Facing my own demons

adoption, adoption loss, life,

Someone called me strong…….

Someone called me strong. Imagine that! When I read those words I thought of throwing up….What she said was she couldn’t imagine how I or other mother’s of loss had survived loosing our children, that we must be very strong.

I can’t speak for any other mother on this. I only know myself. I have spent the last year examining my life and the choices that I made and the ones that were made for me. I have came to a lot of different conclusions about myself back in those days 18 years ago and the years that followed… But never, never have I been strong! In fact, had I some how managed to be strong back then, maybe I would have never become “a mother of loss”.

Had I not let fear freeze me into inaction, maybe I could have fought for myself, my rights as a human being and for the rights of my children to stay with the mother who loved them more than life itself. Yes, I did love them more than anything. But not even that love could stand up to my fear.

My story is slightly different than other “first” mothers, and yet a lot a like for others. There are not many women who have been through what I went through that are as out in the open about it as me, but there are plenty of women who have suffered the same hell. It’s just that most of them are still suffering in silence, because of the fear of what people will think….

 I married at 18 not for love, but because this guy gave me a place to stay when no one else would. I married him, because I was afraid to face life on my own. That wasn’t the first time I let fear rule my life, but it was the first major life changing time. It wouldn’t be the last time. Fear had found a wedge into my life and it wasn’t going to give up it’s hold on me easily.

 He turned into Satan shortly after our marriage. But I had my first child before our first year anniversary and stayed with him because he was good financial support. Well, I managed to get through several years in that marriage by walking on egg shells around my abusive husband. But the truth was, for all the unhappiness my marriage brought me, my daughter brought more happiness to my life. She was my world! When she was three years old, I had my second child, another girl. Again, I felt like I was privileged enough to see a part of heaven in my children.

Still, I was being subjected to more and more abuse at the hand of my husband. But still I didn’t leave. I was so afraid of being alone… I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to support my kids on my own. When my oldest daughter turned 4 years old, I got a job. My husband and I worked opposite shifts so that we didn’t have to hire baby sitters. This was all my husband’s idea. Everything came crashing down when one day my sweet angel, still not even 5 years old, came to me one day and told me that her daddy was doing “things” to her that she didn’t like. Being as young as she was, she didn’t have words for the “things” that he had done to her, but she did make me understand. Of course, I took my two babies and ran. There was no more time for fear of being alone.

When I reported my husband to the police, they told me to go to child protective services to get help for my daughter. They told me that CPS would help me get therapy for her. They didn’t help! Instead they took my beautiful babies from me with some made up charges! (Maybe in the beginning they were afraid that I would give into my husband and go back to him. I had left him once and went to a woman’s shelter, but I went back to him… That was before he abused my daughter.)

But it turned out that the foster homes that they put my daughters into wanted to adopt them. So CPS pressured me into signing away my rights as their mother. OK, so there’s a lot to that story, but the basic of it is, they convinced me that they could prove me unfit because I didn’t have any money to support my kids and that if I didn’t sign the papers my kids would be bounced around in foster homes and children’s homes until they were 18. It wasn’t hard for them to convince me that I wasn’t good enough to be their only parent. I was already totally convinced  in the idea that I was worth less. I gave up without a fight. Yes, I wanted my daughters to have a stable loving home. But I should have fought for them. I didn’t. Strong, no! I was scared out of my mind about everything!

I almost died several times over, during the next few years. When I found out I was pregnant with my third child, the fear grew inside me to a point of self destruction. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think. I thought about running. I thought if I could just run to my Dad’s home in another state, they wouldn’t be able to take this baby from me… But my fear had taken over. “What if” became my mantra. What if my dad wouldn’t let me stay with him. What if they came for my baby even over the state lines. What if I couldn’t take care of this baby…What if this pain inside me killed me???

Again, I let Fear rule me. It was my master! I gave up my son. I gave up the last of myself out of fear! How did I live through it?! That too was fear. OH, yes, many times I thought of the promise I made to my girls that I would be there for them, when they chose to seek me out… But many other times, when the pain got so bad that I couldn’t remember that promise, I tried… I really tried to kill myself. I tried to stop the pain, but again, fear took over! As bad as the pain was, I was more afraid of dying. I was afraid that if I took my own life, I’d burn forever in Hell. How could anyone be forgive for killing themselves, because they’d be dead then and couldn’t ask for forgiveness.

