Why Should I Pay So Much Because I Was Abused?

TW: abuse, neglect

 

I had a dental cleaning today – my fourth that I can remember.

 

I love my dentist. The whole office gets it. They’ve done a lot of community work for people like me who have grown up with abuse, neglect, and in poverty.

 

Earlier this year, we got the last crown I needed on… except that, today, Brit told me we’d need to probably do another crown on another front tooth. We’ve been patching it for a long time, but it’s not sustainable.

 

It’s a tooth that has always sucked. Even when I had my baby teeth, this tooth was awful. Part of me knew this was coming. Like, especially after the one of the other side broke off last year and we had to do urgent crown stuff.

 

Since I thought we were done with the crowns, we dropped the insurance that covered crowns. Clearly, I should not have. It’s not like we can’t afford it, especially when we space out the payments and now that I’m bringing in money again.

 

It’s more the frustration.

 

I will forever be paying for being a victim. There will never be a point where I’m not playing catch-up for 14 years of medical neglect and 25 years of emotional (and sometimes physical) abuse. Comparatively, I have it easy, too.

 

That makes me sick to my stomach, especially combined with providers who refuse to give medications that can aid with quality of life because I’m on “enough meds already.”

 

Long story short, my neurology follow-up on Tuesday wasn’t great either. The PA was much better than the neuro himself which I appreciated. Still, I get shit explained to me like “you need to focus on getting better sleep” or “skipping meals can cause migraines” and, again, “there are medications that can help with those symptoms BUT…” let’s try these lifestyle things first.

 

I’ve spent most of the week roughly 75% numb across my body. It’s forcing me to not work – and work out – as much.

 

Plus, it’s a real mindfuck.

 

I’m tired of paying for Mother’s mistakes, providers’ lack of empathy, and for simply existing. It’s exhausting as fuck.

 

 

When The Exorcist Hits Home

Content note: discussions of abuse
I have always enjoyed media around scary things. Scary things tend to help my PTSD, but there’s something more to it. It’s something I’ve been trying to figure out how to word, but just couldn’t ever fully construct the thought.

 

When I heard they were making a TV series about The Exorcist, I was way too excited. Season one was set around Regan, originally played by Linda Blair in the 1973 movie. You follow her story as an adult, played by Gina Davis. She has a husband and children but changed her name to avoid her mother as well as her history. Through the season, it comes out the Angela (her assumed name) is actually Regan and that’s why negative things continually happen to her family. She takes on the demon who has possessed her daughter and all kinds of stuff happens. I won’t say more in case you’re interested in catching up.

 

Season two just started and it’s really good. People were upset that this season wasn’t focused around Regan. However, it’s focused on the actual exorcists from the first season. They’re battling demons, themselves, and a conspiracy within the Catholic Church.

 

It’s all the things I love come together.

 

We have Playstation Vue and it has a DVR. We love it, especially me – I tend to watch more TV than T does. Regardless, I catch up on shows the next day or a few days later, so I was just watching last night’s episode.

 

 

Spoilers ahoy!

 

About halfway through the episode, Marcus and Tomas – the two priests – visit a home where the daughter is supposedly possessed. In order to conduct an exorcism, certain things have to be found in the afflicted person. These include speaking in tongues, knowledge of the future, ridiculous strength, an aversion to holy things, and physical changes. These all have to be present.

 

Marcus and Tomas are debating whether or not the girl is possessed. They learn from an outsider that the girl has been ill all her life, going in and out of hospitals, but no one can figure out what’s going on. This is different than the mother had stated, which then concerns Marcus. After all, why would the mother lie?

 

Marcus searches the house and finds a box of pills. Medications including hallucinogens are found and he’s able to piece together quickly that this girl is being poisoned. The mother, it turns out, has Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy (MSP).

 

(More on this later.)

