Some Random Ramblings of the Past

Nightmares

The earliest memory I have isn’t really a memory at all. It’s a nightmare; or rather a fever induced hallucination. I couldn’t have been more than seven years old. I remember standing at the window of our two story farm house. I was looking out at him; a semi parked in the driveway, while he stood with several other men. An argument broke out and one of the men started shooting a double barrel shot gun. In the end, everyone was dead. I remember standing in shock at the window. Not really understanding what I had just seen. Blood and brains stained the drive below. It all seemed so incredibly real. Until I came to, in the back of my moms maroon convertible. We were on our way to the hospital, for what seemed like the millionth time. “Fever of unknown origin”. This would continue for until we moved to a new city in the 3rd grade. I have vivid memories to this day of people killing each other. Mostly people close to me; many of them still alive.

I remember standing in my parents doorway while watching my dad cut my mother’s skin off. Of course that didn’t happen. But I also remember my mom throwing appliances at him. I remember her yelling at me; telling me I was a burden for being sick. I remember feeling like I had ruined their lives. In and out of the hospital with no answers. I remember wishing to please just die this time. To be done with it all.

This kind of depressive undiagnosed mental illness; on top of vivid hallucinations was not an easy cross to bear as a 7, 8, 9 year old. I didn’t know what was real. Did I mention I have a photographic memory? Oh yeah... That’s a thing...

You’d think the extreme violence of the dreams would be a give away, but to a child with limited experience of love and affection... I was desperate to find a safe place and someone to understand. I definitely did not have this at home and probably not to the fault of my parents. Their relationship was strained, They were young. It could not be easy for them to manage not only the financial burden of having a sick child but also the emotional and physical burden I imposed on them. How do you love a child like that. How do you form any sort of bond with someone who doesn’t understand reality.

Ultimately, I don’t remember much about my dad and my childhood. Maybe because he was more or less absent; maybe my brain has shut out some things. By about 9 I had convinced myself they would have been happier if I just disappeared. I tried one time. My parents told us they were divorcing and we would be moving to an apartment in a new city. I was terrified of losing the little human connection I had in my friends and teachers. One day, when it was storming outside; I left. I found a place in the rain and I just sat there. I sat in the rain, covered in mud, trying to disappear. Hoping I would freeze to death, or at least make myself sick enough I might have to be put down like the dogs my mom often brought home. (She was a vet tech). Of course, someone found me, and we moved.

The Move

The new city brought a new life for me. As it turns out, that “fever of unknown origin” was caused by an environmental allergy. My mom will tell you it was the walnut tree in front of our house; My dad, the paper mill down the street. Or maybe its the other way around.. The seizures, hallucinations and brain boiling took its toll on me, but I had a second chance.

I was a smart kid. My mom tells a story about how she had to come to the school to prove a teacher wrong, when I had gotten in trouble for correcting a science answer. Or the time when I was accused of cheating during standardized testing for finishing too soon. As you’d imagine, this kind of behavior didn’t make me the most popular person. I was a nerd; maybe a little egotistical; definitely a teachers pet. I was consistently ridiculed by fellow students. Most if not all of my friends were children of my mothers friends or siblings of my brothers. Most, if not all of them, I’d never form a bond with close enough to have a real friendship.

A neighbor girl and I became close through a babysitter. I must have been 11 or so. She was older than me, 14 or 15. The other neighbor kids called her the whale. Partly because she herself was a little overweight and awkward, but also because her mother was obese. Her father was blind and overall the family was just a little off. After being friends for a while, she would become the first person to touch me inappropriately. I’d say molest, but I’m not quite sure what the rules are when its between two kids and I’m quite sure this was not “young girls experimenting”. Someone had probably done to her much worse than she had to me. It went on for a year or so until we moved out of the neighborhood and I discovered boys. She wouldn’t be the only source of my new found body shame.

