Past

I think somewhere in our grand delusions we truly believe that our past won't come to haunt us. That we successfully ran from any major after effects of where we came from. That maybe, just maybe, we are a product of the here and now only. Or that we have risen above where we came from and that is all that needs to be said.

I'm no stranger to this delusion. I am the girl who came to my counselor saying, "my life is perfect, I'm just fucked up." We can laugh about that now. I tried to run from my past on many different occassions. Sometimes it was easy because I have a very bad memory of anything before the age of about 13. One time I asked my counselor how she eventually figured out the various pieces to me (i.e. abuse). She told me it was because of my actions. My actions, thoughts about myself and all of that stuff pointed to a child who was abused. Like my defense mechanisms- they were very strong, very tall and very thick. It took her a long time to penetrate even a little bit. To her, that signaled something very wrong- things I was hiding or things I was protecting myself from. Of course she was very right. Just like the notion that good parenting does not produce a child who self-injures. There is no getting around things like that.

For many years I fought my past, who I was and who I was becoming. I had to fight everything. First to accept what took place, it's place in my life now and who I could and would become. That is a hell of a process. But it brought me to this place in my life where things are okay. Finally.

Then, I decide to dedge up the past one more time.

This coming weekend I will be taking the road trip of my life- to find my family. The one I lost so long ago. But this road trip- it's only the beginning, only the start of the story. What is becoming increasingly evident to me is that what I am about to do will change everything. Before two weeks ago, I had my mom, step dad, two younger brothers, my step-grandparents, my grandfather (mom's) and step grandmother, and my Dad. Now, I know I have an older brother (but that's another story) and also family on my Dad's side. I know if I ever need them, they are there. We are all okay with the way things are. But, there were things missing in my eyes- biological family, a sense of family, my own flesh and blood. I had a longing for those part of my genetic tree. As much as I know my step family loves me, for me, there is a deep longing for a sense of family- where I came from. So the past, I drudge up.

For a while, I was only thinking of myself and how the lost family members would impact my life. But now I know, my existence in their life will change theirs too. I keep thinking in my head that next week I am going to go to my mother and say, "Mom, I went to go see Tricia." That would be her mother who she has not spoken to in over fifteen years. Seeing my family is no longer just going to impact me, but many others too. I try to play in my head how that conversation will go, but I can't. This is unheard of. So suddenly, the thought of my grandmother is now in my mom's life. Then if I go on and tell her about her three siblings. I've just changed my entire family. Even if I do not get good reception, contact will have been made, lives will be changed.

I don't think I'm quite prepared for the aftershocks. Like what would happen if Kara's oldest son is still living at home. He sexually abused me during my middle school years. Am I strong enough to face him? I want to say yes, but I never thought it to be a possibility and sometimes I think I still don't believe it's a possibility. Am I prepared with rejection? It has been at least four days or so since I left a message on Kara's answering machine. I am thinking maybe I had the wrong number and/or the wrong address. I'm trying to verify now. I'm trying not to over-think it. Maybe they are on vacation- it is the summer. Or something. Who knows.

This all sounded great when I started this odyssey. But there are real implications to finding my family. Some I know are going to be great and some I know aren't. I may not get all the answers I seek and I may not get the contact I want. But, at least I can say I tried and with all of my heart. That's what is important I think. I seem to always be the epitome of what my mother hates...but I do love myself...so I must love these people she compares me too. They are family. I don't know how my mom gets along without at least a small longing for them. Then again, she found a man with the right family and turns a blind eye to what my grandfather did...that's how she gets along. I hope though, some nights she can't sleep because of everything that happened. Or how she is a part of a woman, a mother, and she doesn't even know.

