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I haven't written in awhile. I've been really depressed lately. I should be happy. Why am I not happy? It doesn't make sense for me not to be so. I'm tired all the time and I feel like crying. I just can't get out of this funk I am in. I was talking to my best friend the other week and he's been studying personality disorders and how they affect your life and also how to cope with them. He mentioned that I should make a "coping box". To answer the question you may have, a coping box is something you make and fill with things to get you out of the state you are in on your own. Everyone's box will be different then someone else's because you would fill it with things that make you happy and that will take your mind someplace else. And you should fill it with things that activate your five senses, hearing, feeling, tasting, smelling and seeing or sight.
I decided to make my own coping box and I've filled it with pictures of my children and grandchildren. I have peppermint candy, mint lip gloss, funny jokes, favorite children books because they make me happy, my kindle, notes to remember my BPD playlist on my phone, my quote book, my perfumed essential oils that smell like nature. (You can find these at www.hagroot.com.) And other things that just mean something to me. As I go into my little episodes where I can't cope, I will see what works and what doesn't work, adding and subtracting things as I go. I've had to use my coping box today and last week when it took me all day to talk myself out of killing myself.
Suicidal thoughts is something that I haven't had in awhile, and I know what is causing them now. I'm fighting with my inner me. I'm fighting with the me that fought so hard to be free. The part of me that wants to travel and have fun, the me that loves people and to entertain, the part of me that knows that my best friend is my soul mate no matter how much he drives me crazy. The me that needs to be able to see her children and her grandchildren and to be able to see her support system in her friends. I'm fighting that me with the me that loves this man I'm with and wants to feel safe and loved. But whom is so completely different than I am. He doesn't share my dreams and goals. He doesn't share my love for people and is quite content in staying at home, playing games and watching movies all the time. I wish I could say that if I had met him 20 plus years ago instead of my husband that I would have been okay with that lifestyle, but the truth is, I wouldn't have been. I would have fought hard to be free in the same way.
So now here I am again with not being brave enough to do what I need to do. To fight this me that wants acceptance and love so much but knows that it will ultimately kill my soul because maybe sometimes love just isn't enough. But I'm scared that if I let him go, I will never find love again. That I will never have what I crave, to have what other people have. I just want someone who will love me. But I want them to accept the real me, to share my love of traveling and being with people. And I hate myself for wanting all that. For thinking about giving what I have up, giving up on a good, good man. A man that I've searched for, but ultimately may not be right for me. And maybe I need to give myself a little grace for knowing that. Grace to let myself love myself to want more. And grace to get my mom out of my head and to not think I'm selfish for wanting more. To get my mom out of my head from telling me that I need to think about others more. And to not worry so much about what other's may think about what I need or want. I don't know what I will do at this moment, but I do know that I need to give myself that grace to do the right thing, no matter how hard it may be.
I'm depressed. And that's not a thing that is new to me, but it feels different this time. I'm lonely, and I'm scared. I'm scared of losing myself and who I am. I'm scared of being abandoned again. I'm scared that I will never be able to have a normal relationship. I miss my mother, which is also not a new thing. Anyone who knows me , knows that I miss her on a constant basis. My mothers facebook page will also tell you how much I miss her. Her birthday was yesterday. She would have been 65. My best friend knows that I'm depressed and is calling me everyday to try and help me figure out how to improve my thoughts and get out of this rut I'm in, but all I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep. I need to find a therapist where I am now, but I'm overwhelmed with everything that I have to do and with what I'm feeling. Occasionally, the thought of death floats through my mind, but I have no desire to kill myself. It would require too much work and planning. And I'm already overwhelmed with everything as it is like I just said above.
I could read or paint or watch a movie. Something to just restart my brain. Instead I write this. Someone reading this would say that I'm just feeling sorry for myself. Maybe they would be right. But I don't fear what people may think. I fear the dark place engulfing me once again. It's a place I know well and wish to not visit again. I'm afraid of losing my freedom but of also being alone. I want to be loved by someone. I crave it. I don't know how to be in love without losing myself. It's terrifying and paralyzing at the same time. I wish I could just feel normal like everyone else. This shouldn't be a hard thing to do, just living life. Everyday is a challenge for me. I have to think about everything. I have to weigh it out, and figure out what's the right way to respond to it. Being what is considered normal would be like a breath of fresh air. I can't even imagine what that would feel like.
