It occurred to me today that it is July 3rd, the day before Independence Day and the day before Susan's birthday. She will be 61 this year.
Growing up, the Fourth of July was never a day of celebrating. While we would have cake and ice cream in celebration of Susan's birthday, no plans were ever made to celebrate the National Holiday. While other kids went off with their parents to park roadside and watch fireworks, we were stuck at home, usually watching whatever sitcom Susan was into at the moment.
Its not that we didn't want to go see the fireworks, take trips to the lake or grill on a Bar-B-Que, It was that Susan didn't want to.
Because of Susan's illness she avoided being in public at all costs. I always found that funny, since she could hear the voices anywhere she was, whether is be home or the grocery store. I never understood why she avoided people if she heard them all of the time anyway.
Anyways, whatever Susan wanted to do, we did, it was her Birthday after all. At the same time we were deprived of celebrating what most Americans would consider a big Holiday.
None of this is to say that we never tried to get Susan out of the house. When we all had jobs and were bringing in money we would offer to take her out to dinner. We would promise her that we wouldn't let anyone talk about her. We would tell her that we would park the car away from the others so that we could see the fireworks. Of course, none of it ever convinced her, and the night would year after year would be spent by her side, in our house.
When we were teens, and Royce had the freedom of driving, we would contemplate getting into the car and sneaking off to find some fireworks. It never happened. The guilt of leaving Susan alone on her birthday, or any other time for that matter, was heart wrenching for us.
Its little things like this that really make me realize how much Susan needed us, especially for emotional support. While most mothers are there for their children in times of need, we were there for Susan. Without us she had no friendship, no love. Without us we knew that she would shrivel into a severe state of depression and spend her days slowly dying in a darkened room all alone.
As we all got older and began to get out on our own and live our own lives, the guilt and resentment I felt for Susan only deepened. Anytime I went off with friends or my husband at the time, the entire night would be spoiled with internal dialogue buzzing in my brain. "You're a horrible daughter", I would think, "Who do you think you are to have fun when your mother is all alone?" By the time I would arrive back home, little remembrance of the fireworks and fun would remain, only the daunting thoughts that filled my head.
Many times, I found it less painful to be stuck at the house with Susan rather than go out and have fun like most people my age would have. Dealing with the monotony of our house was much easier than dealing with the remorse of leaving Susan behind.
Looking back, I am saddened to see how much time and energy I wasted on pitying her and her lonely life. For I truly created a lonely life for myself by doing so.
It is said that we must all be responsible for all of the things that have happened in our lives. We all have made choices and each choice has a consequence. In taking responsibility for the lonely life I have created for myself, I still feel that I cannot hold Susan accountable for where she was in her life.
While I am mentally and emotionally capable of making decisions and accepting the consequences that come with them, I feel that Susan was not. Her emotions so incredibly crippled and broken, her mental state, so disfigured that it was incapable of grasping reality.
Would it be fair to say that Susan was responsible for her lonely life? I think not, that is my personal opinion though. When you think about it from her point of view, would you want to surround yourself with people who openly gossip about you and say hateful and hurtful things right to your face? If you were surrounded by that, would you also make it a point to stay within the walls of your home so as to avoid all the hurtful words? In all honesty, I think I would. I would hide away too.
In my journey of forgiving Susan and accepting her illness I find more and more that looking at the world from her point of view is the most beneficial way to reach my goal of total forgiveness.
Perhaps, if you have someone to forgive and are having a difficult time, it may benefit you to live their life from their point of view sometime. Just a thought :)
Until then, have a great Holiday and enjoy the lake, grilling, fireworks, friends, family, whatever it may be. As for me, I am sure that much of my night will be full of the same old internal dialogue that has been rambling in my brain for many years come every Fourth of July. Funny how when someone is no longer in your life, they are always there.
In my new journey of writing my book about my strange life, I have found it hard to simply start writing away. While many different stories and memories pop up in my head, I am having a difficult time linking it all together. For now, I have been writing my stories and memories down. I will link them all together in my book later. For now, here is one for you to read if you have got the time...
"Church"
I never understood why Susan ever went to church. She despised every person she came across, especially the church members, with the Bishopric always being at the top of her list for the most hated.
I recall a very vivid memory of an outing to church with Susan when I was 9 years old. At this time, we had had little to do with the church. My parent's divorce and all of the issues that led up to it left very little desire to seek any kind of spiritual enlightenment.
For whatever reason, one Sunday, Susan took me to church. As usual, we sat in the over-flow area, in the very back away from the pews. I hated how she insisted that we sit on the hard, metal, chairs for what seemed like hours as the Sacrament Meeting carried on and on.