 

Marcus bursts into the girl’s bedroom, pushes the mother away, and tells Harper “You are clean. You are pure.” Mrs. Graham, the mother, has been filling Harper’s head with lies in addition to the medications. Mrs. G yells at both priests, telling them to leave, but they refuse. As Tomas chases after the mother (and gets a head wound), Marcus comforts Harper:

 

M: “You’re safe now. Do you understand?”
H: “No, I’m sick.”
M: “No. No, you’re not the sick one. Your mum’s the sick one. You’ve done nothing wrong.
H:“It hurts.”
M: “I know. I know it does, sweetheart. It’s gonna carry on hurting for a long time. You’re gonna look at other kids, other parents, and you’re gonna say ‘Why me? Why can’t I have that life instead?’ And then… you’ll get better. You’ll come out the other side. You’ll be stronger than you were before. Cause you will know exactly who you are. That’s what survivors do.”

 

The mom then bursts in.

 

M: “Close your eyes and don’t open them, no matter what you hear.”

 

Marcus’ attention constantly shifts back to Harper, comforting her when he can in between this altercation with Mrs. Graham.

 

The third party mentioned earlier, a social worker, has gotten the cops as she was denied entry to the home. They show up at the perfect time to help put an end to the fight. The next scene occurs in a hospital, where Marcus and Tomas are catching up.

 

M: “Do this long enough, you think you understand evil in all its forms, every face that it wears. Then something like this comes along. Least with a demon, you know where you stand. There’s a… purity to the design, a logic, a form. But a parent who did that to their own child… makes you wonder what the hell you’re even trying to save.”

 

End spoilers, begin overanalysis!

Ever since I was young, I’ve enjoyed things around possession and demons. Despite growing up in abuse, I still felt interested in evil. I never really understood why. I felt like there must be a reason.

 

As I was watching this episode, Mrs. Graham’s action took me by surprise. I did not see this twist coming and was unprepared. My mother was accused of MBPS, which is part of what led to her pulling me out of school and away from healthcare providers.

 

A few weeks ago, T and I were catching up on one of my favorite podcasts: Wine and Crime. I had decided we should skip the episode where they cover MSP. One night, though, after listening to something else discuss the condition, I couldn’t sleep. The wheels in my head were turning, focused on the odd paralells. Instead of being able to sleep, I listened to the skipped episode.

 

One of the reasons I like Wine and Crime is because they go through the psychology behind a condition or crime. It’s done in a way that is tasteful and not full of ableism (usually). I started to understand even more about the need for attention that some people have. Mother meets many of the warning signs – craving attention and being depended upon, wanting others to see her as overly devoted and saintly, boundary issues, exaggeration, etc.

 

I’ve thought of the odd similarities before but thought it couldn’t happen because I am sick. Just because someone has some of these tendencies doesn’t mean they act on them. It also doesn’t mean they don’t take opportunities that present themselves, either. She did not have to make me sick, but certainly enjoyed the attention around it for ages.

 

She begged me to apply for SSDI, despite the fact that I was not even close to bad enough, because I feel that she wanted to tell people about her disabled daughter. She always told me I’d die early, that no one would love me, etc.

 

Whether she has MSP or not, the similarities are striking and telling.

 

Everyone needs a Marcus

I won’t lie – I rewatched these scenes three or four times. I cried for a while. I made T watch when he got home, simply because it confirmed a thought I had once about why I like these kinds of shows. I needed someone to witness the feels I was having.

 

The truth is I could’ve used a Marcus a long time ago, someone to hold me and tell me that this is going to suck and hurt. Someone to tell me it was going to eventually start feeling less raw, too, would’ve been amazing. Who knows whether or not I would’ve believed a Marcus.

 

Still, I know this phrase would’ve been beneficial: “Cause you will know exactly who you are. That’s what survivors do.” Hell, three years removed from contact with my mother, and this is still heavy (in a good way).

 

Even more, Marcus’ analysis of the situation in the hospital is, for me, spot on. I am strangely comforted by the idea of evil, demons, and possession. It has a routine to it. There are rules to that world that we don’t have in humanity, things that even evil won’t violate.

