by Aunt Becky | Feb 11, 2019 | A Letter I Can't Send, Abuse, Addiction, Addiction Recovery, Adult Children of Addicts, Alcohol Addiction, Anger, Anxiety, Child Abuse, Childhood Fears, Coping With A Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Boundaries, Estrangement, Family, Fear, Feelings, Forgiveness, How To Help With Low Self-Esteem, Loneliness, Loving An Addict, Psychological Manipulation, Psychological Manipulation, Sadness, Self Esteem, Self Loathing, Shame, Stress, Trauma |
my dad was, and still is, a serious control freak. he wants everything to go his way, all the time, forever. His need to control + my rebellious streak – any display of love or affection = a seriously fucked up child.
dad,
i’d love to write this on my regular blog, but it would upset the people who know me (and we both know that i shouldn’t upset others, right?), so i’m writing it on the down-low. anyway, this is more for me than for you, because you would never admit to fucking up. mom has put up with a lot of shit to stay married to you for 44 years, but i don’t feel sorry for her because we both know she loves to play the martyr. you two are a textbook case of how not to raise a daughter, and i’ll get to mom in another blog. this one’s for you-
i know that you and mom “had” to get married. i know that you weren’t thrilled about it. i also know that you really wanted a son, but you got me instead. while i made do with the john deere tractor and matching wagon, you and i both know i really wanted the barbie corvette. so barbie and her friends went on lots of hayrides, no biggie. because i loved you.
lesson #1- be happy with whatever i get and don’t be disappointed; any affection i may receive depends on this.
we had fun when i was little. we played football with pillows in the trailer that i grew up in, you pretended to be a horse so i could ride on your back. except you always bucked me off, every time. you’d hide in the bathroom down the narrow hall and call to me and when i came to you, you’d jump out of the dark and scare me. i hated that game, and tried to refuse, but mom would insist i go every time. when mom called that dinner was ready, you’d always hold me back and say that i didn’t get to eat. even though i knew it was a game, i didn’t like it. now that i think about it, your sense of humor was somewhat sadistic. but i didn’t see it that way at the time. because i loved you.
lesson #2 – play along, even when i don’t want to.
when i was small, and did something wrong, you whipped me. you had that fucking collection of belts and always made me pick one. i took a long time choosing, hoping you would change your mind, but you never did. i always chose the red, white, and blue one, because if i had to get whipped, it should be with a pretty belt. and it wasn’t just one or two times. no, you beat my ass. and bare legs. and back. and arms.
i stole some of your coin collection to use in the gum ball machine at the trailer court. it was only a couple of wheat pennies and a dime, but you found me at the gum ball machine and my heart got stuck in my throat. you had a wire coat hanger in your right hand and it was summer and i was wearing shorts. you beat me with that wire hanger all the way to the trailer and that was a long way and i couldn’t run fast because i was only 4. and still, i loved you.
and that time you got mad ’cause mom made chili in july. i was still in a highchair, even though i was 3. i dumped my chili onto the metal tray and you swore at me for wasting food. you grabbed me by my shirt and pulled me out of the highchair. my legs got all cut up because you didn’t take the tray off first. then you threw me on the floor of the living room, and that’s how my favorite top got ripped. then you grabbed a belt from your collection and started beating me and you wouldn’t stop. mom finally pulled you away and threw you out. she let you come back, though. because she needed you more than she loved me. i asked mom to fix my top, but she threw it away instead.
lesson #3 – i am bad, and being hurt by someone i love is acceptable. in fact, i should expect it. i need to learn the art of survival, nobody else is going to protect me.
you have never told me you loved me. never. not once. you have never told me you are proud of me. not ever. not when i graduated from college, or grad school, or got straight a’s, or stuck with my crappy marriage for so long, or left said crappy marriage when it was time. i craved your approval like an addict craves that next hit off the pipe, knowing it will never be enough. and i chased after your approval the way a child chases their shadow, knowing that they will never catch it but always hoping against hope that this time might be different. and i never hated you for it. instead, i hated myself for not being enough.
lesson #4 – it’s not you. it’s me. and it will always be me, even when it’s you.
you had a girlfriend on the side, beginning when i was 5, and ending around the time i went away to college. i know this because i rode the bus with her son in high school. he told me all about how you’d come over on christmas day when he was little. i always wondered why you left after we’d opened presents. you were going to your other family. the one with two boys.
remember that time when i was a senior in high school and my friend viki and i saw your truck at your girlfriend’s house? i rang the doorbell and asked your girlfriend if you were there and i told her who i was. after viki and i drove away, we hid in a driveway and watched you speed past us in your truck, racing towards home. and we laughed because we knew you couldn’t touch me. not unless you wanted to tell mom what you were so pissed about.