My mom put me through the ringer and sometimes still does. She has admitted at times that her love is conditional. But despite even being told that if she had to do it all over again, she wouldn't have had me...I still love her, I still choose to have her remain in my life and I still choose to love her unconditionally. So, how in the world...did she ever close the door to her mother. I've heard accounts of things that happened...and if I was my mom, it would be my grandfather I would have nothing to do with. Maybe it's because he has the money. I don't know. Maybe she truly is narcisstic and her father can serve in a way that her mother can't. But given the choice...I will always choose love over money. A sense of family over alienation.

I come from a long line of imperfection and I've seen all of my family choose to either embrace their imperfections and lead a life of family and love and friendship or fight against imperfection, always struggling to be perfect but never achieving that unreachable goal and thus their life is less about family and more about bettering themselves constantly. I was under the microscope of perfection for most of my life and I paid dearly for it. In the last fear years I have embraced my imperfections and have strived to live a good life. And maybe that is where my mom and I now split.

My past has a place in my life these days. I know what happened, I understand the effects it has had on me and my future. And I made my peace with all of it. But now I have turned and stared the past in the face- not just my own, but my family's. I just want to know- to investigate- to listen- to learn and finally to love. I'll see where it goes from there. My past is a roadmap and this weekend I will travel there and I know along the way I'll have some of my heart broken and some of my heart mended. That's all I can ask for.

P.S.

I called my Aunt "Kara" today and left a message on her machine. Talk about first steps.

Home

What is home? Some will say it's where your "family" is or maybe where you spent most of your childhood. Home is the place you are supposed to be able to come back to if you need love or to feel safe. The dictionary will tell you that it is the place:
1. Where one lives, or the physical structure where one lives,
2. A dwelling place with the family or social unit,
3. An environment offering security and happiness,
4. A valued place regarded as a refuge or place of origin,
5. Where one was born or lived for a long time
6. A place where something was discovered, founded, developed or promoted,
7. A headquarters,
8. An institution where people are cared for.

Lots of different definitions for lots of different reasons. Home has always been somewhat elusive to me through the years. For most years, I didn't have a home, or at least I didn't consider any place home. First I was uprooted with a father in the military. My birthplace? A foreign country that I lived for three months. A place to come back to? I don't have any place from my early childhood to back to. Then the divorce and my family unit is split in two, so where is my home there? With the father I seldom saw or my mothers roof where I was abused, including sexual abuse?

Or the longest place I dwelled for five or so years. Is that home? My mother and step father and brothers all still live there. But there is the couch I was sexually abused on in the living room. There is the room I spent some dark nights torturing myself. There is the closet I practiced hanging myself in. There's the bathroom I almost committed suicide in. It's the place I lived out in undiagnosed depression and mania. It's the place I learned to put on a smile. It's the place I lost all the rest of my family. Is that a home? Is that what I call home?

No.

I've come to discover that my kind of home doesn't have to be a dwelling or a physical presence. It is a feeling to me. The city I live in is my home, no matter what apartment I live in or house. When I'm away from this city, I miss it. When I come back to the city, I feel a sense of relief. I have a nice apartment, but even that is not home. It's just a transition. Besides, someone else lives me with on the summers, and then it does not feel like home. I drove around for the better part of two hours- all around my town- because I needed solace. I drove around for peace. That's home.

These past couple weeks I've expanded my sense of home. I am finding my family. Some days I am not sure why I am doing it. The family is so broken, what can I possible find in them. But somewhere inside me, I know what I am finding: a sense of belonging, the possibility of being loved by another person, and just the pure knowledge of knowing where my family is and where they call home.

As neat as it would be if I was only comprised of just my mothers genes and fathers genes- their genes come from somewhere and that means that so do mine. Not only that, but the way they are. My parents were shaped by family and I never knew that family. Ultimately, I am also shaped by those that came before. I feel incomplete until I know that story. I don't just have a slew of step-family...but somewhere out there, I have a real family.