 

I would feel more comfortable, surer of myself against a demon than I do against my own mother – and that’s a damn shame.

 

 

Struggling

I’ve been fairly absent from social media and such lately and, honestly, it’s because I’m struggling a lot – physically, emotionally, mentally.
Coming back from Portland was a mess – delayed flights, sleeping in the airport, etc. I became literally exhausted. It was really bad. On top of that, the longest flight (Portland to Chicago) had the heat on like 85 degrees.
I don’t do well with heat, y’all.
My body is so used to the pacific time zone that it’s been an adjustment to try to get back on central time.
Fatigue and pain keep sneaking back in and stealing away moments, hours, days.
My emotions are in a rough spot, too.
Portland was so full of nourishment and love. Wisconsin is… not. Don’t get me wrong – I am loved here and feel nourished, but it is somehow lesser than when I travel. I don’t have people here excited really to see me or learn from me as much.
This is where I come to recharge, but it feels draining to me right now.
Part of it is that the abandonment feels are high lately – something that I haven’t really struggled with during the holidays. Many of the people I’ve been physically close to in the past are all over the world and others just aren’t really there for me right now. It’s hard for me to communicate what I need and I know that’s a big part of it.
It’s messing with my head. I get stuck on thoughts and can’t get them out. I have these imaginary conversations of what I would say to people if I just had the willpower to tell them – ways I need help or they’ve hurt me or any number of things.
How can I be so blunt online but not in my interpersonal relationships?
Growing up in abuse fucks you up for life, friends.
Since the election, I have been doing a lot of emotional work for others – checking in on people and working on ways to add to the resistance against he-who-must-not-be-named.
We need support but also need to take care of us, so right now I’m trying to practice what I preach.
I’ll be around, but I might be slower to respond to things.

 

Ruminations on being parentless for two years

Today is my independence day.
It’s the celebration of starting to heal my mind, body, and soul.
It started with saying goodbye to my mother.
Growing up in an abusive home was hard. There aren’t words to share enough of it all.
Thanks, Giphy!
I did meet my dad before the wedding. We’re all busy and don’t talk anywhere near as much as we should.
I am still left feeling very much like an orphan. It’s not been easy to handle. I have had moments of weakness where I want my mother around… and then I remember it’s the idealized version of a mother in a movie or on a show and not my mother.
Thanks, Giphy!
Note: not Kyle’s mom.
Cutting contact with my mother helped me learn a lot about who I am as a person. I had to go through what I did and didn’t like all over again.
The Dave Matthews Band? No longer a like.
Harry Connick Jr? Still a like but no longer a love.
I’ve gone through this with food, media, clothing, and more.
It’s exhausting. I just had finished the period of my life where I should have had that all done when I cut contact. I had to do it twice.
And it was exhausting.
Before cutting contact, I blocked mother and her beau on social media and made some accounts private for a while. Part of that certainly was struggling with my compassion.
The issue is that I was, for a long time, too compassionate to others without being compassionate to myself.
This was evident when examining what led to my flares and other issues.
Very uncool.
Now, though, I am secure in myself.
I don’t need my family of origin to complete me. I simply need my family of choice, the family I’ve made with you reading and T’s family and my sister’s family and close friends.
If my mother were to try to guilt me now? I would only have one reaction:
Thanks, Giphy!

 

I’m not a bad daughter

Identify something negative you believe about yourself because of a past mistake for which you’ve struggled to forgive yourself (for example, “I’m a bad person”) – something that is not a fact, even if it may feel like one. Look for one piece of proof to support the opposite belief today. (For example, helping your sister could be proof that you are, in fact, a good person.)

My belief: I’m a bad daughter for not having a relationship with my mother.
Believe it or not, that’s still a belief I struggle with.
I know I’m doing the right thing for me, but damn. Society always thinks differently, and that peer pressure is hard.
One nice thing, though, is that I know I’m not alone.
We’re warned that “divorcing their parents will comeback to haunt” us, that we’ll rue the day we ignored Biblical and societal standards of honoring our parents.
The thing is, those parents have to honor us back at some point too.

