Let me start by speaking to those who knew me back then who may be reading.
It's important to me that you know I have no ill will toward these people. In fact, I still speak with them today. We are civil to one another and I have every intention of keeping it that way. But more importantly, I still have a relationship with their kids.
I don't want to cause them trouble. And I hope the things I say won't do that for them.
*************************************************
So... I left off with the morning wake up routine. And I know that was a horrible way to leave it.
I realize you can't see how many times I've had to start and stop typing this...so I'll stop telling you when I do!
Tough tough tough stuff. I'm just going to dive right in.
Morning wake up consisted of Grant coming in my room and sitting on the side of my bed.
He'd hug me. Then it progressed to more.
Side note: I just had to stop already (I know I said I wasn't going to tell you that) and I grabbed my Bible.
I flipped it open. I am NOT one of those who believe that the Lord will take me to the "right" passage just by opening the Bible and letting it land open where it will...but I'd like to think that maybe that's what happened right now.
I came to Psalm 25:1-3
"To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul.; in you I trust, O my God. Do not let me be put to shame, nor let my enemies triumph over me. No one whose hope is in You will ever be put to shame, but they will be put to shame who are treacherous without excuse."
Interesting.
I'm running with that. I trust that revealing this will not put me to shame.
***I just typed a whole bunch of things that I have since deleted. I think that staying to vague recollections may be best for now. I don't think that "details" wouldn't edify anyone. Who knows...maybe that will change in the future...***
Anyway...while there was never sex involved--let me be clear about that-- there most definitely were inappropriate actions and conversation.
Like a question Grant once asked me, "Hmmm. I wonder if anything ever happened to Carla if your mom would let you marry me?" I was 15 or 16 for Pete's sake.
I used to seek out his attention and time alone with him. A lot of time was spent in the office which was in the attic of the home.
I actually got so confused about him that I really, seriously started thinking he was Jesus. I started calculating his birthday according to when scholars think Christ was really born. I compared Grant's ice blue eyes to the way artists like to depict Jesus' eyes. Crazy. Now, looking back, I see I was totally brainwashed. I'm not going to pin that on Grant. I was a willing participant with an imaginative mind. I placed him on such a pedastal. I'd like to believe his intentions were wholesome and pure at the onset and it just got out of hand. But I can't speak for him.
The bomb came when Carla & Grant went out of town one weekend. They came back and Grant told me he had confessed everything to Carla. I was...a million things. I was crushed. I was humiliated. I felt betrayed. I was panicked about what this meant as far as my living conditions.
Carla took me aside that night and had me tell her everything. Everything. It was awful. How do you look into the eyes of someone you love, respect, and admire and tell them the inappropriate things you did with their husband? And that you actually thought you were in love with him--at least what I thought at that age was love?
Things went from bad to worse after that. I didn't move out. I actually wish I had now, but at the time, I chose that weird and uncomfortable environment over going back home.
It was like living in a prison. My every move was watched. I found Carla skulking around the house trying to catch us doing something. I was not allowed to be on the second floor if Grant was in the office in the attic.
It got so bad that when I would go home on the weekends with my parents, I panicked a few times when I found myself alone with my dad. I got confused about where I was and where I was allowed to be.
Finally, my parents decided it was time for me to move back home and Carla was only too happy to oblige their wishes. I knew it was because she wanted the solitude of her family back. I can't say that I blame her. Unfortunately, I took it as her no longer wanting me. You see, as messed up as this whole situation was, I still held a great love and respect for her.
So, the summer before my senior year, I moved back home. It was time for a new start. I hoped.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Free At Last
There I was, moved back in with my parents full time. We had a new house and--I hoped--a fresh start. And a fresh smell since the smoke smell on my clothes always bothered me.
It was the summer before my senior year and I was really excited for what this meant.
I had a boy I was interested in (a college guy) and things were really cool. He'd write and call when he could. He happened to be the roommate of my good friend's boyfriend. This was particularly exciting because Carla & Grant never let me date. They felt it was too easy to get into "trouble" as teens when you dated. I won't even begin to acknowledge that hypocrisy.
The guys went to school in Arkansas.
It was a strange courtship. Brian and I knew each other from church camp. I used to go every summer for a week. My friend Tess went too. In fact, it's because of her that I even went in the first place. It was her boyfriend (Doug) who went to college with the guy I liked...Brian.
As things go...Brian and I fizzled out. He was a little too fundamental for me in his beliefs. He gave me a report he'd written for one of his classes once and it was all about how he wanted his future spouse to stay thin. And one of his lines in the paper was, "and if I find she starts 'tipping the scale' so to speak, I'll say to her..." Um, yeah, I was quickly no longer interested. Couple that with the fact that he was 1000 miles away (and in teenage miles that was a million) and it was destined to fail.
He started saying some really strange things to me about how I shouldn't have sent him pictures of myself because "Oh, Mandy! You just shouldn't have!" I assure you they were perfectly normal pictures. Fully dressed. Nothing immodest about them. My sister actually took them of me one day when we were out and about doing what we did then...taking pictures by the lake and pretending we were tourists.
And...also as teenage relationships go, Tess and Doug broke up.
Let me back up and tell you some things about Tess.
She is still one of my dearest friends today.
In school, I envied her. Green, bold jealousy.
She was (and is) pretty, popular, she was on the dance team, a cheerleader, she had great clothes, and a great home life.
I remind you that this is all from my then 16 year-old perspective. The "Woe is me I'm so pitiful" perspective. Tess had insecurities and stuff all her own (as all kids do.)
So, when she and Doug broke up, I think she kind of looked at it as a new beginning for her too. We started moving in differnet circles I grew closer to another frend, Katherine. Katherine and I spent so much time together. She was also active in her faith, she lived only a couple of blocks away, and we had a lot in common.
We actually spent a lot of time at Carla & Grant's house (even after everything that had happened). We attended a youth Bible study every Sunday night and did everything together. Katherine's home life was also...you guessed it...troubled. We bonded over that.
Are you starting to see a theme here? All kids have their own issues that they deal with. =)
Too bad I didn't see it back then...
Anyway, somehow, Doug and I struck up a friendship. Wait...we had already been friends seeing as we attended the same church and had Tess as common ground. But that turned into more.
Over hundreds of conversations with Carla & Grant about the "situation," I had promised them that I wouldn't tell anyone. Actually, if I can clarify, I asked them to bring the minister of our church into it as an unbiased third party. Their answer, No. It should be kept within the family. I believe that is because of a couple of reasons...1) Grant was active in the church and did not want the public humiliation and 2) The minister was Grant's best friend.
I think it's important to add that tidbit in.
So, I swore that I would never tell anyone what happened...except my husband someday.
My senior year trekked right along. It was great. I had finally moved past the constant fear that I wouldn't be accepted for who I was. I didn't care as much. I also would like to think that I grew into my body. The braces came off, the hair was a little more stylish and I started wearing makeup. My gawky 14 year old body was suddenly not so gawky anymore.
I felt more confident with the newfound freedom that I had, that I no longer felt the need to fit in with a certain group.
Things with Tess and I were a little rocky, understandably so. Since I, as of February of that year, started officially dating Doug. What a tool I was. I broke the cardinal rule of thou shalt not date thine friend's ex.
So there we were...dating...and I felt pretty darn good.
Too good.
Doug is 2 years older than me.
I was a good girl. I didn't smoke, drink, party, etc etc.
I started going out with him after I got done working at night. We'd be out until midnight or later.
Naturally, that included a bunch of making out.
Pretty soon, I started sneaking out at night. What?!
That was so unlike me. I could get started on the idea that I was acting out due to the traumatic events I had just gone through--I do have an undergrad in psychology, after all--but I was in an honest to goodness rebellion.