I know these days biological families seem over-rated or people talk about kids being okay with just step-families or adoptions or whatever. But for me and my life...knowing the biological families means the world to me. Knowing some of my family, like my father, has helped me understand that while I suck at math, I'm pretty good with computers. It explained why I had sarcasm as my mode of humor (mom's was opposite, sarcasm was my absent fathers). It explained why I looked the way I did and why I walked the way I walked. A sense of belonging overwhelmed me.

I've been in contact with my grandmother and suddenly it's clear why I hate the phone. Who knew it could be genetics :-)

I suppose one of the greatest questions on my mind...is the mental illness question. Bipolar and ADHD are both traced back to genes and heritary. From what I've heard, I know I had some interesting family members, but I have such a deep need to know if anyone else in my family has fought this fight.

It has been awfully lonely only having my mom and then all of my step-father's family during my "sick" years. They didn't fight this illness- not even close. And thus, understanding was hard. I know somewhere I have others fighting it, even if they don't know it. I long for that kind of belonging, strangely enough.

So home for me? It's complicated. Home is the city I live in. I know without a doubt when I need safety and comfort...it's in my city. I guess you could say I was discovered there. I was found. As a result, this city has become my home. And it is from the safety of this home that I am finally able to seek out my family. I am going to their home...to the whispering well.

Searching...

Last night I began an all out search for the addresses and phone numbers of my family. One aunt I was fairly certain of and the the other aunt and uncle were a little harder to find. But, I knew their ages and spouses and children so that helped narrow my search down. I better give everyone some alias' so I don't just use aunt and uncle.

"Kara" is my mom's younger sister and the one I was closest too before we lost contact. However, her oldest son is also the one that sexually abused me. "Rachel" is my mom's oldest sister and she had four children. Almost all dx with adhd I think and Kara's son too. "Chris" is my mom's only brother and the one I don't think I even met.

I find it interesting, that as far as I can tell- all of them have relatively little contact, despite being in the same city still. I am curious by nature and all I can say is, what in the hell happened to this family to break them all apart. My Dad also does not come from a great home, but the siblings are all intact and they all still talk to the mother and some still talk to the father. My Dad's side of the family (and his mothers side) all have a family reunion every two years. I went to the one two years ago. There was some abuse I know...yet that family is still relatively intact. My mom's is a whole different story.

I want to know that story. For whatever reason, I am not satisfied with the answers provided to me. Well, I know one answer is abuse. But that cannot be all of it because at one time they were closer. But it seems to have happened to every member of that family and then it affected them collectively. At least that is what I think.

Kiandra is always telling me to tell my stories. I think this is going to make one hell of a story. And for once- I am interested in not only telling this story, but finding out the story. For a long time I felt so alone because the only story I had was the one that was fed to me by my mother and others. I had no family- I knew that. But I knew I had a history- I had a family...once. A lot of emotions have run through me about all of this- from self blame and shame to lonliness.

Now I am well enough to search without the answers killing me. I don't expect a miracle with this family. As I stated in my letters to all of my family- I am just hoping for contact. To know that this person is on this Earth and my genes are in common with their genes. I suppose I have a hierchy. I really hope for stable contact with Kara- even though hers will carry the greatest amount of emotion. I am pretty sure I will have stable contact with my grandmother now which is great. For Rachel- I know she has history of problems and the four kids...so maybe contact for a time. Hopefully enough to construct a story. And then Chris...since I have never met him, I have the least amount of expectations. Maybe to know he is alive and what his life was like. Where he fits in this puzzle. Then maybe I'll know some of my cousins too. That'd be an added bonus.

No matter the outcome, I know I will be forever changed. This is a family I never knew. This is a history I never knew. I might not gain all of my family back, but it will be something and something is better than I ever got before.

I am searching and I hope soon I will have a story to tell. But most of all, I will have family.