Even at the times when I had nothing, Nothing to live for; I still had my Fear! My only companion, my master, my Fear.

Strong?! No! I was always weak with fear! Even now. After 18 years, I still allow fear to rule at times. I’ve joined many, many search sites with the info on my kids. In hopes that someday one or all of them will find me.. Hoping against hope that they will be searching for me and just happen to hit the same sites as I have… But I have not gotten into really full blown search. Last week, I finally registered with http://www.isrr.net/ . This was a major step for me. Because every turn I have made has led me back to this one “group”. They seem to be the be all of search organizations.

There is only one problem. After I put in my information, I received an email from them stating that someone would be in touch with me soon to tell me what to do next. But the letter went on to say that they receive many request every day for searches and I was now on a “list”. I can bump myself up on that list, by calling them…I haven’t called yet.

Why? Yep, you guessed it. Fear! What if these people can’t find my kids? What if something happened to one of my children…. What if my children don’t want me to find them? What if I do find them and they reject me? I have been standing up and speaking out against the fear. I have been fighting a raging battle with it and I thought I was winning…. But suddenly I feel as if Fear has slapped me back down to “my place” yet once again.

Oh how I wish I had been “strong”. I wish I could be “strong” now. The name of this blog, Facing my own demons, seems ironic to me right now. It seems that Fear is my demon and I am trying to face it, but each time I look it in the face, I run away screaming in terror.

October 11, 2006 Posted by | if only | 3 Comments

Making adoption more human: Pt2 When and how should adoption take place.

As far as I know, I only have four faithful readers here. One of them is an adoptive mother who I respect and admire because of her honesty and her heart, I consider her my friend. Two are women who truly know my pain and have been here for me so much and they are very special friends to me. And the fourth reader is my lovely sister, who would probably never read this blog if it was written by anyone else, but she loves me and she reads everything I write out of that love. I love her for that. 

Oh, I know that sometimes other’s stop by and peak, but don’t leave a trace of who they are. And I know I’ve had some who have come to my blog by the way of searches. A small fraction of which were actually related to the contents of my blog. (I hope that those who are in search of answers find some here.) But most of these searches are what I consider very strange and some of them are even sick. I’m sure that some of these people are quite disappointed that their search leads them to my blog. (ha!)

So when I received a couple of comments from people who usually do not comment on my writing, I view that as a small success. Someone actually read what I had to say and found it worthy of comment. Yea.

Ok, it’s not really that I just have to have comments. That’s not the purpose of my writing this blog. First this is my place to vent what is in my heart and my mind that I can not vent in public life, second it is hopefully something that will someday help others, ether tell them things they didn’t know before they make a decision that will change them forever, or help someone who  is suffering pain like mine to know that they are not freaks, and they are not alone. And my true dream is that some day, somehow, by some miracle one of my children might find this blog and recognize me and know how much I love them and contact me because of this very blog. (I know that is very far fetched dream, but it is indeed my dream.

So receiving comments is not what I do this for. If I never received another comment, I would still continue. But I can’t help myself. It feels good to have someone comment on something I write. The truth is, they wouldn’t even have to agree with me, I just find it comforting to know that something I wrote, this, that I put my heart and soul into can cause other’s to think of comment. It is for this reason I can say that I have never censored any comments. (oh, except for the one time when someone left just a series of letters that meant nothing. Very strange.) And if anyone ever sends me spam through my comment section, I will have no problem deleting those. If someone disagrees with me and chooses to voice their opinion and their reason for the disagreements, they are welcome here. (although I might add that this is a public site, there for one might consider acting in a respectful way that you would in public)

Why has this come up? Why did I stop what I was writing on to write this drivel about comments? How can I write such a boring post and say that I am inviting all to comment? Well, if you are still here reading this, ( thank you), I will tell you. I did receive one more comment than what you can see. A very special comment, from a very special person. She chose not to leave the comment on this site, because she disagreed with some of what I said and didn’t want to publicly tell me that. Because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Because this woman would never knowingly hurt anyone, Never! Because this woman has a heart made of pure gold, she censored herself rather than risk hurting me. But the truth is, what she had to say was very thought worthy. And I’d like to share some of it with you now.

