I am not feeling inspired lately. I think that I�ve had one big fat depression this year. The DNA review shoved me into a major manic episode, but once that was over, I became majorly depressed, which resulted in my desperate doctor�s visit in September. Of course then I find out that I�m bipolar, and I�m not encouraged by the data I find about this syndrome. I grappled with anger and intense sadness about having something so horrible, so emotionally trying that I went back into another depression. I�d give anything to be happy again. Joy eludes me lately.
I do have my happy moments, but they are few. I try to count my blessings, being my job, my daughter, and my friends and good family. Sometimes though, this is not enough to keep one happy. That�s a terrible truth for me to admit. It makes me sound high maintenance. I guess maybe I am. I guess one thing I�d ask those I love to remember that I only ask them to be supportive, and I�d tell them it�s not their job to make me happy.
I�m wondering a lot what me being bipolar is going to do to my daughter. Everything I do is for her benefit, however, I wonder if she�s going to hate me one day for being who I am. I knew how impacted I was by living in Darwin�s house, and I�m trying to make my home the opposite of it.
I don�t think people ever guess the real importance of normality in a child�s youth. I think that my uncle who abused me holds more of the blame for me being bipolar than the man who killed my mom. Even though this was a traumatic life event, I might�ve ended up normally emotionally if it not were for my uncle�s mental, physical and sexual abuse. I wouldn�t have had to leave the only home I knew for 8 years. I wouldn�t have had to switch homes 3 times after that either.
If I would�ve been able to feel safe, loved, cherished and understood in my youth I might�ve not developed this Obsessive-Compulsive disorder and of course the bipolar. The research says the syndrome is inherited, but it may or may not develop dependent on the environment of the child in youth.
My environment at home was hell. Maybe that�s why I loved school so much. I hated going home. So many times I wanted to get off the school bus in a different neighborhood and find a new family to live with. Every day I hoped DFS would come get Renee and me. I wanted to be �Annie Warbucks�.
Instead, I went home to a house devoid of love and full of intense fear. I was so jealous of my friends who could go to clubs after school, who could occasionally spend the night at a friend�s house or even have someone over. I never had a friend stay over at my house. Hell, I really didn�t have friends.
I didn�t feel accepted among my peers. And my uncle didn�t accept me either. Often I felt like an outsider because I wasn�t his or his wife�s. When my aunt Rachel died, there went my feeling of acceptance. Now, I was just a burden and an eyesore. I was something that made my uncle sick to look at up close.
My uncle bought me clothes made for 45-year-old women, too long and baggy, so that no one would notice I was going through puberty. He was so paranoid about one of his �daughters� getting pregnant that he would forbid anything remotely body-skimming, no hairspray, any makeup, nail polish, shorts, etc.
I would cry often when getting dressed for school. I knew I�d be made fun of by someone that day, either for my clothes, my geeky behavior, or my insanely good grades.
If I wasn�t hearing that I looked like Michael Jackson or Mick Jagger, a classmate was calling me an Oreo or a wetback. Oh, and there was always �nerd� if someone ran out of creative names to call me. Darwin had expressed to me that any grade less than 100 would result in a beating, so I had to get 100 on each grade. Of course my fellow students thought such high grades were proof that I really was a �freak� so it gave them plenty of ammo.
I remember crying when my homework was handed back after being graded and I�d gotten a 98 on it. I knew Darwin would be furious with me. He demanded that I carry a notebook back and forth between home to report my assignments to him and for my teacher�s to sign when I turned them in.
Often, after I�d get back my homework, my teacher would take me aside and ask me what was wrong. I�d tell them I was upset over getting something wrong on my homework. They�d smile and tell me that 98 or 99 was a perfectly wonderful grade, but I could only smile blandly at them, because they didn�t know how inferior that grade was in my house.
I really think Renee had it worse it that regard because she had a really hard time in school. She frequently brought home grades with 67 or 70 on it, and he beat her senseless. I think she had a learning disability, but I�m sure Darwin never researched it. He just thought she was lazy.
I lived a lot of my life in silence during those years. I was too scared to voice my opinion or feelings because I knew from experience I�d be ridiculed or punished by my uncle for it. God forbid I didn�t do something and said so, that earned me a backhanded smack across the room.
