Tuesday, February 28, 2012

hey no shame in my game, esp when this may help a few people with things they are going through


“WHO EVER KNEW?”



            I would say that my childhood was almost perfect.  Being a young child from a large family, raised in West Virginia, would create the perfect atmosphere for a child’s vivid imagination to flourish.  “Wild and Wonderful,” a person couldn’t of chosen better words to describe the state.  Families may be poor, and lack material things that others take for granted, but one thing is for sure, families are extremely close, and there was never a lack of places to explore, especially for a child with a child with an extraordinary imagination.  From exploring the various animals and caves, to swinging from vines like Tarzan & Jane, or staring at the sky, waiting for She-Ra’s unicorn to come and carry me away.  I can remember my brother, and I sitting on the luscious, green hillside for hours upon hours, blowing on dandelions, wishing away, all because my mom told us that if we did so, our wishes would eventually come true.  Such a magical, innocent time, one that would soon be taken away from me, by things beyond my control.  

            When I was around 5 or 6 years old, my family moved to Maryland so that my parents could attempt to build a better life for our family.  A better life it was, in many ways.  I was able to attend better schools, and experience many different cultures and diversity.  Every weekend, my parents would get together with their brothers and sisters, allowing us to enjoy fun time with our many cousins.  This was wonderful to me, as I come from a very large family.  With over 20 cousins, just on my dads side, there was never a dull moment.  My aunts, and uncles were terrific, always teaching, supporting, and encouraging us kids to use our creativity.  When the weekends came, my brother, and I would sit, bugging our parents, until they took us to see our cousins.  On some occasions, all the aunts and uncles would meet at my grandparent’s house, and all of us children were set free..to roam the outside world.  It was always a joy to be around my family, so much so that we often spent the whole weekend at my family members houses; however, I never wanted to stay at my grandparents house.  Of course my mother didn’t insist, or make me stay there, and never really gave it much thought.  She just figured I didn’t like it there, or wanted to be at home.  From this point in my life, I have only good memories, and I seem like a normal child. 

            Fast-forward to my adolescent years.  Although I was extremely bright, outgoing, and had a loving and supportive family, I always felt like there was something missing.  I would do things, and wonder “why the hell did I just do that?”  I became involved in reckless behaviors, and things that should have been important in my life, had little to no significance.  I acted out aggressively, dabbled in drugs, and hung around with “the wrong crowd” a little too much.  My parents would attempt to sit down and talk to me, asking me “what is wrong with you, why are you acting like this?” and to be completely honest with you, at that time, I did not have an answer for them.  They gave me all the love, and attention a kid could need, I had tons of friends, and “when” I went to school, I got excellent grades.  I never got made fun of, and was accepted in almost any group of people.  Deep down, there was something wrong with me, and I knew that…I just didn’t know what it was.  Although I believed I was happy most of the time, I now realize that it was probably just the effects of the many joints that I was constantly smoking, that was giving me a false sense of “happiness” and “contentment.”  I would get anxious a lot, and always have to be busy, keeping my mind occupied with something, never allowing myself time to really get to know ME, or make time to reflect on my behaviors or actions.

            About 10 years or so later, I am living with my parents, have a good job, and I seem to be doing fairly well in life.  For about three months, an uncle of mine came to stay with our family.  He had always been considered an outcast by my family.  He was very irresponsible, unlike his other 3  brothers, and my father.  He was in and out of prison, and would drink a lot at family gatherings.  He always managed to stir up some kind of drama, so my uncles and father usually didn’t invite him to family gatherings, or have much to do with him, which, I’m sure was hard for them considering the fact that they pretty much raised and relied on one another for survival as children.  I figure that as children, you would become dependant on one another when you are raised in a shack with no running water, by parents who drank their lives away, and are forced to quit school at age 9 to work in the tobacco fields to support the family.  When you grow up in a life with no Christmas, birthdays, or even a new pair of shoes, or shower, I guess you  would almost have to band with your siblings to deal with the tormenting, and  humiliation that comes from peer groups.  We all know how mean kids can be!  I guess this is why my father agreed to give my uncle a place to stay, and a job after his last stint in prison.  I was excited to have a family member come to stay with us, especially one that I didn’t know that well, which was weird considering he lived with my grandparents when I was growing up, so I must have been around him often; however, I cannot recollect any memories of him.  I have always been able to be myself, open and honest, with all of my other uncles.  They have always been there, and still are, to love and support my decisions, always offering up great advice.  I was hoping to build the same type of relationship with this uncle. 