Is it ok to say I don’t agree with everything you said?  I know a lot of it is because how you were treated very unfairly and they should have never taken the children away from you.  However, there are mothers who will never be good mothers.  How many chances should she get if she is abusing her children?  If no one else is allowed to adopt them, does that mean that they either get passed from foster home to foster home or stay with the mother who might eventually even kill them?……Just because a woman can have a baby doesn’t mean she should.  Some women will never be a good mother.  And does that mean that women who can’t have children are bad people?…….I do agree that they need to do a major overhaul on CPS.  It makes me angry to think of Cps taking R & L away from you and I know there are a lot of innocent women who should never have lost custody of their children.  Cps was designed for the children who really needs their help for whatever reason, not for the purposes they decided to make it for.  We just can’t ignore the needs of the children who are being abused by their parents.  If the abuser is the Dad, then Cps needs to offer the Mother help in getting away from him and help with learning how to raise her children without the Dad……Well anyway, something to think about when you are writing the rest of your article.  I don’t want you to lose sight of the children who are in danger if they stay with their parents in an abusive home.

The funny thing is, I really don’t disagree with anything she said here. I do understand that sometimes life being messy and all, sometimes there is no other option. I know some people who lived their entire childhood with abusive parents that should have never had to live with such terrors. No one saved them. No one cared or seem to care about these children. It is still happening today. So many children that need help and are not getting it. And don’t think that it is because no one knows, because they do know! The people that could help these children who live in fear and pain know they are there and know they need help. But these are the children who have been labeled as “not adoptable” Most due to age. So a blind eye is turned from these children because the people that could help them, see them as already lost. And they, these so called non-adoptable children have nothing to offer the “authorities” They can gain nothing from helping these children.

While other parents loose their children to CPS for the crime of being poor. Or the mother looses her children because she reports her husband as an abuser. Even though she doesn’t live with the man any longer. Or even the other way around, when the husband takes the kids away from an abusive mother and still looses his children. (He is, after all, just a man… how could he raise these kids alone?)

And even if there is no way to keep the children with the parents, ether one of them, why are they given over to strangers? Why doesn’t the “social workers” try to find a family member who is able to care for them? Grandparents, Aunts or Uncles, cousins even? At least they should try to keep the kids with family. But they don’t. They don’t even try.

And then there are the countless new born babies that are taken from the mother and placed into the arms of another woman who is found to be more deserving of the child. What abuse did these women inflict on their babies? To cause them to be coerced into relinquishing their rights as legal mother? Being too young while pregnant? Being unmarried? Being poor or lack of education? And we excuse all this by saying things such as; “She signed the papers.” Yes, indeed she did. But under what kind of pressure? How many times was she told that she could not be a good parent to her child? How many times does it take to tell someone they can’t possibly be a parent to their child before they believe it?

But does this mean that women who can not have children of their own deserve to be childless? Are they somehow bad? NO! Of course not. But does their pain of not having a child make them more worthy of motherhood than the young, single, poor woman who is now pregnant? Is this woman unworthy of this child because her pregnancy was unplanned? Should we continue to allow the agencies to take this baby out of her mother’s arms and place her into the arms of another so that this woman suffering from infertility can have a chance to be a mother?

Now understand and try to remember that I did say that adoption can not be totally eradicated. I believe there are times when nothing else will be possible to save a child and adoption must take place. And then, these women who have the love of a mother, but not the capability to have a baby can indeed become a mother. To those children with no other hope. Those who someone on their behalf has tried everything else possible and have been left with only the option of adoption.

And if the pregnant woman, who will soon be a mother, is given true and all details to her options. How she can find support to help her so that she can raise her own child. If she is told the truth about how life would be for her after adoption… Then there would be considerably less infant adoptions, I’m sure. Does this matter? If adoption is supposed to be about the kids, (which it isn’t now as it stands) then those who are adopting or who want to adopt, should be wanting to adopt a child that needs them, not adopt because they need a child. So if the child is older, does that matter. Would you love the child less if she was older when she came into your life, rather than a new born?

