Went home without my precious creation and by the time I got there the next day it was gone. One of the younger kids had found it and pulled it apart.

The next time we were at the store I tried to get the parts to make another one but was never able to find just the right stuff to come together in just the right way.

Sisterly Love

There is a story from my past that I do not remember but have been told over and over so many times that it is ingrained into my memory almost as if it was my own.

As the story has been told I was around three - four years old. My sister was still in a crib. Every morning my mom would hear a large thud. That would be the crib railing falling. Then a few seconds after that she would hear another thud. That would be my sister falling on top of me as I fell backwards pulling her out.

Then a few seconds later giggles and the shuffling sound of footie pajamas going down the stairs.

I like to hold on to this memory. The fact that before we became enemies we were friends. The best of friends.

Somewhere in the middle we lost that. We were in competition, for what, I'm still not sure. And then I went to college and she went to college. I got married, she got married and now, all of the sudden we are back a little closer to the beginning. Perhaps not the best of friends but no longer sworn enemies. Two people who have come full circle back to the place where we know we are sisters and are grateful for that.