A Woman Alone

She would write our names on the food. Each can of corn or pack of meat would have a family member's name on it. Then she would use her and her husband's food to cook dinner. For them. My sister and I were on our own.

Then she put chains and padlocks on all the food cabinets and the refridgerator. I guess she was tired of writing.

The very last day I lived in my mother's home, I had gone into the kitchen to make a sandwich- at lunchtime. She came in and was bitching and raising hell, so I quit. I went in my room and packed some clothes, and left. I was 17.

She also kept the bath supplies locked in a closet. Towels, shampoo, soap. We would have to ask permission, and she would have to come open the closet and give us stuff to take a bath.

She would change the lock on the front door all the time. She would give us a key, and within a week, she'd be changing the lock again, because she was mad at us. Over and over this happened for I don't know how long. Eventually we figured out that if my sister left her bedroom window unlocked, we could get in the house regardless, so that's what we did.

Once, when my step-father knocked me to the floor and was strangling me, my mother heard a commotion and came out to see what was happening. He quickly jumped to his usual spot on the couch. I was hysterical, I said what he did. She looked right at me and said "don't lie about your step-father."

About this time I started talking to my counsellor at school, I'd call children's services, the cops, my dad, anyone I could think of to try to get some help. She would lock me out and I'd have to sleep outside with no where to go. It was cold, and I was missing school.

No matter who I spoke to, when they would approach my mom, she would tell them that I was a liar and a troublemaker. They would then ignore me, half the time they would tell me off saying "there are children who really need help out there," and I shouldn't waste their time. Even my father refused to help me, and called me "possessed by the devil."

This is what I really don't get. If she's going to be such a bitch and not feed me or buy me clothes or let me live in the house- why deprive me of help?? And this reputation in the family as a lying troublemaker is one I didn't get over until many years later, when as an adult, my father and other family spent some time with me and got to know me.

I'm not convinced my father ever did really know me, I'm also not convinced I really care. He should have helped me when I called repeatedly and begged for help, told him what was going on. Instead he called me names and hung up on me. Sorry, but I have no respect for that. Especially now that I've raised my own children.

There's a lot more to the story, but this is a story of my depression, so I will stop here, and pick up with "17 and leaving home" next time.

I have to admit that even now I am angry with my mother and father over these things, but my anger is much less than it was for 30+ years. A few years ago I finally realized how much anger I was carrying around, and how miserable it was making me, and was able to release a lot of it. I don't excuse either one of them at all, and neither ever asked me to. Neither ever admitted any wrong-doing on their part, both are very willing to point out how horrible I was. That is called blaming me for their very poor parenting skills, and relieving themselves of any responsibility.

Regardless, by letting go of the anger, I took away their power that they still held over me.

This realization is something that has happened since my disabling depression. I have learned a lot and the ME part of me is mentally healthier, I think. At least in some ways. A lot of the warped thinking I learned as a child, and that was continued in my adulthood, reinforced constantly by spending time with my family, that contributed to my serious depression.

A Woman Alone
October 18, 2003
6:20 p.m.

Stuff I need

Today I am still trying to convince myself to go get some groceries, and I also need to go buy some space heaters. Don't-want-to-go-anywhere. (sigh) I did go get some Subway to eat the other night, after I ate the sandwich, I was nauseated all evening.

I think it would be easier on me if I had someone to go to the store with. They would encourage me to get dressed and go with them. They could drive and help me shop. But I don't have anyone.

I sit here, alone, web surfing. The TV is on, but I hate soap operas, they are so stupid. The volume is way down. It's usually way down, noises bother me. Thinking of going back to bed. Maybe I'll begin a book. I like to read novels; good ones. Not very hungry, but that's probably because I know there's nothing to eat.

Besides heaters, I need some supplies to make some repairs around here. I need to replace my bathroom sink faucet, and I need to replace some pipe because what's there is leaking. That's on the hot water heater, in the house. I have a bottle under the leak catching most of the water. I have to empty if often. At least those supplies will be pretty inexpensive.

I don't have any energy. I don't really care about anything. The kitchen floor is in need of a good mopping, has been for a long time. If I cared much about any of these things, I guess I would do them. I care a little, the ME inside cares, but not enough to overcome the lack of energy and motivation.

A Woman Alone
October 17, 2003
1:58 p.m.

Hard to say.

I have been searching the internet for good descriptions of how it feels to be depressed, written by patients or loved ones. I have not found very many. If you know of some, please leave a link. I have found a few, they are listed under "personal pages" in my links at the left side of the page.