I started this blog to help people like myself and to give people an idea on what a person who struggles with borderline personality disorder deals with on an everyday basis. But I don't know how to help myself most of the time. There are so many things you can do from writing a journal to making yourself do something that you enjoy to keep the thoughts at bay. Trying something new sometimes helps as well. I used to love to read. I would constantly have a book in my face. I can't tell you how long it's been since I read anything. I go to thrift stores and buy books that I will never read. I just can't make myself do it. I've recently started gardening. But that probably wont last long for me. I tend to get bored easily. Which I why I don't paint or write books anymore. I'm just bored with it. I have all these wonderful ideas that I start and never finish writing. And there will probably come a day when I get bored with this blog, but for now I write. I write to maybe one day read back, to help understand my thoughts better. I write because its all I know how to do at the moment. I just wish it could keep the fear away.
My brain won't shut off today. It actually hasn't shut off for the past few weeks. It can be maddening. My last post was filled with anger. This one will be filled with worry. When my brain tells me things that I can't shake , it wears me down. And no matter how many times I ask myself if what I'm feeling is real, it doesn't seem to make it stop. I'm torn between two people. Two people whom I love deeply and for different reasons. Two people whom just clash because they are completely different in every way. One is my best friend, my soul mate really. We have this bond that people don't understand. From day one of meeting we felt this draw towards each other that we can't explain. He's been a joy, a huge mess at times, an angry word and conversation, a shoulder to cry on and the person whom always accepts me even at my worse. He can make me laugh like no one else and he can frustrate me like no one else. Sometimes in the same day. He is my best friend. And if he wasn't a gay man , you would think we were married. We actually make a joke out of it and he calls me his "not my wife." I can never imagine my life without him.
The second person is my boyfriend whom I also love deeply. People say that he is just a symptom of my BPD. That its not possible to fall in love with a person as fast as I did. But who knows the guidelines on this? Who sets the rules on the timeline of love? Yes, I have BPD, but I've been with this man for right at a year and I can't imagine spending my life without him either. He is kind, and caring. He makes me feel safe and comfortable. He also makes me laugh and I can tell him anything without fear of judgement. And he truly listens to me. Every word that I say. I wish I could say that I was just as intentive, but I drift off into Bonnie land quite often. I love the way this man holds me close and the way he smells and feels. And how he makes me feel just by being in his presence. I have written this about him before. He is an introvert to an extreme, meaning he doesn't wish to be around anyone and sometimes doesn't want to be bothered at all. He is how I used to be before I let myself out. He's been putting himself out of his comfort zone to make me happy. So we are now trying to figure out how we can make this work with us being so different from each other.
I live at least two hours away from my support system. And herein lies the problem. I need people. My BPD would tell me that all I need is him, but I miss my best friend and my children. I want to travel and see things and do things. I want to enjoy life and not just sit in front of the television. I have a bucket list and my boyfriend does not. He's content with just sitting at home watching movies, and playing games. And I still love him immensely. So is love enough? I know I can't just give up who I am, nor can I expect him to change who he is. That wouldn't be love. I want him to be happy just as much as he wants me to be happy. So we are having to try to do something different. Something that probably isn't considered normal. Through the week, I will live with him and then on the weekends, I will go and stay with my best friend. So that I can see my children, and go on trips with my best friend, and enjoy what life has to offer. And just hopefully figure out how to make this relationship work. And I desperately want this to work without one of us having to give up what makes us, us. And if we still can't make it work, then I guess I just have to move on. Because what else is there to do. I am saddened at the thought of losing him and I can't lose my best friend and my support system either. Love is a mess.