One more example before I stop rambling. This time in the form of a story. This story is made up in my head. The people are not real, despite an resemblance there  may be to real people. If you think you find something in this story that sounds similar to another story you heard or read about, perhaps on the news? That is only because even though I made up the players in this story, stuff like this really does happen. Sometimes fiction is too close to the truth. …

So there is a child, his name is Tony. He’s not quite a teenager, but too old to play cowboy any more. In fact, he doesn’t play any games. He has been severely abused by his own parents for more years than he can remember. He’s been tossed into foster care and back to his parents so many times he feels like a rubber ball.

Tony doesn’t allow himself to get close to anyone. He’s been placed in your care now and you see his pain. His emotional scars show like a flag on a pole. He is sullen and withdrawn most of the time, and then suddenly without warning he turns violent and angry. You understand that his emotional scars run so deep that it might not be possible to help him completely over come this. But he has taken your heart. You can’t help it, you love him and you try hard to reach his heart with yours.

Time and time again you reach out to him with love, trying to gain his trust, only to be rejected by him over and over again. Until one day you see a small glimmer in his eyes. He slowly reaches out to you, his tiny hand shaking in fear. A tiny gesture of hope that someday, he might trust you, someday he might even except your love. Your heart sings at the thought that this child might be able to be saved.

And finally, after trying everything possible, the “social workers” have realized that there is no hope for reforming Tony’s parents. Finally, the courts are in agreement. And since Tony has stayed with you for longer than anyone else in the past year or so; and he has begun to show some progress with you. It seems logical that you would be given option to adopt him, yes?

There is just one problem now. He’s not cute. NO not at all. In fact, some might even call him….ugly. And for a child in the system, he is old, too! So of course, given the circumstances, the social worker begins the paper work to place him in a children’s home until he is old enough to release from state custody. Because of course, you wouldn’t want to adopt this older child, who isn’t at all cute and has a lot of emotional baggage. What would your friends say when you said “this is Tony my son.”?

Now be honest here, how do you feel about this story?! Do you feel angry that I could say such a terrible word like “ugly” about a child? Or do you feel anger that it was suggested that his looks would have ever been a factor? And lord knows if you’ve already bonded with this boy in foster care, you wouldn’t be thinking of anyone who thought bad of you because your son wasn’t “cute”

Well, be aware, that government agencies believe this is exactly how you would react. Any of us. They think that when they have the older less attractive children in their care that no one! NO ONE, would ever want to adopt that child! Isn’t it time that we showed these government agencies that we are not that Shallow???

Let me just say there are some obvious times when adoption would have to be an option. Such as an accidental death of the parents with no known family members. But that seems that it should go without saying.

Also, I’d like to clarify that I do not blame the adoptive parents for any of the injustice that happens in the name of adoption. I think, it is my belief, that in a way, the adopting parents are just as misinformed and in some ways yes, I think they are coerced into believing that they are doing the right thing. They are told that they are saving not only a child, but the mother of that child. This point of view is the only point of view that many of them ever hear before the adoption. They are never told how the mother is “convinced” to sign those papers, and they are never told how bad the effects will be on the mother. In most adoptions, I think, that the adoptive parents are told the same things as the mothers so much that they too believe the lies and truly do believe they are doing a wonderful thing.

 Ok, so part 3 will come in a few days. In part three I hope to complete this line of my thoughts by giving you some of my ideas for alternitive to adoptions in some cases.  

September 4, 2006 Posted by | Adoption, if only | 9 Comments

I want my lost years back!

  I’ve been in and out of depression all month. R’s birthday has been really hard on me this year. Yesterday I broke down at work..I never do that. But yesterday I did. It was this family. The cutest family a mother and three kids. The oldest was a girl who looked to be about 5 years old. And another girl who was probably 2 or 3 and a baby. And I thought, yep, that was my family before I lost them. And I had to run to the office and cry.

I’m glad that I worked Tuesday so that I can be off today. I just don’t think I could function at work today.

