I'm new here

[Hopalong]

Not boring at all, Phyl. I'm always interested in life stories, even when I don't comment on the blow by blow.

That heart condition must've been terrifying, but what will and drive you had to endure it and run anyway. And lucky not to have had a worse outcome.

I sympathize about the hip...a friend had a replacement not go well and though she's much better, the recovery has been very slow and she recognizes it'll not be, in her case, "like it was."

As to ADD, I feel ya! I was diagnosed at age 60 and it explained a LOT of my life and emotional struggles. Having that diagnosis was very healing but I'm still working on incorporating a kinder vision of myself when it comes to productivity. I blamed and criticized myself constantly for most of my adult life, but in the last decade I did develop a kinder approach.

I'd never berate someone else for something they couldn't help and dislike people who do. It's sad to realize you're living with someone who is unkind to you (worse, yells!) when you're ill. That really sucks.

Hope you can find support and courage to do something about that when you can. I can't imagine how hurtful it is.

Hops

[Twoapenny]

My first conscious memory coincides with when our family moved to a new, 2 bedroom apartment when I was around 4 years old. I recall waking up in the back seat of the car, my head on my Mother's lap; as we pulled into the back parking lot.  I remember thinking I had no previous memory, and thought, "This must be my Mom.  This must be my family."  I remember running around the kitchen and looking into empty drawers.

My Mother told me I was very upset over the move, that she even drove me back to the "Red House" to help me understand.  I don't remember that.

I was named after my Mother.  While my parents were thrilled to finally have a girl after 3 boys, I was told later financially another child was probably the last thing they needed.  Apparently, we did not pay rent for 3 months at the Red House.  Mom gathered up enough for 2 weeks rent to get the family of six into that 2 bedroom apartment.

There were a couple of things that happened around that time regarding my father's drinking.  I am unsure of the time line of events.  I was told my Mother had Dad committed to the State mental hospital at one point, for a 72 hour hold.  Mom wanted to divorce him.  His uncle talked her out of it, advising she might need him around with the 3 boys.  Uncle A hired Mom to clean his house and prepare meals for him, and he paid her in cash. 

There was also an incident in which my Dad was drunk and drove under a semi.  My memory of visiting him at the hospital is very different from what my Mom and other family members reported.  I recall knowing my Mom was really mad at him.  He walked into the waiting room wearing his blue terry cloth robe. I ran up to hug him and said, "It's okay Daddy.  We still love you."

The story I was told is that Dad's nose was pushed over to the side of his face, and that he looked horriffic when he entered the hospital waiting room.  I am told I completely lost it and was inconsolable.  It is amazing to me how my memory differs - I remember Dad looking quite normal, and I was calm and reassuring to him.

We lived in the 2 bedroom apartment until I was in the middle of 1st grade.  The boys shared one bedroom and I was in a crib in my parents room.  In the summer Grandpa (Dad's side) stayed with us.  He slept in my parents bed and my parents slept in the living room.  Our dining table was a picnic table with 2 benches.

The other memories I have from living there was Christmas Eve, watching Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer on the 6" B & W Sony TV with my brothers in their room.  The next thing I knew my parents and brothers were waving goodbye to Santa out the back door.  I could not push my way through to see outside.  When I did they said he was gone.  I looked on the roof of the apartment building next door and wondered why Santa was not delivering there next.  That night my brother F told me there was no Santa.  I was mad that he told me, because once he did I realized it was true.  I also remember thinking he told me because he was jealous of the attention I was getting.

I am surprised by my ability to understand other's feelings with such intensity at such a young age.

My Dad worked as a Service Manager for a car dealership. We moved to another city when I was in the 1st grade, I believe because Dad got fired. The house we moved into was directly across the street from my Dad's new place of employment.  It was a 3 bedroom, 2 story brick house. I shared a room with F, who was 2 years older than me.  I was glad to finally have a real bed instead of the crib.   