As a writer you get told to write what you know. Here's what I know. I'm pissed. I'm beyond pissed. My best friend has told me that my life has been an experiment in terror. And hes right. And I know that a lot of people have had it worse than me. But that doesn't take away my pain. I was different growing up. I felt like I didn't belong anywhere and that my parents loved my sister more than they loved me. Which is why I think I held onto my Uncle Howard as tightly as I did. Growing up and throughout my entire life I always felt like I was on the outside of a house looking at the people inside through the window. And they are all in there laughing and having fun but I'm outside in the dark and cold. My therapist once asked me why I didn't just walk in. What would that look like for me? I don't know what it would look like. I can't imagine what it would look like because I've never been "normal" a day in my life. At 15 my mom left us for good and I told myself I was glad because she obviously didn't love us. She left us all the time. Inside I was pissed. And I was hurt. My dad was too busy worrying about having a girlfriend to have sex with after that to be bothered with us. So I left and moved in with my aunt. I didn't know that I was putting myself in an extremely terrible situation.
Shortly after I moved in with my aunt I was talked into dropping out of school and getting a job. And eventually worked two jobs to support her gambling habits. I would get my checks and literally sign them and hand them to her. The whole time being verbally abused. Later on I would have to give her a certain amount of money or I would have to go and give plasma to get up the difference. Which still wouldn't be enough. But I endured it because I didn't have anywhere else to go. I was so desperate for love that I looked for it anywhere I could and with anyone I could find. And then I wound up at 18 leaving in the middle of the night in my Burger King uniform to go to Texas with my future husband. In the back of a Uhaul with nothing but my purse to my name. No money, no clothes, just me and my purse and my Burger King uniform that stank of stale whoppers. I had tried to tell my aunt that I was going to move out and it ended with her hitting me across the face and going to work with a bruised cheek the next day. I had to stay with her and give her my money so she could put it all in poker machines, cigarettes and bingo halls.
I thought that I had it better being with my children's father, my future husband, but I wasn't. He was also extremely verbally abusive. And I made myself deal with it because I had gotten pregnant shortly after we went to Texas. And of course I made a promise to my kids that I would always stay no matter what because I didn't want them to grow up the way I had. And to make matters worse, I let my church talk me into marrying him for my children. I told myself that it was what I wanted but the day of, I really wanted to back out. But I shook it off and got married anyway. 24 years later with years of having power cut off and not being able to pay rent and dealing with his gambling and pot smoking and finding out how he cheated on me wore me down. And that''s when I met my best friend who gave me a way out. I just had to save up some money to do so. I told my husband I was leaving and it drove him crazy. The last night I spent with him, he forced himself on me. I told him that we would not be having sex again because I was done, and he didn't like that answer. The next day I was in a good bit of pain and went to the doctor. I refused a rape kit but they made me do a urine sample and there was blood. The doctor knew that something had happened and called the police. My husband knew something was up and demanded that I come home. But the police were there and asking me a million questions. I was crying and scared. He was texting me non-stop telling me he was going to kill both me and my best friend. I was then talked into going and filing a police report. I refused to press charges because of my kids and they said it didn't matter because they were going to press charges themselves. He went to jail and I bailed him out. I was told I couldn't stay there with him at home so I left him money to pay the bills and left. My eldest daughter was still living there so I left on all the bills in my name. Of course, he quit his job soon after and went through the money I left him and left me with all the disconnection bills of everything I left on in my name. So now, after almost 5 years of being gone and trying to get on my feet, I will have to take on all the debt including owing the IRS for back taxes from where he didn't file for years and years. But they keep on adding late fees and he wont pay it so I have to. He currently does not have a job and I just want to get my divorce and be free of his crap.
There are a lot of people whom can't believe the above story of "that" night. They think they know my husband well enough to know that he would never do that. But no one knows him the way that I know him. I spent 24 years with this man. I know him better than anyone. And you would be surprised on just what you are capable of doing given the right circumstance. Nobody was there that night but myself and him. I know the truth and he knows the truth. He can try and rationalize it all he wants. But when he is holding my arms up over my head and forcing my legs open with his, what do you call that? He had to hold me down because I was trying to get away and hitting him trying to get him off of me. What do you call that? Because I know what it is and I let him get away with it for the most part. Because everyone was telling me that I was wrong. I wasn't wrong. I'm still not wrong. I hate him for that. I hate him for adding more pain to my life and the PTSD that comes from that night. No one has the right to tell me what happened that night.They weren't there. And I relive that night all the time. I will never forget it. And I get so angry when people feel sorry for him because he's not trying to better himself. He's living in a small RV on his sons land and doesn't have a job. But do you think he will take any responsibility for anything? Nope. It's all because of this person and that person and how he can never catch a break. But after almost 30 years he hasn't grown from when we first got together. Not one bit of growth, just excuse after excuse. And I'm just done. I am so done.
