As a freshman in college, spring break couldn't have come fast enough, well, it actually came too quickly. I didn't have any plans of going down south, partying it up on the beach, and having the time of my life. That's not really my style, I prefer books, clouds, and some alone time to relax. (And I did just that, it was amazing.)
However, for my spring break, instead of doing the stereotypical things, I went to doctor appointments.
Bah-humbug.
One week off, and four appointments.
Three of the four went as expected, nothing to note and nothing to think about for later on. The fourth though, left me with questions that are burning for answers.
Back story: I've had daily migraines for the past 5 years, they started my freshman year of high school, prior to that they were frequent, but not overly so. I also had them when I was a toddler, but not quite as bad. I've been to four (maybe five, I'm not real sure) neurologists. None of them had any clue as to what was causing them, it's not that common for 24/7 migraines.
I've been through all types of medicines, prescription and otherwise, Botox, physical therapy, IV medications, chiropractor, massage therapist, everything.
For the record, it gets really irritating when someone says, "Oh have you tried tylenol? It works for me. I just take two pills when I feel one coming on and I'm good for the rest of the day." I'm sure it does, I know you're trying to be helpful but really? Have I tried tylenol? Nope, hadn't thought of that. Thanks for the advice though, maybe it'll help someone just like you.
My current neurologist decided I should talk to someone about them since they were such a large part of my life. Over break I talked to her, we reviewed a test I had taken, the MMPI if you're curious, it was normal, well, not totally.
There were signs of social introversion, but that didn't really surprise me. I'm introverted, I like being alone, I like silence, and most of all, I enjoy my own company and if I choose to let you join me while I'm having some of that time, it must be for a good reason, if that's trust, or just because I want to get to know you, that depends.
I'm not abnormal, I like being around people, just not all the time.
That wasn't all though, I tested high on lack of familial bonds (probably not the right term but that's what I can describe it as.)
We started talking and she asked if I thought this was true, I said yes.
Her next question was if I loved my mom and dad, I said no.
This shocked her, it really did.
I didn't feel bad about saying it though, and why should I if it is the truth?
We pretty much stayed on this topic for the remainder of the appointment, talking about if I loved anyone. I do, by the way, my brother is fantastic, I don't know what I'd do without him. We have a great bond, ironically enough, we have the bond because of the parents. Maybe 'because of' isn't the right term, more along the lines of 'in spite of'. I also love my adopted Grandpa, Donny, and some really close friends.
As we were talking, she asked me what I thought of my parents and why, I didn't have to think too long about my response, I've known it for a while now, accepted it even. I don't respect my parents as people. Not in the rebellious definition, but that if I were an outsider looking in, I would have no respect for their person, not in their lives, nor in the way they carry themselves, and certainly not in how they treat other people.
You may be wondering why I, a 19 year old, says that. How disrespectful of my elders, right? Well, maybe I am, but if you know my reasoning, I don't think you'd say that.
A few phrases I used to describe my mom (I hate calling her that, she was never a mom to me, I called her blood elder for a while, and Lady Friend. Those both went over well.) are that she is a mental manipulator, a person who refuses to put others first, a person who doesn't care about those around her.
She is selfish, even in her child's eyes.
When I was five, she had a double bi-pass (open heart surgery) with a 99% blockage. She'd known about it for about a week, kept going to work, pushing herself to get that last bit of work done before she had to take time off for a while.
Well, one day, her heart decided it'd had enough. She was one heart attack away from death. She stayed at work for a few more hours after her doctor told her to get to the ER immediately. It was Friday, time sheets were due and she is a supervisor for a lot of people.
Work came first.
She got to the hospital, and waited.
When the doctor saw her, he said that he needed to start surgery right away, or she may not live.
It would have been his sixth surgery that day, she decided to wait until the next day, my father agreed.
There were some complications over night, but she lived.
That morning, she had her surgery, and lived.
But to a five year old, being told your mom was going to wait and may not make it over night so you should say good byes and I love you's, isn't that she's taking care of herself by waiting.
It's that she didn't care if she died, that she'd been around you long enough. It felt like she didn't care about my brother or I by making that choice.
Ever since then, I have felt that each "I love you" to her or my dad was forced. Empty words that will never hold any value when directed to them.
The doctor asked if I thought that she and my father loved my brother and I, I think that they do in their own way.
The destructive comments through my childhood from my mom, didn't help emphasis that though:
"Suck your belly in, it'll make your clothes fit better."-- I can't count how many times I heard this as a child, even now actually and I'm a Size 1-3 in Juniors.
"Why didn't you get this? Your brother did."-- well mom, because I'm not my brother.