As usual, my hair was tangled and un-brushed. My dress was something that resembled a Navy Blue, crushed velvet, garbage bag and It made me uncomfortable and sweat. Looking down at my shoes I could see where the white leather of my tennis shoes had turned to a wrinkly and dingy brown. Looking about I could see all the other people, wearing bright, cheerful dresses and freshly shined dress shoes. How I envied them and there beautiful clothes. How I envied them and their perfect appearance.
My concentration was broken when I heard the muttering begin, "You're nothing. You lose, I win." Without even looking up I knew what was happening. There Susan sat, shaking her head is disagreement, as usual, muttering strange ramblings under her breath. "You are nothing!" she shouted as the surrounding church goers looked to see what all the fuss was about. She continued to shake her head, saying hateful things to whoever it was she was talking to. As her voice gradually got louder and louder, I could feel more eyes upon me. People looking at me as if I was the one who was rambling.
I looked up at Susan. She had that wild, fiery look in her eyes again. Her matted hair striking her cheeks as she shook her head violently back and forth. "You're all Looooosers! She called out, "You're sick, you think you're better than me? You're evil! You're corrupt! Stop persecuting me. Leave me and my family alone! Evil fucked up sickos!!"
The stares were too much for me to handle. The look on Susan's face was too much for me to handle, and I quietly got up out of my chair. At that moment I prayed to God that he would make me invisible. I looked down at my dirty shoes and ragged dress as I held my head in shame, walking towards the door.
I slipped out into the lobby as I heard Susan's voice fade behind me. "I've got to get out of here" I thought, "I need to hide where she can never find me." The lobby was brightly lit and empty but I knew I had to go somewhere that Susan couldn't simply walk out and get me. As I walked down the hallway, a dark staircase was to my left. Not totally sure what it led to, I followed it anyway. I would go anywhere to escape from the shame and embarrassment of Susan's wild behavior. Each step felt like some kind of victory. Every step I took was just another step away from her and the stares.
At the top of the stairs was one single door. Upon opening it, the stair way lit up, from the light that illuminated the second story room. I entered the door and found a long, narrow room. A single green pew stretched the length of it and faced a long window. Looking out of the window, I could see that I was above the pews of the chapel. I could see the podium and the organ, the Bishopric intently listening to the speaker on the microphone whose voice echoed through the speakers above me.
Afraid of being seen I walked to the pew and lay down. I rolled on my back and stared at the ceiling tiles above me. "Why does she have to do this?" I thought, "Why does she always have to embarrass me?" I lay there, thinking about the looks on people's faces. The look on Susan's face. Even the ceiling tiles seemed to have eyes, throwing sharp, judgmental darts into my soul.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I lay there thinking about Susan and how much I hated her. I was so angry that she brought me here. It was as if she had brought me to church just to have the opportunity to once again publicly humiliate me.
I turned on my side, facing the window and curled up in a little ball. I felt so lonely and small. I thought if I could curl up enough I could just shrink and disappear and no one could ever stare at me again. I closed my eyes and prayed, asking God to take me away from this living nightmare.
My mind went blank as I heard the organ from the chapel play music, and the congregation began to sing in unison "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." I intently listened to the song and all at once I felt so peaceful. It was as if the only thing that really existed was me and the music and I felt so happy being so isolated, being in my own little world.
Abruptly I sat up. My ears perked up as I heard a familiar voice. It was Susan. I looked around only to see that I was alone, yet her voice continued. I questioned what I was hearing, as I could hear her loud and clear, yet there was nothing to show evidence of her presence. The voices of the congregation and the music of the organ began to trail off, and it was then that I realized that her voice was very real, and that it was coming from the microphone.
I began to shake as I stood and walked to the window. I could feel my heart pumping faster and faster with every step that I took. I came to the window and looked down. There at the podium was Susan, microphone in hand.
"You are all evil! You should be ashamed of yourselves! Because of you my daughter is out walking the streets and she'll never be seen again. Someone took her! You're all evil! Why do you persecute us? Why do you want to hurt us? You're all Losers! I win!"
I thought, "I must be dreaming, this isn't happening, I'm dreaming." The moment felt so surreal, almost as if it were a dream. I looked down at Susan, as the men of the Bishopric began to surround her and pull her away from the podium. Kicking and screaming, they carried Susan out of the side door, the congregation left in a state of confusion as their commotion roared faintly through the speakers.
I stood there staring out of the window. I couldn't move. I wasn't sure of where I was or what I had just seen. Had I fallen asleep and dreamt this whole fiasco? Was I ever even at church at all? I slowly backed up and sat back down on the pew behind me.
Slowly sensations began to return to my body. The light breeze of the air conditioning grazing my tear-soaked cheeks. The weight of my body sinking into the pew. The rough material that rested beneath my fingertips. They all came back as my mind re-entered the room. It was then that I realized that what had just happened was in fact real.