We were happy there for a couple of years/  Mom could keep a close eye on Dad.  She taught Sunday School and became a Girl Scout / Brownie leader.  I went to swimming lessons.  I remember Mom spending a lot of time with me. She took me to the library and checked out many books.  I read the Polly Anna - bright side of things and the whole series by Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Our family moved again to a smaller city of about 14,000 when I was in the middle of 3rd grade.  Although my Dad lost jobs there too because of his drinking, it is the city in which I graduated from high school.

My Dad yelled a lot.  He was frightening when he yelled.  His face would get red, his eyes would bulge, and his whole body would shake.  He would pound his fists on the table.  He said and repeated awful things to us kids.  I will save that for tomorrow.

You have a good delivery of the memories, Phyll, it's hard to recount events succinctly, I think, and you're right, personal memories can vary so much from one person to another.  I wonder if in childhood we muddle some memories up and attribute them to different events at times.  I think adults sometimes gloss over things to their kids as well - I know my mum used to come up with a retelling of a story that made her look wonderful and my sister and I would just sit there looking at one another - not the way it went down at all!

I'm sorry your dad was scary when he was angry.  I think if you're a very intuitive child (and it sounds like you were) then it's even harder to cope with that.  I think we feel responsible and then try to fix it and keep everyone happy - certainly that's the cause of the codependency in my case.  And I was devastated when I found out Father Christmas wasn't real!  I was about eight, I think, and I think the world changed for me when I found out that wasn't true   It's funny what we cling to as kids and how affected by those things we can be.  Sounds tough for your mum as well, coping with your dad's drinking and the job changes.  I'm glad there is less pressure now on women to stay with men who aren't good for them.  Are your folks still around?  Sorry if you've already said, I've been skipping through posts and might have missed it xx

[Twoapenny]

Thank you Hopalong.  I never know what might come out while telling my story.  That event with my father reveals quite a bit. I wonder what will come up today.

As I said, my Dad yelled a lot.  He was not necessarily violent.  He never hit my Mom.  She on the other hand did smash a plate over his head once.  She told me the neighbors knocked on the door over the yelling, and said us kids picked up the mess in effort to hide what happened.

My Dad said things I cannot imagine saying to a child.  I am sure it contributed to my poor self esteem.  The following are a few of Dad's repeated rants:
-- You don't know nothing.  You don't know a (G.D) thing.  I'm right!
-- Eat it dammit or I'll cram it down your throat with the potato masher.
-- How stupid can you be!

To this day I jump at loud noises, whether I anticipate the noise or not.  I also jump if someone comes up behind me.

____________________________________________________________________________
As an adult, it has helped to know my Mom and Dad's stories.

MOM:  There was a terrible tragedy in my Mom's family.  While she and her older brother were in school one day, their 4 year old brother got a hold of some matches and tried to build a fire in the back yard playhouse. My grandmother was alerted to a fire in the playhouse by a passer by.  When she pulled Jr. out he was ashes.  You can only imagine the ramifications that event had on the family.

When my Mother and her brother were in their senior years, they both told me during separate conversations the same story.  The story went something like this, "We never made a big deal about birthdays growing up.  In fact one year they forgot my birthday all together."  Of course it was a big deal.  Otherwise why would they still be talking about it in their 70s?  They both learned how to put their Mother's needs ahead of their own.  It is no surprise they both married alcoholics.

My Mom was always very pretty and very popular.  She was homecoming queen.

DAD:  Dad was born 12 years after his sister.  He was named after his father, who was the principal of the local high school and superintendent of the areas schools.  They called him Professor and he was known to be a very strict disciplinarian. He also held positions in the state and national education associations.

I had the pleasure of being able to conduct a survey at the nursing home in his home town through my job with the state.  It was verified how strict he really was.  One resident said he was strict with his wife too (my Grandmother), but said she did what she wanted regardless.

I get the feeling my Dad and his sister could never live up to Grandpa's expectations.  They both became hopeless alcoholics.  My Dad never drank until he went into the army.  He fought in World War II.  I know he was in battle and saw his friend get killed, Mom never let him talk about it in front of me.

My parents met when my Dad was visiting his Uncle A, and Mom was staying with her Uncle E who lived next door.  Dad was very handsome, and according to Mom he had been around the world.