"You're not doing 4 projects for sewing? You shouldn't have wasted so much time during your summer."--I'm a kid, sure I like sewing but not when it's forced. I'd prefer to do zero over anything with you around.
I quickly started dreading being around her.
I was excited when she was going to be out of town for work again, there were a few years where she'd be gone three out of four weeks of the month for work, some of the happiest times of my childhood.
She'd leave for work at 7am, get home from work at 6pm, go down to walk until 7:30, then we'd have dinner around 8pm, go to bed around 9:30-10. Repeat.
My dad? He was just as consumed with work. Still is, he doesn't know how or when to quit working. I guess that's what the two of them have in common really.
He has an office in our house. The only times he isn't there is when he is watching TV in the other room, where kids really weren't wanted. Checking cattle, or when he was eating. We never did anything besides cattle shows together. Even that was forced, I didn't want to do it, my brother didn't want to do it.
But we had to, our father was living vicariously though us.
That in itself repulses me.
He repulses me.
To close up that rant with a diagnosis from the doctor, emotional neglect as a child. Not the technical term of course. She determined that when I was five, I built a shell around myself for protection, because of what I experienced. That I grew up, provided and protected myself and my brother. Most of all, that I couldn't have done any better, it was needed, that my response was ideal, the only thing I could have done.
And my migraines, are because of the mental wear it has caused in the past 14 years of keeping that up. It was in keeping my brainwaves in a certain way, that made the pain threshold lower than normal. She used a pair of sunglasses with a blue flashing light that would flash at the peak of the brainwave, to change it to normal brainwaves.
It helped, a lot.
She talked to me about how I could talk to the five year old still inside me, needing attention, needing to feel loved, needing to feel worthy of life. Although I felt perfectly relaxed, I started crying, and I couldn't stop. It was as if the tears weren't mine. I didn't even feel like crying. I guess in a way, they weren't my tears, they were that five year old inside me's. She was finally getting to talk, to express herself, because the doctor and I would listen to her.
I was advised to take up self parenting, nurturing the child inside me, stopping to look at the flowers, jump in a puddle, doing things that five year old me liked to do but would have gotten scolded for.
Also, to write an angry letter to each of my parents, explaining what they put me though, how much I detested being around them, and to let my five year old write part of it, to let her chime in on things that I may have forgotten.
To let go.
To be me.
To get out of the situation.
In a way, I started planning that when I was in high school.
I realized then, that I could never see them again and it wouldn't bother me, and it won't.
--Carson
However, for my spring break, instead of doing the stereotypical things, I went to doctor appointments.
Bah-humbug.
One week off, and four appointments.
Three of the four went as expected, nothing to note and nothing to think about for later on. The fourth though, left me with questions that are burning for answers.
Back story: I've had daily migraines for the past 5 years, they started my freshman year of high school, prior to that they were frequent, but not overly so. I also had them when I was a toddler, but not quite as bad. I've been to four (maybe five, I'm not real sure) neurologists. None of them had any clue as to what was causing them, it's not that common for 24/7 migraines.
I've been through all types of medicines, prescription and otherwise, Botox, physical therapy, IV medications, chiropractor, massage therapist, everything.
For the record, it gets really irritating when someone says, "Oh have you tried tylenol? It works for me. I just take two pills when I feel one coming on and I'm good for the rest of the day." I'm sure it does, I know you're trying to be helpful but really? Have I tried tylenol? Nope, hadn't thought of that. Thanks for the advice though, maybe it'll help someone just like you.
My current neurologist decided I should talk to someone about them since they were such a large part of my life. Over break I talked to her, we reviewed a test I had taken, the MMPI if you're curious, it was normal, well, not totally.
There were signs of social introversion, but that didn't really surprise me. I'm introverted, I like being alone, I like silence, and most of all, I enjoy my own company and if I choose to let you join me while I'm having some of that time, it must be for a good reason, if that's trust, or just because I want to get to know you, that depends.
I'm not abnormal, I like being around people, just not all the time.
That wasn't all though, I tested high on lack of familial bonds (probably not the right term but that's what I can describe it as.)
We started talking and she asked if I thought this was true, I said yes.
Her next question was if I loved my mom and dad, I said no.
This shocked her, it really did.
I didn't feel bad about saying it though, and why should I if it is the truth?
We pretty much stayed on this topic for the remainder of the appointment, talking about if I loved anyone. I do, by the way, my brother is fantastic, I don't know what I'd do without him. We have a great bond, ironically enough, we have the bond because of the parents. Maybe 'because of' isn't the right term, more along the lines of 'in spite of'. I also love my adopted Grandpa, Donny, and some really close friends.
