Confession

As I laid awake at 4:30 this morning, I realized something about myself…

I am afraid to recover.  I am afraid to ‘get better’. 

My first experience with death was my uncle.  He died just as he seemed to be turning his life around.  His death was hard to understand.  He had just completed 90 days in rehab - a recovery of his own.  He was staying clean to the best of my knowledge, then a terrible accident took him.  It all seemed so pointless.

Over the years I came to believe that we are all here for a reason.  There are things that God wants us to learn.  When we learn our chartered lessons, God will call us home as our work here will be done.

A more poignent and recent death was that of my mother just two years ago this Thursday.  My mother had been through years of recovery (CoDA).  She was finally a strong, proud, independent woman.  She began living life for herself.  She had purged the negative in her life and confronted demons.  She finally had a job that she loved, many friends, and God.  A life to be proud of.  Then it was all destroyed by ALS.  Again I wondered what the point had been.  I wondered why God couldn’t just let her enjoy what she had worked so hard for.  Alas, it seemed to me that lessons had been learned and so God had called her home.  I accepted that her work here was done.

My grandparents on the other hand are in their 80s.  They have buried 4 of their 5 children.  My grandmother treated the 4 that are dead the worst - the one still living was always her favorite and always garnered special treatment.  Her favortism rolled down to her grandchildren and great grandchildren.  This was always difficult for me to understand as a child.  She is bitter, mean-spirited and thoughtless.  Yet she lives on and on - spewing hatred as she moves through life.  Is it that she hasn’t learned…and so she is still here?  My grandfather just sort of sits and watches - never says much of anything.  Never stands up to her…

This pattern lingers in my head and in my heart.  I’m afraid that if I learn all my lessons that I will be called home - and I don’t want to go just yet - I want to be here for my children…  I know I have much to learn…but sometimes I am secretly afraid to continue the journey.  I want to learn to be a better person - to love myself and others - to learn forgivness.  I don’t want to end up a bitter old woman…and at the same time, I’m afraid what awaits if I choose not be become the bitter old woman.

 

Relationship Memories #2

I’m not sure why I felt the need to write about that relationship yesterday.  I’ve never shared those details with anyone before.  I must have needed to release it.  I’m just not sure why it came out yesterday.

After I wrote, I went looking for some of my writings from back then.  I haven’t found them yet.  I’ll keep looking - but in my search I found all the letters and cards that SG sent to us between 1995 and 1997.  There’s only a handful - maybe 15-20 in those 3 years.  I guess he didn’t have anything better to do while in prison for drug charges and a parole violation.

I read through them all.  In the beginning I think he was lonely and looking for a friend/pen pal.  Then one letter was crude and suggestive like he wanted to get back together with me and he was making all these sexual inuendos.  There were a few cards specifically for B but I never gave them to him.  He never knew his dad - at least not that he could remember and he was really too young to understand.  So I have them - and eventually I will share them with him.  The last time SG saw B was when he cam by my parents house around the time of B’s first birthday.  He brough him a Little Tykes car.  And that was it.  He disappeared into his own dysfunctional life and B and I went on. 

The last few letters threatened me.  He told me to prepare myself for a trial because he wanted to be able to see his son.  While I never denied him access to B - I never tried to initiate anything for him.  I figured if he was serious it would become clear eventually.  It did become clear what he wanted - because he never again attempted to contact us.

B asked about his ‘real’ father a year or so ago.  I told him who he was and that I wasn’t sure where he was.  I told him that the last I knew he was in prison and had gotten out but that I had no idea where he was.  I told B that I would be happy to try to track him down if he wanted to meet him.  B told me “No”.  He didn’t have any desire to find him.  He told me “…he obviously doesn’t care…”.  I’ve never spoken poorly of SG - I’ve only spoken the truth.  It was important to me that B be allowed to form his own opinions about his father.  I’m proud to have raised such an independent young man.  One that knows what he’s worth and one that can see the truth through people’s actions.

Because of all of my relationship troubles, my parents played a large role in B’s life.  My Mom and Dad helped more than I could ever repay.  they gave B a certain level of stability - a stability that I couldn’t at the time.  B had a very close relationship with my parents - at times they were more parents to him than his own parents ever were.  I was a young, selfish mother.  I still had some ‘living’ to do - I partied, I went out a lot and my parents (moreso my mom) were always there for B.  I am forever grateful for that.  Something that I don’t think I ever acknowledged before my mom died.  I wish I had told her - I hope she knew.

