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(Originally posted from work on Sunday @ 5:30 PM)
I think I have been on edge in an odd, paranoid way lately. Since the Sep. 11th thing, I think I have almost been expecting something major to happen again. Like last weekend, I was tucked away in the eating commons at dinner, and suddenly I heard this monstrous roar- all these guys began yelling all at once, and the noise grew as more deep voices joined in. The first thing I thought as I looked up was: oh, no, something's happened. But of course not, it was just a bunch of boys pledging for a fraternity. Little things like that every now and then will make me a tad uneasy for a second. But I guess in a way that's normal, it's kind of in our nature to anticipate tragedy- have you ever wished for an earthquake or a tornado? I always hated how people got so excited when there was a fight at school, how everybody would run to the fight and gather in a big cheering mob, like it was some sports event or something.
This morning I was chatting with somebody about their not so fuzzy memories and suddenly I remembered several things from my very young childhood with mom, etc. But there again is my funny mind's coping strategy, and even the times in my past that were :( my memory only kept the easily digestible bits. Like when my mom and I lived in the women's shelter. We stayed in a dark, moldy, musty little bedroom and ate donated 7 day old pastries, but what sticks out most in my mind is laying on the bed as mom taught me to exercise by waving my legs in a scissor motion, and the feel and mom smell of her pink satin nightgown. Or like the one time I stayed at a foster home- I'm told that the lady was mean, forcing me to eat my tomato soup dinner even after it got cold, but all I remember is the red plastic swing hanging from the tree in the backyard,&the glow in-the-dark sparkles embedded in the ceiling of the little boy's bedroom where I slept. I am told that my mom put me there to try and get custody of me again from my grandparents. I'm told that mom sent giant boxes of toys and clothes from Goodwill that would sit in the living room unopened because I wasn't allowed to open them.
Then, according to Grandma, mom took me back one day when I was at preschool. I think I was sick that day, because I remember playing in the sandbox, and feeling so strange- my hands felt giant and heavy, or tiny and light, or something- proportions were really weird, and the sand in my hands looked too far away. Anyways, mom got me and then I was living in an apartment somewhere with her. I think my little sister was around somewhere, but I don't remember her being there in this instance. So one day in the apartment mom starts rushing around, and she tells me to go upstairs into her room and sit in the closet until she says it's ok to come out. So I do, and although I'm told that's the day my grandparents finally found where mom was living and came looking for me, all I remember is hearing car doors slamming outside and someone talking, and sitting in the dark below clothes on hangers, putting my hands inside mom's gold high heels, pretending they were feet.
I remember my sister at other times, though. Like once we were sitting on the stairs, and she was eating a big bar of what I thought was cheese. "Want some?" she offered, and since I loved cheese, I took a big bite. It turns out, Rachel the Goon had been eating an entire block of butter.
"Yuck!" I said, and she just shrugged and took another mouthful.
Rachel and I have always been close even though we're only half-sisters and though we've never lived together, besides life with mom. We also liked to jump off of the top of our bunk bed straight onto the bare floor, don't ask me how we never got ourselves hurt doing that.
Late one night, mom woke us up. She said that we needed to go to the doctor's for a checkup. We whined, but she started crying and wouldn't allow us to go back to sleep. Now I know that we actually went to some hospital emergency room, because mom had gotten the idea that Rachel had been molested by an uncle of ours. Despite the fact that we hadn't seen this uncle in at least two years and at that point no family had a clue where we lived. But all I remember is an quick ride in the car, being sleepy and watching the car lights reflect in the raindrops on the windows, and an uneventful checkup in a bright sterile hospital with doctors in white clothes.
I remember a recurring dream I had in between bouts of living with mom. I was living at my grandparents' and missing mom and Rach terribly, and I would dream about riding in the backseat of Dad's gold hippie bug with mom driving in the front. She drove so fast going up and down these almost verticle hills on the road, that I would be falling out the rear window. I would be hanging onto the edge with just my fingers, or sometimes I'd be hanging off the bumper, but always calling to mom to slow down. She never seemed to hear, it was like she was so far away. Other dreams would have us in the car, but she would be instead balancing along these bridges where there were no roads, only thin hanging cables. We would try to balance so that we wouldn't fall off, and all the while going so fast so that the cars behind couldn't hit us. Sometimes I was driving, all on my own, and the roads would make twisting loops upside down or tilt downward or suddenly just end so that I'd be dropping down forever with a vast lead-gray river down below.
I don't remember my dad at all, which is a very good thing.
My memories from that time in life are almost all pleasant.
The nightmares that I DO remember, that came afterwards, after the court battle, after *I* was safely in the custody of my grandparents, hint at things that I've kindly forgotten. Rachel had a very different experience- she lived with mom much longer than I, then was forced to live in at least two dozen different foster homes before Uncle Mike finally was able to adopt her. I'm always in the back of my mind worried about her- it's very apparent that she was affected deeply by her experiences. She's told me a little about what she remembers, and all I can ever think is, she must be making it up. How can that ever be true for those things to happen in real life? I've hoped that it was just my drama queen sis, but these days I'm convinced. All I have to do is notice how affected by her past she is, and it starts to make sense.
People, humans, are so interesting, so complex. It is amazing how our minds and bodies adapt, how we cope.
OK, that's enough of that. I rarely talk about this crap because it makes me feel down and creeped out. Yuck. That's out of my system, yay. Wow, my shift ended 30 minutes ago and I never even noticed. Weird.
