The Secret Life of Carson 7/18/15

Things have been circling around me in a very chaotic manor lately.

A few weeks ago my mother left her phone in the city where I live, she told me that I was bringing it home when I visited that weekend.

I wasn't going to visit that weekend.
I talked about various options with my counselor and we decided that I needed to be assertive that I was not going home, that it was her problem and she would work around my schedule, or she could come get it herself.

To me, her telling me that I was going to take it home with me that weekend was more than a step across a line that she did not have a right to cross, it was pushing her problem off on someone she thought she could manipulate into doing what she wanted so it became their problem instead.

I offered up two options:  Either we could meet halfway that night (Friday) at 7pm and I'd go back to my home instead of to hers, or she could wait until Sunday when my brother went back from spending the weekend with me and took it to her.

The second was not an option for her, her phone was more important than that and she needed it as soon as possible, so I needed to go all the way to her house to give it to her.

This to me, was not an option.

Historically, I go to a very dark place when I have to be around them, and it only gets worse the longer I'm there.

I spent two days under their roof in May, my thoughts of suicide came back full force.
Going to what use to be my home is a life threatening mistake for me, one that they don't know about.

I held firm on not being able to go home, on false reasons but they didn't need to know that.
In the end, we met at a gas station an hour and a half from me and 45 minutes from her. Better than alternatives I suppose.

One week later, actually, not even that, my father emailed me saying that there was a family reunion at a pub somewhere in Kansas.

He didn't type anything below the image of the invitation.
It was seriously just a forward.

I considered ignoring it, but two days before it was suppose to happen, my dad forwarded another email, which showed that he had registered for 4 people to go.

Himself, my mother, my brother, and myself.

I hadn't replied, saying that I was going, as a matter of fact I wasn't planning on going.
I got a phone call that same day asking WHEN I'd be at their house.

I decided to minimize my time there if I was going to have to go.

The reunion was on Sunday, so I got to their house around 6pm on Saturday and went to the movies with my brother, getting back around midnight.

This limited the actual time spent with my parents.
My mother was still awake, but I limited the amount of time around her by not stopping to talk to her and taking my clothes with me to the bathroom to change, then turning my light off immediately when I got back to my room.

One day down, right?

The reunion wasn't terrible, they made us sit with people we weren't directly related to.
I only knew 5 or 6 people there, so that wasn't hard.
The people my brother and I ended up sitting with were our cousin, his wife, and two children.

We'd never met before and it was evident that they wanted to be there as much as we did.  (If you didn't figure it out, we didn't want to be there)
Turns out they were also guilted into going, something about meeting the cousins we should have grown up with, and always wanted to meet.

When you put it that way... His kids were my brother and my's age.

Made it back to my home without too much pain.

One week passes, July 4th.

On the 3rd I get a call asking if I'll be at their house for the 4th, short answer, no.
I didn't elaborate to them, and I didn't budge.
It was a no.

Saturday, July 11th. My mother had sent me a message on Wednesday or Thursday, no text, same as with my father's, a picture announcing a different cousins retirement from the military after 22 years.

I ignored this, I didn't want to go.  I've met him once, sent me a few pictures from when he went to Iraq the first time, I was in Fourth grade.

Returning to Saturday, I got a phone call when she was about 15 miles from where I live, it was about 1:15, and she wanted to go to lunch before we, yes we, went to the ceremony.

I'd eaten lunch, explained this, her response was that she wasn't hungry any way, and we would meet at my apartment then go to get a retirement card before we left.

As a side note, she had never known where I live prior to this.
I liked it that way.

I wasn't getting out of it though, so I made sure she wouldn't be going into my apartment.

It was good seeing my cousin, neither of us really cared though. He, his wife and two kids were moving to Florida.  The wife and kids having lived there for a year prior.

Not horribly eventful, my mother fell once, in the bathroom of the military facility, then again at the restaurant we went to.

I made sure she was okay, but over all didn't really care.  She made a lot bigger deal about it that it was.

When we got back to my home, she asked which floor I lived on.
I hadn't disclosed this information.
I replied fourth, and she asked if there was an elevator.
To my thankfulness, there wasn't, and I knew she wasn't in the mood for stairs with her hip hurting.

Crisis avoided.

The parents still don't know about Hilary my cat.

But wait.. we traded cars that Saturday, mine was getting worked on again after having the engine replaced in late May, more engine trouble.

I got my car back and I was excited, granted I wasn't sure why I did because the issue wasn't fixed.

