I am not a “blogger,” even though I have a blog. I am not good at writing.
I have tried. I have written as catharsis. Anything I write eventually ends up used against me. I even used to write poems long ago, but what I got in return for pouring out my heart effectively put a stop to that.
I don’t know where to begin or how to form a coherent compilation of a jumbled life. There is much I will leave unsaid.
I didn’t know where I began and my mother stopped.
I am a child of a mentally ill parent. The woman who gave birth to me, whom I am supposed to call Mother, has schizophrenia. I am sure there are many other diagnosis that could be added to that, but we will keep it simple. As if there is such a thing as simple with schizophrenia.
I could write endlessly about the trauma, dysfunction, neglect, and abuse of my childhood.
The shame. The guilt. The fear. The secrecy. Being judged from HER illness.” Crazy by association.” As a result, I think I have been depressed and angry my entire life. I never was able to have a “childhood”. The early years are a blurry nightmare. Memories that are locked away by choice and repression. Sometimes I feel like I am made up of nothing but scar tissue. Who am I? Will I be judged based on her illness forever? How long will I carry her baggage as well as my own?
By some miracle I was given a reprieve. When I was 5 I went to live with an Aunt and Uncle and their two sons. God only knows what they thought of the feral child they received. Merging into a “normal” household was difficult. For all of us, I’m sure. I was a child who fended for herself and had to adjust to a new way of life. At some point I started to call my Aunt & Uncle, Mom & Dad. My cousins were like brothers. Although I was still reserved and doubtful about the security of love, I loved them.
But then like a piece of property, like a borrowed casserole dish, my “owner” demanded around the time I was 10, that I be returned. Returned to hell. I remember having an early birthday party with my friends before I left. I didn’t understand. Why would they send me back? What did I do wrong? Why was I being punished? Part of me still doesn’t understand. Even as an adult who has actually been given some of the information that as a child I was not privy to. Only those that were adults at the time will ever truly know the whys of it all.
I became the caretaker. I felt thrown away. Invisible. Damaged. Unwanted. Unlovable. Once again fending for myself in every way. Any time I made my NEEDS known, I was told I was selfish. Like dinner. How dare I expect dinner. Or school clothes, or to have my laundry done. Or or or… infinity. Any time I tried to speak up to ask questions of my family or tell someone that something wasn’t right or even to break free of the twilight zone I lived in, I was brushed aside and told “we’ll speak with your mother”. Yeah great idea. I was screaming. No one heard me. No one saw me. Or they chose not to. Selective blindness. She was the adult. I was just the child who acted out.
Unheard. Screaming inside. Unheard. Seriously!?!? How could family simply go on living their lives like mine was disposable?
Not ONE person in my family could admit to the secret that was my mother. So I became the problem child. It wasn’t her it was me. It wasn’t HER sick twisted warped behavior, it was somehow MINE. It wasn’t because I didn’t have a functioning parent or that I was subjected to abuse and exposed to things no child should be exposed to. It wasn’t because I was expected to be her caretaker, therapist, mental and physical punching bag and be sucked into her warped reality. No couldn’t possibly be that! According to them, I was a “bad” kid. I was wrong. It was ME. I had problems. I was the cause of the problems. All of the dysfunction was MY fault.
I grew up thinking there was something wrong with me. It has affected every aspect of my life. When I was a teenager, I finally found out what was wrong with her. Not because I was told, but because I wrote down the names and doses of all her medications and a person in my life was able to tell me what they were for. Needless to say confrontations were served all around. I stopped staying at “home” when I was 16, spending as little time there as possible. Still being labeled the problem child, I moved out completely at 17.
I have gotten therapy ad nauseam. I asked that I be given every psychological test known to man to see was I anything like her. Would I turn out like her? Was there something wrong with me? Despite my many flaws and admitted quirks and dysfunctions, I AM SANE.
So I still may not always know who I am, but I AM NOT HER. Nor will I ever be. I am bitter. And yes I am damaged. But I am ME. Whoever that is.
And for all the people telling me I have to forgive. For the so called family who abandoned me and still to this day judge me, shun me, and blame me, instead of facing the reality of HER illness, I give you a ginormous mushroom print. FUCK YOU.
I am me. Someone you do not know.
FUCK them!
i agree, for goddsakes…
i am so moved by and sorry for what you had to go thru.
to always think it’s your fault….
i wish i cou;d give you a big hug!