I sat there for a minute, not sure what to do. I knew I had to do something, these people thought I was missing and out walking the streets. I had to get down stairs before there was anymore of a scene.
I opened the door and peered down the dark stairway, my heart racing in my chest. Every step down those stairs were crippling as more and more of what had just happened sank in. Upon taking my last step, and finding myself in the hallway, there was still no one to be found. I was alone.
I quietly walked out into the lobby and stood silently. To my left was two double doors that led out to the parking lot. The bright sun flooded in and I could feel its warmth. They looked so inviting, as if beckoning me to come to them and go outside. Once outside I could run away and hide. Maybe they would never find me, maybe someone would come take me away and I would never be seen again.
To my right was the hard and dark double doors leading back into the chapel. The doors could have been the gateway to hell as far as I am concerned. I could hear the hushed commotion that was still going on just beyond the doors. The voices of all the people in the cheerful clothes and shiny shoes. I knew that going through this door would mean going back to Susan, going back to the shame and embarrassment, and stares. Going back to the woman who I hated so much.
Even at 9 years old, I knew that I could not run away. I knew that running away would only make the situation worse and that I had to make things right. I slowly walked to the door and pulled on the large, brass handle. Only opening it a few inches, I peeked inside. everyone was up and out of their seats, chattering about Susan. I looked around as much of the room as I could see when suddenly my searching eyes were met with the eyes of an elderly woman. I stood and looked at her, peeking through the cracked door. She had blue eyes that were magnified by her thick glass lenses.and white hair that was curled up on the top of her head. She had a gentle smile that was so warm and inviting.
We stood looking at each other for what seemed like hours until she lifted her hand and motioned for me to come over to her. I felt as if my feet were rooted into the floor as pure terror took over me. She continued to motion until my body finally surrendered and I slipped through the door and walked over to her.
Her warm hand clasped my shoulder as her gentle eyes looked into mine.
"Was that your mother up there?" She asked. Looking at the floor, my head held in shame, I nodded my head. "Come with me" she said. She led me through the sea of people from one side of the room to the other. Everyone talking, chattering, inquiring about the crazy lady on the microphone and what little girl she was talking about.
Walking through the room it was as if no one even noticed me. As if I was only visible to the gentle old lady. They were so caught up in their chatter and gossip that they didn't even see me, and for that I was grateful. The lady led me to a door and she opened it for me.
I stepped out into the hallway, staring at the floor. As the door closed behind me, the gossip faded and my new surroundings came into focus. I looked up and saw Susan down at the far end of the hallway.
AS I took in the scene being played out, I fell back into a place of shock and surreality. Time seemed to slow down as I watched Susan's dramatic scene play out. I could see Susan screaming, yet she made no noise. I could see the men around her struggling to hold her down, yet I could hear nothing besides a faint buzzing in my ears.
I could see Susan's arms flailing wildly through the air as she fought off the 4 or 5 men who were trying to hold her down. It was a strange thing to see a woman of Susan's strength effortlessly throw the men off of her body. Their ripped clothes and red, sweaty faces only revealed how long they had been at her, trying to calm her down and keep her from hurting anyone.
She threw another man off and he fell to his knees on the floor. Panting, sweating, adrenaline rushing, he looked up and our eyes locked. Without hesitation he stood up and walked quickly over to me. Dropping back down to his knees, he gripped my shoulders in his hands. I looked up at him and could see tears in his eyes. His face and neck was wet and red and his veins protruded from this skin. His shirt had been pulled from its neatly tucked state and his jacket had torn seams.
I could suddenly hear his panting as he knelt in front of me. I could tell that he had been in quite a scuffle. As he caught his breath, he began to speak in a ragged voice, "Laurie, your mom is sick. She needs help. You need to help her."
I looked into his eyes as he spoke and I could see the dramatic scene coming to an end at the end of the hallway.
I looked up and standing next to the man was Susan, staring down at me, with the same redness and sweat upon her face and chest. She grabbed my hand and yanked me off of the floor and we quickly walked outside into the parking lot. I looked back at the old lady, still standing in the hallway, tears rolling down her face. We reached the car and Susan got in as fast as she could. I hesitated to get in but realized that I had no other choice. Still getting into the car she sped off like a bat out of hell, the open door nearly missing another car parked closely by.
As we hit the main road she began to rant again as she swerved frantically in and out of traffic. She ranted about the evil people in the church who were persecuting our family. Her voice was faint as I thought to myself, "Laurie, mom is sick. She needs help. You need to help her."
As a child and through out my teenage years, Susan was the only consistent adult in my life. Most things that I either consciously or sub-consciously learned about life and how to handle situations that may arise, were all learned from her and her personal reactions to those situations.
Susan had three ways of handling stress....