My husband went to Florida on a business trip yesterday. I had to take him to the airport and wait for him to be searched to make sure they let him take his lap top. He is only going to be gone for one day, he’ll be back tonight. So to tell you the truth, I was feeling that this was best for me. I really need to be alone today and having him out of town seemed like the best thing.

But his flight was planned by someone else at work and he didn’t have much info. In fact, when we went to the airport, all he knew was the flight no. And the time the plane was leaving. He knows he will be back tonight at 7 something.. So I left the airport without knowing what time he would arrive in Florida, but with the promise from him that he would call when he did.

Well, 4 hours later, still no call. I called him several times and his phone was still turned off. I was desperately trying to stay calm and finally told Dad that I was going to bed. I sat in the middle of the bed with the phone in my lap trying to remember what the flight no. Was on the plane that I had so casually put my husband on. I was even flipping through the news stations to make sure that I would hear of any terrible flight tragedies. My thoughts were that if I lost my husband on the day before R’s birthday I would totally loose my mind. I was in tears by the time the phone rang.

He had, of course, had a lay over. Somewhere… He told me, but I didn’t hear his words, just the sound of his voice. That is all I needed to hear. He called me as soon as he was off the plane. He said he knew I was worried. He knows me too well, I guess.

After I talked to him, I laid down and cried myself to sleep. When I woke this morning, I, for just a second, thought that I was still dreaming. I thought that what if the last 18 years had been just a dream.. All of it….and somewhere out there in the “real” world were my two little girls waiting for mommie to get up.. I really wanted it to be so.

But of course, that was only a second. Then I realized that it wasn’t a dream. And it had been 18 years since I’ve seen all three of my kids. That the baby boy I had, really was born 18 years ago after I had lost my two precious girls and I had lost him also. And today my R is 23 years old. 23! And maybe she still lives in Texas somewhere and is on her own. She’s a grown woman now and I’m still stuck in the past…

 It really hasn’t been 18 years since I’ve seen R. I got to see her when she was 16. I met her adoptive mother and her new adoptive sisters. And she even called me for a while when she went home to Texas.

But then, it stopped. When she was 17 it all stopped. And I haven’t heard from her since. I have no way of knowing what happened to her after that. I know she was fighting with her adoptive mom and dad. She moved out of their house the last time she called. I wonder if she made up with them. I wonder if she had to be alone in that huge world. The world is too big for a 17 year old to be alone. I wonder if she made it to college. I wonder if she’s ok??

All I can do now, is what I did when I finally figured out that I was really awake in my own “world” That was to say “Happy Birthday, R” to the empty bedroom.

Last year wasn’t this hard. Or the year before. Not even the last few years. Why is this year so hard?! I want to meet my kids again! But more than that, I want the impossible, I want all those lost years back! I want the last 18 years to be erased. I want memories of my kids growing up! I want to have R and her sister and brother here for her birthday today! With cake and ice cream and presents! And happy memories of them all growing up together, with me!

August 24, 2006 Posted by | Adoption, if only, my angels | 4 Comments

A letter to R.

Dearest R.

Happy Birthday my sweet daughter. I so wish I could be in your life this year as you embark on another year of your life. I’ve missed so many of your birthdays. I missed being with you on each and every one of them. I miss you so much. I want you to know that. I miss you! I love you!

For your birthday this year, I wish I could give you something that you’ve expressed a great desire for. But of course, if there is anything that you have wanted greatly, I do not know what it might be and I have no way of getting anything to you. So I write this letter, in hopes that someday you will receive it.

It’s not good enough. I know that there is no way the written words in this letter can be good enough to be the present that I want to give you. But it is all I have right now. I assure you, my whole heart goes into this letter, in hopes that you could somehow feel my love for you, through the words.

My dear sweet oldest daughter. I’m sorry for not being there for you all these years. If I could take back all these years and change it!!! Oh how I would fight for you, if I had known then, what I know now. R I never, never wanted to “give you up” Never! I didn’t know how to fight.

You have to understand, I was raised to believe that people in “authority” are always on the side of right. I believed that if anyone like me, just an average every day person, were to try to fight those people on “high” the average person would always loose! I believed the social worker when she told me I’d never get you and your sister back. I believed all the lies she told me. I thought if I tried to fight “them” I would loose and just make life harder on you and L. There was even a time, when I thought “they” must be right. I did, for a minute, believe that I was not good enough to be your mother. I did, for a minute, believe that you’d never have a happy life with me. I did. I’m sorry for that also!