_____________________________________________________________________________

A little bit about my Brothers:

My oldest brother B is 7 years older than me.  He was the hero.  He was pulling in cash from babysitting jobs and helping my parents out financially.  At age 14 he built his own fishing boat and at age 15 he built a hydroplane speed boat. I remember him showing me how to build a shelf for my room.

In his senior year of high school he got into trouble.  His girlfriend N got pregnant at age 16. One night B was very friendly and gave my brother F and I some money - 2 dollars each. I did not know he was drunk. That same night I heard yelling and saw my Dad breaking down the bathroom door.  The next thing I knew B and Dad were rolling around the dining room floor, and B was swearing. 

I was 10 years old and did not understand what was happening. And no one explained it to me.  I only remember after the crises that night Mom telling me I felt wide awake because of the crisis.  A few days later I made the mistake of asking at the dinner table where was B.  Dad went into a tantrum.  I later learned B was in jail.  Apparently he had ripped off a liquor store and a local country club, and his car was full of stolen booze. That night on the dining room floor Dad was trying to get his keys and restrain him. 

As a result of that my brother B went to Viet Nam.  Fortunately he was smart enough to stay behind enemy lines and work on helicopters.  After his girlfriend N had the baby they got married and N and my niece lived with us.  This was significant to me as I learned at a young age it was no picnic  having a baby.  Poor N at 17 was not much better equipped at taking care of a baby than I was at 11, and brother F was at 12. We helped while N worked nights at the canning factory.

N was very insecure during the time she and baby BJ lived with us. I instinctively knew to be careful not to let the baby (BJ) show too much love towards me in front of N, or she would get jealous.  Poor N got so depressed, she became very thin and patches of her hair fell out.

B and N did very well for themselves.  After their 2nd child N went back to high school and got her diploma. Their first home was paid for in 10 years. They retired up north, in a home that B added onto.  Unfortunately N passed away from a terminal disease this past December.  I am so proud of how well B cared for her.

Brother D is 5 years older than me.  He is a talented musician. He was in rock bands that practiced in our garage/attic spaces.  He and his friends had long hair, the neighbors thought we had a topless woman running around outside. He was the Scapegoat of the family.

Brother F is 2 years older than me and he is the lost child.  We were close growing up and hung out with the same friends in high school.  Today it is hard to even have a phone conversation.

All that said, I will get on with my childhood in my next entry.

((((Phyll)))))))  I think there is so much tragedy running through some families (probably most).  And so much unknown - trauma and fear that was just never mentioned, bedded down instead with drink or violence or obsessive cleaning - so many ways to block out feelings.  And I think each generation has society's expectations to deal with as they deal with their problems, whatever they may be.  And probably quite limited medical options in some situations as well, to deal with things like depression and alcohol related difficulties.  It's so sad.  I found it hard to be angry for a really long time.  I knew my mum had a horrible childhood and a very difficult adult life as well.  So for a long time not doing what she wanted - what I knew soothed her and made her feel better - felt like kicking a puppy.  I had to get to my own anger, though, and like your father in some ways, sometimes my anger explodes and is difficult for me to control.  I'm sometimes angry in front of my son, but not at him.  I do talk to him about my anger problems.  I hope it isn't impacting on him in a bad way.  My current T has suggested I clean furiously or do high speed gardening to get it out of my system at times I found it tough to be tough enough on my mum to actually start meeting my own needs.  I don't know if you've found the same thing? xx

[Phyll]

Thanks Twoapenny for your thoughtful replies and questions.  Especially while you are preparing for the big move with your son.

My parents are no longer living.  My Dad died at the age of 62 when I was 26 years old.  My Mom lived to be 76 and died in 2003. I see many similarities with being an adult child of an alcoholic and an adult child of a narcissist;  yet I see many differences as well.  Like you described your mum's version of stories crafted to make her look so much better than what was real - I can see W and his Mom doing the same.  With my Dad, it was dealing with lies, disappointments, excuses, and embarrassments.

