the lingering effects of abuse
I don't expect anyone to respond to this. That is neither a statement of encouragement to respond, nor is it a discouragement. There isn't really thing to say, other than 'it what it is.' I neither seeking sympathy or enlightenment. To be precise, I don't even know why I am writing this. I have found my writing to be cathartic at time, but I genuinely don't know how processing this here, much less at all, helps.
I have experienced, directly and indirectly, abuse. It has shaped who I am. I have experienced persistent suicidal thoughts going back to age six. I am 50. Do the math. I have only attempted suicide once. At six, I ran away from home. The consequence of that was that I was brought to a psychiatrist who went by the name Doctor Batty. I am sure that isn't his name. This was Temple, Texas, Scott and White hospital. I myself have even studied psychology and have a masters in counseling. I exemplify the cliche that people study psychology to treat themselves. I believe I am much improved. I still suffer.
I have seen at least a dozen counselors since Doctor Batty, and two or three psychiatrist. My adopted brother, my mom's sister's son, got his first dose of heroin at age 14. It was provided to him by his half brother, also my mom's sister's son, who my grandmother adopted. Both of them have had long standing addiction issues and legal issues. My adopted brother went to big boy jail before completing high school. He was there almost twenty years. Consider this: when he went in there was still a rotary dial phone at the house. When he came out, everyone had cell phones. I recently met a man who spent 35 years in prison. He was completely befuddled by the smart phone his sister had given him. He was brought to tears because he couldn't figure out how to flush the toilet. I helped by saying: "just step back." I then instructed him on the sink and the soap dispenser. Tell me we don't take things for granted.
Many studies discuss abuse tends to be generational. There is evidence of sexual abuse going back to at least my maternal great, great grandmother. I knew my maternal great grandmother. She was a tough, old cookie, and I loved her dearly. I didn't always agree with her, but I knew where she stood, and she didn't mince words. She shared some of her history with me; some of it you had to read between the lines. There was evidence my maternal grandmother was sexually abused. She was forced out of the house at age 14, when she married my maternal grandfather. They both had a hard life, including some farm work, and eventually my grandmother became a surgical tech in San Antonio, which she did for a long time. She, too, was tough. And smart. And she wanted you to know that. She was also an alcoholic. A pistol packing, pool shark, of a woman who could put away some beer. She divorced my grandfather, married five other men, divorced three, buried two. There was evidence for mental illness with her, including depression and borderline personality. There were several incidents where shots were fired in the house, and at least one time she arrived home followed by police, put the gun by the door, and called her 'connection' to make it go away. She knew quite a few people, and was on 'good' terms with more than one of the surgeons in San Antonio.
At the time, I thought alcohol and drugs was the only thing destroying my family. My mom's sister had mental health problems, was likely borderline herself, and had a serious addiction issue. It was at her funeral where my mom took offense to people saying she was the black sheep of the family and announced that both she and her sister were molested repeatedly by an uncle and my grandmother knew but did nothing. (This disclosure was not quite ten years ago.) You shouldn't be too surprised by that fact that people knew and didn't report. It doesn't mean what you think it means. People from past sexual abuse tend to go one of two ways: extreme hyper-vigilance against any and all perceived threat, blowing things up that are completely innocent, to not see anything at all, even if it's right in front of them. On the more personal side, people who were abused either tend to become hyper-sexual, or have remarkably low libido. (I went the hyper route.) My grandmother's sister had five kids, four girls, one boy. All five were molested. On learning this, their father completed suicide. Many had addictions. Child sexual abuse has continued with my cousins, with CPS involvement. When I asked my mother why she brought us, me, brother, cousin, over to that particular uncle's on a regular basis, she informed me 'he only likes little girls.' When I asked why my she (mom) and my grandmother didn't tell my grandfather, mom was very clear on this point: they were afraid he would kill that uncle, who was married to his sister.
When I was 8(ish), mom attempted suicide. She has had more than one attempt. My father was in the Navy 22 years. When we lived in Florida, he was assigned to the USS Saratoga. In one of my mom's fit of depression, while he was at sea, my mom convinced me that the world was coming to an end. It wasn't difficult to convince me of shit. That was 76ish, I was born in 68, you do the math. I was a child, she was an adult, and her word was golden. She wanted to get it over with and she wanted me and my brother to go with her. It was going to be a mother child kool-aid trip back to heaven. I don't know if she changed her mind, but clearly that didn't happen. This last Saturday, July 14th, my mom OD and got herself a ticket to an ER, and then transferred to a psych hospital.
Hearing all of that, you'd probably be surprised if I told you I am reasonably sane. My evidence for sanity is I know I am fucked up. In 2006 I attempted suicide, which resulted in a trip to the emergency room and a night in ICU. It was my only attempt. My ex-wife at the time told my grandmother. I asked her not, but she was convinced people needed to know. My grandmother's response was: "So, you fucked that up, too?..." And then went into her diatribe of how fucked up her life was and that she never had any help.
This story is not finished yet. I am hoping the abuse ends with me. I have a four year old who shows the promise of being exceptionally bright. I want only the best for him. There is evidence that his mother is suffering in similar ways to me and my family, which would explain why I hooked up with her five years ago. Something in me saw in her all the people I most loved as a child and wanted to rescue, but was too stupid, too powerless, too lost. I put off having children to way late, knowing I wasn't healthy, which is good, right? That's a change, right... I sometimes, though, feel uncertain, and lost, and I have to work really hard to stay present, in the moment. Sometimes, I literally have to say one foot, then the other...