I think I have been on edge in an odd, paranoid way lately. Since the Sep. 11th thing, I think I have almost been expecting something major to happen again. Like last weekend, I was tucked away in the eating commons at dinner, and suddenly I heard this monstrous roar- all these guys began yelling all at once, and the noise grew as more deep voices joined in. The first thing I thought as I looked up was: oh, no, something's happened. But of course not, it was just a bunch of boys pledging for a fraternity. Little things like that every now and then will make me a tad uneasy for a second. But I guess in a way that's normal, it's kind of in our nature to anticipate tragedy- have you ever wished for an earthquake or a tornado? I always hated how people got so excited when there was a fight at school, how everybody would run to the fight and gather in a big cheering mob, like it was some sports event or something.
This morning I was chatting with somebody about their not so fuzzy memories and suddenly I remembered several things from my very young childhood with mom, etc. But there again is my funny mind's coping strategy, and even the times in my past that were :( my memory only kept the easily digestible bits. Like when my mom and I lived in the women's shelter. We stayed in a dark, moldy, musty little bedroom and ate donated 7 day old pastries, but what sticks out most in my mind is laying on the bed as mom taught me to exercise by waving my legs in a scissor motion, and the feel and mom smell of her pink satin nightgown. Or like the one time I stayed at a foster home- I'm told that the lady was mean, forcing me to eat my tomato soup dinner even after it got cold, but all I remember is the red plastic swing hanging from the tree in the backyard,&the glow in-the-dark sparkles embedded in the ceiling of the little boy's bedroom where I slept. I am told that my mom put me there to try and get custody of me again from my grandparents. I'm told that mom sent giant boxes of toys and clothes from Goodwill that would sit in the living room unopened because I wasn't allowed to open them.
Then, according to Grandma, mom took me back one day when I was at preschool. I think I was sick that day, because I remember playing in the sandbox, and feeling so strange- my hands felt giant and heavy, or tiny and light, or something- proportions were really weird, and the sand in my hands looked too far away. Anyways, mom got me and then I was living in an apartment somewhere with her. I think my little sister was around somewhere, but I don't remember her being there in this instance. So one day in the apartment mom starts rushing around, and she tells me to go upstairs into her room and sit in the closet until she says it's ok to come out. So I do, and although I'm told that's the day my grandparents finally found where mom was living and came looking for me, all I remember is hearing car doors slamming outside and someone talking, and sitting in the dark below clothes on hangers, putting my hands inside mom's gold high heels, pretending they were feet.
I remember my sister at other times, though. Like once we were sitting on the stairs, and she was eating a big bar of what I thought was cheese. "Want some?" she offered, and since I loved cheese, I took a big bite. It turns out, Rachel the Goon had been eating an entire block of butter.
"Yuck!" I said, and she just shrugged and took another mouthful.
Rachel and I have always been close even though we're only half-sisters and though we've never lived together, besides life with mom. We also liked to jump off of the top of our bunk bed straight onto the bare floor, don't ask me how we never got ourselves hurt doing that.
Late one night, mom woke us up. She said that we needed to go to the doctor's for a checkup. We whined, but she started crying and wouldn't allow us to go back to sleep. Now I know that we actually went to some hospital emergency room, because mom had gotten the idea that Rachel had been molested by an uncle of ours. Despite the fact that we hadn't seen this uncle in at least two years and at that point no family had a clue where we lived. But all I remember is an quick ride in the car, being sleepy and watching the car lights reflect in the raindrops on the windows, and an uneventful checkup in a bright sterile hospital with doctors in white clothes.
I remember a recurring dream I had in between bouts of living with mom. I was living at my grandparents' and missing mom and Rach terribly, and I would dream about riding in the backseat of Dad's gold hippie bug with mom driving in the front. She drove so fast going up and down these almost verticle hills on the road, that I would be falling out the rear window. I would be hanging onto the edge with just my fingers, or sometimes I'd be hanging off the bumper, but always calling to mom to slow down. She never seemed to hear, it was like she was so far away. Other dreams would have us in the car, but she would be instead balancing along these bridges where there were no roads, only thin hanging cables. We would try to balance so that we wouldn't fall off, and all the while going so fast so that the cars behind couldn't hit us. Sometimes I was driving, all on my own, and the roads would make twisting loops upside down or tilt downward or suddenly just end so that I'd be dropping down forever with a vast lead-gray river down below.
I don't remember my dad at all, which is a very good thing.
My memories from that time in life are almost all pleasant.
The nightmares that I DO remember, that came afterwards, after the court battle, after *I* was safely in the custody of my grandparents, hint at things that I've kindly forgotten. Rachel had a very different experience- she lived with mom much longer than I, then was forced to live in at least two dozen different foster homes before Uncle Mike finally was able to adopt her. I'm always in the back of my mind worried about her- it's very apparent that she was affected deeply by her experiences. She's told me a little about what she remembers, and all I can ever think is, she must be making it up. How can that ever be true for those things to happen in real life? I've hoped that it was just my drama queen sis, but these days I'm convinced. All I have to do is notice how affected by her past she is, and it starts to make sense.
People, humans, are so interesting, so complex. It is amazing how our minds and bodies adapt, how we cope.
OK, that's enough of that. I rarely talk about this crap because it makes me feel down and creeped out. Yuck. That's out of my system, yay. Wow, my shift ended 30 minutes ago and I never even noticed. Weird.
