Blog, concrete walls without windows are like a prison to a child

Concrete Walls Without Windows Are A Prison To A Child!

My sister has always said this big eyes photo reminds her of us as children living in the basement. Except her pet was stuffed.

After my mother and father divorced our mother married a Yellow Freight driver that she had met while waiting tables in a truck stop. He was quite a bit older than her. All of his kids were grown and gone but one. My mother brought all five of us with her.

Unfortunately our mother was the only one of us allowed upstairs in the home with the exception of a bath or dinner. And lord forbid we didn’t chew our food slow enough or rested our arms on the table.

Being the devout christian that my eldest brother was, he found himself preaching in the smoking lounges. Which led to people at school hanging him by his cowboy boots over banisters. He eventually went to live with our father and his new wife, that didn’t last long. A couple from church took him in.

The step brother living at home didn’t get along with one of my brothers. Even concrete walls couldn’t keep them from fighting. We had no windows, that I can remember anyway. My sister and I spent so much time down there that one time we crocheted with our fingers a rope that reached a mile. Asking to go out to play in the winter wasn’t a good idea. When a parent tells you if you go out you are staying out, a child doesn’t understand the consequences. It was freaking cold. All I know is we wanted to build a snowman.

I don’t think that my sister and I handled the dark confinement of the basement well. We were not locked in, but knew there were consequences if we didn’t have permission. We did have tv and clean beds. It wasn’t horrible, just depressing. Thank heavens mother loved us more. She divorced him a year to the day of their marriage. We moved and all of us were together again. I loved singing with My eldest brother his praise and worship. I was happy he was back with us. We had a great summer. Fishing and playing and being kids. But those basement walls are forever etched in our memory. My mom finally found us a home, no more rentals. Which ended up being “The little house of horrors”. My mother was a wonderful mother. She wasn’t home a ton. She was working multiple jobs. When the parents are away the children will play.!

Blog, Was My Junk Inhereited or A Consequence of My Traumas?

Was My Junk Inherited or A Consequence of My Traumas?

I do believe that a majority of my junk was inherited.. And that life traumas made the diseases progress.

After my parents divorced as a young child I begin stuttering and talking too fast. No amount of speech therapy fixed it. I still do it in anxious situations.

It is amazing how dysfunctional your childhood is, but you don’t realize it until adulthood.

I have a brother that became fanatically religious when I was a child. He and the other brother were in charge of taking care of my younger sister and I while our mother work to support us. NEVER do this people. NOT a good idea.

The religious brother was only trying to do what he saw in God’s eyes was right. But being locked in the closet until you memorize 25 Bible verses was quite ridiculous. He later in his early 20s was diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic. And he is a very kind and loving soul.

The other brother on the other hand was the complete opposite. I remember a time my eldest brother stomped the others stereo because of the devil music he was playing and chased him through the house to lay hands on him to cast the demons out of him. Finally, The younger brother pretended to be possessed and scared the other terribly. Yep, us girls did not have a fighting chance.

So, eventually the younger of the two boys decided it would be a good idea to practice on his sisters for a girl he was wanting to have sex with. 40 years later I can hear those words like it was yesterday. Every word, every demand, every threat. Until a few years ago I had no idea he practiced differently with my sister.

We never talked about it. my friend in the fifth grade was the only one I ever told. Years went by and coincidentally her daughter and my brothers stepdaughter became friends. Which they thought was leading to a sleepover. NOT. My friend from grade school told her daughter. My brother and I finally talked about it. He has absolutely no recollection whatsoever. It always made me feel better to make an excuse like, “It was drugs or alcohol that made him do it”. Then he informed me he didn’t do drugs didn’t tell me he was sorry he just doesn’t remember. I Do! Every single day of my grown-up life I can picture it like it was yesterday.

I am grateful for the few followers I have. But it’s nice to have a place to vent about this baggage I’ve been caring around for years. And this is just a few of the screwed up things that happened to me as a child. Just wait until I get to the adult stories!

Blog, I’m A Terrible Sister

I’m a terrible sister

My sister and I both suffer from bpd and bipolar. Anxiety , depression and whatever else you want to throw in there. For several years now I’ve had to be stronger for her. Handle her with kid gloves you might say. We both have suicidal tendencies. I have attempted twice.

She is my best friend in the whole world. I’ve had a few bad days this week. So she was pointing out to me my bad behavior and my words were,”You have got to be fucking kidding me, you can go 8 months in a row all fucked up and no one says a word because you might go kill yourself and I have a bad two days and you are on me like a fly on shit.”.

And thank God the camera was off at the shop so she couldn’t replay every word I said over and over, she would have killed herself. Was what I said true? Yes! Did I know it would hurt her? Yes! Do I love her? Yes!

I hate these fucking diseases. I told myself over and over in my head to not say anything, there was no stopping me. I was hurting so I wanted to hurt her. She had been doing better, I’m afraid that this might make her progress go backwards. She will play what I said in her head until it makes her feel like a waste of space or a complete failure. How do I know this? We have the same disease. I would do the same thing. All I know is my sister and I have not been over 5 miles away from each other our entire lives. We survived some terrible experiences as children together. We even get sick when either of us goes on trips away from the other. What the hell is wrong with me?

She deserves better than she gets!

Share Your Blessings

We are all blessed with gifts we can’t see.

What are yours, what could they be?

Look close upon you what the Savior has bestowed.

It isn’t anything you were owed.

It was by the grace of God you were saved,

All your sins could be waived.

Accept the Father with an open heart,

From all the others you will be set apart.

Share with others all you’ve been gifted,

So they also may have their spirits lifted.

Your blessings are bountiful,

Don’t you see, God made you beautiful!

Jill L. Ware

Blog, God Gave Me Her

God gave me her to be strong when I am not and vise versa.

My sister and I are never well at the same time. Sometimes months, sometimes years one of us has to be strong and watch over the other. We have the same diseases but it’s as if we trade places on a dime. I thank God that we are on separate axis or something, Lord forbid when we are both ill at the same time.

#bipolar #depression #borderlinepersonalitydisorder