              Soon after my uncle came to stay with us, I began having nightmares.  They always revolved around my uncle, and involved some type of sexual abuse, or situation.  I really didn’t think too much about it because I am an avid dreamer, and I have always had the most vivid dreams pretty much every night for as long as I can remember.  Sometimes, I was able to recall the dreams, and other times, I wasn’t; but, I did remember that they involved my uncle, and were never pleasant.  The dreams started to come more frequently, and I often found myself awakening, distraught, in huge piles of sweat.  I didn’t mention the dreams to anyone, and continued on with my days as normal, not giving them a whole lot of thought.  About two months after my uncle came to stay with us, I was lying in bed, all of a sudden it was like the flood gates had been released, as stark images of my uncle doing unthinkable things to me came flooding from my mind, only this time I as wide awake.  I could picture him clear as day, and the image looked nothing of the uncle I knew today.  I quickly went to get my mother’s picture/memory box, and dug through the dusty, old photos.  I finally came across one of my uncle that was around the age that he would have been when I was around five years old.  The person in the picture staring back at me with cold black eyes, looked just like the person who had been in my dreams, and now in my flashbacks.  I shuddered as I buried the picture towards the bottom of the box, while slamming the lid shut tightly.  I guess in a way, I was attempting to put a lid back onto the disturbing memories that were ripping away at my heart.

            After a few months, my uncle was no longer staying with us, and the nightmares seemed to seize somewhat, so I didn’t tell anyone about my dreams for some time to come because I wanted to make sure that what I was imagining was real, before I opened up about secrets that could possibly destroy our family.  I walked around in sort of a daze, I felt lost, and confused, and completely unsure of myself, as I deliberated in my mind, what, if anything, had happened to me. My life pretty much went on the same, as I continued to make harmful decisions regarding my life.  My behaviors were somewhat out of control, but I never let on to anyone who cared about me, what was going on inside of me.  I think my loved ones knew that something was wrong, but just couldn’t put their finger on what it was.

            In the summer of 2003, I was 24 years old.  It was a beautiful summer day, the wind was blowing, and the sun was shining.  My brother, two and a half years younger, was home visiting us from college.  It was a joyful time, like any other time our family was able to get together.  My brother and I were sitting on my bed, talking, as the breeze blew through the open windows.  We were recalling fascinating events from our child hood, and reminiscing about the “good ol days.”  Somehow the subject landed on my uncle, and I got very quiet.  I thought for a minute, as to whether or not to say anything to my brother about my dreams.  Him, and I have always been super close, and able to talk about anything, so why not, I figured.  As I started talking to him about one dream in particular, he got a funny look on his face.  I continued on, and when I was done telling him, all he said was “Kelli, that was not a dream, I remember too.”  He made it clear that he was not yet ready to talk about the trauma we had been through, so I didn’t press the issue.  I figure part of the reason he didn’t want to talk about it was because maybe he felt some sort of guilt over not being able to stop my uncle.  All the time I spent wondering if the memories were real, or if I was going crazy, was now over.  Now I knew the truth, and that was the important thing.  I no longer felt lost, or confused.  I now had clarity. 

            Now I know that when people say that you can push painful memories into your subconscious mind, and not remember them, is real because it happened to me.  I wasn’t sure how to approach my mother on this issue, but I was sure that she needed to know.  A day or two later, I told her.  She screamed, she cried, and she felt immense guilt.  I assured her that it was not her fault, and I truly believe that.  She also wanted to know why I had never told her before, and easily accepted it when I told her that I honestly didn’t remember until recently.  My father had a very hard time dealing with this issue, he is supposed to be my protector, and the fact that it was his brother, made it even harder on him, I am sure.  He approached my uncle about what I had said, and my uncle denied the fact, but then quit coming around and asking for his help, so my dad knew that what I was saying, was true.  Apparently, my uncle had did it to a few of my cousins also, because after I came forward, so did they.  The important thing was making sure that he could never harm any of us ever again, and until today, none of the family knows where he is, or even if whether or not he is dead or alive. 

            After taking abnormal Psychology in  college, I am now able to give what I went through a name, systematized amnesia, a type of dissociative amnesia formerly known as psychogenic amnesia.  In the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, dissociative amnesia is known as one of the dissociative disorders, which are mental disorders in which normal functions of memory, perception, identity, or consciousness are separated. (1)   This would explain why I was not able to recall the traumatic events of my childhood in which I suffered.

            Dissociative disorders are usually linked to traumatic events of the past, or with overwhelming internal conflict within one’s self.  This internal conflict causes the mind to separate incompatible, or unacceptable knowledge, feelings, or information. (2)   With dissociative amnesia, a persons memories still exist, but the mind buries them deep within, so they are not able to be recalled, sort of a way the mind to creates it’s own defense mechanism. (3)   Systematized amnesia is a type of dissociative amnesia where the amnesia will only cover memories of a certain event, or memories of a certain person. (3)    In most circumstances, a person is able to eventually recall the memories that are buried within their subconscious mind.  They could recall these memories by chance, or it can be triggered by certain events, or certain surroundings. (4)   In my case, being around my uncle triggered the memories of my childhood abuse.