Today I have eaten nothing, I had my cup of coffee and water to drink. Yesterday I had two pieces of bread with butter. Maybe I'll go get something to eat later. Maybe. How I wish I could just go out and run some errands without it being a big freakin' deal!!

I slept pretty well last night for a change. It's always a nice treat to sleep well.
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I have never said this to anyone before. I don't know why I don't want to say it. It doesn't seem like such a big deal, but maybe because I don't want to, is exactly why I should.

My step-father, who wasn't allowed to talk to us, decided he wanted to be friendly. He would lay down on the sofa and call me over there to lay by him. He then slipped his hands into my clothes and fondled me. He also took my hand and made me touch him. One time he tried to take me to his bedroom but I fought him and he stopped trying. This went on for a year or two. I think I'm ashamed because I let him do it.

What the hell is it with men that they are turned on by 10 yr. old girls?? I have no attraction at all to 10 yr. old boys! I can't relate at all.

My mom caught us laying like that and never said a thing. When did that bitch ever act like a mother?

I remember that when I got my first period, I didn't tell her. I didn't trust her in all my life that I can recall. When I did make myself vulnerable to her, she used it against me, or at the least, didn't care at all. She found out a few months later, when she looked at my sheets and found a small blood spot.

I am still wanting to delete this post, but I'm not going to do it.

A Woman Alone
October 15, 2003
6:03 p.m.

Where does one begin?

I've been thinking about this story of me that I'm going to write, remembering some things from my childhood. So many things have happened, I can't begin to remember them all. And the order gets confused in my mind. Which are important? Which have left a lasting scar? And how much of that is relevant to my depression?

I suppose it's safe to begin at the beginning, and figure out where to go from there.

I was born 9 months after my parents' wedding, in the mid 1960's to an elementary school teacher and a commercial artist. Before I was 5, they were seperated. The only memory I have of my parents living together is one night when I was in a room watching TV with my dad, my mom came in and demanded that I come with her. I didn't want to go and so she grabbed me and pulled me. He then grabbed my other arm and I was tugged back and forth. I ended up staying with my father and watching TV.

My father was an alcoholic and a Catholic. My mother divorced him, I don't know why. Soon after, she married another alcoholic, who had a better paying job. Where my father loved me and my sister, my step father didn't like us at all. Soon after the wedding, he was told by my mother to just leave us alone. He was to butt out of her raising of her daughters.

We moved out of state and I wasn't able to see my father anymore.

Now, I just have snippets of memories and I'm going to try to present them in roughly the order they occurred.

Sometimes when she would find something around the house broken, she would send my sister and I to our rooms and she would come in and spank us with a belt and ask if we did it. When one would say "no" she would go to the other bedroom and spank the other and ask if she did it. If they said "no" she would go back and forth between the bedrooms and spank and ask for a confession.

One time I was tired of being spanked, so I confessed to something I didn't do. Supposedly that would make her stop hitting. But she told me that she knew I didn't do it, she wants my sister to confess. So she had been beating me, knowing I was innocent.

Another thing she would do is put a large pile of peas on our dinner plates. Every 5 minutes, if there were any peas left, we would get a belt spanking. Every 5 minutes until the peas were gone. I remember vomiting during these dinnertime rituals, but that didn't excuse me from having to finish eating my peas.

I have since raised two children of my own, and in hindsight and with my own parenting experience, I can see that her behavior was even more sick than I ever thought before. I can't imagine doing these things, or any of the other things I'm going to tell you about, to my children. She has never apologized or in any way admitted she may have made some mistakes.

The issue may come up in your mind that many people have been more severely abused than I and have grown up fine. That's true, although we might have to talk about the definition of "fine." But I'm not blaming my parents for my depression. Depression is an illness, like diabetes, cancer, lung disease. But her actions definitely helped shape aspects of my personality that are very evident today.

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October 22, 2003- I want to tell you why that issue comes up in MY mind. If I ever talk about the things my mother did when we were children, that is my family's response- "Well, that's not abuse, lots of children have been much more abused than you were." As if I was just whining over nothing. Completely belittling my childhood struggles. You don't even know me, but I can't even talk about my mother without defending myself against the argument that others were more abused than I was.

I have given this a good amount of thought and what I know is this: even though someone has suffered more than you have, you still have suffered precisely as much as you have suffered. Your suffering is not lessened because someone else had a worse experience. Example: you broke your arm, the kid up the street broke his arm and a leg. Does that make your broken arm any less of an experience? NO.
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Anyway, I don't know where else to begin. I don't know at what point the illness began effecting my choices, emotions, behaviors, reactions.

A Woman Alone
October 14, 2003
6:00 p.m.