My History

I was conceived out of wedlock in an era when that was a complete and utter scandal. My parents were therefore forced to get married. I was not wanted, although they always said that once they were actually expecting me they did want me (I have my doubts about that).

My parents are both highly dysfunctional people in their own right. My mother was mentally ill throughout my childhood and well into my adulthood (mostly depression), and has all the signs of having been sexually abused. She was raised by her alcoholic mother and control-freak, emotionally abusive grandmother, since my mother's father died when my mother was very small and her mother went back home to live with her own mother.

My mother trained for the theater at a fairly impressive performing art college in New York City, but lacked the drive and probably the talent to succeed in that profession (she sings well, but her acting isn't great and she doesn't dance at all, and she's not "star" material by any means). By the time I was conceived, she was a failed actress, still living with her mother and grandmother, working as an office clerk at a large publishing house.

My father was born illegitimately of an immigrant mother. The man whose name appears on his birth certificate probably wasn't his biological father (his mother always said he wasn't), but that was the only father my father ever knew. I don't know much about my father's childhood other than the fact that they lived in poverty in a rough neighborhood, his mother wasn't legally married to the man she lived with (the man my father called father), and as I understand it, the family home was physically abusive.

My father was a typical greasy tough guy, with slicked back hair, a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve of his t-shirt, and a souped-up car. He apparently got into some trouble with the law, something to do with hot-wiring cars and probably other forms of theft and vandalism, but I don't know much about that. Suffice it to say he was troubled and troubling. He eventually joined the military and got his act together, at least as far as the law was concerned (but he never did grow up).

My parents' marriage was never a good one, although they're still married, mostly because they're too co-dependent to end it. They fight a lot. Lots of slamming doors, punching walls, sometimes throwing furniture and so on. Very nasty, very loud, very violent. Very scary when you're little, too.

In addition to abusing each other, both my parents abused me from the time I was born. Most of it was emotional abuse, and that does the deepest and most profound damage you can imagine. I still have severe self-esteem issues sometimes, and I still need to "prove" that I'm not worthless, useless, and otherwise defective. I was a huge disappointment to them and I never did anything right and they made sure I knew it.

I was also physically abused. I don't mean spanking (although they did that, too). I mean beatings with a belt, with a wooden spoon, with a hairbrush. I mean being dragged around by my hair, thrown into walls, choked, slapped, and pinched. There was more than one occasion when I literally feared for my life.

There was sexual abuse in my childhood. I won't give details of that. Suffice it to say it was traumatic, although it was more a matter of isolated incidents than continual or prolonged abuse.

Abandonment/neglect was a common feature of my childhood. My parents often went out and left me home alone when I was quite small, three or four years old. I have very clear memories of being left alone at age four, certainly, and at least one memory of being left home alone when I was three.

Add to all this the fact that I was a highly intelligent and extremely sensitive child, the fact that as a military family we moved every couple of years so I never had any real grounding outside my own dysfunctional family, and you have a recipe for disaster. And a disaster I was, for a long time. I ended up with all kinds of symptoms and issues, from self-injury to uncontrollable rage to promiscuity to mood swings to an eating disorder. I was wildly volatile, actively suicidal, depressed, you name it. I was a real piece of work.

So that's what my childhood was like, pretty much. Violent, unsafe, gypsy-like, painful, often terrifying. Small wonder I was so screwed up. And small wonder I ended up in an abusive relationship with a man.

My second marriage was a complete and utter disaster. When I think back on it, I just shudder at the memories. It was truly horrible. The fact that I was having a breakdown just made matters worse, because the sicker I got, the more angry and abusive he got. I refuse to publicly give all the details, but the police were involved on more than one occasion, and several of his actions were things for which I could have pressed charges. He stalked me, he deliberately terrorized me, he lied to me and about me, he tried very hard to crush my spirit so he could control me, and when he found he couldn't do that, he maneuvered to have me evicted and homeless (he failed in that, thankfully). He sabotaged my ability to get a job, he sabotaged my relationships and friendships, he hassled my friends and family about me, the list goes on and on. For many years, he was quite literally a nightmare image for me, a symbol of being terrified and hunted. Only after many years away from him, living on another continent on the opposite side of the planet, did I manage to get to a point where I could start to leave the fear behind and let go of the baggage related to the relationship.

I do have some happy and pleasant memories of my childhood. I have very few of my second marriage. I think that says something right there...

My parents, for what it's worth, have acknowledged and admitted to a lot of the abuse I remember. However, like every other abuser on the face of the planet, they have justified their actions and then blamed me for it. I was a problem child, I was a drama queen, I wasn't obedient, and later, I was confused, I was dwelling in the past, I was blaming them for my problems, yadda, yadda, yadda. They have never expressed any remorse for their actions. They have consistently maintained that while, yes, they did do these things, that had absolutely no negative effect on me and I deserved the treatment I got, anyway. Basically, their position is that I am just totally bad and have been since the day I was born (that's a simplification, but that's what it all comes down to, and my mother has, in fact, said that I was "born different"). It is, like most things, all my own fault and I have no right to try to "blame" them or, heaven forbid, hold them accountable for their actions.

Truth is, if they had shown any remorse at all, if they had been willing to take any responsibility at all, if they'd even said they were sorry, I would have been at least willing to try to maintain a relationship with them. But I can't have a relationship with them unless they express some remorse, and they steadfastly refuse to accept any responsibilty or be the least bit sorry, so I don't talk to them any more. I haven't seen them since 1994. I haven't spoken to them since 1997. They have grandchildren they've never even seen and never will.

And I'm absolutely certain that they're still blaming me for all of it.