I thought I was clever and cool and my parents didn't know...but one morning I came home to find my mom sitting at the kitchen table. I came up with some lame excuse about going out to breakfast with Doug.
I'm pretty sure she didn't buy it, but she didn't hassle me about it.
And looking back (and now as a mother of 5 kids--2 of which are girls) she should have soundly kicked my ass.
Doug and I were headed for trouble. And fast. It's true, that old saying: if you're messing with fire than you're gonna get burned.
It was the summer before my senior year and I was really excited for what this meant.
I had a boy I was interested in (a college guy) and things were really cool. He'd write and call when he could. He happened to be the roommate of my good friend's boyfriend. This was particularly exciting because Carla & Grant never let me date. They felt it was too easy to get into "trouble" as teens when you dated. I won't even begin to acknowledge that hypocrisy.
The guys went to school in Arkansas.
It was a strange courtship. Brian and I knew each other from church camp. I used to go every summer for a week. My friend Tess went too. In fact, it's because of her that I even went in the first place. It was her boyfriend (Doug) who went to college with the guy I liked...Brian.
As things go...Brian and I fizzled out. He was a little too fundamental for me in his beliefs. He gave me a report he'd written for one of his classes once and it was all about how he wanted his future spouse to stay thin. And one of his lines in the paper was, "and if I find she starts 'tipping the scale' so to speak, I'll say to her..." Um, yeah, I was quickly no longer interested. Couple that with the fact that he was 1000 miles away (and in teenage miles that was a million) and it was destined to fail.
He started saying some really strange things to me about how I shouldn't have sent him pictures of myself because "Oh, Mandy! You just shouldn't have!" I assure you they were perfectly normal pictures. Fully dressed. Nothing immodest about them. My sister actually took them of me one day when we were out and about doing what we did then...taking pictures by the lake and pretending we were tourists.
And...also as teenage relationships go, Tess and Doug broke up.
Let me back up and tell you some things about Tess.
She is still one of my dearest friends today.
In school, I envied her. Green, bold jealousy.
She was (and is) pretty, popular, she was on the dance team, a cheerleader, she had great clothes, and a great home life.
I remind you that this is all from my then 16 year-old perspective. The "Woe is me I'm so pitiful" perspective. Tess had insecurities and stuff all her own (as all kids do.)
So, when she and Doug broke up, I think she kind of looked at it as a new beginning for her too. We started moving in differnet circles I grew closer to another frend, Katherine. Katherine and I spent so much time together. She was also active in her faith, she lived only a couple of blocks away, and we had a lot in common.
We actually spent a lot of time at Carla & Grant's house (even after everything that had happened). We attended a youth Bible study every Sunday night and did everything together. Katherine's home life was also...you guessed it...troubled. We bonded over that.
Are you starting to see a theme here? All kids have their own issues that they deal with. =)
Too bad I didn't see it back then...
Anyway, somehow, Doug and I struck up a friendship. Wait...we had already been friends seeing as we attended the same church and had Tess as common ground. But that turned into more.
Over hundreds of conversations with Carla & Grant about the "situation," I had promised them that I wouldn't tell anyone. Actually, if I can clarify, I asked them to bring the minister of our church into it as an unbiased third party. Their answer, No. It should be kept within the family. I believe that is because of a couple of reasons...1) Grant was active in the church and did not want the public humiliation and 2) The minister was Grant's best friend.
I think it's important to add that tidbit in.
So, I swore that I would never tell anyone what happened...except my husband someday.
My senior year trekked right along. It was great. I had finally moved past the constant fear that I wouldn't be accepted for who I was. I didn't care as much. I also would like to think that I grew into my body. The braces came off, the hair was a little more stylish and I started wearing makeup. My gawky 14 year old body was suddenly not so gawky anymore.
I felt more confident with the newfound freedom that I had, that I no longer felt the need to fit in with a certain group.
Things with Tess and I were a little rocky, understandably so. Since I, as of February of that year, started officially dating Doug. What a tool I was. I broke the cardinal rule of thou shalt not date thine friend's ex.
So there we were...dating...and I felt pretty darn good.
Too good.
Doug is 2 years older than me.
I was a good girl. I didn't smoke, drink, party, etc etc.
I started going out with him after I got done working at night. We'd be out until midnight or later.
Naturally, that included a bunch of making out.
Pretty soon, I started sneaking out at night. What?!
That was so unlike me. I could get started on the idea that I was acting out due to the traumatic events I had just gone through--I do have an undergrad in psychology, after all--but I was in an honest to goodness rebellion.
I thought I was clever and cool and my parents didn't know...but one morning I came home to find my mom sitting at the kitchen table. I came up with some lame excuse about going out to breakfast with Doug.
I'm pretty sure she didn't buy it, but she didn't hassle me about it.
And looking back (and now as a mother of 5 kids--2 of which are girls) she should have soundly kicked my ass.
Doug and I were headed for trouble. And fast. It's true, that old saying: if you're messing with fire than you're gonna get burned.
Friday, June 10, 2011
A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
***I am blown away by the emails I've received since starting this new blog. From people who knew me from school. Most amazing? Most of them have a similar story. Most of them felt the same way I did and thought of me as not having these types of things happening in my life. How "funny" is that? I'm only 3 posts in and already I'm learning just how skewed my perspective of that time of my life was. Then it got me to thinking...if it was that skewed then...how skewed must it be now? I'm chewing on that for a while.
You know, I started this thinking that I would just go in chronological order and start at the beginning...getting to the "real" stuff later. I had no idea there would be such a response to the parts about me growing up. Makes me a little nervous to get to what I consider the "real" stuff...***
It was the summer of my 8th grade year (I think--maybe the summer BEFORE my eighth grade year??)
The details of most of my teen years are extremely blurry at this point.
I'll admit now that I may totally confuse, misrepresent, and butcher the events of years 13-18.
I'll probably have to break this up into several different posts at the risk of this turning into War & Peace.
Anyway...it was summer time. My sister had just started attending this wonderful little church (the one I mentioned yesterday that I was very active in. You know..the one with the boy I was madly in love with?)
She was invited to lunch at the youth pastor and his wife's house but my brother-in-law couldn't make it, so Missy took me instead. We pulled up to the beautiful house and were welcomed into a warm, caring and open home. Carla (not her real name) was the young wife with three little kids who cooked up a wonderful steak and french fries meal. We sat and ate and chatted. Grant was her husband. He was very welcoming also; friendly & funny. After we ate, Carla & Missy started chatting about the youth program and the plans they had to go to an amusement park that summer. They invited me to come. I was thrilled at the idea of going, but scared at the idea of being in a group with however many other teens that I didn't know.
Long story short--I started attending church and the youth group regularly. I did go to the amusement park and my sister went with me. In fact, both of my sisters went along with an aunt and my aunt's friend.
I began to babysit for the couple's 3 kids and when Grant found out that I was in danger of failing 9th grade...he stepped in and offered to tutor me.
They spoke with my parents and worked out an agreement that I would come over to their house after school on Friday, spend the night and Grant would tutor me. I babysat a lot for them. I enjoyed being in their house and with their family. They were a middle-income family with a nice vehicle, a beautiful house. (Did I mention that had a great house??) Apparently, a "house" represented something more to me than just a dwelling. I was told by a therapist once that it represented stability.
Pretty soon, Friday to Saturday turned into Friday through Sunday (so I could go to church with them.) Not too long after that, Friday through Sunday turned into Friday through Monday morning (when I would walk to school from their house.)
They were very kind to me. They had the idyllic family. I wanted so badly to be a part of that, even if only by being grandfathered in.