“I feel angry that I never had a proper mother. I feel angry that I don’t know what it feels like to be nurtured or taken care of.” – Adult daughter who has not spoken to her mother for seven years

Adult children do not divorce their parents lightly. “The feelings of love and loyalty are so strong,” says a daughter no longer in contact with her parents. “It took me many years to stop feeling ashamed of the hurt I had caused them, but my desire to protect my new family was stronger.”

Some note that forgiveness doesn’t mean erasing the past:

Forgiveness doesn’t mean sacrificing myself to please someone or an entire culture of someones.

Others note the freedom that comes with the change:

Overall I am a happier person since I have disowned them. I feel relief mostly, like I’ve gotten out of jail for a crime I didn’t commit.

Regardless of everything else, I know that I’m doing what’s right for me. I refuse to be abused anymore. I don’t expect everyone to understand, but I do expect that people respect my decision.
It’s not one that anyone in my position makes lightly.
Without my mother, I am whole. I can have a real relationship with my sister, something ironically my mother predicted would happen when we were younger – we were told she didn’t care if we liked her or even loved her but we better love each other, damnit, because we’re all we have. Apparently it’s easier to talk that than live it.
My health – mental, physical, and emotional – is better than it has ever been.
My relationship with myself and with others is better.
I’m far less angry or frazzled all the time.
Courtesy of Pinterest
If my mother truly cared about me, she would support me in this even though it hurts her since it benefits me so much. I guess I know now that she doesn’t really, does she?

 

Anger is a black hole

Think about how you parents (or the people who raised you) processed and responded to anger. Write down anything unhealthy you learned from them and what might be a healthier choice. (The goal is not to blame them for their shortcomings, but to recognize how you formed some of your patterns and what can do to change them.)

Oh heavens, Mother didn’t. There was a lashing out with anger, hurtful and stinging words.
Some of them still echo in my head.
I learned to be horrible to other people because it would supposedly make me feel better, but I always felt empty and horrible afterward. I wanted the horrible pain and feeling in my stomach to become a black hole and suck me into oblivion.
The Eridanus Black Hole, courtesy of ListVerse
I was led to believe that anger and judgment were a way of life, that being paranoid about others judging me was what I was supposed to do.
My anxiety loved it.
My heart did not.
By working on mindfulness and compassion training, I’ve been able to build upon my natural skills for helping others. I’ve been able to calm down a lot of that anger that seems to come from fear and hurt.
I’ve taken that black hole and created something new, something beautiful.
The Pillars of Creation, courtesy of ListVerse
And I’m incredibly proud of that.

 

Musings on My Personification of Arthur

I have often said over the last few years that I feel grateful for being sick since childhood. I don’t remember living really without the limitations that I have grown up with, even though they do change enough to irritate beyond belief. I have multiple chronic diseases but my fibro is currently the worst offender now that my SJIA is mostly under control.

That brings its own challenges, though, like feeling that I’ve lost a huge part of me. Arthur, as I’ve always called my SJIA, was much like a twin. There is an emptiness that comes when the thing you’re closest to is gone, especially when you have a tendency to personify it.

There is a mix of joy for some semblance of pain relief, sorrow that he’s not around, and guilt that I’m doing so well while children I know have been in and out of the hospital seriously ill and fighting for their lives.

If Arthur had come along later than kindergarten, would I feel differently about him? If I grew up in a home without abuse, would I have gotten so attached to him, to that familiar pain?

I think that I clung to Arthur and used the physical pain as a distraction from my emotional and mental distress from my childhood. Another child in a similar situation may go to a friend’s house as a source of respite, but I didn’t have friends. I was basically not allowed to have them because I could share something that happened and I’d be taken away from my mother.

 

That threat was always there.