I was born in Florida on April 18th 1976. Jacksonville, Florida to be exact but Pinetta is the place I hold close to my heart. PInetta is this little small town right on the edge of Florida and Georgia, near Valdosta. Pinetta is a beautiful little country town with its dirt roads , pecan trees, and swamp land. This is where one of my favorite people in the world lived, my uncle Howard. Uncle Howard was alot of peoples favorite person. Mostly because he was just simply great. He was kind, caring and funny. He truly loved all those close to him as well. Howard came to our family when he married my favorite aunt Shirley. Let me tell you, she makes the best coconut cake in the world. She is the younger sister of my dad. And Howard loved her immensely.
We spent alot of time in Florida visiting Howard and Shirley and they were the best times of my life. My uncle Howard loved me so much. Ever since I was baby, he had a soft spot for me. And as I grew older, he knew I just needed a little more attention than others. He was the first person in my life who understood me. He accepted me as I was and that meant more than anything to me. He was more of a father to me than my own. And that makes me sad. Howard and I would take walks down the dirt roads and he would tell me stories and I could tell him anything that I was feeling and he would listen and help me. We would pick pecans together and shuck corn and sometimes pick blackberries. He let me drive his Ford truck (even though I'm a Chevy girl) and let me shoot cans with his shotgun. And I was a pretty good shot. He would chase the giant flying cockroaches that live in Florida when they would chase me. He would finish my meals when my mom made my plates too big for me. He would sneak back to the kitchen and take half of my food and eat it so I could get away from the table. My mom always knew. When I was a baby he spoiled me rotten, always picking me up out of the crib even when my mom protested. He would walk by and I would put my arms up for him to pick me up.
Howard loved to grow things and had potted plants all over the yard. I bet there are still potted plants growing wild in that yard. Howard passed away many years ago. After he passed, Shirley moved into her mom's house and the house that I love so is all grown up and probably fallen in. I miss that house and those memories. Howard is buried in the little cemetery down the dirt road from that house. We would walk to that little cemetery often on our walks so many years ago. I have decided to embrace Howard's green thumb in the place I live at currently with my boyfriend. I have created my own potted plant garden that I know that Howard would love. I look at it everyday from my little office in this house. I imagine Howard saying "that's my girl" with a big smile on his face.
People with BPD tend to make people their "favorite person" until they're not anymore and then they pretty much write them out of their lives. This is something that I struggle with. I never realized that I do this and it's not something I take lightly. But with Howard, I know it is different. I love him still and he will always be one of my favorite people. Always. And because he knew the real me, accepted me and loved me anyway. And I will always hold him dear to my heart. The picture below is of our beloved Howard, me and my mother.
I've been trying to figure out what to write for a little over a week now. Writers block is no joke. But after visiting with my best friend this past weekend and also getting to see my oldest friend and one of my daughters, it came to me. Something that people with BPD do is sometimes choose one person to be their one and only. They get it in their head that as long as they have that one person, that is all they need. And they make that one person their everything. And maybe that doesn't sound too bad but it can be a real issue to that one person. Because that person is your everything, you tend to want to spend every waking moment with said person. You hang on tight and get jealous when other people want to spend time with your person. This can lead to fights and loss relationships.
This is definitely something that I have struggled with throughout the years. I always thought that if I just had that one person-that everything would be okay. But it wasn't okay. It was never okay. I have learned that I NEED people. I need more than that one person. I have learned that its okay to love more than one person, to trust in more than that one person, to laugh with more than that one person. I'm lucky to have finally realized this before I chased more people away in my life. I have great friends. I have wonderful children and grandchildren. I have years of laughter, love and shared dreams. And I wouldn't trade that for anything in the world. I almost lost my best friend a few months back after his fight with covid. I don't know how i could survive without him in my life. After losing my mother and father, he was my support system. I leaned on him heavily and I can never thank him enough for being there for me. He loves me immensely and I love him just as much. And yes we definitely have our issues and he is far from perfect, but hes perfect for me.