            It is not easy to tell when a person has systematized amnesia because the person doesn’t remember the event, or person, so until they begin to recover information, it will usually go undetected.  Some symptoms that could be included in systematized amnesia would be mild to major depression, emotional distress, confusion, anxiety, and of course memory loss. (5)   A lot of people diagnosed with this disorder often deal with drug abuse, disturbed relationships, employment problems, and aggressive behaviors. (5)   I would say that this would explain a lot of my destructive thoughts, and behaviors that I dealt with in the years after the abuse.

            For a person to recover from dissociative amnesia, it is important that they seek professional help from a psychologist or therapist.  These doctors will help the person to deal and cope with their pain, and help them learn to express it in a productive way. (3)   After seeking treatment, an individual should be able to regain control of their lives, improve relationships, and know how to deal with future pain, and stress. (3)   The main goal of treatment is to help the person recall memories, so that they are able to face the problem head on, learn to cope, and control any negative behaviors. (2)   It is very important for the person to express their feelings, so that they are able to move on with life in a productive manor.

            There are two different main types of therapy usually used to treat dissociative amnesia, Cognitive therapy, and Psychotherapy.  Psychotherapy, which is usually administered by a therapist or trained professional, is used to treat a variety of mental disorders, and consists of various tests, and techniques that are used to encourage communication of conflicts, which gives insight into a person’s problems.  The therapist will then work with a patient to help them understand the cause of the condition, and give the patient advice on how to cope with it. (6)   The second type of therapy, Cognitive therapy, focuses on the therapist helping the patient to change their dysfunctional thinking patterns, which then will effect the resulting feelings, and behaviors in a positive way. (6)   This type of therapy guides the patient to identify negative, unhealthy beliefs, and behaviors, and replace them with positive, and healthy ones.  I believe that a mixture of the two types of therapies worked best for me.  Although I’ve never seen a therapist, I believe that I have recovered from my disorder.  I long ago came to terms with the unfortunate events in my life, and through schooling, and specific classes & training at work, I have been able to understand the circumstances, and my disorder.  Through working with children who are going through similar experiences, I have learned to communicate my experiences freely and openly, and even better, I use this as a coping mechanism.  By sharing my story, and giving advice to them on how I overcame my trauma, I become stronger each and every day.  Through this, I have been able to identify my negative thinking patterns, and come to terms with the past, but live for the future, with an incredibly optimistic outlook.  I am able to keep an optimistic attitude because I am able to realize that without the unfortunate events in my past, I may not be able to connect with the youth that I treat everyday in such a significant way.  Without experiencing similar circumstances, and the genuine feelings, thoughts, behaviors, and emotions that were linked to my destructive past, I may not understand what they are going through to the extent that I do.  Better yet, now through schooling, various classes, and opening up about my life experiences, I am not only able to relate to them, with compassion, but I also have the knowledge to go with it.           

            I would also like to recommend an aspect of my recovery that was not mentioned in any of my research….FORGIVENESS.  Forgiveness, for me, was the final step in allowing my mind, heart, and soul to heal, and be set free.  I do not wish to see my uncle, but nor do I wish harm upon him.  I imagine that what he did to me was a result of unfortunate events that he must have also suffered as a child.  His life has always been a life filled with sadness.  He has never been married, no children, severe drug & alcohol abuse, homelessness, and stints in prison.  I wouldn’t wish this kind of life on my worst enemy.  I only wish that God could have intervened in his life, and given him the strength that he has given me, so that he, too, could have stood tall in the face of pain.  Maybe if my uncle would have had therapy, to deal with his issues, the chain could have been broken with him.  Unfortunately for both of us, he never learned to cope, but luckily I HAVE BROKEN THAT CHAIN, and I will continue to help the youngsters so that they too, are able to break the chains that bind them, one child at a time. 

            Horrific memories, pushed into the depths of the hole in my mind.  Glimpses of my uncle, was the ice pick.  With each memory and dream, the barrier is chipped away.  With each encounter, the hole grows bigger and bigger.  The light slowly giving clarity to what has been long ago buried.  Once I am able to see what lies inside, it is not a pretty sight, but rather much the opposite; however, it is what is needed to allow my spirit to be free, to flourish into what it is today.  I now understand my problems, and feelings that seemed to never make sense, and for once, I understand myself.  Through acceptance, and God allowing me to forgive, I am able to move on, as I plant the seed for change.  I tenderly pull the dark, ugly root from my brain, and I plant an orchid.  A beautiful, magical orchid now replaces the ugly root, to represent our true meaning…LOVE, BEAUTY, and STRENGTH………and once again, I have found my innocence.

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