 

Arthur was that escape for me. Stress and emotional distress bring on flares so it was easy for me to be distracted, to escape into the pain that was most comfortable to feel because I didn’t know different.

 

I did know that my household was awful, that this was not how things were supposed to be, but I didn’t know a life without Arthur.
Courtesy of Quotes Gram
Arthur, my security blanket, is tattered and worn.

 

I have to actually face everything I grew up experiencing, both as an adult and as the child in me.

 

I know I’ll be better for it and I’ve already made so much progress…

 

There are too many times where I want that blanket back, though.

 

A $20k smile

The above is an estimated for the bulk of the dental work I need done.

It doesn’t include work already done, or the root canal and crown already scheduled later this month.

It also doesn’t include the coverage or discounts I get with insurance.

When all is said and done, my mouth would have cost me around $20,000 total without insurance. My sister has it beyond worse and always has.

This is what having an abusive & neglectful mother gets you.

This is what not being taught to take care of yourself gets you.

This is what having multiple chronic illnesses gets you.

At least my mouth will always be a reminder of why I refuse to interact at all with my mother.

 

My mother is going to hell, and I’m fine with that

I’ve shied away from sharing much in the way of many details on how I grew up. It’s become apparent to me though that, like with my illness journey, I need to share as much as possible. It will help me to explain more about myself and my illnesses in the long run.

This isn’t just for me, but for others who have lived through similar situations. They need to know they’re not alone.

I was born to a single mother who was not ready to be a mother, as many mothers are. The fact that she was raised in an abusive household herself does not go unnoticed… and yet, it is not to be seen as an excuse either.

I remember being beaten during potty training for having accidents. To this day, I hate going to the bathroom when people can hear me because I feel as though I’ll be judged or harmed. Yes, I realize I’m 27. My brain doesn’t care.

My sister was born before I turned four, a product of a relationship gone wrong once again. My mother went into a deep depression for which she never got treatment post-partum. She was horrible to Kelsey from the start, ignoring her cries out of spite while pampering me. She tried to make me in her image, trying to dye and perm my hair by the time I was four years old.

By the time I was in kindergarten and had gotten sick, this gap in treatment grew. There is always a gap between a very sick sibling and the others, but this was different. My sister’s maladies were ignored altogether. Since my mother believed that the MMR vaccine caused the onset of my SJIA, neither of us received other vaccines under my mother’s care. From the time I was seven on, neither my sister nor I received dental or medical care of any kind – not when we had abscesses, wisdom teeth, or more.

That alone is enough to warrant the way I feel about my mother, that she would medically neglect an SJIA child… It gets worse.

In addition to the neglect, my mother and grandmother both beat my sister horribly. I’ve mentioned a few times incidents with a belt and my mother. They used her to do things like deep clean the bathroom by giving her positive feedback only on those things.

To add to that, they “ran” a daycare. When my mother was home, she did crafty things while I wound up molested by one of the other children. My sister suffered this repeatedly. As a result of all this, my sister acted out a lot. Negative attention was basically all that she got after all.

Oh, and we didn’t go to school. I was pulled out about a month into first grade and my sister never went… not until fourth grade. We didn’t get social skills and interactions with children our own age. By the time we were allowed to go to school (in my case, again), we had missed out on the foundations of an education.

They’ll tell you, my mother and grandmother, that they taught us.

They did jack shit.

I was given quizzes based on shows on the History channel for the first few months, written by my mother… who also had me write a paper on why Hitler was an amazing man.

I’m not kidding.

After that time, she stopped helping and I did everything to TEACH MYSELF from history to math to playing the piano. I did start in eighth grade doing very well, though interacting more with the teachers and smart kids than others. That was fine for me at least.

My sister was bullied constantly. She started speaking with a counselor about it and spoke too much about other things for my mother’s liking. We were told that we were going to be taken away from mother if sis kept speaking to this woman.

It’s a shame because it really did help her.