I can relate to repressions, suppressions and expressions of anger.  My rage is always right beneath the surface.  While I was drunk, two of my boyfriends sustained black eyes from me. Those were the only times in my life I ever hit anyone.  I lose my temper arguing with W, at times to the brink of feeling like I am going to lose control.  This morning was one of those days. I think I will start a new thread regarding those experiences for feedback.

I like what you said about societal expectations impacting how different generations deal with tragedy and dysfunction, that is so true.

It seems to be a fine or even blurry line between when I am stuffing my feelings and when I have turned over the things I cannot control.  I remember as my Mom got into AlAnon, when I talked with her about my feelings with Dad - she said things (or I interpreted what she said) as completely discounting my feelings.  Like, "Don't be mad (hurt), he's an alcoholic and he was drunk." I grew weary of having to be the adult in the relationship to avoid getting my feelings hurt.

I loved both of my parents.  Despite my Dad's terminal alcoholism, he was able to demonstrate thoughtfulness, empathy, and values that I admired. Examples:
- He always worked.  If he lost a job he always got another right away.
- My Mom told me a story about the time after my niece was born, someone making the comment that the baby might not be my Brother's. My Dad was adamant saying, "It is too late for that!" He was committed to that baby no matter what.
- One evening when I was in about 6th grade my girlfriend came over unannounced.  She was crying and I sat with her on the front porch trying to console her.  She was emotionally distraught over an incident with her Dad. My Dad poked his head out, urged us to come inside, said we did not have to tell him what was going on but we did not have to be outside. He gave us space.
-  My brother D told me of the time he was 24, after he broke up with a woman he had lived with who had 2 little boys.  Dad found D sitting on the sofa when he came home for lunch one day.  Dad sat next to him, put his arm around him and they both cried.  D told me, "He didn't say a word.  He didn't have to."

So Dad had a good heart.  He had opportunities to parent me. I often went fishing by myself and he was the one to help me clean, cook and eat the fish I caught. During the school years I walked home for lunch.  Dad met me there without fail and we ate lunch together.  During my senior year of high school he picked me up for lunch and after I got a credit for volunteer work at the nursing home near our home.

He was not so well behaved when it came to me having boyfriends as I reached my teenage years....
(To be continued...)

[lighter]

Seeing truth, through eyes unclouded by emotion, is an amazing feat, P. 

Lighter

[Hopalong]

My heart tore over N's life, short and cheated--and felt for all of you.

A very diificult saga from which strength and survivors were born.

Hops

[Phyll]

continuing....

As each of my older brothers moved out of the house it seemed I stepped into the next role within the family.  I went from Mascot, to Lost Child, to Scapegoat, and finally to Hero.

As a teenager I was picked up by police while smoking pot.  They called my parents to pick me up and of course my Dad was pretty drunk.  At the time I was not receptive, but looking back I appreciate the officer who told me the drinking and the pot were the same problem.  For me it turned out to be true.  I tried so hard to control my drinking by getting high.  It didn't work.

My father was devastated to learn his daughter was "on drugs." His crisis became on opportunity for him to get treatment for his alcoholism.  I had to go to court which my Mom went to by herself.  They issued 3 months observation.  I had no idea at the time my Mom feared the authorities might take me away from her.

I don't recall if it was after the first treatment, but my Dad sobered up for about 7 months.  I realized it was the only time in my life I saw him sober.  He otherwise always had alcohol in his system.  He still had a short fuse, but was much less irrational.

In the summer before my senior year my Mom had a heart attack.  I remember my Brother D - who had moved back home told me as I walked into the house.  The ambulance had been called.  My Mom was emptying her purse of packages of cigarettes.

While Mom was in the hospital my Dad began drinking again.  I will never forget the look of disappointment on her face when I went so see her in the hospital and Dad was sitting their drunk.

There was much tension in the house between brother D and my Dad at that time.  D had a woman in the bedroom, Dad did not like it (she didn't have to be so noisy about it IMO) and there was a verbal altercation following Dad opening the bedroom door. 

After Mom returned home from triple by-pass heart surgery my brother D began pressuring Mom to leave Dad.  I felt she was in no condition to get a divorce at that time.  I told brother D he did not need to live in the house and to leave Mom alone.  He resented my saying so but he did move out.