Two hours after she had left, I get a message saying that yes her hip is bruised, and we have to trade cars again because mine wasn't finished yet.

She wanted to do it Monday, but I had things I needed to do so that didn't work.  She asked about later in the week and I said that I get out of class at noon and could meet her halfway again, at about 2 or 3.

I had thought this to be the plan until I get a phone call from my mother on Tuesday, at 12:30.
She was at exit 124 and wanted to trade cars, go to lunch, and see my apartment.

You can get off any any exit, 122-129 for where I live, I usually get off at 127 because it provides a fairly direct route.

I got Hilary's food, water and litter box hidden, she was asleep behind the couch so I wasn't too worried.

At the last minute, I decided to move the litter box from under my bed to in the empty pantry in my kitchen.

I had set up with a friend on a different floor of my building to take Hilary should my mother ever come into town.  She was at work at this time though.

I crossed my fingers that Hilary wouldn't have to use the bathroom or get hungry, let alone decide that she like strangers instead of her usual hide from them.

I met my mother in the parking lot, had eaten lunch right after class (my usual) so we didn't go out to eat, and she went up to my apartment.

To say that I felt my place of sanction and safety being infiltrated by the enemy would be an understatement.

I gave her the small tour of my kitchen, which is connected to my living room, then my bedroom, closet, and bathroom.

I about had a heart attack when she asked for the quilt I'd made last summer,  I had used it to cover the couch for Hilary, she liked to sleep under blankets.  Meaning it was covered in cat hair, on a black background. Hilary is pretty much white.

She wanted it for a quilt show, and I quickly thought, oh no, sorry it's dirty. But don't worry she offered to wash it.

I'm not sure what she thought, if she did in fact see the cat hair on it when she got it back to her house.  I'm sure to find out later. maybe she thinks it's from their cats.

As she was leaving my bedroom, she turned around and looked under my freaking bed.

Who does that?

It's like she wanted to find something to give me hell over.

It's okay though, she also looked in my refrigerator before she left, saying that she needed to get lunch.

If that wasn't an invasion of privacy I'm not sure what would be.

The intrusion lasted about 45 minutes, not horrible, but 45 minutes longer than I wanted it to last.



I really don't know what to do with myself.
Now being in my apartment seems like she'll just drop by.
Basically what she did that day, but maybe with less notice next time.

I hate them, my parents, I really hate them.

If I didn't have them, I wouldn't end up in this mindset, I wouldn't be dreading the next time I had to go back to that horrible place they call home, and I wouldn't have to put up so much energy to pretend to be the person they think I am and want me to be.

That person that they want me to be, I hope I've never been, but I know that at some point I was.

I did accommodate their demands.
I did fall into their guilt trips over things that I had no stake in.
I did do what ever I could to make things easier, on myself and them.

Now, now I'm not.

I'm not accommodating them, I'm living my life how I want, now how they dictate.
I'm not playing into the guilt they try to hold over me, or try to bend me.
I'm not going to make things easier on them, because they never granted me that courtesy.

I had to protect myself from things that I didn't even know I was protecting myself from.
I gave up things I loved, because when they saw I liked it, it became their accomplishment.
I made things harder for myself in the future, by making it easier at the time.

I'm willing to keep the real me a secret from them, if it means that when I'm not around them, I can be me without any influences.

Needless to say, Hilary remains one of my secrets.

I have gone down hill from where I was before her unexpected visit.
My migraines got worse, they had been doing okay, but not any more.
I can't sleep through the night, and my days are filled with thoughts I thought I was done with.
I've cried myself to sleep a few times, and that seemed to work.
Sleep aids don't, I still wake up just as much, four to five times a night.
I now have notes around my apartment remind me to." Be gentle on yourself, you're doing the best you can."  and reminders of the future that everyone deserves to have, the one they want.

"I still may not know
what I want to be when
I grow up but I do know
that I want to live at a
home filled with books
& travel souvenirs. And
the walls that aren't
covered in bookshelves
will be covered with photos
of my family & friends.
When I leave home I will
be going to a job I love,
and I'll return to a
person I love. So that is
The dream I am working on."

I don't know who the quote is by, but it's true, next to my door so I see it any time I leave my room, the small hopes.

Someday, when I am able to have the life described in the quote, I won't have to live my life as a secret from a few people.

Those people won't matter.
They won't be in my life, because it was my choice not to bring them along.

Here's to the future, to a life that isn't a secret.

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Spring Break! Or was it? 4/6/15

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

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