I feel like my anger has penetrated everything in my life. So, let me try this.

Hi, I’m Janet. I was raised in a family of 4. Mom and Dad still married. Dad was physically there. Not connected emotionally. Just sat after a long days work. My siblings were older than me. I had two besties from early on. D & L. I loved them both. They were my non-IALC friends. My IALC friends were K & L. And my cousin’s on my mom’s side. I rarely saw my dad’s side of the family. Not really. I never understood the dynamic there. Never thought to ask anyone.

Upper Michigan was where I was born. I have a few memories. My mom visiting with church folks, school, suppertime rituals, calling D after school, daily. I remember not liking the church. Jesus preaches inclusion. My church did not. It gave the illusion of inclusion.

I think, also, part of being Finnish means being a steadfast and reserved type.  I felt big feelings. I remember seeing a sign in the 80’s. It was an old stoplight sign with red, yellow, and green represented. One on top of the other. I can see visions of it in my head. Like a memory I’m fighting to regain. I’m not sure if it’s from around the time I was going to the hospital after having seizures.  I remember being spanked on the butt by my Dad. I had just wet the bed. I was confused, and was I being hurt? I didn’t mean to.

I remember my Dad getting upset with me. Accusing me of eating a whole blueberry pie. I was fat. I felt fat. I watched my mom attempt weight watchers. Over and over again. She didn’t like herself, much. I cried to my mom, asking her to leave my dad because he wasn’t nice to me. My mom didn’t budge.

Since my siblings were older than me, I did have the benefit of being raised almost as an only child. I loved feeling so loved. My dad was still… There. My mom was the rock. The foundation. The clay. Being with my mom felt magical. She was so beautiful and funny. And after Dianne died, my Mom became lost, emotionally. She started therapy. We got a dog. My mom started exercising and going back to school. My mom visited with friends and family. Went to school or work. Spent an hour a week day watching Oprah on TV. I was missing my mom. And my sister.

I became depressed. My hormones didn’t help. It only complicated things. I think my hormones really started raging after a kid at church French kissed me. It was weird and oddly, I was fascinated. Fifth grade and only fifth grade (until health class in high school curriculum) do you talk about sex. It’s forbidden. Keeping your virginity sacred. I wanted to play with it. I abstained. For a while.

Dianne’s daughter, Stephanie, moved with her biological father. It was almost as if we were erased. My mom and dad were devastated. I was 12.  I still liked playing with kids toys.

My depression worsened. I was diagnosed with major depression at my GP. I attempted suicide once in middle school. I stopped trying after that. I was a fat kid, so I got fat shamed. Especially in gym class. To add to the complications, I have and had asthma.  In addition, I have TERRIBLE hand eye coordination. No one wanted me on their team. I was always picked last.

My interest in music left people feeling oogie. I loved the New Kids on the Block. My singing was important to me. I wanted to dance, to sing, to be with friends. Instead, I couldn’t go to dances, play cards, or opt out of church.

After my mom’s birthday in 1991, a week after, my Mom suffered a medical issue. Long story short, she was in a persistent vegetative state. I wanted for God’s miracle to rain down. I was horny, confused, concerned, and heart broken. Not all in that order.  And I was losing interest in participating in life.

I can’t remember the moment before the medical incident happened with my mom. If my dad hugged me that first day she was in the ICU. However, I sat there. Surrounded by family. More and more frequent. Then less and less. And I had all these feelings. I was scared to release them. They could be construed as selfish. Trauma impacts everyone differently. I can explain certain things with a degree of accuracy. I’ve dealt with grief often. For years, I was reminded of how far from ever coming home that my mom was. How she was trapped in her body and mind… Whatever that consisted of by this point. My mom had fallen. There was a sustained lack of oxygen to her brain. She’s not dumb, she’s non communicative.

I waited. My best friend D moved away. I couldn’t keep calling her the way I used to when she lived in the neighboring town. The phone bill. And my family that was once close, no longer is. And I have a head full of prayers and wishes for a miracle or for her suffering to be over. To grant this good woman some much needed mercy.

I was still struggling to understand Dianne’s death. I couldn’t understand this. My relationships were changing. I was changing.

Smoking cigarettes. Hanging out with the ‘bad kids’, making questionable life choices. I was a teenager. I felt invincible, somewhat. Like nothing could touch me. I was wrong.

My first time getting a hug from my Dad from at least the time where my mom’s medical emergency happened was 1 year 2 months and 11 days later. In that time, I lost Dianne, my mom, Stephanie, D, and my mind. Plus almost complete isolation. I lived in one area of the house. My dad was in the other.

I never really felt like one of the church kids. I always wanted to leave get togethers.  I didn’t like canoe trip. I hated memorial and Labor Day weekend. With the exception of seeing my cousins and DW. I really liked DW.

The night I lost my virginity, I opted to give it away because someone told me they liked my ass. I felt attractive. And somehow, I thought that meant love. I was in a desperate state. I wanted all the things I wanted.

Without going on to more details, I’ll say this. If I could talk to my family, I would say:

During my teenage years, I needed adults to step up. To talk to me. And if I was resistant, to keep trying. The feelings were deep and awful. It would take a while to get to me.

My brain was still developing. I needed you, as the adults, to show me that even without her, you would be there. I couldn’t make decisions that adults could. I needed my community members (adults) to know that I was in crisis. I wanted to get to the carrot. To what would help me feel nurtured. Without being able to call D. Without being able to be with my family. I made more friends outside the church. I started to branch out. Be more provocative. Risk taking.

I feel like it’s decently easy to see that I might not have derailed my life had there been intervention. I feel like I wouldn’t have suffered as much if people showed me they were still equally committed to me as before Mom went down. I watched my Mom improve in no way. I was deteriorating. More relationships, more bad decisions. I got the looks, the avoidance, the shunning. And if you weren’t there 95% of the time to see it, fuck off. If you were, what was wrong with you? Was I a haunting tribute of my mom? I couldn’t have been so bad. I just wanted love. And instead, I’m still here. I know nothing about my family. Not really. I’m afraid of reaching out and in one case absolute outright refusal to reach out. My mother would be ashamed of this person.

I lived in my own prison. My own mental prison. Sure, I was given money. So, I treated my friends.  I avoided home. All of those things could have been avoided.

I can’t completely blame my dad. I like talking. With him, I always felt on the edge. Like I was going to say something wrong. If my dad wasn’t interested with what you said, he added. Sometimes not even an acknowledgement. Some people could engage easily. I couldn’t.  I missed out on a lot.

From the time I start becoming promiscuous, I get stuck in this loop. I’m not worth it, Dianne and my mom are my fault. The fire only happened because you were there, you will always be miserable … It’s what you deserve. This doesn’t happen to good people.

I see looks on people’s faces whether they are looking at me or not. If I see a particular look or hear them talking what I believe to be about me, I get defensive. I know it might seem bonkers.

I think we all deserve safety.