 My Mom raised me to never be financially dependent on a man.  It was her goal that I would have letters after my name (and possibly no letters after my name either).  She did all the paperwork for financial aid.  I worked summers at the canning factory, and was able to earn a degree within 4 years from the State University.  I nearly flunked out my first year at the university extension, but was accepted to continue on academic probation. Back then anything over 12 credits a semester was free.  I had a lot of catching up to do and took 22 and 19 credits during that last year to graduate.

The summer before my last year of college I assured Mom I would graduate. I encouraged her to get a divorce.  She had been sober 7 years and I hated to see how unhappy she was.  I don't know how she managed, as they were legally separated while living in the same house. They had a double mortgage and bill collectors calling.  At one point we took all of the hunting rifles out of the house because Dad threatened to kill himself - and said if he had to die so did she.  Mom had locked him out that time and when he took an axe to the back door she escaped out the front and ran to brother F's house.  (Why did she not call the police?)

After my folks sold the house they moved into their own apartments.  It broke my heart to see my Dad cry, and Mom told me she could not have done it without my support.  Tears come to my eyes as I write this. I think this is why I am paralyzed in my own situation, and I do not have a close family member to support me.

My Dad did not stay long in that apartment.  He answered an add in the paper and took up with a widow in town.  They got married.  She could not hold a candle to my Mom and had no idea what she had gotten herself into.  She invited us kids to a combination Birthday and Father's Day celebration for Dad. In the invitation she wrote, "From what I gather none of you kids ever paid much attention to your Dad.  I think it is time you did."  None of us went.  What did she expect?  As my brother D put it (he always had a way with sarcasm) - we would all show up and say, "We hate our Mom now.  Fuck her."

About 5 years into their marriage my Dad lost his job (again).  When I spoke to his wife on the phone she told me he would be starting to sell used cars for someone else.  I said that was good to hear as he did not handle being off work for any period of time. She replied, "...and the liquor store is right around the corner and that doesn't work either!"  It was the 1st time I had heard her even come close to recognizing my Dad's drinking without assigning blame to us or my Mom. (That always hurt because I knew the blame was generated from my Dad.)  A week later she had a massive coronary and died. 

Dad's wife left enough money for Dad to buy a mobile home.  It was a nice double wide, and the salesman in him purchased it for a song.

In the mean time, my Dad's Uncle A had put his entire estate in my Mother's name (even before my parents divorced).  When Mom divorced Dad, Uncle A told her she was right, she should have divorced him.  Uncle A had been a widow for years, and their only son (Dad's cousin) died of a sports injury when he was 17 years old. 

Uncle A died the summer after I graduated from college.  No one from my Dad's side of the family, (including my Dad) contested the Will. Mom and I moving into that house was like moving back home.  I had spent many times in that house while Mom did the cleaning, until we moved away when I was in 1st grade.

My parents never stopped loving each other. Mom demonstrated to all of us acceptance of his illness and how to lovingly detach. Dad did not live long after his wife died.  It was nice how my Mom could be a part of the family for my Dad's funeral.

[Phyll]

Today I noticed I graduated from Newbie to Jr. Member!

[Hopalong]

Congrats, Phyll!

We need a Certificate of Hanging In.


Hops

[Phyll]

 

[Twoapenny]

Hey Hero Members!

I know you are there and I know you are listening. : )  I appreciate your encouraging and supportive words.  By telling my story I feel like I am accomplishing some important work.... I have worked these areas over before but in different ways.  I  am grateful for the opportunity to re-visit my childhood and seeing how the patterns and themes repeat over the years; what I have learned and can continue to learn from that; and what strengths and gifts have carried me through the years as well.

While in grade school at one point I had a female physical education instructor and that was what I told myself I wanted to be when I grew up.  As a Tom Boy I loved sports. I was unable to succeed in many physical endeavors however, due to a couple of congenital conditions I had but did not know about until later in life.  These included a hole in my heart and hip dysplasia. 

