Monday, July 29, 2013
Bruised: Bruised Healing
Bruised: Bruised Healing: Looking back- I'm not sure exactly when it all started. If I think back to my childhood, like early childhood, I just remember having ...
Friday, July 26, 2013
Bruised Healing
Looking back- I'm not sure exactly when it all started. If I think back to my childhood, like early childhood, I just remember having fun most of the time. I can still see glimpses of my brother and I running through the back pasture and playing on hay bails and fishing for crawdads for hours. When we weren't doing that, he was allowing me to play "teacher" with him. He would quietly sit at a little table while I taught him all my knowledge; I was 2 years older. I also remember thinking and knowing my big sister was the coolest and most beautiful person I'd ever seen. She had long blonde hair and wore belt bottoms during my early elementary years. I wanted to be just like her.
My teen years were confusing to me. I all of the sudden understood why mom and dad yelled at each other all the time; and why dad was unresponsive many days & nights, as well as most holidays and weekends. My dad was a drunk. I'm okay with it now, but back then I was utterly embarrassed. I was consumed with the thought that a friend would know he was drinking or he'd say something stupid. He usually did end up doing this, but my friends thought he was funny. My dad was never an abusive drunk. He was just a drunk. He would drink, pass out, piss his pants, and sleep all day while yelling obscenities during his drunken slumber.
I didn't realize how angry I was at my father until I started doing mean things to him while he was passed out drunk. I can remember one day in particular. He was asleep on the couch, snoring and shouting profanities and then fell off the couch onto the floor. I sat there and stared at him. I was so embarrassed this was my father. My father is educated, funny, kind, and a good provider. However, this mess of a person kept taking him over. As he lay there with wet jeans and drool coming out of his mouth I decided I wanted him to be as embarrassed as me. I grabbed a bright colored nail polish from my sisters room and painted his fingernails and toes. At the time I did this- I had no idea how significant that moment would become in my life. It was a turning point.
When I wasn't painting his nails, I would smudge his glasses so he couldn't see when he woke up from the floor. Sometimes I'd even pour his drink on him. One time my sister and brother saw me doing these things and confronted me. My sister told me that was disrespectful and mean. I laughed at her. My brother told me he was scared of what would happen. I didn't care either way. I just wanted him to be humiliated. He knew it was me doing these things to him and our relationship took a bad turn. He never confronted me - but he resented me for it. I on the other hand wanted him to ask me so I could yell at him and let him know how painful his behavior was to me and everyone else. He didn't care.
As I got a little older, probably around 14 or 15, my sister was out of the house going to college. I was driving my brother and I (in small East Texas you could drive at around 13.. not legally of course, but we all did it), to and from school and the store and so forth. One day I found a lighter in dads car. It had a K initial on it, which was NOT my mothers initial. I knew he was having an affair just from that one lighter. Now, I no longer hated him because he was a drunk, I hated him for not loving my mother who had put up with his disgusting behavior.
Over the next several months my father barely came home and when he did, he was sober. I loved having my sober dad with me, but he was different. He was wearing different clothes, a different hair style, and acting happy. Although I was happy to see him this way, I was also confused. Why wasn't he coming home often? He was a traveling salesman, so being gone for a week was not unusual, however we would normally see him at least once a week or on weekends. Now, it had gotten to where we didn't see him but maybe one day a month. I asked mom if dad was living somewhere else and she said she didn't know. I could feel the sadness in her voice. He then stopped coming at all. We didn't see him and didn't know where he was. Mom cried a lot and we were out of money. We would sometimes have to do our homework by candlelight, as mom couldn't pay the electricity bill. Mom became weak and I was scared she would leave too.
I decided to find daddy. I grabbed the phone bill one day and stuffed it in my purse before heading out to school. It was my junior year in high school and being that this was back in the early 80's, a pay phone was the way you'd make a call if you weren't at your own house. I found a phone number in Oklahoma which had been frequently called, including at odd late hours. One day at lunch, I walked from my high school down to the town square to use the payphone. A lady answered. I hung up and ran back to school. A few days later I decided to do it again. I walked down to the phone, and when she answered I said "Hi, I am calling for Eddie Holiday". She paused and said "there isn't anyone here by that name" and hung up. The slight pause assured me he was there. I continued to call periodically and continue to ask for him but to no avail. Christmas was coming, mom was depressed and we were so broke that we had to all huddle at night to keep warm. My anger was getting worse. I decided I'd call one more time before Christmas.