mom still doesn’t know about that time i called your girlfriend at work and called her a whore and a bitch and demanded that army picture of you back. the one that mom kept asking about and you kept telling her that you’d left it in your locker at work. only it wasn’t in your locker, was it? it was on your girlfriend’s tv, because her son told me. you brought the picture home that night. that’s when you stopped looking me in the eye and started hating me. because you’d been caught by your daughter. and i began to hate you right back.
and when you suddenly decided not to pay for grad school, i became a stripper to pay for it myself. because i had learned the art of survival.
lesson #5 – i have nothing to lose and it feels good to be a bitch.
you stopped hugging me when i turned 10, and i’m pretty sure it had something to do with my going through puberty. especially when you went on a trip and brought me back that cleveland browns sweatshirt, threw it in my general direction while averting your eyes and said, “here, this will cover up your bumps.” nice way to encourage a young girl to have pride in her body. so i started covering up my bumps, all the time. when i was in my late 20’s, i got rid of my bumps altogether by developing anorexia. then i had to cover up my bones. i began to loathe myself.
lesson #6 – my body is sexual, and sexuality is bad.
the only birthday of mine that you ever came to was when i turned 5. i still remember it because that’s the birthday i got my first barbie. you took her away and wouldn’t give her back. you thought that was funny and i played along so you would stay. to this day, i occasionally find myself playing along, for fear of being abandoned or pissing someone off. when i was 17, you never came to my high school graduation. i know this because when i got home after the ceremony, the ticket i’d left for you on the kitchen table was still there. you were still pissed about me finding you at your girlfriend’s two months prior, and calling her at her job. because i’d stopped playing along.
lesson #7 – when i stop playing along, you will hate me.
in high school, you started to have me followed, instead of sitting me down and asking me about what was going on in my life, you got kids from the trailer court to tell you shit about me, a full $5 for each bit of information. that’s how you found out i smoked, drank, got high, and had a black best friend. you even sent two guys on my fucking spring break trip to daytona beach. i know this because on the last night, we all got drunk together and they told me. then they proceeded to tell me your name, my full name, where i lived and what you wanted to know. i wasn’t even safe from you 1,000 miles away.
can i just tell you how fucked up that is? that is seriously fucked up. i was the most paranoid teenager i knew, even without the pot.
you made me stop being friends with kim, you beat my ass when you found out i smoked and you grounded me for three months for drinking. fuck you. i started getting high with my dealer’s 16-year-old wife before school, i went through the bottle of vodka you had hidden in your cupboard, filling it with water instead. that’s right dad, the more you tightened the screws, the more i fucked up. i went to school drunk every day, or high, or both. i hid beers in my bedroom and drank them when you were asleep. i smoked in the bathroom after you and mom left for work. i feared getting caught, but the rush was incredible.
lesson #8 – my father is out to get me, and he will always find me.
you wouldn’t let me date the same guy twice, because you didn’t want me to get pregnant, the way mom did. you wanted me to get an education and be someone. or something. not for my sake, but so that you could say you had a college-educated child. and i was so terrified of getting pregnant that i didn’t had sex until i was 19. and then i slept with every guy i wanted to when i went away to college. because i could, and you had never taught me to respect my body. you had only taught me to get away with whatever i could. i never enjoyed the sex, but being sneaky felt awesome.
lesson #9 – sex is about power and revenge.
when i was in my final year of grad school, i met my future husband, only i didn’t know it at the time. i was smart and i knew about birth control. but when you should have taught me confidence, i learned fear. where self-esteem should have been, there was an empty well, waiting to be filled by someone else’s ideas and beliefs. fear of abandonment took the place of knowing my own worth. standing my ground was replaced by an aching need to please, at any cost. so when my future husband said “no rubbers, please” i said “ok”. because i needed to be loved, and i was afraid of losing him.
lesson #10 – do whatever i have to do make other people happy. my thoughts and feelings don’t count and should be kept to myself. they will only make others stop loving me.
and then i got pregnant. your biggest fear. and because you were my biggest fear, and because i didn’t believe in myself, and because my boyfriend didn’t want a baby and because i didn’t want to be abandoned, i had an abortion. then the self-hatred really kicked in.
lesson #11 – all decisions should be based on fear.
it has taken me 20+ years to undo what you did to me. everyday i untangle a bit more of the knot, trying to smooth out the yarn. it’s still good yarn, and everyday i knit myself.
lesson #12 – you made me stronger, smarter, tougher and braver. so fuck you.
by Bratmom | Feb 8, 2019 | Anxiety Disorders, Ask The Band, Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Autism, Bipolar Disorder, Co-Morbid Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Feelings, Loving Someone With Bipolar Disorder, Mental Health, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, Parenting |
I posted a while ago anonymously about my oldest son. He is truly in a bad, bad place. He’s a very angry child. We sought help from his therapist and psychiatrist. Finally, after weeks and weeks of fighting, we got somewhere. He was diagnosed with co-morbid bipolar disorder along with his autism, ADHD, ODD, depression, and anxiety.