I also had an attention deficit , the non hyperactive type.  I would often find myself in a day dream at the most inopportune times.  The "spacing out" seems involuntary.  I thought everyone else was smarter than me because I would forget things.  It was also later in life that I realized I was smarter than the average bear.

Atrial Septal Defect:

Mom once mentioned the doctor heard a heart murmur when I was born. She said when I came for my first check up the doctor no longer heard the murmur.  When I was 24 I found out I had a hole between the atria (top 2 quadrants)of my heart.  Apparently the hole did not close all the way when I was born and started breathing.  If the hole had been between the ventricles the murmur would have been louder and more easily detected.  My heart had to work hard to get oxygenated blood to my brain. They repaired it surgically - but I will get to that later. 
   
Alcoholism was not the only thing I was in denial about while growing up. It was in the 5th grade that we learned how to check our pulse, and the difference between a resting and active heart rates.  They had us all check our resting heart rate.  As each student was asked to provide their number of beats per minute, the teacher recorded them on the chalk board in a continuum from highest to lowest.  It had been explained that a high resting heart rate attributed to a person in poor health.  Before it was my turn to report my heart rate it became clear to me that my resting heart rate of 96 beats per minute was indeed faster than average.  If I was in poor health I automatically assumed it was my fault.  I did not want anyone to know so I lied about my heart rate.  I chose a number on the high end of average instead.

After we did the resting heart rate the teacher had us running up and down stairs.  I was breathing so hard it hurt.  I found that I could not do many sporting events very well if they involved a lot of running, such as Tennis or even basketball.  Softball I could play because I often only ran a base or two.

I remember once telling my Mom that my heart fluttered sometimes.  She assured me everyone's did that - it was normal.

I tried to hide how out of breath I became during sports.  I remember once in high school while I was playing on an intramural basketball team, I was dribbling the ball and running from the opposite end of the court.  I got so out of breath.  Since no one was near me, I stopped at mid court and made the shot.  It actually swished through the net without hitting the rim.  We also would run the "600" every year in school.  I hated that and my throat would hurt for days from breathing so hard. 

In junior high our class divided into 2 groups, one to run the 600, the other to use the trampoline.  I was in the 1st group to run the 600.  Afterwards while standing at the trampoline I became very dizzy.  I went to lay on the floor until I felt better.  The instructor did not know as she was outside with the runners.  I never reported the incident to anyone.

In high school when it came time to run the 600, I simply refused after that.  The teacher did not push the issue and I was so grateful.

In college our basic education requirements included at least a couple of credits in physical education.  I signed up for canoeing. A physical exam was required and performed by a nurse practitioner.  During the exam the APNP asked if anyone ever told me I had a heart murmur.  I recalled what my Mother had mentioned to me about when I was a baby.  The APNP advised I might want to get it checked out, that it may or may not be a problem.  From that point on I told every doctor who listened to my heart, "I have a murmur but its not a problem."

It was not until I was 24 years old and in my first professional job that I had my heart looked at.  I was living with a boyfriend (CH) taking birth control pills, and had become over weight for the first time in my life.  CH had been a navy corpsman, and had a stethoscope. I was experiencing while at rest a sensation that my heart was "flipping over in my chest."  When I listened with the stethoscope I heard my heart skip a beat when this happened.  I later learned this was a "pre-atrial contracture or PAC.

While working in the field with one of the older nurses on my team, I confided to her about the irregular heart beat.  The next thing I knew we were calling it a day and were heading back to town.  Since my boyfriend had the car my co-worker also took the rest of the day off, took me to her house, insisted I call the doctor, made me rest on her sofa and fed me home made pea soup.  Never trust a nurse! 

From there I got evaluated, tests were run and I had surgery.  They sewed a dacron patch over the hole. Within 6 days post operation I was sent home on blood thinners.  A week later I was back in the hospital with 2 liters of blood and fluid in my pericardium (lining around my heart). That whole ordeal also taught me how afraid I was to self-advocate for my health. I also found I had trouble communicating with male doctors.  A couple of them had me reduced to tears.  I did not know I was out of breath because I had been that way all my life! 