This time as I marched down the road to the payphone I was different somehow. I was sad but angry. I wanted my daddy back but I also wanted him to just die for hurting us all so badly. I called the number and no one answered. I continued to call back until the lady answered. I said "I know you're going to tell me that Ed is not there, but my mother is critically ill and my little brother and I don't know what to do". If you know where my father is, I beg of you to let him know we are without food, electricity and heat and mom can't get to a doctor. Some of that was true. Mom was depressed, but she made it to work every single day and was not ill. To my surprise and to my horror all at the same time, I heard my fathers voice say "Vicki, what's going on"? I didn't curse at him or anything, I just kept up the story that mom was critically ill and may not make it.
Mom never knew I had called this lady and found daddy. All she knew was he came home that weekend bearing Christmas gifts for all of us. As dad walked into the house our eyes met, but I couldn't read what he he was thinking or feeling towards me. He realized of course mom was fine and I could see he was relieved, which made me happy. However, I was confused. I was so happy to see him, but so ashamed for him at the same time. I was only 16, yet I was bitter against love all of the sudden. I never wanted to be hurt and shamed like that by anyone. That feeling would hurt me for years to come.
I had never been given gifts from my dad. Gifts at our house were always from "Santa Claus" for Christmas, no matter what your age and from mom & dad for your birthday. So, getting a little box from my dad was upsetting to me. I opened it up to find a gold necklace with a gold piece on it. Those were very popular back then and they were worth a lot of money too. He gave my mom a gold nugget necklace and bracelet. I can't remember what he gave my brother or older sister to be honest. As I stared at the necklace dad asked me if I liked it. I told him it was okay. He said I could exchange it for a necklace or something else that I like if I wanted to and said he had the receipt. Out of curiosity I told him I'd like to have the receipt just in case, but I'd probably keep it. I folded the little receipt up in the box and put it all next to my bed. A few days later I decided to forgive my father who was still at the house and being good to my mom and to keep the necklace. I opened the box to put it on and then looked at the receipt. At first I didn't see anything unusual, but as it was sitting on my bed and I was playing with the necklace, I realized my dad had spent a lot of money. He didn't just buy something for mom, Eddie Jr, Jen and me, he had bought a lot of necklaces and "stuff". I put the necklace back in the box and laid in my bed.
I asked him the next day about it. The look on his face was surprising yet annoyed. He explained that I know what is going on and he bought Kay's (the initial K from the lighter) kids items too. Apparently she had daughters and sons and they got what we got from MY dad. I was sick to my stomach. The pain inside of me was so great I didn't know how to release it. I needed the pain to get out of my body somehow. I wanted to cut my self open and let all the blood seep out- thinking the blood had "hurt" in it and I needed a fresh supply.
The next day I grabbed my best friend and we went to town. I got the money back on my necklace. As she and I walked around looking for something else for me to get, I decided that money was tainted and no matter what I replace the gift for, the gift would always be a bad memory. We decided at that moment we would go buy alcohol and get drunk. Back then the drinking age in Texas was 18 and although I was only 16, I could usually flirt with a cashier and get away with it. The challenge itself was more exciting that the actual beverage usually, however, this night Kendra and I were on a mission of complete intoxication. We succeeded. I was a drunk mess and spent the night at her house.
My drinking continued for the next 6 years. I was not an alcoholic, I was a binge drinker. I enjoyed getting so drunk I was numb. There was no pain, only funny stories while we drank and then a quiet sleep when we passed out. The next day, just like in my household during my childhood, was always a completely new slate. No regrets, just happy to be normal and then the pattern would start over.
My senior year in high school was the worst of all. My parents were "working" on their marriage so they left us alone for long periods of time. I was 17 and my brother was 15 so we would have people at the house each night, pool parties and so forth. All of the sudden that wasn't exciting anymore. A group of girlfriends and I decided school was boring and we needed to "spice" things up. Over the next couple of months, we would meet on an agreed upon Friday at someone's house BEFORE school and get so drunk we could barely walk. We would then go to school. I actually remember dreading it- not wanting to do it anymore- but going through with it because it served some kind of purpose in my life at that time.
I was popular in high school. I was class favorite, class council, Miss high school, homecoming, head cheerleader.. you name it. So it was completely out of my character to act this way at school (drunk and tired). Not one single teacher said anything to any of us for months about it or questioned us. I was shocked, but happy. If I had been suspended or sent to jail, I would have died!
It did stop though. One day after one of our "episodes", I was stumbling through the parking lot to get into the school before the bell sounded and the Ag teacher grabbed my arm and said "Stop it Victoria- I don't know what's going on in your life, but stop it." That was all I needed to hear. I just needed someone to see how much pain I was in. I needed someone to care about me. I've often thought I'd contact this man and tell him what a big difference he made in my dark time, but figure he doesn't even remember it. It's significant to me because I needed one little nudge of support.
As I mentioned above I did drink during college, but nothing like high school. In college it was always at a party or out with friends, and most importantly, I was of age at the time!