As we were talking, she asked me what I thought of my parents and why, I didn't have to think too long about my response, I've known it for a while now, accepted it even. I don't respect my parents as people. Not in the rebellious definition, but that if I were an outsider looking in, I would have no respect for their person, not in their lives, nor in the way they carry themselves, and certainly not in how they treat other people.
You may be wondering why I, a 19 year old, says that. How disrespectful of my elders, right? Well, maybe I am, but if you know my reasoning, I don't think you'd say that.
A few phrases I used to describe my mom (I hate calling her that, she was never a mom to me, I called her blood elder for a while, and Lady Friend. Those both went over well.) are that she is a mental manipulator, a person who refuses to put others first, a person who doesn't care about those around her.
She is selfish, even in her child's eyes.
When I was five, she had a double bi-pass (open heart surgery) with a 99% blockage. She'd known about it for about a week, kept going to work, pushing herself to get that last bit of work done before she had to take time off for a while.
Well, one day, her heart decided it'd had enough. She was one heart attack away from death. She stayed at work for a few more hours after her doctor told her to get to the ER immediately. It was Friday, time sheets were due and she is a supervisor for a lot of people.
Work came first.
She got to the hospital, and waited.
When the doctor saw her, he said that he needed to start surgery right away, or she may not live.
It would have been his sixth surgery that day, she decided to wait until the next day, my father agreed.
There were some complications over night, but she lived.
That morning, she had her surgery, and lived.
But to a five year old, being told your mom was going to wait and may not make it over night so you should say good byes and I love you's, isn't that she's taking care of herself by waiting.
It's that she didn't care if she died, that she'd been around you long enough. It felt like she didn't care about my brother or I by making that choice.
Ever since then, I have felt that each "I love you" to her or my dad was forced. Empty words that will never hold any value when directed to them.
The doctor asked if I thought that she and my father loved my brother and I, I think that they do in their own way.
The destructive comments through my childhood from my mom, didn't help emphasis that though:
"Suck your belly in, it'll make your clothes fit better."-- I can't count how many times I heard this as a child, even now actually and I'm a Size 1-3 in Juniors.
"Why didn't you get this? Your brother did."-- well mom, because I'm not my brother.
"You're not doing 4 projects for sewing? You shouldn't have wasted so much time during your summer."--I'm a kid, sure I like sewing but not when it's forced. I'd prefer to do zero over anything with you around.
I quickly started dreading being around her.
I was excited when she was going to be out of town for work again, there were a few years where she'd be gone three out of four weeks of the month for work, some of the happiest times of my childhood.
She'd leave for work at 7am, get home from work at 6pm, go down to walk until 7:30, then we'd have dinner around 8pm, go to bed around 9:30-10. Repeat.
My dad? He was just as consumed with work. Still is, he doesn't know how or when to quit working. I guess that's what the two of them have in common really.
He has an office in our house. The only times he isn't there is when he is watching TV in the other room, where kids really weren't wanted. Checking cattle, or when he was eating. We never did anything besides cattle shows together. Even that was forced, I didn't want to do it, my brother didn't want to do it.
But we had to, our father was living vicariously though us.
That in itself repulses me.
He repulses me.
To close up that rant with a diagnosis from the doctor, emotional neglect as a child. Not the technical term of course. She determined that when I was five, I built a shell around myself for protection, because of what I experienced. That I grew up, provided and protected myself and my brother. Most of all, that I couldn't have done any better, it was needed, that my response was ideal, the only thing I could have done.
And my migraines, are because of the mental wear it has caused in the past 14 years of keeping that up. It was in keeping my brainwaves in a certain way, that made the pain threshold lower than normal. She used a pair of sunglasses with a blue flashing light that would flash at the peak of the brainwave, to change it to normal brainwaves.
It helped, a lot.
She talked to me about how I could talk to the five year old still inside me, needing attention, needing to feel loved, needing to feel worthy of life. Although I felt perfectly relaxed, I started crying, and I couldn't stop. It was as if the tears weren't mine. I didn't even feel like crying. I guess in a way, they weren't my tears, they were that five year old inside me's. She was finally getting to talk, to express herself, because the doctor and I would listen to her.
I was advised to take up self parenting, nurturing the child inside me, stopping to look at the flowers, jump in a puddle, doing things that five year old me liked to do but would have gotten scolded for.
Also, to write an angry letter to each of my parents, explaining what they put me though, how much I detested being around them, and to let my five year old write part of it, to let her chime in on things that I may have forgotten.
To let go.
To be me.
To get out of the situation.
In a way, I started planning that when I was in high school.
I realized then, that I could never see them again and it wouldn't bother me, and it won't.
--Carson