Finally, 9th grade ended. I passed. By the skin of my teeth, but whatever.
I traveled with this family. Took vacations. They bought me things like clothes for school, books to read, the braces that I had dreamed so long for, and included me in everything they did like I was one of their own. It felt fantastic.
At 14 or 15, I instinctively bucked everything my parents said anyway, but throw in the mix that now the things I was learning in church seemed to fly in the face of what I was being told or taught at home...it was very confusing.
Also throw in the fact that Grant & Carla were only about 13 years older than me and it only complicated things.
As I was starting to write this post, Joe (my hsusband) and I were talking about it. He's been reading right along and has, of course, heard this all before. Maybe not all at once in consecutive order, but he knows the gist.
He started asking me about a timeline of events, and I have to say--it's sketchy at best. It seemed like 100 years I lived there and at other times, only a few months.
So, given the above admission that I have no clue of the exact order or timing of events, let's just jump to the meat of this story.
Grant was (is) a charismatic, charming, funny, passionate guy. He was passionate about God, about getting the teens in the church involved, and about doing things the "right" way. Which many interpreted to be "his" way. I'll let you draw your own conclusion.
He started showing an interest in me scholastically and visited the high school when I was in 10th & 11th grades. He also started tutoring other kids who needed it. He even went so far as to meet with my teachers and talk with them about my home situation. I don't remember the exact reason for that, since I was a good student and in honors classes at that point.
He guided me spiritually as well. He was the youth leader, after all, and I lived in his home. I listened to him speak about the Bible with so much knowledge and conviction. I never doubted what he said was true.
I trusted him implicitly.
I also adored his wife. She was a tough cookie. Strong, gracious, caring. I don't think I had ever met someone who embodied the Proverbs 31 woman better than she did. She literall sewed some of hers and her kids' clothing. She cleaned her house spotless, every week. She did everyone's laundry every week. She cooked three awesome meals a day. She homeschooled their three children. She also held Grant's hand in his business--and literally--any time that he needed or wanted it.
She was an outspoken voice of logic and reason when it came to the Bible. Many, many women looked up to and learned from her. She was the very picture of the ideal wife. Almost Stepford, you could say. And I think I will.
I remember that one of her many responsibilities was to pick out Grant's clothes every day.
She had to blow dry his hair after his bath--which she spent in the bathroom with him during, talking to him while he bathed. Pretty much every day.
They awoke at 5, 6 am to run together every day.
Everything was based around Grant and what he wanted or needed. Or how he felt the family should run.
If I'd heard the verse about wives submitting to your husbands once, I heard it a million times in their house. In all its literal translation.
I remember once he took his shirt off at the end of the day and dropped it on the floor of their bedroom (which is where the only TV in the house was.)
I said something derrogatory about how Carla worked so hard to clean the house every day and he just dropped his shirt anywhere he wanted.
That wasn't welcomed with open arms.
In fact, Carla made me apologize to him for being disrespectful.
I was bitter. I wasn't sorry I said it then and I'm not sorry now. Actually, I wish I had been brave enough to say more then.
Carla & Grant put all the kids to bed at 8 and I got to stay up for a bit longer and watch movies with them. Some of these were questionable at best. In light of this person being the youth leader and a pillar in the church, I (even at 15) was alarmed by one of the movie choices--the movie "Whore." It was about...you guessed it...a whore. A prostitute. I can't even tell you the plot. I was so uncomfortable.
Anyway...Carla & Grant used to "tuck me in" every night like they did their own kids. It was very nice, actually. Although I was struggling for independence, I was also starving for parental affection. Things with my parents were strained at the time. I'm sure in large part to me "choosing" another family over my own.
Eventually, the tuck ins turned into morning wake ups for school. I can't be sure how it all started, if it was always like this or if it turned into something different than the way it began. Grant woke me up every morning for school. There was a routine to it. One that I learned to anticipate.
And I think I have to stop there. I can't stop pausing to put my head in my hands. It's all a little overwhelming. It's amazing how many memories come rushing back. All the feelings.
I don't know how much I'll share, how much I'll infer, and how much I'll avoid altogether.
I'm sure you've already started inferring some things.
I'm terrified at who is reading this. I keep thinking about all those reading who will be thinking, "Why in the world is she telling everyone this?" I'm not completely sure.
I think because I'm tired of feeling like I have these skeletons in my closet. I'm tired of feeling like I'm hiding these big secrets. It's not like I haven't talked to people about it, but I don't think I've ever fully spoken freely about it.
Anyway...I'll be back.
You know, I started this thinking that I would just go in chronological order and start at the beginning...getting to the "real" stuff later. I had no idea there would be such a response to the parts about me growing up. Makes me a little nervous to get to what I consider the "real" stuff...***
It was the summer of my 8th grade year (I think--maybe the summer BEFORE my eighth grade year??)
The details of most of my teen years are extremely blurry at this point.
I'll admit now that I may totally confuse, misrepresent, and butcher the events of years 13-18.
I'll probably have to break this up into several different posts at the risk of this turning into War & Peace.
Anyway...it was summer time. My sister had just started attending this wonderful little church (the one I mentioned yesterday that I was very active in. You know..the one with the boy I was madly in love with?)
She was invited to lunch at the youth pastor and his wife's house but my brother-in-law couldn't make it, so Missy took me instead. We pulled up to the beautiful house and were welcomed into a warm, caring and open home. Carla (not her real name) was the young wife with three little kids who cooked up a wonderful steak and french fries meal. We sat and ate and chatted. Grant was her husband. He was very welcoming also; friendly & funny. After we ate, Carla & Missy started chatting about the youth program and the plans they had to go to an amusement park that summer. They invited me to come. I was thrilled at the idea of going, but scared at the idea of being in a group with however many other teens that I didn't know.
Long story short--I started attending church and the youth group regularly. I did go to the amusement park and my sister went with me. In fact, both of my sisters went along with an aunt and my aunt's friend.
I began to babysit for the couple's 3 kids and when Grant found out that I was in danger of failing 9th grade...he stepped in and offered to tutor me.
They spoke with my parents and worked out an agreement that I would come over to their house after school on Friday, spend the night and Grant would tutor me. I babysat a lot for them. I enjoyed being in their house and with their family. They were a middle-income family with a nice vehicle, a beautiful house. (Did I mention that had a great house??) Apparently, a "house" represented something more to me than just a dwelling. I was told by a therapist once that it represented stability.
Pretty soon, Friday to Saturday turned into Friday through Sunday (so I could go to church with them.) Not too long after that, Friday through Sunday turned into Friday through Monday morning (when I would walk to school from their house.)
They were very kind to me. They had the idyllic family. I wanted so badly to be a part of that, even if only by being grandfathered in.
Finally, 9th grade ended. I passed. By the skin of my teeth, but whatever.
I traveled with this family. Took vacations. They bought me things like clothes for school, books to read, the braces that I had dreamed so long for, and included me in everything they did like I was one of their own. It felt fantastic.
At 14 or 15, I instinctively bucked everything my parents said anyway, but throw in the mix that now the things I was learning in church seemed to fly in the face of what I was being told or taught at home...it was very confusing.
Also throw in the fact that Grant & Carla were only about 13 years older than me and it only complicated things.
As I was starting to write this post, Joe (my hsusband) and I were talking about it. He's been reading right along and has, of course, heard this all before. Maybe not all at once in consecutive order, but he knows the gist.
He started asking me about a timeline of events, and I have to say--it's sketchy at best. It seemed like 100 years I lived there and at other times, only a few months.
So, given the above admission that I have no clue of the exact order or timing of events, let's just jump to the meat of this story.