Soon that stability ended when my mom filed for a divorce.  Now that I’ve read mom’s journals, I know that it was years in the making.  I know that my mom worked hard to first understand and then to mend the relationship.  It was no use.  As she learned that she could only change herself, she and my father grew further apart.  Initially when they parted ways, they maintained a friendly relationship.  I remember still spending Christmas day with both Mom and Dad that first year.  Again after reading mom’s journals and learning everything my father had done, I realize what a sacrifice Mom made for us.  How she managed to sit in the same room with that man and ‘play nice’ is amazing to me.  Knowing that she did it for us…what a selfless act.

Soon my father had a new girlfriend who was pretty…um…haggard.  She was a rough looking blonde with a deep voice - someone you’d expect to be wearing leather pants and winking from the back of a Harley with a cigarette in hand.  My dad and I shared an apartment for a short time just after the divorce - it was a great opportunity for both of us.  Looking back, I probably felt a little guilty - but I survived it none-the-less.  Anyway - this woman - she became more demanding of my father and was increasingly disrespectful to me.  I didn’t allow smoking in the apartment - it wasn’t good for B.  I took myself outside to smoke and I expected her to do the same.  There were a couple of occassions when I came home to the smell of cigarette smoke.  We had a confrontation about it and I asked my dad to make sure that she could respect this simple rule and if she couldn’t then she couldn’t come anymore.  I guess this was too much, because shortly after, my father moved out and in with her.  This was fine - I was glad to be on my own again and I was glad not to have to deal with my evil stepmother.

My dad changed during this time.  He became bitter and withdrew from us.  He was completely immersed in his new relationship and neglected us - either at her behest or perhaps it was his own will.  I haven’t talked to my father in years - well - I have - but we no longer have a relationship.  I greived that loss years ago.  The part that hurt me more than anything was that B had yet another man walk out on him - only this man was quite close to him.  This man was someone he knew and adored.  Again - I never bad-mouthed my father to B.  I let go of my anger towards my father.  And again - it was important for me that B form his own opinions about my father.  B was older this time around - and I never denied him access to my father, nor did I initiate anything.  If B asked - I let him call him.  B soon learned that the relationship had become one-sided - that he was the only one who wanted it.  The last time we went to the town where he lives - I asked him if he’d like to contact his grandpa - his answer was no - and again said “…he obviously doesn’t want to see me or he would have called…”

Again I’m proud of B’s ability to see people and things for what they are.  I’m saddened though at the thought of the distrust he must have a men.  I’m sure that’s a major reason for the difficulties he and Cap have.  It’s got to be hard for B to trust…

…enough for now…

 

Relationship Memories #1

. . . . . . . . .

I had a good chat a couple of week ago with a cousin of mine.  I love those sorts of chats.  I especially appreciated her honesty about where she’s at in her life.  I can sense that she is ready, willing and able to make some great changes in her life.  I offered to send her a couple of books.  One is the book that got me off my ass all those years ago.  Caused me to really examine my life, my relationshps and learn to love myself.  I finally learned the worth of ME.  I suppose it was my first venture into recovery.  I pray that the books are as poignant to her as they were to me…

. . . . . . . . .

I had struggled in relationships - not with just my love interests - but all of my relationships.  I came across the book while I was at mom’s house one afternoon.  The title intrigued me so I picked it up and opened up to a random page.  I remember it so clearly - the passage was on the left page at the bottom.  It described ME to a ‘T’.  I saw my life written on the page.  It was shocking.  Being the good, non-communicative daughter that I was, I didn’t say anything to Mom about it.  I just noted the title and when I left I went to the book store, bought the book and read it completely within a few days.  I was constantly amazed as I read the book to learn that I wasn’t some freak.  This happens over and over again to people in all walks of life.  The book was “Women Who Love too Much” by Robin Norwood.  I cannot even express how that book spoke to me.  It was like it was written just for me.