The struggles I had during my high school years with depression, family and abandonment continued to pop up for the next 30 years (still today). As I sit here I still have severe problems with the fear of people leaving me, depression and not understanding how a real relationship works.
I hope my stories from here on out will help you too, if you are struggling with issues. I have many stories to tell. So I hope you find my stories to be of healing and not of just pain. I hope you find joy in my success and find laughter in some of my writings. Overall I had a great childhood. This is just one of many stories.
####
My teen years were confusing to me. I all of the sudden understood why mom and dad yelled at each other all the time; and why dad was unresponsive many days & nights, as well as most holidays and weekends. My dad was a drunk. I'm okay with it now, but back then I was utterly embarrassed. I was consumed with the thought that a friend would know he was drinking or he'd say something stupid. He usually did end up doing this, but my friends thought he was funny. My dad was never an abusive drunk. He was just a drunk. He would drink, pass out, piss his pants, and sleep all day while yelling obscenities during his drunken slumber.
I didn't realize how angry I was at my father until I started doing mean things to him while he was passed out drunk. I can remember one day in particular. He was asleep on the couch, snoring and shouting profanities and then fell off the couch onto the floor. I sat there and stared at him. I was so embarrassed this was my father. My father is educated, funny, kind, and a good provider. However, this mess of a person kept taking him over. As he lay there with wet jeans and drool coming out of his mouth I decided I wanted him to be as embarrassed as me. I grabbed a bright colored nail polish from my sisters room and painted his fingernails and toes. At the time I did this- I had no idea how significant that moment would become in my life. It was a turning point.
When I wasn't painting his nails, I would smudge his glasses so he couldn't see when he woke up from the floor. Sometimes I'd even pour his drink on him. One time my sister and brother saw me doing these things and confronted me. My sister told me that was disrespectful and mean. I laughed at her. My brother told me he was scared of what would happen. I didn't care either way. I just wanted him to be humiliated. He knew it was me doing these things to him and our relationship took a bad turn. He never confronted me - but he resented me for it. I on the other hand wanted him to ask me so I could yell at him and let him know how painful his behavior was to me and everyone else. He didn't care.
As I got a little older, probably around 14 or 15, my sister was out of the house going to college. I was driving my brother and I (in small East Texas you could drive at around 13.. not legally of course, but we all did it), to and from school and the store and so forth. One day I found a lighter in dads car. It had a K initial on it, which was NOT my mothers initial. I knew he was having an affair just from that one lighter. Now, I no longer hated him because he was a drunk, I hated him for not loving my mother who had put up with his disgusting behavior.
Over the next several months my father barely came home and when he did, he was sober. I loved having my sober dad with me, but he was different. He was wearing different clothes, a different hair style, and acting happy. Although I was happy to see him this way, I was also confused. Why wasn't he coming home often? He was a traveling salesman, so being gone for a week was not unusual, however we would normally see him at least once a week or on weekends. Now, it had gotten to where we didn't see him but maybe one day a month. I asked mom if dad was living somewhere else and she said she didn't know. I could feel the sadness in her voice. He then stopped coming at all. We didn't see him and didn't know where he was. Mom cried a lot and we were out of money. We would sometimes have to do our homework by candlelight, as mom couldn't pay the electricity bill. Mom became weak and I was scared she would leave too.
I decided to find daddy. I grabbed the phone bill one day and stuffed it in my purse before heading out to school. It was my junior year in high school and being that this was back in the early 80's, a pay phone was the way you'd make a call if you weren't at your own house. I found a phone number in Oklahoma which had been frequently called, including at odd late hours. One day at lunch, I walked from my high school down to the town square to use the payphone. A lady answered. I hung up and ran back to school. A few days later I decided to do it again. I walked down to the phone, and when she answered I said "Hi, I am calling for Eddie Holiday". She paused and said "there isn't anyone here by that name" and hung up. The slight pause assured me he was there. I continued to call periodically and continue to ask for him but to no avail. Christmas was coming, mom was depressed and we were so broke that we had to all huddle at night to keep warm. My anger was getting worse. I decided I'd call one more time before Christmas.
This time as I marched down the road to the payphone I was different somehow. I was sad but angry. I wanted my daddy back but I also wanted him to just die for hurting us all so badly. I called the number and no one answered. I continued to call back until the lady answered. I said "I know you're going to tell me that Ed is not there, but my mother is critically ill and my little brother and I don't know what to do". If you know where my father is, I beg of you to let him know we are without food, electricity and heat and mom can't get to a doctor. Some of that was true. Mom was depressed, but she made it to work every single day and was not ill. To my surprise and to my horror all at the same time, I heard my fathers voice say "Vicki, what's going on"? I didn't curse at him or anything, I just kept up the story that mom was critically ill and may not make it.