Grant was (is) a charismatic, charming, funny, passionate guy. He was passionate about God, about getting the teens in the church involved, and about doing things the "right" way. Which many interpreted to be "his" way. I'll let you draw your own conclusion.
He started showing an interest in me scholastically and visited the high school when I was in 10th & 11th grades. He also started tutoring other kids who needed it. He even went so far as to meet with my teachers and talk with them about my home situation. I don't remember the exact reason for that, since I was a good student and in honors classes at that point.
He guided me spiritually as well. He was the youth leader, after all, and I lived in his home. I listened to him speak about the Bible with so much knowledge and conviction. I never doubted what he said was true.
I trusted him implicitly.
I also adored his wife. She was a tough cookie. Strong, gracious, caring. I don't think I had ever met someone who embodied the Proverbs 31 woman better than she did. She literall sewed some of hers and her kids' clothing. She cleaned her house spotless, every week. She did everyone's laundry every week. She cooked three awesome meals a day. She homeschooled their three children. She also held Grant's hand in his business--and literally--any time that he needed or wanted it.
She was an outspoken voice of logic and reason when it came to the Bible. Many, many women looked up to and learned from her. She was the very picture of the ideal wife. Almost Stepford, you could say. And I think I will.
I remember that one of her many responsibilities was to pick out Grant's clothes every day.
She had to blow dry his hair after his bath--which she spent in the bathroom with him during, talking to him while he bathed. Pretty much every day.
They awoke at 5, 6 am to run together every day.
Everything was based around Grant and what he wanted or needed. Or how he felt the family should run.
If I'd heard the verse about wives submitting to your husbands once, I heard it a million times in their house. In all its literal translation.
I remember once he took his shirt off at the end of the day and dropped it on the floor of their bedroom (which is where the only TV in the house was.)
I said something derrogatory about how Carla worked so hard to clean the house every day and he just dropped his shirt anywhere he wanted.
That wasn't welcomed with open arms.
In fact, Carla made me apologize to him for being disrespectful.
I was bitter. I wasn't sorry I said it then and I'm not sorry now. Actually, I wish I had been brave enough to say more then.
Carla & Grant put all the kids to bed at 8 and I got to stay up for a bit longer and watch movies with them. Some of these were questionable at best. In light of this person being the youth leader and a pillar in the church, I (even at 15) was alarmed by one of the movie choices--the movie "Whore." It was about...you guessed it...a whore. A prostitute. I can't even tell you the plot. I was so uncomfortable.
Anyway...Carla & Grant used to "tuck me in" every night like they did their own kids. It was very nice, actually. Although I was struggling for independence, I was also starving for parental affection. Things with my parents were strained at the time. I'm sure in large part to me "choosing" another family over my own.
Eventually, the tuck ins turned into morning wake ups for school. I can't be sure how it all started, if it was always like this or if it turned into something different than the way it began. Grant woke me up every morning for school. There was a routine to it. One that I learned to anticipate.
And I think I have to stop there. I can't stop pausing to put my head in my hands. It's all a little overwhelming. It's amazing how many memories come rushing back. All the feelings.
I don't know how much I'll share, how much I'll infer, and how much I'll avoid altogether.
I'm sure you've already started inferring some things.
I'm terrified at who is reading this. I keep thinking about all those reading who will be thinking, "Why in the world is she telling everyone this?" I'm not completely sure.
I think because I'm tired of feeling like I have these skeletons in my closet. I'm tired of feeling like I'm hiding these big secrets. It's not like I haven't talked to people about it, but I don't think I've ever fully spoken freely about it.
Anyway...I'll be back.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Middle School Should Just Be Re-Named 'Hell'
Wow. I am speechless. Honestly.
Yesterday I spent most of the day a nervous wreck.
I called my mom 3 times.
If you know me well, you KNOW I don't call my parents that often.
I was so afraid that something I said was going to upset them.
I also received messages and emails from people who I grew up with...and heard that they had a lot of the same things going on in their lives growing up.
Isn't it funny how we get so transfixed on ME and can't or don't see anyone else?
If only we knew how to reach out and share instead of putting on a mask. Maybe we could have avoided all that unnecessary insecurity.
Yesterday was a trip through elementary school. Almost.
I forgot to mention that we moved in the middle of my 5th grade year.
It was big news. We moved into an apartment complex. Get this...it had running water and air conditioning.
While it was sad for me to leave the only home I'd known for 12 years, I was overjoyed to be living "like the other kids."
The down side? I had to change schools. Smack dab in the middle of the year.
So, there I was now in a bigger school (there was MORE than one 5th grade!) and they changed classrooms for a few classes. That was totally new to me.
A down side to this new move? The socioeconomic barriers only grew. This was a 'city' school and most of the kids' parents were white collar workers. That meant more name brands, labels, and popular items that I didn't have. (Cue the violin)
It's okay though. I did pretty well academically and excelled in reading. I entered so many contests that year...and won. Mostly essay contests. I also entered the school talent show and felt like a star for the first time ever.
I danced to Dokken, Heartless Heart.
Okay, so there's no accounting for taste. It was my older sister's cassette.
I also joined Just Say No. I was the president (I think) for one year. We made up skits and cliqued up as to who was in whose skits. Awww the politics of 5th grade.
I ended up missing a lot of school my 5th & 6th grade years. Mostly because I was not adjusting well to the move. I also had quite the boom dropped on me by a neighbor.
I don't even remember all the details. I just know I was standing outside of the apartment building and a neighbor was chatting me up. She said something like, "I just feel bad that you live here." I said, "Why?" And she told me she felt bad because our complex was low-income housing.
Talk about taking the wind out of someone's sails.
From that point on I no longer felt that pride or excitement for the AC or the running water. I was 12 almost 13 and everything hinged on my happiness. If even the slightest thing went wrong, it sent me into a tail spin. So, I was just like pretty much every other 12 almost 13 year old.
Sure, I knew we had low income, but to find out that the rest of the world knew that just by where we lived? Unthinkable.
The next hurdle...middle school.
Oh how I wish I could have just skipped middle school. I think middle school/junior high is what hell must be like.
All gawky knees and elbows, flat chests, boatloads of insecurity and cliques. Horrible.
There was a certain group of guys who hated my guts for some reason that I still have not figured out. Just HATED me. There were a few other girls lucky enough to be targetd too.
I was tormented. Called names. Made fun of. Picked on. Mercilessly.
One time, one of them even grabbed the painting I was working on in art class and smeared it all over my head and in my hair. And then tried to get ME in trouble for grabbing his wrist to stop him from doing it again.
I wanted to die. Literally.
I had a good friend who I'll call Kay. She had her own stuff going on at home and was also being bullied by these thugs. We'd known each other from elementary, but grew really close in middle school. We had a huge commonality: we hated ourselves.
We would sit together in class with rubber bands around our wrists and snap them over and over again.
We tried to venture into cutting but I was too chicken. Although I really wanted to do it. Just to feel the pain. There's something I can't explain about that pain. It overcomes and supercedes the pain that everything else is causing. And it's YOUR decision how much and when to administer that pain. No one else's.
Kay jumped ahead of me in that department, though. She took to erasing her skin until it broke open and scabbed over. Honestly...where WERE our teachers?? This is how we spent most of our class time. Well, THIS and writing angst- filled poetry and notes to each other.
Everyone is miserable during those years. I think the stuff that was already bothering me only added to my misery.
I did manage to have friends during this time. Some really great ones too. I even went to school dances and had a couple of boyfriends. Looking back, I think my life probably wasn't as dire as I remember.
But Middle school was awful none-the-less.
Those boys? The ones who kept picking on me?
I finally went to the guidance counselor and talked with him about these wretched guys. He had a chat with them and after one final tormenting session, they let me off the hook. I remember the day, the moment.