I had run the gamut when it comes to dysfunctional relationships.  First there was SG - he was an alcoholic - I don’t just mean that he drank a lot - he was drunkevery day.  He would spend his last 2 dollars on a beer, he’d take the car payment money and use it for drinking, he became mean and aggressive when he was drinking, he could remain passed out as life went on.  I remember one time when I had to go to an early meeting at work one Saturday morning.  When I cam back from the meeting, I found SG passed out on the floor in the living room with our son sitting beside him.  He had been crying for a while - he had snot dripping from his chin - he was nearly inconsolable.  His diaper was so wet that I bet it weighed 10 pounds.  He hadn’t been fed - there was a cold bottle lying on the floor next to him.  I was livid, but I couldn’t say too much…I might get into trouble.  I made a note never to leave them alone again.

Months before that, when Mr. B was about 6 weeks old, I was always the one to get up with him in the night.  I was home alone with him while SG was out at the tavern or God knows where.  One night, he called [drunk] and wanted a ride home.  B was in bed so I asked one of my girlfriends that was there with me to listen for him while I went to get SG.  When I got to the tavern he wanted me to get out of the car so he could drive.  I refused.  this was my car that I paid for all by myself.  There was no way I was letting his drunk ass drive it.  Isn’t it funny that I had more concern for my car than myself?  With everything that was going one - how interesting that I decided to take a stand a protect my car rather than myself.  Why did I choose that moment and that particular situation?  But I digress…  He became angry at my refusal, began hitting the window, threatening me.  I decided to go back home and let him walk and as I made the u-turn to head back home, he began throwing rocks at my car and screaming obscenities like a madman.  I raced the ~2 miles home.  He called from every pay phone he passed I think.  Each call began with begging for a ride, followed by obscenities and threats.  I held my ground each time, knowing that his anger was growing and growing.  I was no dummy - I knew if I stayed that I would face his wrath.  I packed up some stuff and went to stay with a girlfriend.  Interestingly enough, that was the first night the B slept through the night. 

The next day, when I knew SG was at work, I went by our apartment to pick up some things.  I was not prepared for what I found.  Almost everything in B’s room was in pieces.  The piggy banks and little nick-knacks from shelves were broken.  There were dishes broken and the upstairs TV had been thrown into the wall.  I was shaking - I was scared and angry and heartbroken.  I grabbed a few things, then went to stay with my parents.  I remember my dad and I going over to the apartment to move B and I out.  We called the sheriff for someone to standby.  While I packed and loaded up my meager, broken belongings, SG begged and cried and apologized.  I left with all my things and left him with an nearly empty apartment to clean up and fix.

Over the next few weeks, he became the most loving, caring, attentive father and partner.  And needless to say I went back to him - he promised to change after all.  We moved into a trailer house on the outskirts of town.  We got a couple of hogs to raise and tried to put our little life back together.  I really don’t think I wanted to be there at this point - but I stayed and I tried because I was grown up now.  I had a baby boy who would need a dad.  I was ready to live a little fairy tale life and play house - because that what I thought I was supposed to do - that’s what was expected and I really didn’t want to let anyone down.  I wanted to show everyone that I could do this.

I don’t really remember why we moved from this location - but I’m sure that some sort of drama precipitated the move.  I don’t remember a lot from when I live there - I remember falling asleep on the back deck and getting a killer sunburn on my backside.  Ouch!  I also remember writing while I was in the bedroom there - looking out the window - into the rain - crying.  I’ll have to see if I can track down what I wrote.  I save everything.  I’m sure I have it somewhere!  It went something about the rain falling on the window pain and trickling down how I think about the tears I’ve cried and the tears yet to come….  I’m on a mission now…I neeeeeed to find it!

After that we moved to a house in town - this was the house where B was so neglected that morning.  SG also started doing drugs - I think he always did, but he started doing it more.  Cocaine.  I could always tell when he had used.  His lower jaw would move - that was how I could tell.  He started staying out until all hours of the night - coming in at 3 and 4 in the moring.  One night I heard a car pull up - it was around 4am.  I peaked out the window and watched him crawl out of the car and kiss the woman that was dropping him off.  When he staggered up the walk, I jumped back into bed and pretended to be asleep.  I was mad, sad, and scared.  I didn’t want to deal with him - he was obviously messed up - so I just pretended sleep so I could make it through the night.

