Four years ago today
You finally had the last say
But still you plague me deep inside
Never really able to hide
Words so harsh they made me cry
Words so mean I wondered why
Why did no one know
A way long time ago
That mental illness can be passed
Even to the very last
I thank you Mom, for this gift
I hope it gave you a lift
So many years have passed since I left home. I moved out at 17, when I went away to college. Even the memories from that time are vague. I soon learned I could drown it all out with a bottle of vodka, missing classes due first to hangovers, then the fact that I was too drunk to go to class. My fourth semester, I totally bombed out at school, which resulted in the loss of two scholarships.
It only took me about a month to decide I had to move away again. I joined the Navy. Boot Camp was difficult for me. I was going through withdrawal from the alcohol, but I didn’t want them to know that. I wanted to get through it as quickly as possible, so I could move on to a somewhat less strict environment. When I was diagnosed with mono, I was afraid that would hold me back in my training, that I wouldn’t graduate with the rest of my class. But I did, though I wasn’t actually at the ceremony, due to my illness.
This proved to be my downfall however, which eventually led to discharge from the military. Their reasoning – “Unsuitability due to alcohol abuse. Not recommended for reenlistment.” That took me all of nine months to accomplish. I was drowning in alcohol uncontrollably, with no clear way out that I could see.
Those memories though, continued to haunt me. Some were very distinct, while others were just vague memories that I couldn’t bring to the forefront, but still knew they were there. I remember fear. At night, my heart would pound from the fear, causing me to think that I was hearing his footsteps coming down the hall to my room. Sometimes they were, sometimes not. But this was tearing up the insides of a young child, eventually a young adult, with no clear path that would lead me to safety. I dreamed of running away to live in an abandoned cabin in the woods. I had read a book when I was in Second grade, titled, “The Boxcar Children.” It was a story about three young children, who ran away from their grandfather’s house. They lived in an old boxcar that was still on the tracks, in the woods.
It has taken years upon years to reach the point where I am today. I’m not sure I know exactly where that is, but I now have psychiatric diagnoses, which explain why my life is the way it is now. It explains the odd symptoms, which in the past led me to attempted suicide, more than once. Thankfully, i survived those attempts. I have been in psycho-therapy for more years than I can even count. But I have progressed greatly.
My blog clearly describes my life with childhood sexual abuse. When your abuser is your father, well . . .
Taboo Word Challenge for 9/22/16
You can see today’s taboo word below. Visit Eric, author of the All In A Dad’s Work blog and creator of the challenge, for details on participating.
Click the blue frog to read others taking part in this fun challenge
I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder many years ago, and have been taking pretty much the same medications over this time. I have BPD. I know I have it. I recognize the symptoms when they get worse. I wouldn’t dream of stopping them, for fear of the consequences.
It has long been thought that BPD was caused by abuse as a child, or some other horrendous trauma experienced when young. It has been brought to my attention that in order for someone to develop BPD, there has to be one or both parents who suffer from this disorder. This disorder is passed on genetically.
Without the genetics, BPD does not occur, despite popular belief, because of chronic abuse as a child, alone. The gene must also be present. I realized a couple years ago, that my mother must have had the same disorder. Based on the way that she treated me, along with the sexual abuse from my father, I developed BPD.
There has to be at least five symptoms a person must have to be diagnosed with this disorder.
To be diagnosed with BPD, five of these nine symptoms must be present. When I finally learned about Borderline Personality Disorder, it was sort of an ‘aha’ moment. Now, things that I feel or do, I understand why. I suffer from eight of these nine symptoms.
I understand why I will do almost anything to prevent what I perceive as abandonment. I understand why all of my relationships were either inappropriate, extremely intense and unstable. I understand why I have a great deal of new debt, that has occurred after the agreement with the debt management program, that I would not apply for anymore credit cards, and this new debt is due to three new credit cards. I understand why I became a chronic alcoholic (Nearly 17 years sober now). I understand the cuts on my arms, the overdoses, and all the threats of suicide, and all of the psychiatric hospitalizations.
I understand now, why I am me, and why I still do many of the things on that list. Do you now understand me?
We pass each other along the way
You don’t give me the time of day
I’ve known it right from the start
You wouldn’t know what’s in my heart
They see me, but not really
Just another face you see
Who knows that I love to sing
To hear all the church bells ring
Do you know, where I’ve been
Or what I did, way back when
Whom I held close to my heart
With the hormones at the start
They said that it was just a fad
It couldn’t really be that bad
But I’m here to tell you now
You’ll hear me when I tell you how
I’ve been thinking about this for some time. For those of you who are old enough to remember, know what records are. I was a child of the 60’s and 70’s, and during that period of time I was into the latest music. Every time I had some of my allowance left, and my mother took us to Newberry’s, a department store in Cooperstown, I would buy a record.
