M is for Meandering and Mother

This is the fifth installment in a series covering the issue nearest to my heart.  I still hope to have one every day, but we'll have to see how that goes.  I want to share how I came to the passion that I spend much of my time and resources on.  Since this story is mine and mine alone to tell, there will be portions that are vague and I apologize in advance.  The road to healing is a personal one and it's not my place to tell the story for someone who may not be ready to have their part of it told.  Some material may be triggering.  Please read at your own discretion.

To read from the beginning, find part one here.

"Mirror, mirror where's the crystal palace?  But I only can see myself skating around the truth who I am, but I know... the ice is getting thin. When you gonna make up your mind?  When you gonna love you as much as I do? When you gonna make up your mind 'cause things are gonna change so fast?  All the white horses have gone ahead..."  
 ~ Winter, Tori Amos



The thing that a lot of people end up thinking when they read this story is this:

"Where were her parents? Why didn't they do something?"

I feel that this is an important question to be answered because my parents could have been anyone's parents.  They were good parents, for the most part.  They were and are good people.

When things happened to me when I was little, no one knew anything.  No parent goes to family gatherings looking out for the "Crazy Uncle Sal" who is going to molest their child.  Because most families, mine included, don't have a Crazy Uncle Sal.  Most people don't think in a million years that someone close to them could hurt their children.  My parents are no different.  There were no "weirdos"  in my family.  And that brings me to the most important point I could ever hope to make for parents.  You cannot smell a rapist.  There is no "look" there is no "smell" there is NO idenitfier. Sure, you may guard your little ones more closely around the drunk of the family, or if there's a user in the family, because those people are more likely do to things that are careless and hurtful.  But a molester, a rapist, a sexual deviant, a predator, even someone who is just "curious" perhaps a young relative..........they have the ability to look just like you and me.  Therefore, the biggest thing a parent can do is to constantly reinforce to their children that they MUST tell a parent or other trusted adult if someone does something to them.  I am here to tell you right now, it is most probably the ONLY way that you will ever know.  And I didn't tell.  There was nothing that my parents could have done because there was no immediate threat known keeping me away from this person and there was nothing to be done after the fact because I. DIDN'T. TELL.

During my adolescence, it is no secret to anyone that I had some major, major behavior problems.  I had some major mental problems.  I suffered with depression and anxiety, which manifested themselves in acting out behaviors.  My mom was focused on the symptoms.  My parents were divorced, my mom was remarried, they had a new baby, they had jobs, they had lives.  And my mom had this teenager with so many problems that she didn't even know where to start.  Her focus was keeping me alive.  The behaviors that I had at the time were risky.  I was running away, staying out all night, involving myself with unsavory people, cutting myself, threatening suicide, crying for days straight....  At the time, the "why" was not the thing on my mother's mind.  It was stopping the overt behavior.

We have a pretty thick history of mental illness in our family.  It made sense for my mom to believe that I was just struggling with that.  And truth be told, if NOTHING had ever happened to me in the way of assault, I truly believe I would have STILL had mental illness.

My mother had her own issues and still worked tirelessly to try and get me "better."  She sent me to therapists and doctors, admitted me to inpatient programs, tried to keep as tight of leash on me as possible.  But bills don't pay themselves and my mom had to work.  I think back as a parent now, of how many sleepless nights I caused her.  How she probably laid in bed, knowing somehow that it was her fault.  Wondering what she could have done for me to not be this way.  It breaks my heart.  There isn't enough "sorry" in the world for what I put her through.  And yes, the things that I was putting her through were a product of my experiences and my illness which are most definitely not my fault...but I still feel like my silence was.  If I had been honest with her or with therapists in the beginning, I may have made more progress in my teen years.  But this is what sexual assault can do to you.  I was completely mute when it came to that.  It became a vicious cycle.  The more I stayed silent, the more my rage and depression caused me to hurt those around me who loved me most.  And the more I did that, the more I couldn't say anything.  My hurting them had loosened trust.  My lying and sneaking out had made me untrustworthy.  So I convinced myself that anything I said, I wouldn't be believed.  And I feared the fall out.  I was afraid if I told my mom, that she'd tell the family, and that they would try to "punish" the person(s) along my life who had done these things.  At this point, I didn't want anything but for it all to just be over.  I wish I would've given my mom more credit.  I wish I could have seen her on her knees every night, praying for me.  Maybe then I would've known that I could have told her anything.  And she would love me no less and if I didn't want her to tell anyone else, she wouldn't have.

So my family moved.  I had gotten away from Him.  I was 19 and still living with my mom and stepdad.  It was my stepdad who ended up telling me that I needed to be out of their house in 90 days.  I got a job at Pizza Hut and began saving for an apartment.  At the end of those 90 days, I was still a little short.  I went to my stepdad and asked for an extension and he gave me another 90 days.  I only needed 30.  I remember thinking how unfair it was that he kicked me out.  I boiled inside and promised myself I wouldn't take a thing from him.  Looking back, it was the best thing anyone could have done for me.  It was the push I needed to find myself.  My stepdad and I are very close now as I can see and appreciate the love he had for me that I didn't know then was love.  I ended up getting a better job at a department store and had enough stability in money to finally move.

I moved into a small one bedroom apartment 5 minutes from my mom's house.  The new found responsibility was daunting for me.  I started having more and more panic attacks.  I didn't want to be alone.  I would go to the bar and meet a guy and bring him back to my place just so I didn't have to be by myself.  I'm sure you all can guess that we weren't playing checkers.

There I was, floating through life aimlessly.  Using men and being used, in turn.  Crippling anxiety attacks. Working through my daddy issues. Trying to work and pay bills and be a "grown up."  Still not dealing with my past.  And my mother was there every step of the way.  Constantly telling me how much she loved me.  Helping with anything that she could.  Staying on the phone with me at 3 o'clock in the morning while I cried that I was dying.  Looking up new therapists for me to go to.  Setting appointments for me.  Helping me with bills when my job wasn't enough to make ends meet because of sick days due to anxiety.  She was there; watching me meander through the quagmire that is sexual assault aftermath and mental illness.  Wondering why I couldn't see the beautiful person that she saw.  Wondering why I couldn't love myself as much as she loved me.  I'm sure she was seeing her peers have children going off to college, getting good jobs, having children.  And she was dealing with the words of the last therapist that spoke to her after a session:

"You will be taking care of her forever.  She will never be able to live on her own.  She'll never get married, she'll never be okay.  You need to prepare yourself now for having an adult dependent child for the rest of her life."

I didn't know that he had said that to her.  And I'm sure with everything going on, she was starting to believe it.  I hadn't even heard it and I was starting to believe it.  Things always need to get a little worse before they get better, and I was no where near the sunlight yet. There were still many more dark days ahead. But she was going to help me.  She would never tire getting me help.

And I was gonna prove that asshole wrong.

To be continued.....