Jason came over to me and said, "Why'd you have to go and talk to Mr. So-and-so?"
I said, "I told him not to talk to you because it won't do any good anyway."
He paused and then said, "Okay, Mandy, you're off the hook."
And that was it.
I'll never know if they decided to leave me alone because of what Mr. So-and-so said or if it was by their choice. And I guess, who cares, right?
So, fast forward on to High school. Freshman year.
Awful. Just awful. (Seems to be a theme, right?)
Not too much has changed. I'm still scrawny, ugly, snaggle toothed, and miserable.
The misery from middle school transferred right along with me to high school.
I was so caught up in the drama of it all that I very nearly failed 9th grade.
I was madly in love with a boy from my church, but didn't feel good enough for him. I also did what so many other distraught, overwrought girls at the tender age of 14 do and I acted all ridiculous and ga ga over him. I forced him to kiss me behind the church one night (Just a peck!). I'm sure I humiliated him to no end. I know I'm humiliated just thinking about it.
And we actually went on a date. Unfortunately, when he came to pick me up (at the dreaded apartment) my dad had just burned something he was cooking. It filled the apartment with smoke and that smoke billowed out the door when I answered it. He didn't make a big deal of it at the time, but I later heard from a mutual friend that this boy thought it was cigarette smoke and said how disgusting it was.
I, quite naturally, was mortified. Mor-ti-fied. Even after the fact.
It wasn't long after that we broke up in dramatic fashion with a note written in school and delivered to me between classes. (Folded all origami-like) I bawled and went home early.
I resorted to writing love-struck poetry for months about it. I used to fall asleep saying his name. (If he's reading this, I'm pretty sure he's just filed a restraining order.) I was pathetic. Pathetic.
I hated (and was probably mean to) everyone he liked and or dated. No girl was good enough.
I actually ended up dating a couple of his friends. And by 'dating' I mean phone calls, maybe group dates, but NOTHING more.
You see, I was the VERY DEFINITION of good girl.
I was active in my youth group. In fact I was the treasurer.
I attended church whenever the doors were open. Sunday morning, Sunday night & Wednesday night.
Sure, it was all so I could see this boy, but I also managed to meet another guy along the way: Jesus.
Thank God--quite literally-- I did. Of course, my relationship with God was wrapped up in a boy who was soooooo cool and couldn't give me the time of day, but I was okay with that. Sadly. I look back now and want to scream at my younger self: "HAVE SOME SELF RESPECT, SOME DIGNITY! AND FOR PETE'S SAKE, LEAVE THAT BOY ALONE!" *sigh*
I also met another guy at church at the most depressing and vulnerable time in my life. He was the youth pastor. And he wanted to help me.
But that's enough for now. I'm not sure I'm ready to tackle the next part. I think it may be one of the hardest parts for me to talk about. And maybe hard for some others to read. I'm scared to death, but if I cop out now and skim over it, then I consider that a failure. Give me 24 hours or so and I'll be back.
Yesterday I spent most of the day a nervous wreck.
I called my mom 3 times.
If you know me well, you KNOW I don't call my parents that often.
I was so afraid that something I said was going to upset them.
I also received messages and emails from people who I grew up with...and heard that they had a lot of the same things going on in their lives growing up.
Isn't it funny how we get so transfixed on ME and can't or don't see anyone else?
If only we knew how to reach out and share instead of putting on a mask. Maybe we could have avoided all that unnecessary insecurity.
Yesterday was a trip through elementary school. Almost.
I forgot to mention that we moved in the middle of my 5th grade year.
It was big news. We moved into an apartment complex. Get this...it had running water and air conditioning.
While it was sad for me to leave the only home I'd known for 12 years, I was overjoyed to be living "like the other kids."
The down side? I had to change schools. Smack dab in the middle of the year.
So, there I was now in a bigger school (there was MORE than one 5th grade!) and they changed classrooms for a few classes. That was totally new to me.
A down side to this new move? The socioeconomic barriers only grew. This was a 'city' school and most of the kids' parents were white collar workers. That meant more name brands, labels, and popular items that I didn't have. (Cue the violin)
It's okay though. I did pretty well academically and excelled in reading. I entered so many contests that year...and won. Mostly essay contests. I also entered the school talent show and felt like a star for the first time ever.
I danced to Dokken, Heartless Heart.
Okay, so there's no accounting for taste. It was my older sister's cassette.
I also joined Just Say No. I was the president (I think) for one year. We made up skits and cliqued up as to who was in whose skits. Awww the politics of 5th grade.
I ended up missing a lot of school my 5th & 6th grade years. Mostly because I was not adjusting well to the move. I also had quite the boom dropped on me by a neighbor.
I don't even remember all the details. I just know I was standing outside of the apartment building and a neighbor was chatting me up. She said something like, "I just feel bad that you live here." I said, "Why?" And she told me she felt bad because our complex was low-income housing.
Talk about taking the wind out of someone's sails.
From that point on I no longer felt that pride or excitement for the AC or the running water. I was 12 almost 13 and everything hinged on my happiness. If even the slightest thing went wrong, it sent me into a tail spin. So, I was just like pretty much every other 12 almost 13 year old.
Sure, I knew we had low income, but to find out that the rest of the world knew that just by where we lived? Unthinkable.
The next hurdle...middle school.
Oh how I wish I could have just skipped middle school. I think middle school/junior high is what hell must be like.
All gawky knees and elbows, flat chests, boatloads of insecurity and cliques. Horrible.
There was a certain group of guys who hated my guts for some reason that I still have not figured out. Just HATED me. There were a few other girls lucky enough to be targetd too.
I was tormented. Called names. Made fun of. Picked on. Mercilessly.
One time, one of them even grabbed the painting I was working on in art class and smeared it all over my head and in my hair. And then tried to get ME in trouble for grabbing his wrist to stop him from doing it again.
I wanted to die. Literally.
I had a good friend who I'll call Kay. She had her own stuff going on at home and was also being bullied by these thugs. We'd known each other from elementary, but grew really close in middle school. We had a huge commonality: we hated ourselves.
We would sit together in class with rubber bands around our wrists and snap them over and over again.
We tried to venture into cutting but I was too chicken. Although I really wanted to do it. Just to feel the pain. There's something I can't explain about that pain. It overcomes and supercedes the pain that everything else is causing. And it's YOUR decision how much and when to administer that pain. No one else's.
Kay jumped ahead of me in that department, though. She took to erasing her skin until it broke open and scabbed over. Honestly...where WERE our teachers?? This is how we spent most of our class time. Well, THIS and writing angst- filled poetry and notes to each other.
Everyone is miserable during those years. I think the stuff that was already bothering me only added to my misery.
I did manage to have friends during this time. Some really great ones too. I even went to school dances and had a couple of boyfriends. Looking back, I think my life probably wasn't as dire as I remember.
But Middle school was awful none-the-less.
Those boys? The ones who kept picking on me?
I finally went to the guidance counselor and talked with him about these wretched guys. He had a chat with them and after one final tormenting session, they let me off the hook. I remember the day, the moment.
Jason came over to me and said, "Why'd you have to go and talk to Mr. So-and-so?"
I said, "I told him not to talk to you because it won't do any good anyway."
He paused and then said, "Okay, Mandy, you're off the hook."
And that was it.
I'll never know if they decided to leave me alone because of what Mr. So-and-so said or if it was by their choice. And I guess, who cares, right?
So, fast forward on to High school. Freshman year.
Awful. Just awful. (Seems to be a theme, right?)
Not too much has changed. I'm still scrawny, ugly, snaggle toothed, and miserable.
The misery from middle school transferred right along with me to high school.
I was so caught up in the drama of it all that I very nearly failed 9th grade.