Mom never knew I had called this lady and found daddy. All she knew was he came home that weekend bearing Christmas gifts for all of us. As dad walked into the house our eyes met, but I couldn't read what he he was thinking or feeling towards me. He realized of course mom was fine and I could see he was relieved, which made me happy. However, I was confused. I was so happy to see him, but so ashamed for him at the same time. I was only 16, yet I was bitter against love all of the sudden. I never wanted to be hurt and shamed like that by anyone. That feeling would hurt me for years to come.
I had never been given gifts from my dad. Gifts at our house were always from "Santa Claus" for Christmas, no matter what your age and from mom & dad for your birthday. So, getting a little box from my dad was upsetting to me. I opened it up to find a gold necklace with a gold piece on it. Those were very popular back then and they were worth a lot of money too. He gave my mom a gold nugget necklace and bracelet. I can't remember what he gave my brother or older sister to be honest. As I stared at the necklace dad asked me if I liked it. I told him it was okay. He said I could exchange it for a necklace or something else that I like if I wanted to and said he had the receipt. Out of curiosity I told him I'd like to have the receipt just in case, but I'd probably keep it. I folded the little receipt up in the box and put it all next to my bed. A few days later I decided to forgive my father who was still at the house and being good to my mom and to keep the necklace. I opened the box to put it on and then looked at the receipt. At first I didn't see anything unusual, but as it was sitting on my bed and I was playing with the necklace, I realized my dad had spent a lot of money. He didn't just buy something for mom, Eddie Jr, Jen and me, he had bought a lot of necklaces and "stuff". I put the necklace back in the box and laid in my bed.
I asked him the next day about it. The look on his face was surprising yet annoyed. He explained that I know what is going on and he bought Kay's (the initial K from the lighter) kids items too. Apparently she had daughters and sons and they got what we got from MY dad. I was sick to my stomach. The pain inside of me was so great I didn't know how to release it. I needed the pain to get out of my body somehow. I wanted to cut my self open and let all the blood seep out- thinking the blood had "hurt" in it and I needed a fresh supply.
The next day I grabbed my best friend and we went to town. I got the money back on my necklace. As she and I walked around looking for something else for me to get, I decided that money was tainted and no matter what I replace the gift for, the gift would always be a bad memory. We decided at that moment we would go buy alcohol and get drunk. Back then the drinking age in Texas was 18 and although I was only 16, I could usually flirt with a cashier and get away with it. The challenge itself was more exciting that the actual beverage usually, however, this night Kendra and I were on a mission of complete intoxication. We succeeded. I was a drunk mess and spent the night at her house.
My drinking continued for the next 6 years. I was not an alcoholic, I was a binge drinker. I enjoyed getting so drunk I was numb. There was no pain, only funny stories while we drank and then a quiet sleep when we passed out. The next day, just like in my household during my childhood, was always a completely new slate. No regrets, just happy to be normal and then the pattern would start over.
My senior year in high school was the worst of all. My parents were "working" on their marriage so they left us alone for long periods of time. I was 17 and my brother was 15 so we would have people at the house each night, pool parties and so forth. All of the sudden that wasn't exciting anymore. A group of girlfriends and I decided school was boring and we needed to "spice" things up. Over the next couple of months, we would meet on an agreed upon Friday at someone's house BEFORE school and get so drunk we could barely walk. We would then go to school. I actually remember dreading it- not wanting to do it anymore- but going through with it because it served some kind of purpose in my life at that time.
I was popular in high school. I was class favorite, class council, Miss high school, homecoming, head cheerleader.. you name it. So it was completely out of my character to act this way at school (drunk and tired). Not one single teacher said anything to any of us for months about it or questioned us. I was shocked, but happy. If I had been suspended or sent to jail, I would have died!
It did stop though. One day after one of our "episodes", I was stumbling through the parking lot to get into the school before the bell sounded and the Ag teacher grabbed my arm and said "Stop it Victoria- I don't know what's going on in your life, but stop it." That was all I needed to hear. I just needed someone to see how much pain I was in. I needed someone to care about me. I've often thought I'd contact this man and tell him what a big difference he made in my dark time, but figure he doesn't even remember it. It's significant to me because I needed one little nudge of support.
As I mentioned above I did drink during college, but nothing like high school. In college it was always at a party or out with friends, and most importantly, I was of age at the time!
The struggles I had during my high school years with depression, family and abandonment continued to pop up for the next 30 years (still today). As I sit here I still have severe problems with the fear of people leaving me, depression and not understanding how a real relationship works.
I hope my stories from here on out will help you too, if you are struggling with issues. I have many stories to tell. So I hope you find my stories to be of healing and not of just pain. I hope you find joy in my success and find laughter in some of my writings. Overall I had a great childhood. This is just one of many stories.
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