1. Eating
2. Sleeping
3. Have a complete mental/emotional breakdown
Yes, this was the example that I learned from, and I unfortunately picked up these reactions to stress as well.
Honestly, I was never taught how one should appropriately deal with stress. While some people journal, take a walk, or get lost in their favorite hobby for a few hours, I automatically go straight to "Mom mode".
I really do react to stress the same way that Susan did. Not to the same degree, however the same nonetheless. While Susan would sometimes sleep 20 hours a day, I will sleep 12 to 14. While she would hide in her bedroom and eat an entire box of donuts, I would veg in front of the TV with a bowl of ice cream . And while Susan would dash to the streets and freak out at the neighbors is a fit of psychotic fury, I simply just "blow up" once the stress inside of me has built up too much and there is no where else for it to go besides "out".
It is frustrating to say the least. I would say that for the most part, given my upbringing, I am actually a very "normal" person. I think the one thing that really sets me aside from most people are my coping mechanisms as far as stress is concerned.
More often than not, when I see others experiencing stress, I see them as handling it in a very healthy way. Oh, how I envy them.
Another issue for me as far as stress in concerned are the physical and medical repercussions. They say that stress is the number one killer in the world and the reason for most medical conditions, whether they be a mild common cold or a fatal heart attack. Even Cancer has been linked to stress. The list could go on for miles.
As for me, when an especially stressful situation arises, a migraine headache is eminent. Sometimes within mere seconds of the stressful occurrence, other times it takes days for the pressure in my temples to finally grow into a full blown migraine that could last for up to 3 weeks.
Also, being only 25 years old, I have a slew of medical problems. Migraines, chest pains, Gull Bladder attacks, Severe Endometriosis, Infertility, and benign, internal growths are among those issues.
I can honestly say with no doubt in my mind that these are ALL directly related to the high amount of stress in my life. I have yet to get a handle on my stress as I am not sure how to appropriately deal with it. Funny thing is, my unhealthy coping mechanisms in regards to stress actually cause me more stress. Being over weight from coping by eating causes more stress. Sleeping too much to cope and never getting what I need to get done done also causes stress. Well, you get the point...
Its funny how who we are are our little miniature parents, whether we like to admit it or not. I think that if everyone was really honest with themselves and really looked at their beliefs, morals, or behaviors, they would see that all those things relate directly back to their parents and their upbringing. Whether they formed their lives around their parents behaviors, or formed behaviors in direct opposition of their parents.
It's frustrating, especially when your parent is completely psychotic. Great to know that 90% of my makeup was molded after Susan. Sigh.... What can I do though? It is what it is.
Try as I might, I always revert back to my bad coping mechanisms and behaviors. It is hard to simply "re-program" oneself.
More and more I find other ways to deal with my stress, however, I know it will take years for me to effectively replace old habits with new ones. Its a long and strenuous process, however, my daughter deserves a good example of what healthy stress management looks like.
So for now, just going along, doing my best to fight old habits and find ways to purposely deal with my stress rather than automatically deal with it the way I always have. Its a journey.
Thanks for reading.
Wow, I haven't blogged in a really long time!
Long story short, recent events have pushed me to realize one of my dreams and finally take action towards it, writing a book. And what better thing to write about than my bazarre yet somehow entertaining life?
Really, anytime I tell people a little about my life and the things I have been through with Susan, people end up starry eyed, hanging on to every word I say and are usually full of questions. Sad as it is, Mental Illness and the odd symptoms that accompany it, tend to trigger a lot of interest among the public.
Funny thing is, I don't think my story is all that strange. While I know full well that I did in fact have a very strange and disturbing life experience, one must keep in mind that I was born into it. Logically, I know that my childhood wasn't normal. Emotionally, however, it was very, well, normal, since that it all I have ever known.
Anyways, back to the book thing...
My sister has always been a writer, and I must say, she is pretty darn good at it. For years we have questioned why on earth she never attempted to publish any of her work. Funny that I have always wanted to write, however, always felt that I sucked at it. I thought, "What the heck?" Can it hurt to give it a go, write a book, and see what happens?
There is one problem though...
I have mentally blocked out much of my childhood. While there are still hundreds of very vivid memories, they do not begin to even scratch the surface. More and more I do recall more memories though.
Mental Health experts say that we start to have memories or perhaps flashbacks, to traumatizing events in our lives when we finally feel that we are in a safe place emotionally to be able to experience those things. So more and more, things come back to me, just not enough to really convey my story in the form of a book. I'm not totally sure how to get over this little bump in the road, however, I am hoping that as I write, more and more thing will come up for me.
So here's hoping that for once I finish what I start! Ha ha, yes, I am infamous for getting these great ideas, getting off to a great start, and then slowly let go of them.
I will keep you all posted with the progress! Thanks for reading!
