Well, I think I did an okay job of summing up infancy to about 4th grade, right about the time my folks divorced. Ugh. Bad times. Yes, it is true, divorce does ruin families. It does pour salt in to new fresh wounds in to children that didn't even realize they were capable of hurting. You quickly find out that that your beating heart is designed to also feel pain, literally. You also find out that happiness is only one element of your life's journey and that pain unbeknownst to you is a bigger factor. And children, know not what to do with that kind of hurting. It is sad and no words or fancy self help books do THAT kind of swelling any justice. It is what it is. I do believe that parents must divorce, do it while the babies are babies. As I have stated, I do not feel affected by my mother's first divorce. I know that for some parents (like mine when I was 10) it is just unavoidable. I would never recommend parents staying together to put up a facade for the kids. I do think that people give up fast. I could have been that person. Do you know how long I have known Michael and now been married to him? Good gosh! I'm sure we could find a million things to hate about the other, but at the end of the day, we don't have the energy for it. Instead of griping of how little I see him and how it took him 2 weeks to put a new door knob on Ashlee's door, I just talk about how good I got it. He does ALL OF THIS for ME ok ok, and his girls, but still. At the end of the day I can find a million things to LOVE. I firmly, FIRMLY believe that if I don't make my current marriage work, it would simply be SAME CRAP DIFFERENT GUY in a couple of years. Why the heck would I want that? Ugh. I get to burp whenever I want around Michael and look like crap when I have the flu. Hopefully, there will never be anything we can't survive.
That being said, there was way too much for parents to work through, and as I have stated before, neither of them came equipped with the kind of life skills it would have taken to make THAT life work. So, Kristyn and I just got caught up in their drama. I became a weapon for my mother b/c my dad never got custody of me. No, not still mad about that, I let it go a ton of time ago, but at the time I was very angry. Was he really banking on the marriage working and that I would always be legally his? If so, he is more naive than I ever thought. I think it was just laziness. I mean what a pain, and $$$ to legally adopt your first daughter. Kristyn became Kristyn during these years. Although I do not feel I have the right to really talk about her past on here, I do believe those years made and shaped her personality to what it is today. She became a delicate flower, afraid to bloom, afraid to be watered, afraid to get in the way. She was kind of a mommy's girl but then I saw her become nobody's girl, except maybe mine. She trusted me. I do believe that even today she trusts me the way she should trust a mother. I'm just speculating. We often slept in a twin bed together and we just weathered the long and treacherous storm.
In 5th grade, we were living w/ mom and her 1st boyfriend post divorce. They were both diagnosed w/ manic depression (it is now called Bipolar btw) and that is not a good mix. My mom met him in AA, wow great mix. He had a little money b/c he was a CPA and once again she was looking for a caregiver. Things were ok b/c she was being treated for her mental illness and was sober fr. alcohol. Awesome right? Well, kind of. I started a new school I hated. I was still angry about the divorce. I missed my dad and went from seeing him daily to every other weekend, which sucked. My emotions were all over the place. One evening I asked my mother what we were having for dinner and she said chicken and I got mad. I said, "you know I hate chicken. I'm not eating it"
Well an hour later, my bags were packed and at 9pm at night she and 'him' drove me to the Psychiatric Institute in Fort Worth. It was off of 8th Ave for those of you who know your psycho wards and your Ft. Worth geography. I thought OH MY GOD WHAT IS THIS WOMAN DOING. I started panicking. Where could I run, literally? I scoped out the streets that I knew but it was no use. We pulled right up to intake and my mom said I needed to stay there for a while. I said, in tears, sobbing, "Why Mom? Because I said I don't like chicken? I'll eat it. I promise I'll be good, please lets go home." It was no use she took me inside, checked me in and LEFT ME. Right about then I was getting even more super angry that my dad had no legal rights. NO ONE could save me. This crazy place just let a crazy mother drop a perfectly normal 11 year old off and leave. But see, this was ok to P.I.- we had the CPA's good insurance, so for the money, the would certainly treat me for disliking my mother's chicken. In fact, when they asked if I knew why I was there, I stated that I did not, that I assumed it was for not liking chicken and not wanting it for dinner. Well, no one liked this response. As much as I was a smart ass, I was not being one, I was being honest. I sobbed for 3 straight days and didn't eat a bite of food. I wouldn't move except to pee. I was for sure I had died and gone to hell. There I was w/ girls who had set fire to their parents houses, cut their wrists to get attention, and clearly had emotional problems straight out of 'one flew over the coo coos nest'. Finally the "therapists" or what have you threatened me. They threatened me w/ IV fluids, tube feedings, and ISOLATION. They told me that as soon as I start admitting my problems and working the program, the sooner I could get out. There were colored levels. I was still on RED. They showed me how the people on green were getting out soon. FINE. I finally stated that I had family problems and needed help. I was lying. I mean, I knew I came from a broken home but I also knew that most of my friends did too and no one was sending THEM to the crazy hospital. I was afraid to get tube fed. They said they would take me to the medical wing and that would only make my stay longer in the psychiatric wing. FINE. I wasn't sure where they were planning on sticking a tube so I was slowly becoming convinced. That same night, at 3 in the morning they flipped on the lights and stated they needed to draw my blood. WTF. I laid there and watched as nurses or what have you poked and prodded for 30 min. My veins have always been a difficult find.