In the end, I chose what I believed to be the lesser of two evils. I thought there were only two options for you and L. One was to be in foster care, shuffled from one home to the next until you were 18 or I could give you a chance at being adopted into one home where you’d be loved and taken care of. Ether way, I was lost. I believed that. It was the hardest thing I ever did in my life! To sign those papers, giving up my rights as your mother, almost killed me. I want you to know that, because I want you to know that you were never, never unwanted. Never unloved. Never did I believe that I would have a better life without you. Never!

I love you more than you’ll ever know. I want you to know, I am still here, for you. Always. I don’t have all the answers, but I think I have some of the answers you may need and I want to give them to you. I hope some day we can be… Together… In some way. In what ever way that would help you.

I wish I could say something profound that would make everything all make sense. But I can’t. All I can say is Happy Birthday, R, I love you.

Love mom.

There is more to this letter, but I edited it out because it was just too personal to share with the world. I hope someday I can share it with my daughter. I miss her so much. The pain is like the beginning and I can’t handle it any better now than I could 18 years ago. Are birthdays easier when you are in reunion? Maybe I’ll be in reunion before R’s next birthday. If I am, will it be easier? Will I still feel this crushing weight on my heart? Will I still want to drive into the brick wall in hopes of ending that pain?

Or will I finally be able to celebrate R’s birthday with her?

August 19, 2006 Posted by | if only, my angels, Uncategorized | 4 Comments

Yelling or Silence?

One of my favorite bloggers that I visit whenever I need a lift, is Crazy Aunt Purl. She’s an amazing writer, who sometimes knits.. As her blog is classified as a knitting blog. Her post are not always happy and upbeat. She’s been through some pretty tough stuff with her faithful blog readers along for the read. But her style and wit in writing will surely bring a smile or a tear to your face each time you give her a visit. She gets pretty deep sometimes too.

As in this post. Where she talks about her neighbor who is, it seems always yelling at the people in her house. Her husband, her kids, sometimes one can not even be sure who this woman is yelling at. But she is yelling and loudly enough to be heard by the neighbors. In the under current of “Aunt Purl’s” post you tell that she has sympathy for this woman. As she knows that there must be something in this woman’s life that is pretty bad to cause her to use yelling as her form of communication.

And I agree. I think most of the time when a person is yelling, the words they are using are not the words that would give knowledge to the “real” problem in their lives.

Ok, yelling isn’t always some sign of a deeper problem. Probably not for the occasional “yeller”

As in, you’ve worked all day. You come home and have to work some more. You are tired and hot and think you feel a cold coming on. Then your child brings in the wet dog, after a half bath, on to your freshly mopped kitchen: And you yell, “Get that wet stinky dog out of here!” What does that mean? Well, it probably means get that dog out of here. 

We are not talking about the occasional yeller here. We are talking about the ones who are full blown, “We’ll she ever stop yelling?” people who go into loud rants on a daily, even hourly basis. I used to be one of these people.

I didn’t like it, I couldn’t control it. Sometimes I didn’t even know it. I would just get so overwhelmed with what ever emotional outburst that I was having at the moment that it would just all come pouring out of me in that loud, insane tone reserved only for the most out of control.

What goes on behind the scenes of a compulsive “yeller”? When the woman yells for thirty minutes at her husband because he didn’t put his socks in the hamper, what is she really thinking? Is she so overwhelmed with her job and the house work and wondering why her husband stopped helping her. Does she feel lonely in her marriage because it seems that her husband is suddenly taking her for granted and not taking time to be with her as he used to do. Is she wondering why it seems that her husband is suddenly so un attracted to her?

