There are times where I feel insignificant. I think that is pretty much most of the time. I think it’s safe to say that I disappeared when I was 14 to about 18 years old. My mom became medically unavailable in my Freshman year of High School. Looking at the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH), Adolescents that experience early episodes of trauma can be diagnosed with PTSD. The way that trauma presents in adolescence are:

1. Trouble Concentrating
2. Worrying
3. Anxiety
4. Crying
5. Avoiding Places that remind of Traumatic event
6. Having Frightening thoughts or Flashbacks
7. Feeling angry, resentful, or irritable
8. Having nightmares or difficulty sleeping
9. Becoming isolated from family and friends

I suppose it’s fair to say that being in neglectful surroundings full of lack of support and judgment is not a clear way to receiving support. None of your peers understand. Especially if they haven’t experienced the same level of dysfunction/dysregulation/and trauma. Nor should they. Trauma is not a simple thing to navigate around. For anyone. It should be noted that people who experience trauma later in life can STILL experience PTSD. Depending on how impactful it is to their lives. Fighting in combat, abuse, neglect, etc. Childhood and Adolescence is problematic due to the fact that the brain hasn’t fully developed.

When I mention neglect, my Dad was neglectful. Whatever skills my Dad possessed were unmatched after losing his wife and he was alone to handle his daughter. I didn’t know who to turn to. So I turned to people who seemed to be interested in me. And those were probably were all the wrong people.

By the time I was 16 years old, I’d already lost an older sister to a gene mutation we wouldn’t know about for another TWENTY SEVEN YEARS! My Mom possibly succumbed eventually to that same fate. However, was in a vegetative state, and losing my childhood home to a fire caused by faulty wiring. I was sexually active by the time I was 15 and was raped twice by the time I was 16 years old. I used protection, but that wasn’t enough.

According to our faith, growing up. You were not supposed to have premarital sex. I get that now. I realize why that is probably important regardless of whether you are in a religion or not. The likelihood that you can establish a sane level of self esteem (which I hadn’t), understood my identity (I hadn’t), and valued myself and my body (well, no). I thought the only way that I had value was by staying quiet, staying in my lane and not causing trouble (although trouble led me to the only form of acceptance that I felt like I had.) I didn’t want to be in our faith. It was limiting to me. The sense of being able to identify an identity outside of staying, marrying, and dying in the church was not of interest to me. I didn’t want to visit with the church ladies alone. I didn’t want to see the way they’d treat me in front of me and how I would be viewed outside of that. I saw it. Men have it slightly better in the faith. You could how a position of power and authority. Women were just caretakers. Women took care of their men, their children, and their congregation. Of all of the moms that I saw in the religion, there were a few that held jobs outside of their homes. My mom was one of them.

I clearly saw an us against them mentality. In faith, there would be this discussion about the break or the split that happened in the Independent Apostolic Lutheran Church. How you were supposed to surround yourself with believers? I spent time with people from school often. I didn’t see them crucifying baby ducks or summoning the dead. I saw them living their lives in the best ways they knew how. I saw the curiosity of life beyond borders. I wanted to live outside of the confines of my family. I knew that for as much as I was losing, I needed to grasp something more.

By the time I was 17-18 years old, I had two abusive relationships. One was with my future ex husband that I gave birth to a child at 19 with. He was mostly psychologically abusive and neglectful. He rarely worked and contributed anything of merit.

After I divorced my ex husband, I was with my now husband. Trying to blend my family with him. Life is messy. And you do the best you can. Ashleigh was a hot mess. She was developmentally slower in speech. She went to early childhood classes and then started elementary school. She had an IEP before most kids generally do. She challenged me mentally. She was diagnosed with reactive attachment disorder by the time she was five years old. She mentally tormented her sister and worked up to physical with all of us. The deck was stacked against us with her

Instead of saying… I know what her diagnosis is, every time Ashleigh went inpatient she’d be diagnosed oppositional defiant, schizo affective disorder, etc. The one we really landed on couldn’t be diagnosed prior to the brain completing development. Borderline Personality Disorder. You can use it as a buzz word if you want until it touches your life. I was likely criticized for my parenting strategies, or lack there of with very little support. Sure, she had a therapist, a psychiatrist, family therapists (in home), social workers, CPS, and school staff involved in her IEP. All the while, the only respite we had was when she’d do a 72 hour stint in the psychiatric hospital. Eventually that became state psychiatric hospital and shelter care. And finally… Foster Care. Eric, Darrian, and I were beaten down by clinicians, social workers, teachers that failed her and failed us. Police that minimized her because they had too many juveniles to deal with and spouting misleading thoughts. Ashleigh being locked out of our security code locked apartment complex (For Darrian’s protection) while Eric and I ran to the local Little Caesars Pizza shop not far from where we lived. All the pizzas are finished in a warming oven. It’s all premade. Order, pay, go.

Before Eric and I left, Darrian and Ashleigh were fine. In the little time we were gone, Ashleigh became difficult and Darrian managed to get Ashleigh out of the apartment with a working locked door between them. It was winter time. Yes. Ashleigh was wearing a heavy coat. Window and doors were shut and protected from the elements. Yet when we got back (right behind the cop car) pulling in to the driveway to the apartment we occupied) and regained entrance to the apartment. The police officer said he should call CPS on us for Ashleigh being unsafe being locked out in winter. Clearly he thought he had an idea. He was wrong. But Ashleigh had validation from that cop. We were mean. And then when another cop shows up to respond to Ashleigh’s suicidal ideation .. he says based off the interview with us that he would be okay if we slapped her. We didn’t. There is a vast degree of difference between officers of the same police force.

