Heavy, part two
in which I made perhaps the most painful decision of my life, and lived to tell the tale.
I went to university. Because that's what you're supposed to do after high school, and the alternative was to stay at home and get a 'real' job. So I went to Indiana University of Pennsylvania. I wanted to pursue a career as a singer, but two out of three parents didn't believe in me enough to encourage that. And when someone keeps telling you you're not good enough, you believe them. So I went to university, to pursue a music education degree.
It was a mistake. It wasn't what I wanted, and I was terrible at it.
Then came the events that led to That Day.
I was home on summer break, and looking forward to going back for a summer session to try and repeat a couple of classes so I could go back in the fall. I remember I had pitched a tent out in the yard and 'camped out' with my older little brother (I think he would have been 3 at the time). Early in the morning, he woke up and wanted to go inside, so I got up, brought him back inside, tucked him in bed, and came back out. I awoke a little later, because I heard strange noises. I poked my head out of the tent, to see police. Everywhere. One of whom was pointing a gun at me.
Basically, the facts as I recall them are as such:
My stepfather (and my mother, by association) were growing a substantial amount of marijuana in and around our house. My sister, who was still in high school, had received a beating over some infraction, and was afraid to return home. Instead, she went to the police station. Now the police, who already knew much of what my stepfather was up to, needed a witness. Enter my sister.
So - the police, armed with their star witness, proceeded to raid our house. Raid, as in, like something you'd see on Law & Order. We lived in an extremely small town, and this was huge. HUGE. Newspapers, tv, and radio all picked up the story. It was awful. And through it all, my mother just sat there on the couch, and didn't say a word. Not a single I'm sorry, nothing. I took charge of my brothers for the day, and we finally managed to get hold of an aunt who came to get us. We spent some time with her, and our grandparents, while my mother and stepfather were in jail. I went to my current boyfriend's house, because I'd already planned to spend some time with him and his family. When I came back, the thing that I just couldn't stand was that no one talked about this massive thing that had just happened. It was as though we were all supposed to pretend it didn't happen, and go on playing happy families, without ever talking about the fact that my parents had been in jail. I mean, I was only 19 but surely I wasn't the only one to see how screwed up that was?
So then, my parents are out on bail, and we go home. What a joke, the word 'home' being applied to where we lived. And try to salvage some sense of normal. Except it wasn't. My mother had gone practically catatonic, which left me to be in charge of everything at home. She wouldn't let us go outside, or even walk to the shops, because apparently my stepfather's 'associates' were of the unsavoury variety, and wouldn't hesitate to harm us if they thought he'd ratted them out. So I was 19, trapped inside a house as an unpaid nanny, no drivers' license, no way out. And I had this moment, this brief moment - when I saw my future laid out before me.
If I did not leave, I would be there forever. Trapped in a cycle of dysfunction, abuse, and instability.
If I did leave, I didn't know what would happen. But it had to be better than the alternative, surely?
So I rang my stepmother at the time, and begged her to come get me. I began packing my things, and I told my mother I was leaving. She went crazy. I mean literally, crazy. After hurling insults and guilt trips on me, she curled into the fetal position in her closet. Presumably to guilt/frighten me into staying. But I couldn't. Not after what had happened. So I kept getting my things together, and my stepfather came home. He hurled insults at me, threatened me, tried to bully me into staying. Through the grace of God Almighty, I stayed strong. Little did I know that the hardest decision was yet to be faced.
My stepmother arrived, and I crammed as much stuff as I could fit into her car. I had to leave behind some very special things. A Bible given to me by my father, my music dictionary which was a graduation gift from a beloved teacher, an electronic keyboard, lots of clothes. I knew that I couldn't come back to get the rest. They wouldn't allow it. My stepmother tried to act as a mediator, but the situation was far beyond that. When one party is basically mentally unstable, you just can't reason. It's kind of like trying to reason with a toddler. Then the bombshell was dropped.
My mother, the woman who gave me life, turned to my three-year old brother, and said
"Say goodbye to your sister. You're never going to see her again, because she doesn't love you anymore."
She hit me where it hurt the most. I had practically raised those boys, I couldn't have loved them more if they were my own children. It never occurred to me that she could be that cruel. The younger of the two boys was asleep, mercifully, so he didn't get to hear that little conversational grenade.
In that instant, looking into his beautiful eyes, his chubby tear-stained face, I made a choice. And I prayed that someday, somehow, we would find each other, and they would both forgive me for my choice.
I left.
After that day, I tried to put some kind of a life together. I tried to go back to university, but it wasn't what I wanted. I flunked out, and got a job at McDonald's . I worked hard, but it was deeply unsatisfying. I had a few boyfriends, but they never went anywhere. Well, one did. But then it didn't. That's another story, for another day. On what was basically a whim, I decided to join the U.S. Navy. I did that for 6 1/2 years, and while I was really good at my actual job, I was fat and slow. Not desirable traits for a sailor. I didn't know it at the time, but now I look back and see so clearly that what I needed, what I was searching for, was a relationship with God. I tried to fill that void with boys, with alcohol, with food, with material goods, and so on, but nothing satisfied.
In my quest to find a man who would love me for me (a tall order since I didn't know who the heck I was!), I signed on to an online dating service. On June 13, 2003, I received a reply to my profile that would forever change the direction of my life...