One day, my mother had me come with her to visit her boyfriend at the time two hours away. It’s worth noting that this man was married at the time he started dating my mother. She found out within five months and continued to date him, using the wife’s endometriosis as an excuse to keep going (which is just such bullshit as someone who knows and loves to many with that disease). He made a million jokes inappropriately about me and to me in front of her and she thought nothing of it.

This wasn’t the first time we’d visited, but my sister was at a sleepover so it was the first time I would visit alone with my mother. By the end of the night, she wanted to stay there. Instead of staying at his house, my mother got a ONE BED hotel room.

She had sex with him right next to me, without giving a shit about whether or not I was asleep.

I laid awake, freaked the fuck out and wanting to just die.

It got worse.

He sexually assaulted me.

It took me six weeks to tell her, long after bruises had gone. Her initial reaction was to question if I even knew what I was saying. That couldn’t have happened.

I laid awake that night too, crying again because my mother failed to believe me.

She kept fucking him long after she knew.

Sis saw him try to kiss me at one point when mother forced us to stay the night there again, this time while the wife was there with an elaborate story about being a coworker’s family. Only when sis shared did mother believe.

She still kept treating us like shit. The neglect kept happening. The emotional abuse kept happening.

At one point, my grandmother tried to hit my sister in front of friends I had. That gave me the strength to grab the phone and dial 9-1 – threatening to finish it off. Of course, that was to her an overreaction.

See, my grandmother was the worst offender in number of times she abused my sister. Once, I helped hide sis when we were very young. Grandmother asked me why sis was scared and I said something along the lines of ‘because you’re big and fat and scary and hurt her a lot.’ That was met with the same incredulity.

There is much more I could share especially into my teenage years – how my mother’s current husband and her commit fraud against the state of Wisconsin, how they’ve broken laws and then been upset when people rightfully need help, how this man feels the need to prove that he has a penis to anyone who might challenge his ideas, words, or thoughts.

This man, a tea partier in nature, has pushed my mother to live up to the worst of her potential. She began to be emotionally abusive even more to my sister’s daughter shortly before sis & fam moved out of that house.

I refused to see sis stuck there. I refused to see Missy grow up as we grew up.

So what does this all mean for right now?

I have 10+ medical conditions, almost all of which I’ve had for my entire life but am just finally getting taken care of. I’m dealing with structural issues with my body that could’ve been prevented, as is sis.

Sis and I need thousands upon thousands of medical and dental treatment. I’m lucky to have a good job with adequate insurance. Sis does not.

We both need and have needed a ton of therapy due to our anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder from growing up with our mother.

This is a post that is all over the place. I know it may not make sense to some or all. After today, after sis needing emergency dental care that will cost far too much for her, I couldn’t wait anymore. I needed to get this out and get so much of this told.

If my mother is reading this despite the cease and desist letter sent to her, I hope that she knows how horribly she screwed up. There are many things I hope for her, but they’re all negative and not the types of things that one should share aloud about another human being – even if they’re completely inhuman and inhumane in all action and thought. I know that I’ll never talk to her again, but I knew that when she uninvited herself to my wedding. I also know that she won’t care about anything I say, using that same old adage about me exaggerating and misunderstanding everything.

But I know the truth about things that happened. Now, you do too.

If you’ll excuse me, I have cheesecake and wine to finish.

June 27th is National PTSD Awareness Day

Tomorrow, June 27th, is National PTSD Awareness Day. You can learn more about what you can do to help raise awareness here.

There are, unfortunately, so many of us living with PTSD. Sometimes we don’t know it, or we do but can’t access resources we need.

If someone tells you that they don’t like certain things and are very reserved about why, please be patient with them. It could be PTSD related and you could be triggering a bad memory. Be kind and ask them what things you can avoid doing or what you can do to help them feel safer. Oftentimes, it’s just being around, caring, and being aware of triggers.

One thing you can do is wear teal (one of my favorite colors btw) in solidarity tomorrow.