Something I tend to do with all the people in my life is have a song. My girls and I have "Landslide" by Stevie Nicks, my boyfriend and I have "Then came you" by The Spinners and Dionne Warwick, my best friend and I share "Ain't no mountain high enough," by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell and my other bestie and I share "My wish" by Rascal Flats. I think its important to have all these wonderful, special people in our lives to just live life with. They keep us grounded and keep us smiling and happy. They make our life just a little bit less difficult. And I hope that anyone reading this whom only has that one person, goes out and gets more people. Get out of your comfort zone and find more people to love. Because friendship and love is a beautiful thing.
It's raining and it's my usual favorite type of day. The rain relaxes me and keeps me calm, even if it's a thunderstorm. I also do some of my best sleeping during a thunderstorm. I'm thinking about my children today and my grandbabies. I miss them. I have moved two hours away from one and about three and a half from the other. Why don't I call them you may ask. I could, but I never know what to say to them. I love them immensely. But life has been rough for them and for our relationship. Mental illness wrecks havoc on personal relationships. No matter who it is, we just dont function normally or how the world views what is normal. I didn't hug my girls enough. It felt awkward to me. My mom didn't really hug us as children. I'm guessing because maybe it felt awkward to her. It impacted me in a negative way. I said in a previous blog how i didnt know how to be a mom. I had no clue. I winged it the best I could.So many times I did the wrong things and said the wrong things or reacted wrong to certain things. LIke when one of my daughters came out as gay. I regret everyday how I reacted when she told me. It's something that I can never change. I was raised very religious and had raised them up the same way. My religion told me that she would go to hell for being gay. I was terrified for her so I told her no, that she couldn’t be that way. I forbid it, I yelled at her. And then my sweet, loving girl crumbled to the floor and wished that she could just die. That if I couldn't accept her for how she was and she couldnt be who she was- she would rather just end her life. It was at that moment that I had to make a decision. It was either God or it was my sweet child. I chose my child. I picked her up off the floor and told her that I didn't know what would happen but I loved her and that we would get through this. It wasn't easy, and I put her through some unnecessary things trying to help her. But I was wrong, because she was perfect just as she was. Perfectly wonderful in every way. And now I am anti-religion in every way. I'm not an atheist or a deist or a christian etc etc. I'm just me. I choose not to involve myself in anything in any way. I don't want to be angry anymore. I don't want to be scared or nervous anymore. I just want to be free. And now I am. I can't tell you enough what a wonderful feeling that is.
Finding myself has been a long and winding road. Letting that inner Bonnie come out is still a challenge. Finding people who love me as I am is still a challenge. Trying to mend my relationship with my girls is still a challenge. My other daughter is strong willed, fiercely independent and speaks her mind in ways I wish I could. Most of the time we do okay. But other times we do not. She is the mother of my three beautiful grandbabies. And she's a better mother than I could be. I'm glad for that. It means we are getting better in this family line. Hopefully, her daughter will be better at it than all of us. And so on and so on. I have faith in that. I can't fix things with my girls, I can't go back in time and rewrite history. There is a lot of pain and hurt and mistrust in our family. Those things don't go away. I just have to hold onto hope that It could and can get better.
I don't know if my daughters are reading this blog or even have plans to do so, but I want them to know that If i could go back, I would do things differently. I would have been a better mom. I would have tried harder, been smarter and braver. I would have hugged them more and sang more lullabies to them. I would have been rain. Peaceful, and relaxing. And strong when I needed to be. I love you both…..so much. This song and entry is for you.