I was just a kid, still learning about the world. I admit I was never perfect. It seemed though like I was never good enough to avoid punishment. And I was always worried about Renee, because she was smaller and younger. If he was hitting her, sometimes I�d burst in and try to stop him, which would earn me a beating too. I didn�t care though; I just wanted him to stop hurting her.
I knew some kids spanked their kids, but this was different. My friends didn�t walk around with bruises on their bodies. They weren�t afraid of their parents like I was.
I never knew what kind of day it was going to be at home. My uncle worked in construction, so I dreaded the rainy days that he spent at home cooking over some slight indiscretion I�d made. Sometimes, my new step-mom/step-aunt didn�t like the way I looked at her that morning and she�d spend the day telling him all of these things I�d done over the last month, which were mostly made up or not nearly as bad as she described it. I was hurt because she�d always bargain with me that if I kept silent about something she did, she wouldn�t rat on me.
However, she always did, so when I came home some rainy days, he�d be sitting in his recliner with a belt on his lap. My heart would start pounding immediately before I even closed the door and put down my book bag.
The punishment when it came would be conducted in my bedroom. He�d pull down my pants and bend me over. I was 12-15 when this was happening. It was humiliating. And then he�d proceed to hit me on the back of my thighs, on my buttocks, my lower legs, my back, and subsequently the belt would snap and hit my arms too. It always seemed like it would never stop, and if I cried, it would go on longer. The whole time he�d either be terribly silent and methodical or he�d be shouting and slapping me too.
Then later, he�d sometimes approach me when no one was around, and then the fondling would begin. He�d touch me while telling me I shouldn�t make him so mad, that I drove him to beat me. That it was my fault that he got so angry and my fault that I moved so much during the beating and got hit in my head and arms.
I remember that he started the fondling right after my aunt Rachel died when I was 12. I was so depressed that year that I thought about committing suicide by stabbing myself in the chest. I was tired of being sad and tired of being hit. I was tired of being punished for being an orphan. I was so confused about sex too, because I heard that people shouldn�t touch their kids in private places.
After the abusive attacks, I would sit in my room and cry and try to think of some way to get out of there. I knew someday that I would. But first I�d have to find someone who�d listen to me and believe me. That was tough. Even the DFS workers who�d been tipped off by my teachers were fooled by Darwin�s smooth talking ways. I think he convinced them I was just a confused little girl and blamed my �lies� upon the attack. They bought it.
Finally, that one night, I decided it was going to be the last time he hit me. And I packed up Renee�s things and mine, and we ran away from our home in Tennessee.
We thought we were running to a place of love and acceptance by coming back to
St. Louis, however, years with Darwin plus our attack saddled us with a lot of baggage that no one was really prepared for.
I guess my whole life I�ve been looking for that unconditional love and acceptance from people I love. It�s hard to come by anymore. I do have a few people I know that love me unconditionally: Lisa, Jackie, Renee, Mr. Sweatpants, my Grandma and my dad�s family. I don�t know how to show them I love them though. I suck at it.
Little Jackie is the best thing that ever happened to me. I�m trying to give her things that I never had emotionally. I�m also trying to teach her tenacity because there will be people in her life as she goes about it that won�t like her for who she is.
She ought to know that I, her mother, wholly loves and accepts her. I would never hurt her or allow someone else to do it. I try to validate her feelings and talk about them with her. I try to allow her to express herself. Most of all, I try to keep our home a happy and serene place, nothing remotely resembling the hell I grew up in.
I have strived to not let my depression affect her life with school and friends. I�m not perfect, but our home is a stable place to be.
Most of all, I try not to do anything that would draw negative attention toward her.
I know what it�s like, and I know that it�s hard enough to grow up in this world without your parents making it worse for you.
10:36 - Thursday, Dec. 18, 2003
Recent entries:
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%%older_entries%%From hell - October 19, 2010
%%older_entries%%a rant from a few weeks ago - August 17, 2010
%%older_entries%%Tired - June 20, 2010
%%older_entries%%A beautiful lie - March 11, 2010
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