We loved to go there. It had two floors! There was the main floor and stairs that took you to a lower floor. That’s where all the good things are. I always headed downstairs, and over to the record department. For those of you too young to remember some of this, records were the source of music for several decades.
Records were flat, round, vinyl discs, with grooves in them. The number varied, depending on how many songs were on it, and how long it took to play one. The came in three different sizes, 78’s, 45’s and 33 1/3’s. The first two were almost the same size, and a lot of the 78’s my mother had, were green! 78’s and 45’s came with one song on each side. Those would both be the same singer/band on each side. I don’t remember about the 78’s, but the 45’s came with paper covers, with a hole in the center and also displayed the name of the song and artist.
Then there were the 33 1/3’s. They had a larger diameter, and had varying numbers of songs on each side, all by the same artist. They were also made of vinyl. They were kept in cardboard sleeves. Near the end of the record era in music, albums started being advertised on TV, special ones that came in a collection of songs, by some of the “Greatest Artists” or “Greatest Songs.” I bought records.
And now,35 or more years later, I still have all my records, 45’s and 33 1/3’s which were called record albums. The 45’s were called singles. I bought both, and I STILL have them. A couple of days ago, my new stereo arrived. It plays CD’s, AM & FM radio, cassette tapes, and RECORDS. I can play any of these and record them onto my laptop! But I will still hold onto those records, even after I have digitized them onto my computer. I think some day they will be worth something.
Records were played on record players, most of them capable of playing a number of records, one after the other. The newer models would automatically bring the needle holder arm back to start and drop the next record and automatically start playing that one. The ones I had over the years were like that. The methods of playing music has gone through quite the change over the years. I was born at a time which allowed me to watch this change, through many forms of media, and are still changing today.
I keep them at a distance,
I don’t get hurt that way,
If you let them in your heart,
They’re going to leave one day.
I didn’t have a choice back then,
She was always in my face,
I had no time, of my own,
Or my own private space.
Nothing was ever done just right,
Not a thing got past her eye,
Poking in my private stuff,
At times I thought I’d just die.
Try to keep it hidden,
You know you have done wrong,
She’d always find out in some way,
It never took her long.
Misery comes in different ways,
It can last for weeks, or just for days,
My misery started long ago,
Silent so no one would know.
When I was only just a child
When the misery would run wild,
Some causes came in dark of night,
Other causes during daylight.
But as I aged, learned how to shout,
I became able to let some out,
But there’s some that stays within,
It seems this war, I’ll never win.
At night he haunts me in my dreams,
During the light she always wins,
Now I’m trapped within these walls,
They know I’m here, but no one calls.
A test, they say, will let us see,
What is happening inside of me,
This misery I have had for days,
Bothers my life, in many ways.
But when all is said and done,
I pray I’ll once more see the sun,
That will be my very own way,
I’m going to live another day.
– van –
A holiday is drawing near,
For most it means there’s someone dear,
I try to forget the entire day,
But I need to find another way.
I have things I could have said
But I kept my silence instead
Now it’s been over three years
But I’ve not shed many tears
PTSD is what they say
Controls me even to this day
Any love I felt for you
Like a bird, away it flew
Now the day is drawing near
Honor one who caused me fear
I need to get you from my head
Because now you’ve been quite dead
But words and actions came my way
I lived in fear, most every day
The only thing that I will try
Is to say to you, goodbye.
~ van ~
Lying in that silent room,
Mind filled with thoughts of doom,
It seems I’m so very far away,
This happen to me every day.
Needing, wanting to get out,
It seems that no one hears my shout,
So in this room, I’ll have to stay,
Every night and every day.
Why is there no one there?
Anyone who just might care?
Feeling so alone inside,
And it is here I sit and hide.
Some day I will want to get out,
But will there be anyone to hear me shout?
I need to get out in the sun,
And see the glory God has done.
~ van ~
What makes a home?
Is it a house?
I live alone,
Quiet as a mouse.
Moved here a month ago,
But still I cannot find,
Does anyone ever go?
I think I’m losing my mind.
My heart is sad,
My head hangs low,
I know it was real bad,
A long, long, time ago.
Don’t do this, don’t do that,
Don’t eat that, it’ll make you fat,
Sit up straight, tie your shoes,
In those days I had nothing to lose.
Things are not the same today,
I don’t do things in my olden ways,
Now, I’m out and own my own,
But is this ever, really a home?
Through The Clouds 