After they tapped the fluid off and stopped the blood thinners I improved, except I experienced a chest pain syndrome that reoccurred for years.  Never found out what caused it, the cardiologist said there was nothing wrong with my heart and kicked me out of his office.  It was not until I started using a CPAP machine in my 40s for sleep apnea that I stopped having the pain in my chest. 

It was also a blow to my self esteem to have a scar down the middle of my chest.  Who knew there would be more of that to come. 

So what happened to boyfriend CH?  He was 10 years my senior and I was supporting him financially.  About a month after my surgery we were up at my family cabin. I was not much interested in sex with a healing breast bone, but CH forced me.  I got away eventually and was sleeping in the front room when my brother D and the band showed up.  CH went home and I went home with brother D.  I moved out after that.

So how does this relate to what is going on today? I will lie to W to avoid getting yelled at, just like I lied about my heart condition because I thought it was my fault. And I often think everything is my fault.  Why is that?  Because I had an alcoholic parent who blamed everyone else for his trouble?  I felt as responsible for my Dad's angry outbursts as I do with W's. No wonder how angry I am with W over this latest health crisis because I knew I was sick, he didn't believe me, and he yelled at me for not doing well!  Also, it is because of my income we can live the way we do, and that he has health insurance.  He lost interest in sex a long time ago and there is very little affection.

Two of my friends have agreed to be my designated health care agent in the event I become incapacitated.  I need to do the paperwork but it is at least something I can do now to protect myself from W being in a caregiver role with me if I cannot self-advocate.

One thing for certain, there are reasons I am still alive today.  I may not realize what all of those reasons are, but I know I have helped many other people so far in my life.  I survived a hole in my heart with sleep apnea while drinking heavy amounts of alcohol and experimenting with an assortment of substances in my teens and 20s.  I am a sober miracle to say the least. 

Will continue tomorrow.....

I'm still catching up, Phyll, so I know you wrote this a while ago now but - phew!  It's kind of revealing and scary, I think, when we start writing down things that have happened over the years.  You kind of wonder how on earth you managed it all - dealing with health problems that no-one else knew were there (or wouldn't acknowledge in some way), trying to keep parents and teachers happy, keeping up with friends, wanting to fit in, assuming responsibility for things that are other people's fault or no-one's fault at all, it's such a lot.  And then that awful boyfriend raping you and you just going home after.  My heart broke a little bit for you there, I think it's just that sense that you aren't even there - they/he wants something, he's getting it, you're just not relevant to the process.  So awful.  And I wonder how many people have awful things happen and just go home or go to work/school etc as normal.  This big event going on inside them and no-one notices.  I am glad you've got these friends in place to organise healthcare decisions for you, Phyll, I think you need that just in case.  I'm sorry W shows many of the same things you've had to cope with in the past already - and you've got your mad neighbour as well!  Sheesh.  None of us wants to live in isolation but sometimes it does feel like the only way to keep the nutters at bay.  I'm glad you're here, Phyll, and I'm hoping to catch up with more as my own dramas are subsiding now xx

[Hopalong]

As ever, Tupp nails it in a phrase:

This big event going on inside them and no-one notices.

I don't know any answer. Except to keep telling, keep telling, keep telling until someone believes you. Telling takes it out into the light, whereas when it stays muffled inside you, nobody CAN notice.

I think when the worst things happened to me, I would eventually start to tell others and tell and tell...but in a weird way, I had never told myself. About the pain or harm and particularly, that these were unacceptable.

My previous T once said to me that he believed I'd acclimated myself to a certain level of abusive behavior. That in some way I communicated in relationships that it would be okay to treat me badly. I'd trained myself to forgive too much and worked too hard to understand everybody else, and so it took many years before I loved and understood myself.

That's when I learned things like -- sensitivity is what it is and if I can't handle being yelled at, that is reality and I am allowed to be myself and recoil or go away from that. Pain is what it is and I don't have to be tough. Anger is what it is and if I am gratitutiously hurt, I am allowed to be angry about that as long as I don't get stuck in it.