The family therapists (original.. yes. We had two at first. We didn’t get along with one of them) The primary family therapist said we needed to remove everything that could be considered a weapon. Ashleigh was using notebook spiral to injure or pierce herself. Everything could be weaponized. Pillow, chair, vacuum cord, the list goes on and on. Nothing was sacred and wouldn’t be touched aside from Eric’s swords on the wall of our room. We’d have to empty our apartment and be penalized by the manipulations of a mentally ill person. I forced those two out because of this and got two new ones.

We were on the edge of our seats. In poverty. I, myself, mentally ill and just going one step at a time. I wanted to be better. I went to school, worked, came home. Didn’t know anything and in my efforts of trying to do better for our family with little family support (there was monetary support through the years. We didn’t get much mental relief) I lost my mind. I left my job at APAC because I was triggered by an angry and completely unreasonable customer. He threatened to neglect children until I did what he asked. Ashleigh had been neglected by her father. He tied the door knobs to the parallel located bedrooms. He threw in ketchup packets when she woke up from naps. Her father was awful. So when I heard that customer say those things, I broke. I filed for social security. Meanwhile, I ignored calls from management because I refused to return to work and they had no idea why. I couldn’t do it. I have worked demeaning jobs for low pay in my life. I have had to bust my ass for everything I’ve barely had. When I lost my insurance, I looked into the “Obama care” insurance. Despite having very little income, the representative with the company said I’d have to pay more than I made in a year for insurance. The representative even checked with her boss.

So, I have Darrian too. She was born in 1998. I had an affair with a man I worked with at a former employer and got pregnant. I told Darrian Eric was her father. After all, a father isn’t just genetic material given during a good 5 minutes time. We used protection. Birth control and condoms. Still got pregnant. Ashleigh hated Darrian. We tried to give Darrian an opportunity to spend a summer with family. In that time, Darrian inquired about going to school where they lived in the fall. An A Bomb fell in my heart. I was gutted. I got a call telling me that ‘they’ had to tell Darrian that Eric couldn’t sign the papers to give her permission to go to school in the fall. Fred would.  And .. When was I planning on telling her? I had no right to be mad. I was putting them in this position. (FYI: adults always can choose to give the parent the opportunity to explain instead of strong arming the situation) Kids cannot boss adults around. Adults always have the upper hand to be respectful.

I never trusted my family with my feelings. I wasn’t treated well because of my weight, because of my music, because of friends, because I was a sexually deviant sinner, unemployed (at times), living off welfare to feed my bastard children born of two fathers (none of I’m currently living with), living with a man having wonderful pre-marital sex. It seems to send some worlds spinning.

I wanted what I didn’t audibly get. I was hurt, bullied, traumatized, and left to figure my shit out. Hoping for the continuation to what always has been. Pretend that it’s okay. Forget the fact that I’ve never seen the pride in my mother’s eyes. I’m not even sure if she were alive today, that she’d like me. I’ve only seen certain family members that engaged with me at my heathen spun Renaissance Faire wedding!.

I tried to show my best, yet always fell behind in the… Congrats! You didn’t become a terrible statistic and we love you! I’m supposed to do it all.

I wipe my hands. I want to be who I am. Not what is expected from me. I’m not a believer in the ways of the IALC. I will continue to live my life. I will continue to fight to try to not feel lost and alone. I will continue to feel my emotions

Even if someone doesn’t validate them (my feelings), it’s okay. Those people never took my place. Even if we were in the same family, there are vast differences in our places at that time. Your brain may have been more developed. I was trying to do the best I could. I just didn’t have anyone to save me from myself. And that’s how I continue to be.

I see brighter in my future.

This has all been from a 40 something year old woman who seems to mentally drift back to a time that was harsher. The neglect, the desire for attention, the acceptance, the empathy, the love, and healthy learning. And when myself drifts into that unfortunate time, I’m overwhelmed. Ever day.

Every single solitary fucking day.

I don’t get to go to a spa. I’m afraid of people rejecting me. I’m afraid to exercise. I’m afraid of being too afraid. I’m afraid of disappointing someone (again). I don’t want to be a loser (I have fake teeth because I couldn’t afford to fix the old ones). I lost all 32 teeth by the time I was 22 years old. In order for Darrian to get braces and checked every month, we had to drive two hours each way in one day. We couldn’t afford vacations. Except for one tax year. And since I’ve always designated myself to helping someone other than me, I hurt myself by binge eating. I self sabotage.  I’m anxiety stricken and scared.

My life has put me through hell and back. I’m trying every day. And now that I’m off work due to my first of two carpal tunnel surgeries… I’m annoyed. I can’t work….. And my husband is making me nuts.  I also annoy him, likewise.

These are my thoughts. It’s taken a while for me to format through it all. I’ve been this victim child for so long that just desperately wanted to be seen, loved, and heard. I don’t want to be her anymore. Yet, I have no idea how to become who I’m supposed to be. I feel like I need a teacher to guide me through adulthood. Nevermind… YouTube is cheaper. This could end badly. It can’t possibly (knocking on all the wood in the room) get worse.