The Earliest Memory of My Life…

Most of my life has been a black hole with a couple of traumatizing events that loop on constant replay. I remember nothing.  I know I had a good childhood filled with loving family and friends.  I know I shared great moments and laughed till I cried, but unfortunately, this is how my brain chose to survive. As you know, I’m ready to no longer live in denial and get to the bottom of “me”.

My earliest memory of life was at 13 years old. “Your mom is paralyzed” are words I never thought I would hear nor did I fully understand what that meant.  My mom, paralyzed? How could that be? She was a Super Hero, our very own Spider Woman who climbed all areas of the house, fixing, decorating and creating the home we knew.  She “made” toys, sewed together outfits, and would spend hours helping us create this elaborate life for our dolls…this woman was not paralyzed.

I still remember standing in the elevator waiting to see this woman they called my “Mother”. I could probably still find my way to the hospital room today with little effort that’s how clear this memory remains. I saw her laying on the bed, lifeless, drugged up and so fuckin fragile. All I could do was cry. I wanted to hug her but how could I? This wasn’t my mom. My mom was strong. This person; this person could break. This wasn’t my mother.

That entire summer of my life was a robotic routine.  My younger sister and I slept with my Dad every night in the same bed. Every morning he would wake up and go to work while we stayed in bed.  When we were finally ready to get up, which was probably around noon, we walked the dog, ate breakfast and went back to bed to watch tv. We never left that room. My church would drop off dinner for us and I would pack it waiting for my Dad to come home so we could have dinner at the hospital.  We never missed a dinner or a weekend with my Mom. This was our life now.

When you are younger, you don’t really realize what abandonment is when it is happening.   You just go through life doing what you need to do to survive.  My Dad didn’t have a choice but to leave us home alone so he could go to work and take care of us.   But I never saw my extended family that summer. Nobody offered to take us in, nobody called us…I mean, did anyone even know what was going on?  We were 13 and 9 and left to our empty house alone.  We survived because we had each other but from that moment on, it became very clear that the only people who would ever have my back were my Sister, my Mom, and my Dad.

I have friendships that I would consider to be close, but if I’m being honest, it is hard for me to let someone in…really in…like depend on them kind of “in”.   I could move today and not miss anyone. Why? Because I am not really connected. I envy people that feel like they “couldn’t live without” another person.  I envy those relationships that feel like they found this stranger who would always be there to pick them up when they’ve fallen.  I want those relationships, but my young life taught me that this didn’t exist. I want to believe that there are people in my life with genuine interest and love.  And on some level, I do believe that these people exist, but how do I get around this painful belief of, “If my own family can’t be there for me in a time of need then how can I expect complete strangers too?”

So there you have it – the foundation of my trust issues and human disconnection. I’ve lived my life on the surface, just getting by and staying protected. I have so much work to do and I am ready to do it…but damn, my poor therapist…

~Thanks for letting me share ~

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