This place was a NIGHTMARE. We had to ask to use the restroom and if it was after 'lights out' depending on who was working you may not be allowed, even if the bathroom is in your room. I was told by one worker to hold my ring finger very tightly and that the urge to pee would decrease.
Seriously.
I tried it anyway.
I lost close to 15 lbs and at age 11, I didn't have it to really lose. I wasn't stickly, but I was average and healthy. Avg and healthy girls shouldn't be losing 15 lbs and why one earth the "medical" staff didn't catch this as a bad sign is beyond my knowing.
I started working the program. I didn't see the light of day for 2.5 weeks. I didn't know what time it was or what day it was. I finally was allowed to have visitors. My mother came. I wanted to spit at her, but knew that would probably be bad for my supposed recovery, and possibly prolong my stay. Instead, I couldn't help it, I ran up to her, hugging her, tugging at her, begging her to get me out. I had never been away from her like that. She was sympathetic but stated I had to finish my program. I do think that she believed she was doing what was best for me. I know it wasn't. I knew it then and I know it now. I know what a troubled child looks like and I have never been a poster of THAT. Mind you she took a straight A, never gets in trouble at school, average girl w/ other good girls as friends to the looney bin! The people in my life that cared, could not do a thing about it.
Christmas was getting close and I begged my doctors to let me out before then, I said everything I knew they wanted to hear. I was ready to put my life skills to work I told them. But, with my mother sitting right next to me in a meeting, he said no, and that I could get a day pass on Christmas Eve and then another one on Christmas Day. SO, my dad got me for the on Eve and my mom came and got me on the morning of xmas day. She rushed me home and had me crawl in my bed so that Kristyn would think I had been there all night. yay, Merry Christmas to her, we get to lie to her and tell her look what Santa brought for the day. What a load of crap the day was. We were back to being financially ok and so there were a ton of gifts but guess who went back to the ward after xmas dinner. Yep me. Guess whose insurance ran out 48 hours later, yep, me. I was discharged 2 days after Christmas. Years later the facility would go under for INSURANCE FRAUD. This place was all over the news, even national programs, about taking money from kids parents insurance companies, even if they were not mentally ill. A lot of the people that went there during my time got settlements. Somehow we missed out. I told my mother how they put wires on us head to toe and constantly taking blood in the middle of the night. I guess she had to hear about it on 60 minutes to believe it.
When I drive by that place which is now something else, I still get chills. I think she could have left me there for 2 days and I would have gotten the picture, but I was there for 5 weeks.
I am a mental health professional and I can tell you, I never once belonged there. I know my mom might have not known what to do with a mad 11 year old but good god, I wasn't burning down her house or throwing knives when she slept at her! To this day I maintain I was taken to the looney bin for not liking chicken.
I'm still not a fan of chicken.
Next entry will hopefully be about my Britney experience. The next time I do a blog on childhood, we'll discuss the jr high years. Ugh.