Also, I think about my dog, who cowered and trembled over many things when I first got her (she'd had a very hard life and much fear and pain). Watching her respond to gentleness, loving touch, compassion, patience, protection and humor over time was just incredible. (She's now a sweet and confident doggy diva.)

It amazes me how long it's taken for me to see myself as entitled to those healing things too.

But I also think it just doesn't matter how long it takes or how old we are when it sinks in. We get our insights every day, we have choices every day, and the present is the only time we have.

Hope things continue to get better for you Phyll. Hope speaking out here, telling and telling, is helping.

hugs
Hops

[Twoapenny]

When I was born I was one long, skinny baby! 6 pounds, no ounces and 22 inches long.  My Mom said I was a "dry baby" meaning the amniotic fluid leaked throughout her pregnancy.  When I needed my right hip replaced 6 years ago, I told the orthopedic surgeon I always seemed to have trouble with that right hip.  I recalled complaining of groin pain to my parents when I was about 10.  Whenever I put myself in the knee/chest position I could feel the right hip seem to slip out of the socket. So I read without sufficient amounts of fluid in the womb the baby is unable to move about as easily and may develop hip dysplasia. The surgeon confirmed he believed that was the case with me.

The surgery 6 years ago went without a hitch.  I was up and walking 2 miles a day in no time.  With this hip replacement I am still struggling.  I wonder if my hips were why I could not get the knack of gymnastics.

So the ADD thing definitely hurts my self esteem.  Despite all evidence to the contrary, I really thought most everyone was smarter than me, especially in College.  (Even though I crammed 22 credits and somehow made the Dean's list in one semester of my final year.  I was the youngest person to get hired at my job when I was 24 years old.  It was not until I sobered up in my late 20s that I started to realize  and was able to admit to self I was not a dummy.

It was a doctor who first told me I had ADD, when I was in my late 30s.  I had some testing by a psychologist who said on a scale of 1 to 10, I was likely a 7.  IQ testing showed a 19 point differential between my verbal IQ compared to my Performance IQ, which is considered significant.  I guess I can talk a good story. Still I resisted trying medications for it, until my AODA counselor from years prior came to visit as she was teaching a class in the city I was living in.  Turns out she found she had ADD when her son was evaluated.  She had gone back to school and completed her Masters degree.  That was as close as I would get to getting it in writing from God that it was okay to try medication.  It does help but quickly wears off.  W's criticisms of me are often a result of my issues with focus, but I suspect he has similar problems.

So this all seems to me to sound a bit boring for you.  I do want to write about my relationship with my Dad growing up.  Tomorrow then.

Gosh, Phyll, is it the same hip you've had replaced again or the one on the other side this time?  It's odd how things can go well one time and not the next - I know someone who had both of hers done (not at the same time, a couple of years apart) but she had the same - really easy recovery with the first one and not so much with the second.  I hope it's all starting to ease into itself a bit now?

I do always wonder how much conditions like ADD, autism and various other things overlap with difficult/abusive families, and whether things like alcoholism creep in as parents/grandparents/great grandparents had to cope with these conditions without recognition/diagnosis/self understanding and so on.  I wonder what would happen if everyone could get a whole spectrum of tests done for all sorts of different things so that anything that showed up could be tweaked and adjusted a little, if need be, and if that would make people's lives easier.  It's always so hard to know with these things.  I'm glad you did get that diagnosis eventually and that you were able to try the meds (even if they don't last long!  Lol) xx

[Hopalong]

I struggle every day (or more honestly, don't struggle and give up too easily) with ADD. I was diagnosed at age 60, which had two effects:

1) relief and elation that there was some explanation for why many "adulting" tasks were so filled with anxiety for me. It lifted anvils of shame and self-loathing off my shoulders.

2) grief that I suffered so much from not knowing this about my own brain. But I can't blame anybody...people simply didn't know enough about this when I was young. And they underdiagnosed it in girls all the time. (I don't have the "H" in ADHD, except in one form...it tends to trigger interrupting, which I've nearly mastered now. Only took 7 decades!)

Glad you're telling your stories, Phyl. You sound very strong to me.

hugs
Hops

[lighter]

Everyone needs empathy, P.