Or when a husband is yelling, again, at his wife for buying yet another pair of shoes. Is it that she owns too many shoes or that he doesn’t think she deserves to have some nice things if she wants them? Or is it that he really wants her to be more involved with the family’s household budget, but he doesn’t know how to involve her because his father never involved his mother in such things as money. And he’s really upset that he didn’t have a better role model to teach him how to be a good husband…

Maybe it is nothing that you could possibly think of that is making this person yell so much. As in my case (and so many others I’m sure). I would fly into a rage over the smallest of things and at the drop of a hat, I would be yelling at the top of my voice until my lungs would completely run out of air and my face would be red from the effort. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU FORGOT TO BUY SOME COKE FOR ME ON THE WAY HOME FROM WORK?!… YOU KNOW THAT COKE IS THE ONLY THING I HAVE TO DRINK… I ASK FOR ONE THING…. BLA BLA BLA”

Until finally the effort of the yelling over came me and I would slump into the nearest chair panting for air. My head would be spinning. I’d feel dizzy and sick from the lack of oxygen. In this example, if you used simple logic, perhaps you might draw the conclusion that I was hurt because the person I was yelling at was being inattentive of my needs. That I was feeling that I did oh so much for this person but he couldn’t ever seem to do anything for me in return. It seems all very logical to draw this conclusion doesn’t it.

If that’s what you would think would be in the under currents of this tirade, you’d be wrong. Back in those days, “my yelling days” there was only ever one thing in the “under current” during my rants. It didn’t matter if I was yelling about forgotten drinks or the lack of money to pay the bills. The only one thing that was really going on inside me was the loss of my children.

I’m not even sure that I knew that then, but I do know it now. If I was yelling, screaming at the top of my lungs because there was dog hair on the couch, what I really wanted to say was: “THEY TOOK MY KIDS AND I CAN’T GET THEM BACK AND I MISS THEM AND I HURT SO BAD THAT I DON’T THINK I CAN LIVE ANY MORE!” But I couldn’t talk about that so instead I said, “Where’s my coke?!”

Yes, it might be easy to see that someone who yells “all the time” Is really hurting deep inside. But it is not always easy to know what is causing their pain. But at least it is a sign that something is wrong. If only the people around them would know that it is a sign and take action to find out what the true problem is. The other type of person, on the opposite end of the spectrum is another problem indeed. This is the type of person I am now. The person that never yells.

I don’t know when I became this person. I don’t know why the yelling stopped, or how. I just did. I stopped yelling about anything. In fact, I stopped talking. I don’t mean that I never speak. I just mean that I never speak about anything that bothers me to the person that has done the thing that bothers me. How do you know that something is wrong with someone, if that person never complains about anything?

So this is where I am in my self analyzes. I sit here crying alone in the dark because my husband can’t see that I’m in pain… Feeling so alone, that soon it isn’t about being depressed any more, it is about hurt feelings that my husband doesn’t see my pain. My focus shifts from the original cause of my depression to my feelings that I have an insensitive, unfeeling husband who doesn’t care if I am in pain as long as I wash his socks.  When the truth is, how could he even know? (a friend helped me ask this question. {thanks OW}

I’m so busy trying to hide my depression from the outside world, such as the people at work, that I have learned to put on a pretty good face to everyone. Including my husband. And even yet, while writing this, I realize that my husband has noticed…. He just didn’t know what he was seeing and confused my expression with another expression that I have. He calls it my “bed face” (which is how my face looks when I am really tired or sick)

I didn’t think about it then. But now I recall it. I was deep into thinking about how sad I felt. I was feeling so alone and tiny. When I went through the hall toward the bathroom, I met my husband coming to the kitchen. He looked at me, paused, kissed me and said “you have bed face.” I thought how strange that he would think I was going to bed that early. But I didn’t think he can see “it”! And I waved off his comment by saying, no, we haven’t even had dinner. And with that we went back to our respective locations in the house, doing each our own “thing”. Hubby working, and me back to my sadness  in silence.

So while I would not like to go back to those yelling days of yesteryear. I would like to break this habit of silence.

“Silence is Golden” …. Except in silence, we suffer the pain that we do not share…

July 31, 2006 Posted by | if only | 3 Comments

The woman in the picture window…..

(When someone new learns that my husband, B, is my second husband, most people hold to the "don't ask, don't tell" philosophy. Being divorced and remarried is not that uncommon today. But occasionally, I will run across someone who just thinks they have to know more. "So why did you and your first husband divorce?" They ask. I respond, "because I was married to Satan."