This is my childhood. You wrote about my childhood. My mother wasn’t schizophrenic, but she was very mentally and terribly abusive.
I wake up most days terrified that I’m going to turn into her. I still have to be reminded that I am not my mother.
Thank you for sharing this. It made me feel better to know that I am not alone. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone like me before.
Thank you so much. I was very unsure of writing this and of even what to say. But it is a relief that those who have been through similar know what I’m talking about. I’ve always felt alone. I am both sad and thnkful that I am not. Thanks so much for this site Aunt Becky!
Thank YOU for contributing! Without your stories, it’s just me, blathering on about myself (boring).
I’m glad you wrote what I could not. I’ve never been able to put it into words. I need to print this post out and read it now and again. Seriously.
Congratulations, you are not your mother. I am so proud of you. I am working at untangling where I begin and mother ends. I am starting to get it. Sounds like you understand a lot younger than I did. You are doing great keep going
I am a family therapist and have one thing to say about your post: Bravo! I have worked with all forms of mental illness and know all too well the insane and impossible scapegoating that occurs in these “crazy-making” environments as we call them. The scapegoat in system dynamics is innocent by nature (the innocent must be sacrificed in a sick system–every sicksystem has a scapegoat). Healthy systems don’t need and thus don’t have scapegoats. Thank you SO much for your post. It will help many people to know it wasn’t just them either–that someone (you) gets it. So again I say, Bravo!
Beautifully said. I’m going to frame this and pull it out when I need to be reminded of it, too.
agree FUCK THEM all. And Yay you are not you’re mother. I am sorry you had to deal with that. I am nowhere near schizophrenic, I worry that I will damage my children with my illness. But I am nothing like your mother either so I guess yay for me too. Thank you so very much for sharing this.
Thank you so much. I was very unsure of writing this and of even what to say. But it is a relief that those who have been through similar know what I’m talking about. I’ve always felt alone. I am both sad and thnkful that I am not. Thanks so much for this site Aunt Becky!
You never have to thank me. I’m so glad to be able to share these beautiful, awful, amazing stories. Loves you!
Thank you so much. I always feel inadequate. But I hope to move forward and start to surround myself with people who actually want good things for me and lift me up as opposed to tearing me down.
I feel for you in ways you can surely know. I lost the best part of my dad (his mind) when I was 8. The diagnosis was the same as your mom’s. He wasn’t violent or anything like that, but the person that came back after two years of in-patient was not him. Looked like him, but the light and joy was gone.
I was not the same. Will never be the same, but I worked through it, coming out the other side not strong as an ox, but holding my own.
I hope that you feel strong and happy as you continue your journey. It’s worth it. You’re worth it.
We’re the walking wounded, but we’re walking.
All the best to you, Mimzy
Thank you for this post. I hope it gives you solace not just in the writing of it, but in knowing that you are not the only one.
Writing is a cathartic thing and I hope writing this post helped you. Bravo to you for having the courage to write it.
I don’t come from parents with mental illness, but I have a daughter with reactive attachment disorder. For the last 7 years I have been blamed. What was wrong with me? She is perfect, so it must be my fault.
I hate the labels and the judgments from people who have NO IDEA what they are talking about.
Here’s sending you a HUGE cyber hug!
I’m the daughter of a schizophrenic mother and a psychotic father. no one can possibly understand what it’s like to be raised crazy and some how be ‘sane’. I loved your post. I feel your anger. I am SO fucking angry about what is allowed to happen to (us) the children of the mentally ill.
You may have scars, but your beauty and ability to communicate come through more than anything to me.
Thank you Bee… Most days I’m good. Some days are harder to keep my composure when I have to deal with certain family members.
ah family. it’s amazing how tolerant I can be of other peoples’ oddities so long as they aren’t related to me. You are still in touch? Good for you. I admire that. Takes more courage than I have. I’m in total estrangement from both sides. But I met the love of my life three years ago and got married, so I’m part of his family. They have their problems, but it’s all so normal and harmless. You know? ‘The police’ haven’t come into their home and moved the keys, and generally they don’t mistake me for the sister they hated, and don’t wake me up by attempting to drown me in holy water, so it’s all good;)
I’m going to post something soon to add to the site. Live sites/threads for the children of schizophrenics are hard to find. Like the Nami site. Some of those threads are great, but they’re 5 years old!