It finally felt like we were getting somewhere. Until…that deep dark place got worse.
We are fighting daily to keep him out of inpatient hospital stays. I walk on egg shells talking to him because I don’t know what is going to upset him.
I’ve had a continuous migraine for the past 5 days because just thinking about him makes my anxiety sky high. He’s a good kid and has such a good heart, I just don’t know how to help him.
Does anyone have any ideas?
I am all out of ideas. I’m completely mentally worn the eff out. He’s just so angry and mad at the world. I just want my happy kid back
by anonymous | Feb 7, 2019 | Depression, Dwarfism, Feelings |
All right, I have two confessions to make before I start this post.
One) I totally pushed myself into this. I felt almost called to say something. After some clarifying on what a birth defect was via Twitter (thanks, DJ Moo :)), I felt like I had committed myself.
Two) I suck at blogging, writing, and this whole world of wordy creativity. I fully support it and have a Google Reader addiction, but I don’t have the knack for writing, so bear with me. 🙂
Allow me to introduce myself: I am 17 years old, a strong believer in God, and a Starbucks addict. I talk way too much and adore my friends more than anything else in this world. I work at a preschool, as well as babysitting for two of the sweetest girls in the world. One more thing: I’m just over 4 feet tall.
Mmm, you got that right. I have achondroplasia, the most common form of dwarfism. I was officially diagnosed at 3 months, and it is just as much a part of my life as your birthmark on your forehead or her bright blue eyes. I do everything that everyone else does, just in my own way.
What has truly shaped me within my “defect”? My parents are average height. I am the only one in my entire family with this genetic disorder blessing. I walk this road alone on a day to day basis. Does it suck sometimes? Absolutely. Would I want my life any other way? Absofreakin’lutely not.
Little People of America has been the greatest support system for me. We have conferences 3 times a year – over 200 people in my district alone, as well as nationwide with over 2,000 people – that I’ve been attending since I was 3. My true second family. But 10 days out of the whole year isn’t enough to make me feel mixed in with the rest of the world.
I think the reason I pushed myself to write this was because it’s been weighing down on me lately. I am going to college in the fall, and though I’m beyond thrilled, I’m a bit scared as to how my dwarfism will hinder my college experience. I’ve battled depression, and honestly, my physical differences and incapabilities have got to be a huge source of it.
As my mom put it, “It sucks to be a teenager, you think nobody ever understands you. But to be a teenager with dwarfism – that is truly when you know people don’t understand you. It’s got to be even more impossible.”
So… yeah. It’s hard not to be able to work in the kitchen without a stool. It’s hard to be 5 minutes late to class – while you’ve got all the sympathy in the world from your teachers – because your school is so darn big. It’s hard to be stared at. It’s hard to be shrieked at because someone is truly taken aback by your height. It’s hard to be asked “how’s the weather down there?” It’s hard to be called a midget – basically the equivalent of the n-word. It’s hard to have many close friends who “get” you to a point, but will never be able to “get” that one piece of you. It’s hard to have how much you actually can do alone be underestimated. At the same time, it’s hard to have to ask someone to grab that one pint of ice cream you can’t reach because, though you’re best at shelf-climbing, it’s too risky sometimes. 🙂
But it’s what has made me stronger. I am really outgoing, and I think my dwarfism contributes to that extremely. My average-height friends have supported me in every way they can. They honestly have told me they forget I’m short. And I love that. They have seen beyond my differences.
My uniqueness is part of me, but not the whole. It has made me who I am, and I would never, ever want to change. I have more opportunities to stand up for myself. I want to educate people about dwarfism as much as possible. It’s not a “disease” that can be cured, but there are thousands of lives that hold this genetic blip that gets over-judged by everyone.
I am me. I always have been, and I always will be. I most likely won’t be growing any more. And I’m okay with that. I have learned to accept myself. I am beyond sure that God had a supreme purpose for putting me right here, right now, just as I am. I just haven’t found that purpose yet.
Thank you for listening.
I just needed to get that out… hoping to find a support system here, because the one in my ‘real world’ is slowly coming down.
