Yesterday, I had a good Day Out. I ended up taking a total of 2 Wellbutrin, and my hand is still bothering me quite a bit, but I had a decent time. I've decided to adopt the attitude "Fake it 'till I make it". Act as though I'm not depressed, and maybe it will help. Other people certainly don't need to see me dragging around with a droopy face. Yes, I've had a nasty 7 week depression. Yes, I have a lot of anxieties I view as attacks from the devil. Yes, I have marriage problems, but God is good to me and none of this really matters in the long run.
Did I share God's love? Mercy? Compassion?
Having said all that, I have prayed seriously about this and have decided to share. My mother was so crippled by her illness, she couldn't take care of herself, much less me. Lots of neglect. I can recall lying in my crib crying and crying, watching the sun move across the wall. I used to LIVE for the sound of the door opening, because that meant someone was home to care for me.
My parents split up, and Dad got custody. Within a month or two I had lost my mother, my sister, and my cat (a great source of comfort for me - I can recall her jumping in my crib to comfort me, lying my little head down next to her purring, and falling asleep). A crushing blow.
My Dad was a single parent for about 2 years, with the help of daycare. It was about that time that I began halluicinating and developing delusions. I couldn't talk about them - if I tried everyone got hysterical and told me I was imagining things. So I learned to keep it quiet and fake like I was OK.
My Dad remarried. She had 3 kids; two older, one younger. We didn't mesh. A lot of conflict for years; anger and bitterness on both sides. I find it sad they have never called the man who raised them, Dad. Their own father never sent support, and they call the man who paid all the bills by his first name.
My illness progressed, I escaped into reading. At a young age, someone began stealing the schoolbooks from my room and hiding them. I'd get in trouble. Once "Mom" told the kids, "Whoever finds Heather's science book will have her do their chores for the next month." Within 3 minutes, an older child handed it to her. I was forced to do the chores. Only the person who stole it would have known where to find it that quickly.
I believe that by directing all the parental anger into "my" mistakes, they had hoped to avoid the consequences of their own petty misdeeds. If "Heather lost her science book again" then maybe they wouldn't get into trouble for making funny noises in class, or talking too much. I don't know. I can't pretend to understand.
At one point, I began searching THEIR rooms - and I got in trouble for it. They would always accuse me of "poaching" - as they continued to go into my room and steal my schoolbooks and homework. So, I guess you could say the offenses went both ways, when I was just searching for my books. Oh, and library books. I could not bring home a library book. It would "vanish". God only knows why. I was above average reading - maybe they resented the positive attention I got due to good reading skills?
I wasn't allowed to bring home library books of any kind. They would vanish. Sometimes the paperbacks would be literally torn to shreds and left on my bed. No one was going in my room, just ask them. No one.
Even the fact that an older sibling went into my room, stole my diary, read it, and bragged about it to me - threatening to use it as blackmail, was dismissed. I had provoked it, apparently.
In the meantime my schoolwork suffered because my books would always go missing. Once, I found a schoolbook in the parents' room! I was desperate for answers as to who was hurting me this way, so on occasion I would mount a search. I never got answers, as near as I can tell pretty much all of them were involved in this sick, whatever, game.
I have spoken to a professional about it; and I absolutely endured emotional abuse. Even spiritual abuse, as someone stole my Bible and began tearing it up. Apparently they were caught, and it was returned. I could post a photo of what they did to it right now, if I wanted.
I got depressed. It progressed to the point I was going to commit suicide. I sought help instead. When I got out of the hospital, I was accused of being a "faker" because I hadn't ATTEMPTED the act. I had only SAID I would.
Vengence is God's and He does repay. Now the person who made all those hating comments after I got out of the hospital, is battling my illness. Things aren't going well. The word "Meltdown" was used.
I can't help but think of that hateful comment "Faker". When I first heard of the problems, I offered help. I offered to mail a book that was helpful. NO. I was told, thirdhand, that this person found my experiences battling my illness "inspiring" - a comment that has been made by all three of the children. I want to tell them, after what I went through with you the rest of my life has been easy.
I offered help. It was declined. I offered advice, which was not taken. I feel bad for the child involved in this situation; but I have to look back and say "You reap what you sow." You sow hatred, suicide, and persecution to a young girl, and you end up reaping it all in your own life.
Like I said, I really prayed about this before posting it. Some people have mentioned they read the blog on occasion, but if I haven't heard anything lately it's safe to assume they can't be bothered anymore. Good. I think my regular readers will appreciate the insight into my life.
It was only with God's help that I was able to forgive them and move on. I went on a cruise with them. I played nice. They all liked Ron SOOOO much. I got comments about "doing well" etc.
No thanks to them.
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