I’m back! It’s been a rough year….but I really want to get in the habit of keeping some sort of journal, so I thought I’d start here!
On to the story of Blow #3
I was really involved in my church youth group. Not because I really believed everything that the Catholic church believed, but because these people were different. They weren’t super “churchy,” they were fun. I also liked it because there was no one from my high school in the youth group there, so I was able to reinvent myself when I was there. I grew up in Saline, MI where there was a good mix of farming families, and very very wealthy familes (and not much in between). I started there in Kindergarten and graduated, so I spent my whole young adult life there. Everyone knew me, it was a small town. I was shy, quiet, and a pushover. But when I went to this new church, there was no one that knew me there, I could be anyone I wanted to be.
I had just gotten back from a wonderful trip with my Youth Group to St. Louis for the National Catholic Youth Conference. We had gotten back late on a Sunday night, but I had a class I had to go to on Monday morning. My mom picked me up early from school so I could go home and get some more sleep after that one class. On the way home she started crying. She said that she had something she needed to tell me. Now, if you know my mom, you know she’s obsessed with her cats. So I assumed she was going to tell me that one of our 4 cats had passed away. Then she said it “your dad and I are getting a divorce”
Now, I know that my parents did fight a lot, but I NEVER thought they would get divorced. I mean, how could my dad leave my mom??? She was paralyzed!! But, they got a divorce. And it just about broke my mom. She turned into someone that I didn’t recognize. She locked herself in her bedroom all the time, and drank more wine than I’ve ever seen anyone drink.
At the time, when I was young and didn’t fully understand everything that was going on, I was so mad at my dad. How could he leave us?? How could he leave her, she needed him! On top of this, my mom is telling me that he cheated on her, how could he do such a thing! There was a stand off in a parking lot in front of some of my friends between me and my dad that I will never forgive myself for (hopefully he has). I yelled and screamed at him, but it wasn’t his fault.
Now that I know what I do about my mom and her mental status, I’m so happy that my dad left. I’m happy that he chose to have a good life, and to get out of that toxic environment. Yes, he moved out and left us there, but he was ALWAYS there for us, always. I will always be greatful for his encouragement, and the love that he has given me, when I wasn’t getting it from my mom. My dad is the most amazing human I know. He’s my rock, he’s my strength. He has always pushed my, and encouraged me to be great. Whenever I had doubts, or concerns about my ability to do something (usually school related), he was there to tell me how smart I was, and how proud of me he was. I will be forever greatful to him, I wouldn’t have finished college if it weren’t for him.
The Fallout From the Storm
My senior year of high school I had a boyfriend. I really did love him, so I guess you can say he was my “first love.” One day, I was hanging out with him, and then I was going to go home, and my mom and I were going to go see a movie. She was at home with my little brother waiting for me. I drove home, and for some strange reason that day I took a different path home (my neighborhood was a circle, and we were at the opposite end of the circle as the entrance, so instead of turning right to go to my house, I turned left this day for some reason). When I drove up within site of my house, I froze. There was an ambulance and a police car in my driveway. I new it was my mom. I threw my car into park in the middle of the road, ran out of the car, leaving the car on and the door open and ran up to my house. A police officer stopped me at my moms bedroom door, but not before I could see her. She had attempted suicide he said, she overdosed on sleeping pills. My brother, who was in 8th grade, was at home, in the living room, watching tv the whole time. The police officer told me what was going on, and that they were going to take my mom to the hospital to pump her stomach. He then asked me if I could move my car out of the street. As I was walking through the front yard, I recieved a phone call, from my older brothers girlfriend. I don’t really know how this all happened this day, but someone was watching over me. I explained to her what was going on, and her and my older brother met me at the hospital with my younger brother (at least I think that’s how it went, they might have come to pick us up, but I remember bits and peices of this memory, flashing in my head like a movie). But, before that happened, my dad pulled up to the neighbors driveway with a close family friend. He knew about what was going on? How did you know? I yelled at him again to just leave, that this was all his fault, and he just needed to leave. I later found out that he was the one that called the police. She had called him and told him that she “just wanted to sleep forever,” luckily, he took that as a sign, and made the call. Then, he came to check on us, and I just yelled at him.
At the hospital, my mom was forced to drink carcoal to make her throw up all the pills. I remember when we were allowed to go back to see her, she had charcoal all over her mouth, and her mouth was black. It was disgusting. She kept telling us that she wasn’t trying to kill herself, she just took too many pills on accident. This was all just a big mistake. We didn’t believe her, and niether did the doctors at the hospital. My brother signed her in, involuntarily, to the in patient program at a local hospital (either that, or he was able to convince her to go, I don’t know, I wasn’t in the room. This was also my first experience with my mind going blank, and just staring in to space).
I remember visiting her every day. One day, she had me climb into the hospital bed with her and lay with her. She began to cry and told me that she never meant to hurt us so bad, and she would never do this again.
I remember going in to her bedroom afterwards, and finding the pill bottle spilled out on her nightstand. Pills crushed and strewn about. I decided that she couldn’t come home to a room like this. I cleaned her room, and made sure there was no evidence of what happened when she came home.
I would later, much later, be diagnosed with PTSD. I still have panic attacks to this day when I don’t hear from her, or I left on a bad note. I’m constantly worried that I will fidn her again, but this time, it will be too late. This would be the first appearance of my panic attacks.
What a horrible life so far for my mother, right? Oh just wait, there is more…but that’s for another day, another post.
Thanks for reading, until next time.