Beginnings

"And when I chose to live
There was no joy, it's just a line I crossed
It wasn't worth the pain my death would cost
So I was not lost or found

And if I was to sleep
I knew my family had more truth to tell
And so I traveled down a whispering well
To know myself through them."
- After All, Dar Williams

These lyrics coursed through me as I made the decision to live with no exceptions. For as long as I could remember I held death by my side, using it anytime living got hard. What I didn't understand was that living was going to be hard, but I could also make it a lot easier by being responsible first in my life instead of second. I also didn't understand that death was hard. To make that final choice and know that you will never again make a single choice. There was no going back saying, "oops, wait I was just kidding, let me try life again." There was just emptiness. The very thing I was running away from. One dark night, I gave in to all of that and for a time I had died. Then one morning I woke up and could never again live as I once did.

Weeks passed and though I was living, death consumed my thoughts. Life was hard as a result of my attempt. I damaged a lot of things interally and externally. I realized I was having trouble dealing with the after shock of death: guilt and shame. I wouldn't make the choice to just live- I was too scared.

Then I hit rock bottom. And one day at work doing therapy with a kid, I realized that I would live with no exception. The next few weeks were amazing as I rediscovered how to live again. Or maybe, I was discovering how to live for the first time. Death didn't take up so much of my time and I've learned to enjoy my days without the overhang of death and destruction. Things happen and I deal with them. I'm not thrown in a tailspin every time something bad happens. I deal with them because I have to and that gives me comfort. Choosing life didn't mean I would all of the sudden be better. I still have bipolar disorder and adhd, I still have the memories of abuse from my past. The difference now is that those are just parts of me, but do not define who I am and what I am going to do or what I am capable of. I am shaping my life now and the way I want it to look. I am filling myself up with life for the first time.

Now that I have reached a stability of sorts, I have time for other adventures. I had my fill of adventures in the hospitals and in college, but now I find myself embarking on a new journey.

As a child, I had my mom and my dad and my brother. For the most part that was family as moved around the world. This was also an abusive family with both physical and emotional abuse. When my parents divorced, I was able to see my cousins and extended family for a while. I had an aunt with two sons, one of which sexually abused me. I had another aunt with three girls and a son. I had an uncle that I have never seen or met or heard anyone talk about. I had a grandmother on my mom's side, but my mom took away my choice to see her. I was forbidden to talk to, talk about or see my grandmother. I had a grandfather and when I was young I thought him to be cold and cruel. He married several times. On my Dad's side, there was my Nana and Grandad- who were divorced. I thought Nana was cool and Grandad a little mean. I had an aunt who later had to girls and then another aunt who has I think six kids. That's a hell of a lot of family.

And one day, they were all gone. My mom successfully kept me away from my father and brother for about seven years. With that went all of his family. My mom...I don't know what happened...but she dropped all of her own family except for my grandfather. Why? Who knows, I thought he was the mean one. My family was gone.

In came a new family. My mom remarried and had two awesome little boys. I love them with all of my heart and then some. And, my step fathers family was to become my family. As much as I love them and thank them for filling in as grandparents for the better part of ten years, they can never replace all of the family I had before. It wasn't like they were erased from my brain- I remembered them. And I have always missed them.

I am now twenty three years old, strong and independent and I am ready to go down my own whispering well. I know my family has a story to tell. Maybe it's not that they don't want to tell their story, but that no one was willing to listen.

My family is a history of abuse. It is fascinating that I am descending from so many generations of abusers. I am left wondering why no one stopped the cycle of abuse until me. What is so different now? Am I so different from my family? Why did my mom leave her entire family so late in life? Why was I forbidden to go down this whispering well? What am I going to find?

These are some of the questions I want answered. I want to know my family, for good or for bad. At least I will know and at least it will now become my choice. I have spent the better part of the last two weeks finding my family. I am contact with my grandmother now and I am gearing up for a visit in a few weeks. With that visit I hope to find even more of my family and begin the listening...begin finding the answers.

This blog I will keep running to chronicle this journey. I know myself in the context of my disorders, my own past and the current life I live. Now, I want to know myself through my family.