So I’m feeling a bit down today. The love of my life is still in the gray place. Not in the dark place which is good, but not in the white place either. And I know it's just a symptom of my BPD and I have to keep asking myself if this is real, but I feel as if he doesn't love me.And he's never not told me that he doesn't love me. He says it all the time. But I want him to be happy and I feel like I should make him happy if he loves me. And that's a selfish feeling that I hate. I also hate the thoughts that run through my head like he doesn't really love me, he just knows all the right things to say and do. And he definitely does know all the right things to do. Another thought is that this just won't work. I will wind up being alone like I always thought I would be. No one could ever love me because I’m broken. And once you are broken, you can't be fixed. And then I linger along the lines of the dark place, the dark hole in other words.
But then I have to remember that my love has his own depression that he deals with from his troubled life. And I have to remember that maybe just maybe he actually DOES love me. He just can't get over his own sadness. So I should be there for him, give him some grace and some time. I know that is the right answer, but I can't turn off the voices in my head. The voices are the worst for people who have mental illness. They tell you horrible things and they don't shut up.
My love is a wonderful, kind and caring man. He is a GOOD man and I’ve searched for him for a very long time. But after repeated failed relationships and a troublesome failed marriage, I am broken in this way. I'm always going to have doubts. I’m always going to jump when he touches me. And I will probably always ask him from time to time if we are okay. And that's okay. It is who I am. And i have to love myself as I am in order to heal those broken pieces of myself, and to make those voices go away and just not pay attention to them.
There is a song my best friend introduced me to by The Ballroom Thieves called “Borderline”. It hits close to home and how I perceive things. I invite you to listen. I've enclosed it below. It's a beautiful song about how anxiety affects your life and how you think you can't live without it, because it makes you who you are. But there is light at the end of the tunnel. There is hope. You are who you are, but you can be a better version of yourself. You can heal and be whole again. You just have to let go of the anxiety, be brave and just try.
So I’m watching Stella, the movie with Bette Midler. If you haven't seen it, you should. And there is this whole scene where she has a baby and when she wakes up, the nurse asks her if she wants to see her baby. Stella is this hard type of woman who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks and works as a bartender in a bar. So, she is acting all tough like, and then they put the baby in her arms. This perfect, tiny, baby girl and Stella just melts. And of course, she has no idea how to be a mother but she loves that baby girl more than anything or anyone in this world. It's a feeling that I relate to instantly because it was a feeling that I had with my girls. No, I wasn't a bartender, but when I found out that I was pregnant with my first, I was living in an extended stay hotel.
I remember finding out that I was pregnant and my first reaction was excitement. This whole warm feeling washed over me. It was crazy because I never wanted children. I had this crazy idea that when I turned 18 I was moving to New York City to become a journalist. But here I was 19, living in a hotel, no job, no money, and excited to be pregnant. Because I knew this would be the one person who would always love me. That is how BPD works. You are always looking for someone to love you. I was absolutely nowhere near ready to be a mother. I had no idea how to be one. I didn't have any great role models to learn from.
My mother was constantly in and out of the house going back and forth to Utah because she was unhappy. At 15 I moved in with my aunt once my mother left for good and that was a horrific experience. My friend always told me that I lived a life like it was an experiment in terror. My aunt was extremely emotionally and verbally abusive. Which is how I wound up living in a hotel. I left her house at 18 in the middle of the night only wearing my Burger King uniform to head to Amarillo, Texas. I lived there for about 6 months with my then-boyfriend who later became my husband. We ended up back in SC when his job transferred him back. His job ended soon however and we became homeless basically. Neither one of us had a job and fixing to have to leave the hotel because we ran out of money, and had already pawned anything of value. But I'm pregnant and excited! Not a normal reaction at all.
But somehow, everything worked out okay. I called my mother, and she was able to help us get into a small house near her and my boyfriend found a job in a hotel working maintenance. We were able to get a bed and a tv, so that was all we needed at the moment. I quickly became hugely pregnant with the constant cravings for milk and butter and my boyfriend absolutely did not want to talk about the baby at all. He wouldn't go with me to any appointments nor would he buy anything for the baby. I'm not sure why. When my bundle of joy was born I was a mess because I had nothing for my baby girl. My friend helped me out though by bringing me some baby clothes and letting me borrow her cradle till I could get a crib. The boyfriend (future husband) loved the baby though once she was born and couldn't get enough of showing her off. And after we left the hospital, he did go out and bought some things for her.