Another time in this same residence, I had prepared a dinner and invited some of his family over.  I really expected it to be a great experience.  I expected to perform just as my mom had at so many dinner parties.  I expected everyone to come fill their plates and enjoy the meal and family time.  To my surprise, when dinner was ready, all of the men sat in the living room and their significant others filed into the kitchen and filled plates for their men, delivered the food and beers and only when their man was content did they fill a plate for themselves.  I almost didn’t catch on quickly enough.  I got ‘the look’ and knew I should follow suit as not to embarass him in front of his family.  As the women ate, they constantly monitored their SO’s plate and drink and quickly jumped up to get them 2nds and more cold beer.  I remember sitting there, thinking about what a ‘crock’ this was…but I complied and played along…I knew better.

Yet another memory from this time that I can vividly recall is one night when SG’s brother(s) and some other guys came over - one had just gotten out of prison or something.  I sat with them in the living room, playing the good wife.  The spoke in spanish most of the evening and I never really knew if it was out of habit or if it was so I wouldn’t know what they were saying.  This was during SG’s heavy cocaine use.  Each of the men took their turns in the bathroom.  I played dumb.  SG had tried several times prior and several times that evening to get me to try it.  Each time I refused he was disappointed, but I stood my ground.  At one point, when I had decided to go to bed, I excused myself so I could brush my teeth and prepare for bed.  SG insisted on ‘preparing’ my toothbrush for me.  I remember thinking this was odd but I went along with it.  He was tweaked out - so whatever kept him happy and calm was fine with me.  I took the toothbrush and began brushing my teeth only to notice a slightly gritty feeling and a strange feeling on my tongue.  Soon my mouth was sort of tingling/sort of numb.  I’ve never really been able to describe it exactly.  While he never admitted it, I believe he put something on my toothbrush along with the paste.  He denied that he’d done anything, but I knew he’d done something.

The final straw was when B was about 8 mos. old.  I had gone out with a girl friend.  We drove around most of the evening drinking wine coolers (admittedly not the smartest thing).  We chatted with friends that we’d seen out.  When I got home SG was pissed.  He just knew I’d been out ‘messing around’.  He accused me of being out and ‘making out’ with someone.  His sole basis for this accusation was because my ‘lips were chapped’.  How’s that for irrefutable evidence?  Some smoking gun ‘eh?  He grabbed my arm and pushed me up against the wall.  I had never seen him like this before.  I’d seen evidence of his uncontrolled temper, but had never had it directed at me…until now.  He was yelling, calling me all sorts of names - demanding me to tell the truth.  I was scared to death.  He finally let up and I went to bed.  He got the gun from a top the closet - removed it from the shoulder holster that it was in and while he never pointed it at me, he pointed it at walls and looked at it lovingly and polished it a bit with his shirt.  I just knew that it was the end for me.  After staring at it for some time and contemplating God knows what, he put it away and went to sleep.

I got up as usual that next morning and watched him get ready and leave for work.  Once he turned the corner at the end of the block, I delivered Bryce to my Mom and told her I was leaving SG for good.  I returned to the house and packed up everything I could.  My Dad came over with a trailer and we loaded up everything we could.  We were fairly certain we had the entire day because after leaving for work each day, I usually didn’t see him until late in the evening.  We got it all out before he arrived home.  I returned alone later that evening to grab the last few things.  I was angry.  I took off my ring and laid it atop the big screen TV along with the ‘family’ picture we’d taken.  Before I put that picture up on the TV, I tore out myself and B and put us in my pocket, leaving him with a picture of only himself.  I also grabbed a bottle of dish soap and emptied the entire bottle.  On the TV, on the floor, on tables, everywhere.  I remember wishing it were bleach.  And I left.

And that was that.  We were out.  I was finally done with his game.  To this day, I wouldn’t change any of it.  I wish I hadn’t had to learn about life and love and relationships this way, but it has made me who and what I am today.  As crazy as it sounds to say it, I am very grateful for each experience I’ve had - the good and the bad.

So.  If you’re thinking that I learned my lesson and went on to live happily ever after, you’re wrong.  This was just the first.  I had many more lessons to learn…I’ll share another soon.