I have experienced, directly and indirectly, abuse. It has shaped who I am. I have experienced persistent suicidal thoughts going back to age six. I am 50. Do the math. I have only attempted suicide once. At six, I ran away from home. The consequence of that was that I was brought to a psychiatrist who went by the name Doctor Batty. I am sure that isn't his name. This was Temple, Texas, Scott and White hospital. I myself have even studied psychology and have a masters in counseling. I exemplify the cliche that people study psychology to treat themselves. I believe I am much improved. I still suffer.
I have seen at least a dozen counselors since Doctor Batty, and two or three psychiatrist. My adopted brother, my mom's sister's son, got his first dose of heroin at age 14. It was provided to him by his half brother, also my mom's sister's son, who my grandmother adopted. Both of them have had long standing addiction issues and legal issues. My adopted brother went to big boy jail before completing high school. He was there almost twenty years. Consider this: when he went in there was still a rotary dial phone at the house. When he came out, everyone had cell phones. I recently met a man who spent 35 years in prison. He was completely befuddled by the smart phone his sister had given him. He was brought to tears because he couldn't figure out how to flush the toilet. I helped by saying: "just step back." I then instructed him on the sink and the soap dispenser. Tell me we don't take things for granted.
Many studies discuss abuse tends to be generational. There is evidence of sexual abuse going back to at least my maternal great, great grandmother. I knew my maternal great grandmother. She was a tough, old cookie, and I loved her dearly. I didn't always agree with her, but I knew where she stood, and she didn't mince words. She shared some of her history with me; some of it you had to read between the lines. There was evidence my maternal grandmother was sexually abused. She was forced out of the house at age 14, when she married my maternal grandfather. They both had a hard life, including some farm work, and eventually my grandmother became a surgical tech in San Antonio, which she did for a long time. She, too, was tough. And smart. And she wanted you to know that. She was also an alcoholic. A pistol packing, pool shark, of a woman who could put away some beer. She divorced my grandfather, married five other men, divorced three, buried two. There was evidence for mental illness with her, including depression and borderline personality. There were several incidents where shots were fired in the house, and at least one time she arrived home followed by police, put the gun by the door, and called her 'connection' to make it go away. She knew quite a few people, and was on 'good' terms with more than one of the surgeons in San Antonio.
At the time, I thought alcohol and drugs was the only thing destroying my family. My mom's sister had mental health problems, was likely borderline herself, and had a serious addiction issue. It was at her funeral where my mom took offense to people saying she was the black sheep of the family and announced that both she and her sister were molested repeatedly by an uncle and my grandmother knew but did nothing. (This disclosure was not quite ten years ago.) You shouldn't be too surprised by that fact that people knew and didn't report. It doesn't mean what you think it means. People from past sexual abuse tend to go one of two ways: extreme hyper-vigilance against any and all perceived threat, blowing things up that are completely innocent, to not see anything at all, even if it's right in front of them. On the more personal side, people who were abused either tend to become hyper-sexual, or have remarkably low libido. (I went the hyper route.) My grandmother's sister had five kids, four girls, one boy. All five were molested. On learning this, their father completed suicide. Many had addictions. Child sexual abuse has continued with my cousins, with CPS involvement. When I asked my mother why she brought us, me, brother, cousin, over to that particular uncle's on a regular basis, she informed me 'he only likes little girls.' When I asked why my she (mom) and my grandmother didn't tell my grandfather, mom was very clear on this point: they were afraid he would kill that uncle, who was married to his sister.
When I was 8(ish), mom attempted suicide. She has had more than one attempt. My father was in the Navy 22 years. When we lived in Florida, he was assigned to the USS Saratoga. In one of my mom's fit of depression, while he was at sea, my mom convinced me that the world was coming to an end. It wasn't difficult to convince me of shit. That was 76ish, I was born in 68, you do the math. I was a child, she was an adult, and her word was golden. She wanted to get it over with and she wanted me and my brother to go with her. It was going to be a mother child kool-aid trip back to heaven. I don't know if she changed her mind, but clearly that didn't happen. This last Saturday, July 14th, my mom OD and got herself a ticket to an ER, and then transferred to a psych hospital.
Hearing all of that, you'd probably be surprised if I told you I am reasonably sane. My evidence for sanity is I know I am fucked up. In 2006 I attempted suicide, which resulted in a trip to the emergency room and a night in ICU. It was my only attempt. My ex-wife at the time told my grandmother. I asked her not, but she was convinced people needed to know. My grandmother's response was: "So, you fucked that up, too?..." And then went into her diatribe of how fucked up her life was and that she never had any help.
This story is not finished yet. I am hoping the abuse ends with me. I have a four year old who shows the promise of being exceptionally bright. I want only the best for him. There is evidence that his mother is suffering in similar ways to me and my family, which would explain why I hooked up with her five years ago. Something in me saw in her all the people I most loved as a child and wanted to rescue, but was too stupid, too powerless, too lost. I put off having children to way late, knowing I wasn't healthy, which is good, right? That's a change, right... I sometimes, though, feel uncertain, and lost, and I have to work really hard to stay present, in the moment. Sometimes, I literally have to say one foot, then the other...
Mendelian genetics held sway all of the decades of my school life. Now, we know that Lamarkian, or soft genetics, is also true and that traumas acquired in life do impact our genes and do get passed down the generation train. Sins of the Fathers sort of thing.
ReplyDeleteWe are all dealing with abuse parental abuse, either primary and direct or inherited. All of us. The only way to break the chain, is by doing what you are doing and exploring and digging into your own psyche. That and being very conscious of how you raise your children so that they do not amplify the abuse signal before passing it on to their children. Thanks for this, The Holodoc