Things didn't work out with my husband for a variety of reasons, but that's another story. We spent 24 years together and had another baby girl about a year after the first. I definitely struggled at being a mother. I did everything wrong. I tried my best though. Going without things to make sure they had everything they needed. But it still wasn't everything they needed. We were poor constantly and just never could get out of a hole. And that definitely took its toll. I had always struggled with depression and after my children were born there was no exception. I often thought they were better off without me and now they are grown and living their lives, but I still wonder if they would have been better off with different parents in general.
Both my daughters have discovered that they have their own forms of mental illness and that makes me sad. I would never wish that on anyone in a million years, and especially not for my children. I wish mental health was taken more seriously in our country. Sadly, we have a ways to go with it. The best thing I can say for anyone who may be struggling with BPD and having children is to just keep going. You are doing the best you can do. Take a moment to breathe and ask yourself if what you are feeling is real. Forgive yourself for not being perfect or being normal and just carry on.
You may be thinking that my website has an interesting name. I chose it for a couple of reasons. I'm sure we all have seen Forrest Gump at some time in our life. I always loved and hated (for obvious reasons) the scene where Jenny throws rocks at her childhood home. As a child, she would chant “Please God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here.” I related to her and that scene as I'm sure many people have. I too wanted to be a bird and fly away. The quiet comes from being a child and always being told to be quiet when things made me feel uncomfortable.
My mother always meant well, and I'm sure if she knew the damage it would do to me throughout the years, she wouldn't have told me to be so nice. Or, maybe not. I don't have proof of it, but I believe my mother had her own mental illness she had to deal with. I wish she could have been a stronger person herself. I have forgiven my mother because I love her and I know she just wasn't capable of being that person I needed her to be. I do feel some anger though and my therapist has told me that it was okay to feel that way. I also know my mother continually beat herself up throughout the years for not being strong enough. I love my mother and I miss her every day. She died a couple of years back from kidney cancer. This is not an attack on my mother by the way. I'm just giving some insight into how mental illness has a way of being hereditary. And the way you raise your children does affect them all throughout their life.
I can't remember a whole lot of my childhood. Just certain things and moments. I remember my dad and his van. My dad and mom would travel in this van with a bed in the back and when I was a baby my crib was pushed up against the front driver seats. My mom would tell me that I loved to look out on the road as they traveled. That is something that has stuck with me. I love to travel. It was the 70’s then so there were no laws about how your children were secured in the vehicle. How times change. When I got older I would notice how my dad would always sit in his van and listen to his 8-track player. I remember climbing in once and my dad introducing me to The Beatles and Yellow Submarine. My father is now gone as well and I currently have both his and my mom's ashes in my workspace. When my father died, I dedicated “All you need is love” to him.
I loved my father as well but he too wasn't quite right as the saying goes. Many many times I remember my dad liking to touch my friend's breasts. It would always make me feel uncomfortable. But I was always taught to be nice and accommodating. He touched mine once that I can remember but I was told he would touch me in ways that made other people disapprove. I can only remember one instance when his brother said to him that the way he touched me wasn't appropriate. And I remember my father saying that it was just our special relationship. I don't think I fully realized that it was so wrong. My father was one of my favorite people as a child. He could do no wrong in my eyes. It wasn't until I had a new friend come over from a well-to-do type of family that I realized just how bad it was. He tried to be with her the way he was with every female. She immediately wanted to go home, of course, and she pulled me off to the side and told me that what he did wasn't right. I was 14 at the time. I remember that conversation as if it was yesterday. I instantly felt shame, and it would become a problem between myself and my dad after that. He became indifferent to me. I loved him still, but things weren't the same anymore. We slowly drifted further and further apart till the point where we didn't speak at all. Many things happened to get us to that point.
And when he went into the hospital when he was dying- I had been estranged from him for about 20 years. I don't even know if he remembered my children's names. And after all those years, I was glad that I got to spend a few hours or so with him to tell him that I loved him before he died. And as each person in my life that helped shape me into the person I am passes away, I slowly learn how to fly. And that is a beautiful thing.