Over the next few years I let my sexual awkwardness and lack of self confidence to “date” any boy interested. This did not make me popular with the girls around. I was picked on constantly for “stuffing my bra”. It got so bad once I ended up in the principals office. Someone was throwing rocks, I can;t remember if it was them or me.

Eventual things settled down in the 7th grade. I started seeing the high school mascot from my brothers school. We’d “date” on and off until I moved to Arizona sophomore year. (He’d be graduating that same year). I remember first meeting him when I was supposed to be sleeping over at a neighbors. We had snuck out to see her “boyfriend”. One of my best memories, One I know is real and I know is mine, is slow dancing with him in the living room that night. I remember finally feeling safe. Maybe for the first time in my entire life. I also remember going to prom with his best friend because he was dating another girl at the same time but wanted to make sure we could still have a dance or two, and my brother “fighting” him to stay away from me. High school drama at its finest.

My only real friend I can remember was a kid down the street whose mother paid me to tutor him. He’ll tell you now he had been in love with me for years; I’ll tell you, until high school, he was part of the neighborhood bullies who routinely tore me down. He needed me in high school to get him through math and history. Over time, we grew to be close. When you have almost every class together and are forced to spend the afternoons together you have almost no choice but to grow a certain fondness for that person. He’d eventually years later move in with me when my marriage ended to help me get back on my feet.

Step Parents

My mom, newly single and in a small town; dated a lot. She brought guys home often enough that I can’t be sure if my inappropriate memories were just from my brother watching porn on our stolen cable or if they were really happening. Eventually she was tied down by a surprise pregnancy to the town drunk.

Tom had been a minor league baseball player once. Now he spent most of his time in the local bar; did some sort of construction work and played on the local softball team. I am quite sure in the time he lived with us I never saw him anything other than drunk or hungover. He always smelled like beer and Pepsi. I fucking hate Pepsi.

Tom ruined almost every friendship I ever had. I could never have sleepovers because he would unpredictably wander the house in the nude. One time, he even laid right on top of a friend of mine who was sleeping on the couch; penis out and all.

My mom wasn;t the only one with poor judgement at this time. A few years earlier my dad had married a holistic massage therapist. That means hippy for those of you who don’t know. She believed in the power of nature and all kinds of crap. She also believed I was stealing my fathers attention from her. She told me regularly how my mother let me become a whore and I was being punished by having an attractive body. She shamed me regularly. She was trying to heal me. Whatever that means. Unlike with my step-dad, this was a situation I could some what control. After a particularly bad weekend, I came home and swallowed an entire bottle of Ibuprofen. I don’t know what my goal was at the time. I think I was old enough to know it wasn’t going to kill me. It did make me very sick. I remember sleeping for days. Shortly after, I stopped seeing my dad. My already broken mental state was getting manipulated by this woman and I couldn’t take it anymore. I wouldn’t really reconnect with my dad for more than 10 years. We had an occasional dinner here and there, but even after they had divorced, I blamed him for not doing anything. I couldn’t trust him anymore.

Work

As soon as I was able I started filling my free time with work. I babysat; I washed dishes. I always had money. (Another good way to get people to hang out with you I found). Most of my babysitting jobs I would lose. I’d have a “friend” come along with me and within a week or two she would take over. Seems the kids didn’t think I was much fun. I really enjoyed working at the restaurant though. I worked with my “sort of boyfriend’s” best friend on busy nights and got to learn to cook in a commercial kitchen. I also got to eat French fries and chicken fingers every night, along with getting paid $15/hr in cash (that was a lot of money 15years ago) I credit this experience for many things. It not only gave me the escape I needed from what I saw as a life not worth living, but it taught me so much responsibility and accountability. It made me feel valuable. The restaurant was a family like I had never had before. I knew whatever happened in life, I could always find safety in work. I still use work as an escape today. I’m lucky enough to have a job where I can hop on a plane and visit a warehouse any time I need a break - and I do - Often.

To be continued...