That gives them the general idea of what might have happened and gets them to drop the subject. One thing  curious people don't want to hear about is someone else's pain.)

As I write these accounts of my own past, I find myself wondering who this person was. I remember all these things happening to me. I remember the choices I made. I know that was me, but it doesn't feel like it was me. It's as if I was looking at this young woman's life through a picture window and watching it all happen. Watching it all unfold. Of course, I, the now me, knows how it will turn out. I know what that young woman will do next and what will happen because of the choices she will make. I stand outside that window watching and screaming at her to do it differently. Why? Why does she keep doing the same things every time I see these events? Why couldn't she see what was going to happen?! I can look back on it all now and see clearly how the choices I made were my downfall. But I don't remember why I made those choices. I don't remember for instance, what was going through my head when I had my Dad bring my girls to me, instead of going to Dad's house to live there.

At first.. Remember, I thought it wasn't safe for me to be there. But when J was arrested and held without bond… At that time I had no real tie (romantically) to T. Except that I thought he was my savior. My rescuer from the dark. My job… Was pathetic at best. And the apartment we lived in was …. Geez… It was small and falling down. It was cheep. So why did I choose to not go live with my Dad and at least have a safe haven for me and my girls until I could figure out what to do with my life. I don't have a clue! As I said, I feel disconnected from the person I was then. I don't understand her at all. I don't understand the choices that she kept making over and over that always turned out to be wrong! And yet, she kept doing it over and over until she lost everything! EVERYTHING!

The choice that I am speaking of is to slowly cut myself off from the people who could have helped me. My family. I know, I had good reason to perhaps be mistrusting of some of my family, with my past. But I should have been able to see past that. I should have seen how my family would have helped me if I had just let them. If not my Dad, then my sister … Someone… Anyone… Would have been better than … The strangers that I chose to put my faith and my life into their hands…

But I can't change that woman's mind. I stand here looking into the window of her soul and I can't make her see what she did wrong. I can only watch it unfold… Knowing how it will turn out… Knowing that she had not suffered the worst yet, but surely will because I know how it ends.. I know the loss that I suffered for her choices! I can't change it, and I have nothing left to save by learning from those mistakes. Everything was lost. I now can see the mistakes. I can now say I learned from them, but to what avail? What good does knowledge do when there is nothing left to save?

June 25, 2006 Posted by | if only, life, past | 1 Comment

Why I will look into my past

Don't live in the past. Look to the future. You can never move forward if you are always looking back. … All these sayings are worth consideration. But then you have to remember; History repeats itself. ….. How much in your past would you want to be repeated? How much in your past would you prefer that it had never happened, much less happen again?

So this is my logic for looking to the past. You have to know your history to know the mistakes. If you know the mistakes, you need to know why the mistakes were made. And then, perhaps, you can prevent these mistakes from occurring again. Sounds simple enough. …. And yet….. What if you look at the mistakes and you say "oh, if I had not chosen to do that, then none of that would have ever happened." But is it that simple? I think you have to define the "whys" of the choices you made. When did your life start down that particular path? The answer may seem to be obvious, but more than likely, if you think that your mistake started the day you made the mistake, then you are kidding yourself. More than likely, your decision was made because of something so minor and so far back in your past, that you would have never guessed. But I believe that you can find those, ooops, moments, that lead you to the path you took much later in life. You can do this by taking a serious look into your past. Just remembering, without trying to associate any one thing in the past with the problem you want to define the whys of. Just take an open minded look into your past. Allow yourself to reminisce about your past. I theorize that eventually, you will see that "oops" moment. Chances are, you will find that many oops moments were not in your control. Things that happen to you or around you when you were a child are usually completely out of your control. However, if you define the things that happened to you that shapes that part of you that makes bad decisions, I think you can over come those obstacles and make different types of decisions.

Of course, this is only a theory. But I'm going to try it. The way I see it, I have nothing else to loose except what's left of my sanity. (and the idea that I have any sanity left is questionable anyway. Ha)

So there it is. This is why I will be going up to the attic of my mind and searching through those dusty boxes. Could it be that the "If Only's" do have a purpose?

June 8, 2006 Posted by | if only, life, past | Leave a comment