I was madly in love with a boy from my church, but didn't feel good enough for him. I also did what so many other distraught, overwrought girls at the tender age of 14 do and I acted all ridiculous and ga ga over him. I forced him to kiss me behind the church one night (Just a peck!). I'm sure I humiliated him to no end. I know I'm humiliated just thinking about it.
And we actually went on a date. Unfortunately, when he came to pick me up (at the dreaded apartment) my dad had just burned something he was cooking. It filled the apartment with smoke and that smoke billowed out the door when I answered it. He didn't make a big deal of it at the time, but I later heard from a mutual friend that this boy thought it was cigarette smoke and said how disgusting it was.
I, quite naturally, was mortified. Mor-ti-fied. Even after the fact.
It wasn't long after that we broke up in dramatic fashion with a note written in school and delivered to me between classes. (Folded all origami-like) I bawled and went home early.
I resorted to writing love-struck poetry for months about it. I used to fall asleep saying his name. (If he's reading this, I'm pretty sure he's just filed a restraining order.) I was pathetic. Pathetic.
I hated (and was probably mean to) everyone he liked and or dated. No girl was good enough.
I actually ended up dating a couple of his friends. And by 'dating' I mean phone calls, maybe group dates, but NOTHING more.
You see, I was the VERY DEFINITION of good girl.
I was active in my youth group. In fact I was the treasurer.
I attended church whenever the doors were open. Sunday morning, Sunday night & Wednesday night.
Sure, it was all so I could see this boy, but I also managed to meet another guy along the way: Jesus.
Thank God--quite literally-- I did. Of course, my relationship with God was wrapped up in a boy who was soooooo cool and couldn't give me the time of day, but I was okay with that. Sadly. I look back now and want to scream at my younger self: "HAVE SOME SELF RESPECT, SOME DIGNITY! AND FOR PETE'S SAKE, LEAVE THAT BOY ALONE!" *sigh*
I also met another guy at church at the most depressing and vulnerable time in my life. He was the youth pastor. And he wanted to help me.
But that's enough for now. I'm not sure I'm ready to tackle the next part. I think it may be one of the hardest parts for me to talk about. And maybe hard for some others to read. I'm scared to death, but if I cop out now and skim over it, then I consider that a failure. Give me 24 hours or so and I'll be back.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
And It Begins...
I figure I better jump on this before all my wind goes out of my sails.
I made some phone calls and sent some emails to warn people that this will not be a carbon copy of my other blog where I try to lean on humor to make the real more palatable.
I also wanted to explain to my parents that I may say things that they find hurtful, but that's not my intention.
I am actually shaking.
I got an email back from someone in my past who gave me carte blanche to spew it all. It was important to me that they know I am not [intentionally] holding back anything and that could be hurtful to them, indirectly. Her response? "It's not about me, it's about you."
I bawled. I had NO idea that receiving that permission was so important to me. I think I could be getting closer to why my body is revolting lately with so many sicknesses and such a lowered immune system. Why stress is oozing (literally) out of every pore.
Sometimes the things we THINK we have dealt with have only been stuffed down, or even folded neatly and put in the back of the closet of our minds. While it may be out of sight and even look pretty, it still takes up room and affects everything else in the closet.
SO now....here's the beginning of...me. Mandy. My autobiography.
Bear with me, please. This may happen in a succession of fits and starts. Random recollections and flat out inaccuracies as I do my best to recall a bunch of stuff that happened 30+ years ago.
I have a hard time remembering yesterday, so be prepared.
*****************************************
My birth. 1977. I don't remember much of it. =)
But I'm told that it was pretty traumatic. I was 2 months early (?) My mom will have to verify that later.
I was 5 lbs, and very weak. I guess I wouldn't eat so the doctors gave up on me. I'm told I was wheeled into a small, dark room in an incubator and left alone to die. My dad said he made a deal with God and put that bottle in my mouth...and I ate! (And haven't missed a meal since!) It was decided I was going to be a fighter.
Growing up was interesting. Honestly, I don't remember much of my childhood. I think I've blocked a lot of it out. It was tumultuous. I have 2 older sisters. About 9 & 10 years older. I was the oops at the end of the line.
I grew up in the country. In a 2 bedroom trailor. My parents had a tough go of it and were finally able to get a piece of land they could call their own. So we set up camp. And I do mean camp. We had a well (a few, I think) but because we didn't have the right something or another, it didn't pump into our house. We used to get water from the neighbor's house in milk jugs and use those for drinking and bathing. I remember my sisters and I cutting through the woods to our neighbor's house to fill up these jugs using their outside spigot. Because I was so little, I could only carry one jug. That left my sisters to carry all the rest. I don't remember how many...just that there were A LOT. I remember my dad doing this too. He'd hook all the jugs together with a rope. I remember thinking how strong he was. =)
I was so little that I didn't fully realize that not having running water wasn't typical. I didn't know that not everyone waited for it to rain so they could grab a bar of soap and some shampoo and "shower" under the water leaking off the downspout.
There's one day at school that is still with me like it happened yesterday. Our school nurse would periodically line everybody up and march them to the nurse's office where she would do "head checks." She was looking for lice. She looked at my scalp once, and said, "Your head is FILTHY!" I was absolutely mortified. It was said loudly and in front of my classmates. I thought I was in trouble. I went home scared to death to tell my mom and dad. Now...looking back...I realize that no 8 or 9 year old has the ability to give themselves a bath when it involves boiling water, pouring enough of it into a basin or the bathtub and scrubbing clean. NOW I know that. But I wish I could have a word with Mrs. Moisio and tell her how her thoughtless, unkind words and harsh tone have stayed with me for over 25 years.
The realization that not everyone lived like I did didn't come until many years later.
Don't get me wrong...I never felt unloved growing up, And I'm just starting to realize that my parents really did the best they could with what they had. It wasn't always easy for me to say and believe that.
I do believe the way I am today about a lot of things is a direct result of how I grew up. For example, there was a time when I had lots of expendible cash. I was married, in a 2 income household and no kids. I liked to spoil my nieces with moderatley lavish back-to-school shopping trips. I wanted them to wear all the name brands that were in style and have new stuff. Growing up, our back to school shopping was done at the Goodwill or the Salvation Army. It was horribly embarrassing to me as a kid. I think it was to my sisters too--and even more so because they were teenagers.
It's funny though, now I LIKE to shop at the Goodwill, The Salvation Army & thrift stores. I understand the value of a dollar and making it stretch. All things that I took for granted (or didn't understand) about my parents. And now I feel bad that I made them feel bad for not being able to afford what I wanted. As a mom now of 5 kids--with a 6 year old who asks for an iPod Touch....I understand the pain of saying., "No, honey. That costs a lot of money" and feeling rotten for having to say it.
I'm realizing that instead of being bitter that I didn't grow up in a house, with a nice car, the newest clothes, and the material things that a lot of my friends did, I should be thankful that my parents cared about me and showed me in other ways that they loved me and my sisters. They cared enough to make sure we were fed, clothed, and had a roof over our heads.
That's the adult in me coming out. Finally, all the times my mom said, "You'll understand some day when you have kids" is coming true. I get it.
Anyway...school was kind of horrible growing up. We rode the bus for what seemed like a gazillion hours on dirt roads (a death trap in the winter) to a small one floor elementary school. Luckily, a lot of my classmates were in the same boat as my family, financially (maybe not to the extreme we were with no running water) but still tight if not poor. I missed enormous amounts of school every year. Like...80 days or something like that?? If I so much as said I didn't want to go, I didn't have to. I think (and this is just my vague memory) that my mom was so intent on making sure we never felt forced to go to school that she made sure we were heard when we said we didn't want to/didn't feel well enough to go to school. As a kid, she lived a miserable childhood. She was hauled off to school whether she liked it or not. Being sick was ignored. Even if she'd been on her death bed, it was an inconvenience. So, I believe that she was bound and determined that we would never feel that way. Overkill? Over correction? Probably. But I get it.