I went to university. Because that's what you're supposed to do after high school, and the alternative was to stay at home and get a 'real' job. So I went to Indiana University of Pennsylvania. I wanted to pursue a career as a singer, but two out of three parents didn't believe in me enough to encourage that. And when someone keeps telling you you're not good enough, you believe them. So I went to university, to pursue a music education degree.
It was a mistake. It wasn't what I wanted, and I was terrible at it.
Then came the events that led to That Day.
I was home on summer break, and looking forward to going back for a summer session to try and repeat a couple of classes so I could go back in the fall. I remember I had pitched a tent out in the yard and 'camped out' with my older little brother (I think he would have been 3 at the time). Early in the morning, he woke up and wanted to go inside, so I got up, brought him back inside, tucked him in bed, and came back out. I awoke a little later, because I heard strange noises. I poked my head out of the tent, to see police. Everywhere. One of whom was pointing a gun at me.
Basically, the facts as I recall them are as such:
My stepfather (and my mother, by association) were growing a substantial amount of marijuana in and around our house. My sister, who was still in high school, had received a beating over some infraction, and was afraid to return home. Instead, she went to the police station. Now the police, who already knew much of what my stepfather was up to, needed a witness. Enter my sister.
So - the police, armed with their star witness, proceeded to raid our house. Raid, as in, like something you'd see on Law & Order. We lived in an extremely small town, and this was huge. HUGE. Newspapers, tv, and radio all picked up the story. It was awful. And through it all, my mother just sat there on the couch, and didn't say a word. Not a single I'm sorry, nothing. I took charge of my brothers for the day, and we finally managed to get hold of an aunt who came to get us. We spent some time with her, and our grandparents, while my mother and stepfather were in jail. I went to my current boyfriend's house, because I'd already planned to spend some time with him and his family. When I came back, the thing that I just couldn't stand was that no one talked about this massive thing that had just happened. It was as though we were all supposed to pretend it didn't happen, and go on playing happy families, without ever talking about the fact that my parents had been in jail. I mean, I was only 19 but surely I wasn't the only one to see how screwed up that was?
So then, my parents are out on bail, and we go home. What a joke, the word 'home' being applied to where we lived. And try to salvage some sense of normal. Except it wasn't. My mother had gone practically catatonic, which left me to be in charge of everything at home. She wouldn't let us go outside, or even walk to the shops, because apparently my stepfather's 'associates' were of the unsavoury variety, and wouldn't hesitate to harm us if they thought he'd ratted them out. So I was 19, trapped inside a house as an unpaid nanny, no drivers' license, no way out. And I had this moment, this brief moment - when I saw my future laid out before me.
If I did not leave, I would be there forever. Trapped in a cycle of dysfunction, abuse, and instability.
If I did leave, I didn't know what would happen. But it had to be better than the alternative, surely?
So I rang my stepmother at the time, and begged her to come get me. I began packing my things, and I told my mother I was leaving. She went crazy. I mean literally, crazy. After hurling insults and guilt trips on me, she curled into the fetal position in her closet. Presumably to guilt/frighten me into staying. But I couldn't. Not after what had happened. So I kept getting my things together, and my stepfather came home. He hurled insults at me, threatened me, tried to bully me into staying. Through the grace of God Almighty, I stayed strong. Little did I know that the hardest decision was yet to be faced.
My stepmother arrived, and I crammed as much stuff as I could fit into her car. I had to leave behind some very special things. A Bible given to me by my father, my music dictionary which was a graduation gift from a beloved teacher, an electronic keyboard, lots of clothes. I knew that I couldn't come back to get the rest. They wouldn't allow it. My stepmother tried to act as a mediator, but the situation was far beyond that. When one party is basically mentally unstable, you just can't reason. It's kind of like trying to reason with a toddler. Then the bombshell was dropped.
My mother, the woman who gave me life, turned to my three-year old brother, and said
"Say goodbye to your sister. You're never going to see her again, because she doesn't love you anymore."
She hit me where it hurt the most. I had practically raised those boys, I couldn't have loved them more if they were my own children. It never occurred to me that she could be that cruel. The younger of the two boys was asleep, mercifully, so he didn't get to hear that little conversational grenade.
In that instant, looking into his beautiful eyes, his chubby tear-stained face, I made a choice. And I prayed that someday, somehow, we would find each other, and they would both forgive me for my choice.
I left.
After that day, I tried to put some kind of a life together. I tried to go back to university, but it wasn't what I wanted. I flunked out, and got a job at McDonald's . I worked hard, but it was deeply unsatisfying. I had a few boyfriends, but they never went anywhere. Well, one did. But then it didn't. That's another story, for another day. On what was basically a whim, I decided to join the U.S. Navy. I did that for 6 1/2 years, and while I was really good at my actual job, I was fat and slow. Not desirable traits for a sailor. I didn't know it at the time, but now I look back and see so clearly that what I needed, what I was searching for, was a relationship with God. I tried to fill that void with boys, with alcohol, with food, with material goods, and so on, but nothing satisfied.
In my quest to find a man who would love me for me (a tall order since I didn't know who the heck I was!), I signed on to an online dating service. On June 13, 2003, I received a reply to my profile that would forever change the direction of my life...
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