I always liked school in so far as I loved to read and found school interesting.
What I didn't like? Getting made fun of for smelling bad. Or for my teeth being crooked. Or for having a "junky" car.
My parents smoke. Unfortunately for me, that meant I did too. And I smelled of it everywhere I went.
My teeth were horribly crooked; snaggle toothed. Braces were something I dreamed of, but knew I would never be able to have. They were just expensive and not covered under our insurance. We were on government assistance and that barely covered our basic needs let alone cosmetic things like braces. That was another major embarrassment...being on Welfare. I still have a really hard time saying the word. It will always have that negative stigma attached to it. My dad waited in line for government cheese in the plain, brown box and other food from the food pantry. At the time, I either didn't fully understand or didn't care that his having to do that was probably horrifying for him. He did it though because he loved us.
Going grocery shopping was a nightmare. If anyone I knew was in the store while we checked out, I was sick with embarrassment. Literally-heat flashes. We paid using food stamps and I could just have died. Do you know how many times I hid or asked to go out to the car when it was time to pay? Do you know that it wasn't until my 20's that I didn't feel embarrassed being with someone who paid with a check? Because of the way things were for us, paying with a check always [at least in my memory] meant we'd be overdrawn. It was such a desperate situation for my parents to use a check. And I knew there was not enough money in the account (usually) to cover it. I knew it would bounce. And I thought that was the case with everyone. So, the first time I went shoppping with my guardian (for another time, the guardian story) and she paid with a check...I almost died right there because I thought FOR SURE that she was writing a rubber check.
School picture time? Another time of great anxiety. I knew we would either be getting the smallest package available or none at all. Standing in line as a kid with no envelope was likened to having two heads. I might as well have shown up to school naked for how I [felt I] was treated. The cool kids got package A (the most expensive) and if I got any, it was package D (the least expensive.) If I was lucky to have an envelope that year, I would be sure to hold it so no one saw what package I was getting. I'd hand it to the woman collecting them very carefully and try to make noise when she announced to the photographer what package it was. Did these people have no heart? Why did they have to announce it anyway?!
It's funny how our skewed perspectives can be righted and then you realize how skewed it really was.
Our car?? Oh man...my dad was forever working on every car we had. In order to afford one, it always had something wrong with it and needed work. Luckily, my dad was handy and could do most of the work himself. Unfortunately...sometimes we had patch-work cars. A door from this car, a hood form another. One car had half of a front grill. Another had a wooden front bumper. All things that mortify a young kid.
My poor dad...I used to make him drop me off 200 feet away from the school so no one saw me get out of our car. My heart breaks for him now, knowing he was providing a vehicle for us, and I was ashamed of it...and I'm sure that read that I was ashamed of him.
As an 8 year old, those are things I couldn't control. But try telling that to 30 other 8 and 9 year olds who are dying to find a kid to pick on so that they don't get picked on themselves.
I do remember my mom being a room mother most of the time. I remember my dad dressing up as the Cookie Monster one Easter and coming to the school and delivering easter eggs to my classmates and me. I do have good memories.
There are also some not-so-great memories.
Like coming home one night when it was very dark. There were NO streetlights on the dirt roads we traveled to get to our house. There was a mob of people--who my parents said were from the KKK--oout one night. I remember my dad getting his billy club out when we got home. And feeling very scared. We called the police, but by the time a cop made it to our house...everyone would be long gone.
I remember waking up at night and being terrified. Of what, I don't know. I hated living in such a remote area at night. I used to have horrible stomach aches for no reason and wake up all the time with severe anxiety. I'm sure that has traveled with me to adulthood since I sem to be having a lot of those same things now.
It's funny...as I'm writing this, I just got a feeling...it was like I was back at that trailor, in the hot summer. There's a distinct smell that I can't name. And a feeling of home. Funny. That's never happened before.
I relaize this may be a boring start. Sorry about that. I think it's worth starting at the beginning though.
If you've hung with me this long. Thanks!
I made some phone calls and sent some emails to warn people that this will not be a carbon copy of my other blog where I try to lean on humor to make the real more palatable.
I also wanted to explain to my parents that I may say things that they find hurtful, but that's not my intention.
I am actually shaking.
I got an email back from someone in my past who gave me carte blanche to spew it all. It was important to me that they know I am not [intentionally] holding back anything and that could be hurtful to them, indirectly. Her response? "It's not about me, it's about you."
I bawled. I had NO idea that receiving that permission was so important to me. I think I could be getting closer to why my body is revolting lately with so many sicknesses and such a lowered immune system. Why stress is oozing (literally) out of every pore.
Sometimes the things we THINK we have dealt with have only been stuffed down, or even folded neatly and put in the back of the closet of our minds. While it may be out of sight and even look pretty, it still takes up room and affects everything else in the closet.
SO now....here's the beginning of...me. Mandy. My autobiography.
Bear with me, please. This may happen in a succession of fits and starts. Random recollections and flat out inaccuracies as I do my best to recall a bunch of stuff that happened 30+ years ago.
I have a hard time remembering yesterday, so be prepared.
*****************************************
My birth. 1977. I don't remember much of it. =)
But I'm told that it was pretty traumatic. I was 2 months early (?) My mom will have to verify that later.
I was 5 lbs, and very weak. I guess I wouldn't eat so the doctors gave up on me. I'm told I was wheeled into a small, dark room in an incubator and left alone to die. My dad said he made a deal with God and put that bottle in my mouth...and I ate! (And haven't missed a meal since!) It was decided I was going to be a fighter.
Growing up was interesting. Honestly, I don't remember much of my childhood. I think I've blocked a lot of it out. It was tumultuous. I have 2 older sisters. About 9 & 10 years older. I was the oops at the end of the line.
I grew up in the country. In a 2 bedroom trailor. My parents had a tough go of it and were finally able to get a piece of land they could call their own. So we set up camp. And I do mean camp. We had a well (a few, I think) but because we didn't have the right something or another, it didn't pump into our house. We used to get water from the neighbor's house in milk jugs and use those for drinking and bathing. I remember my sisters and I cutting through the woods to our neighbor's house to fill up these jugs using their outside spigot. Because I was so little, I could only carry one jug. That left my sisters to carry all the rest. I don't remember how many...just that there were A LOT. I remember my dad doing this too. He'd hook all the jugs together with a rope. I remember thinking how strong he was. =)
I was so little that I didn't fully realize that not having running water wasn't typical. I didn't know that not everyone waited for it to rain so they could grab a bar of soap and some shampoo and "shower" under the water leaking off the downspout.
There's one day at school that is still with me like it happened yesterday. Our school nurse would periodically line everybody up and march them to the nurse's office where she would do "head checks." She was looking for lice. She looked at my scalp once, and said, "Your head is FILTHY!" I was absolutely mortified. It was said loudly and in front of my classmates. I thought I was in trouble. I went home scared to death to tell my mom and dad. Now...looking back...I realize that no 8 or 9 year old has the ability to give themselves a bath when it involves boiling water, pouring enough of it into a basin or the bathtub and scrubbing clean. NOW I know that. But I wish I could have a word with Mrs. Moisio and tell her how her thoughtless, unkind words and harsh tone have stayed with me for over 25 years.
The realization that not everyone lived like I did didn't come until many years later.
Don't get me wrong...I never felt unloved growing up, And I'm just starting to realize that my parents really did the best they could with what they had. It wasn't always easy for me to say and believe that.
I do believe the way I am today about a lot of things is a direct result of how I grew up. For example, there was a time when I had lots of expendible cash. I was married, in a 2 income household and no kids. I liked to spoil my nieces with moderatley lavish back-to-school shopping trips. I wanted them to wear all the name brands that were in style and have new stuff. Growing up, our back to school shopping was done at the Goodwill or the Salvation Army. It was horribly embarrassing to me as a kid. I think it was to my sisters too--and even more so because they were teenagers.
It's funny though, now I LIKE to shop at the Goodwill, The Salvation Army & thrift stores. I understand the value of a dollar and making it stretch. All things that I took for granted (or didn't understand) about my parents. And now I feel bad that I made them feel bad for not being able to afford what I wanted. As a mom now of 5 kids--with a 6 year old who asks for an iPod Touch....I understand the pain of saying., "No, honey. That costs a lot of money" and feeling rotten for having to say it.
I'm realizing that instead of being bitter that I didn't grow up in a house, with a nice car, the newest clothes, and the material things that a lot of my friends did, I should be thankful that my parents cared about me and showed me in other ways that they loved me and my sisters. They cared enough to make sure we were fed, clothed, and had a roof over our heads.
That's the adult in me coming out. Finally, all the times my mom said, "You'll understand some day when you have kids" is coming true. I get it.
Anyway...school was kind of horrible growing up. We rode the bus for what seemed like a gazillion hours on dirt roads (a death trap in the winter) to a small one floor elementary school. Luckily, a lot of my classmates were in the same boat as my family, financially (maybe not to the extreme we were with no running water) but still tight if not poor. I missed enormous amounts of school every year. Like...80 days or something like that?? If I so much as said I didn't want to go, I didn't have to. I think (and this is just my vague memory) that my mom was so intent on making sure we never felt forced to go to school that she made sure we were heard when we said we didn't want to/didn't feel well enough to go to school. As a kid, she lived a miserable childhood. She was hauled off to school whether she liked it or not. Being sick was ignored. Even if she'd been on her death bed, it was an inconvenience. So, I believe that she was bound and determined that we would never feel that way. Overkill? Over correction? Probably. But I get it.
I always liked school in so far as I loved to read and found school interesting.
What I didn't like? Getting made fun of for smelling bad. Or for my teeth being crooked. Or for having a "junky" car.
My parents smoke. Unfortunately for me, that meant I did too. And I smelled of it everywhere I went.
My teeth were horribly crooked; snaggle toothed. Braces were something I dreamed of, but knew I would never be able to have. They were just expensive and not covered under our insurance. We were on government assistance and that barely covered our basic needs let alone cosmetic things like braces. That was another major embarrassment...being on Welfare. I still have a really hard time saying the word. It will always have that negative stigma attached to it. My dad waited in line for government cheese in the plain, brown box and other food from the food pantry. At the time, I either didn't fully understand or didn't care that his having to do that was probably horrifying for him. He did it though because he loved us.
Going grocery shopping was a nightmare. If anyone I knew was in the store while we checked out, I was sick with embarrassment. Literally-heat flashes. We paid using food stamps and I could just have died. Do you know how many times I hid or asked to go out to the car when it was time to pay? Do you know that it wasn't until my 20's that I didn't feel embarrassed being with someone who paid with a check? Because of the way things were for us, paying with a check always [at least in my memory] meant we'd be overdrawn. It was such a desperate situation for my parents to use a check. And I knew there was not enough money in the account (usually) to cover it. I knew it would bounce. And I thought that was the case with everyone. So, the first time I went shoppping with my guardian (for another time, the guardian story) and she paid with a check...I almost died right there because I thought FOR SURE that she was writing a rubber check.
School picture time? Another time of great anxiety. I knew we would either be getting the smallest package available or none at all. Standing in line as a kid with no envelope was likened to having two heads. I might as well have shown up to school naked for how I [felt I] was treated. The cool kids got package A (the most expensive) and if I got any, it was package D (the least expensive.) If I was lucky to have an envelope that year, I would be sure to hold it so no one saw what package I was getting. I'd hand it to the woman collecting them very carefully and try to make noise when she announced to the photographer what package it was. Did these people have no heart? Why did they have to announce it anyway?!
It's funny how our skewed perspectives can be righted and then you realize how skewed it really was.
Our car?? Oh man...my dad was forever working on every car we had. In order to afford one, it always had something wrong with it and needed work. Luckily, my dad was handy and could do most of the work himself. Unfortunately...sometimes we had patch-work cars. A door from this car, a hood form another. One car had half of a front grill. Another had a wooden front bumper. All things that mortify a young kid.
My poor dad...I used to make him drop me off 200 feet away from the school so no one saw me get out of our car. My heart breaks for him now, knowing he was providing a vehicle for us, and I was ashamed of it...and I'm sure that read that I was ashamed of him.
As an 8 year old, those are things I couldn't control. But try telling that to 30 other 8 and 9 year olds who are dying to find a kid to pick on so that they don't get picked on themselves.
I do remember my mom being a room mother most of the time. I remember my dad dressing up as the Cookie Monster one Easter and coming to the school and delivering easter eggs to my classmates and me. I do have good memories.
There are also some not-so-great memories.
Like coming home one night when it was very dark. There were NO streetlights on the dirt roads we traveled to get to our house. There was a mob of people--who my parents said were from the KKK--oout one night. I remember my dad getting his billy club out when we got home. And feeling very scared. We called the police, but by the time a cop made it to our house...everyone would be long gone.
I remember waking up at night and being terrified. Of what, I don't know. I hated living in such a remote area at night. I used to have horrible stomach aches for no reason and wake up all the time with severe anxiety. I'm sure that has traveled with me to adulthood since I sem to be having a lot of those same things now.
It's funny...as I'm writing this, I just got a feeling...it was like I was back at that trailor, in the hot summer. There's a distinct smell that I can't name. And a feeling of home. Funny. That's never happened before.
I relaize this may be a boring start. Sorry about that. I think it's worth starting at the beginning though.
If you've hung with me this long. Thanks!
Chapter One
And I'm TERRIFIED.
I'm torn with wanting to jump right in and wanting to hold back.
But if I'm going to do this, I'm going big or going home.
My name is Mandy.
For those new here, welcome.
For those following from my other blog-now's your last chance to run. HAHA.
Where to start?
Um....let's start with an explanation.
I feel a disclaimer of sorts may be in order.
This is my life as I know it.
No one lives in a cave. We all have relationships and experiences with others, so I acknowledge that the things I say may not be completely accurate. It is my truth; my reality. Those involved or witnesses to these events may see them completely differently.
As long as YOU'RE okay with that, I'M okay with that.
And moving on...
NOTHING said on this blog is meant to hurt anyone.
It's merely me recounting and telling my story.
It's my way of sorting it out. Hanging it out to dry and seeing what sense comes of it...if there is any.
Seems I've packed a LOT into the 34 years that I've been alive.
Getting this out will be a catharsis for me...but may be the cause of your need for therapy. =)
Just know that going in.
Also....to friends and family members...it TOTALLY FREAKS ME OUT to know you're reading this.
Some things may annoy you. Some may surprise you. Some may even make you mad.
I'm sorry.
Not my intention!
Please go into reading this knowing that I love you and am not trying to stir up hard feelings.
I am not allowing comments. I'm terrified enough at the thought that anyone is reading, but can't even beging to think about someone commenting negatively on this, my most intimate life. I'd have to find you and throat punch you and I don't think either of us wants that.
This is not the place where I will be spell checking or grammar policing. I'm typing as fast as my fingers will allow. I want to get it all out before I chicken out.
And here we go...
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