Fears - 12/5/2015

So, I've been wanting to write about my fathers weed use from when I was little, but I keep getting distracted when I try to sit down and write. Also, tonight (or this morning to be more accurate) I kind of want to write about my strongest fears. Not really sure why, but I might as well since it's on my mind and this blog is supposed to be part sharing myself with people and part therapy to help me deal with some of the stuff in my past. I'm a really depressive person and this year I have gotten the best help I've ever received for it due to an accidentally watched TED Talk (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-eBUcBfkVCo) helping me to realize just how severely depressed I was, an excellent Psychiatrist who listened and helped me find some good medicine and a wonderful Therapist who's been helping to guide me through getting better.

Anyway, before I get too distracted, my biggest fears are dying alone (being alone all my life--no friends, family or loved ones), the dark and loud noises. The dying alone thing isn't so big a deal as it used to be, since I started addressing my depression instead of only addressing it when I thought it was bad. The TED Talk video made me realize that my perceived, "not depressed" was actually "severely depressed" compared to normal people--normal being defined as average. The fear of the dark isn't so big a deal either because it's rarely dark in this world. Even before the abundance of light pollution blotted out the stars, it was rarely ever truly dark--stars are very bright and easy to see by if you don't have flashlights and fires ruining your vision after your eyes adjust to the dark. It also helps that I have a good memory and thanks to Boy Scouts learned to be able to find things in the dark.

The biggie for this bit of writing (well typing in the dark actually) is my fear of loud noises. I'm generally a quiet person. I actively try to eliminate all excess noise from everything I do. I do this because of a fear of loud noises my dad instilled in me as a kid. I recently shared a bit of this with my girlfriend after I made a joking comment that upset her--I ended up explaining a little bit of my fear and problem with noise so she'd understand why I said what I said--my roommate after he asked why I always have the volume so low on the TV, and a few coworkers who were poking fun at me for how soft spoken I am.

When we (my brother and I) were kids (elementary school for me, my brother was still in diapers when it started) our dad would punish us any time we woke him up. If we small children made a lot of noise he would come into our rooms screaming and yelling to spank one or both of us then make us stand in the corner--often until bedtime and without food.

There were several times we went into the backyard to play and he would take a nap then get angry at us for continuing to play and make noise. This usually led to us getting a spanking and then being locked outside the rest of the day. I remember one time we talked about it at church and he claimed the backdoor often got stuck and we just couldn't open it--then he was furious when we got home (go figure). The part we should have brought up, but were too scared to, was when we would sometimes cry at the door, just to have him open it up and yell at us to shut up. There were many days we drank from the water hose and ate mushrooms growing in the yard just to have something. One of these instances Thomas (my brother) almost died. We were outside hitting the fire-ants with sticks as they flew away when he accidentally stepped into the pile and got swarmed. He was covered with ants and I was trying to brush them off, he was screaming at the top of his lungs and I was pleading with our dad to help him but he just got angry and told us to shut up so he could sleep. Eventually our mom got home and was able to get him into a cold shower and helped him (I don't remember if he went to the hospital, but I do remember wishing I had thought to wash him off with the hose).

Worse than being locked outside all day was waking him up in the morning by talking or using the bathroom. I hated Thomas so much when I was little because he was never quiet. Even when he whispered it was loud--still is actually. It wasn't that I really hated him though, I was just terrified of how loud he was because I understood better how much trouble we would get into if we woke up Tom (our dad). I used to plead with him, sometimes in tears, to be quiet and stop talking in the mornings and evenings because of how scared I was. I knew that the walls were thin (since I was often awake late at night and would listen to the TV or my parents talking. More often than not our dad would wake up, yell at us, spank us and make us stand in the corner all day.

It was actually during these times that I developed my habit for chewing on my finger and toenails. It started because I was so hungry at night and just needed the sensation of chewing on something to help with the hunger pangs. I still pick at my finger and toenails and will chew on my fingernails from time to time when I'm feeling anxious. I recently discovered that if I eat something and then brush my teeth it helps stop the habit for a few hours.

Worse still was if we used the bathroom and flushed the toilet first thing in the morning, he would wake up, spank us and then make us stand in the corner all day. I eventually learned how to pee on the sidewall of the toilet so it wouldn't make a splashing sound and taught Thomas how to do it. Before this I would hold it as long as I could, sometimes for many hours, until our dad would wake up and then I would pee. There were a few times I couldn't hold it, but I was so afraid of being out of bed or making a noise that I ended up peeing on some dirty laundry in our room.... Learning the silent peeing thing helped a lot--we also figured out it could be quieter if you sat down, but this ran the risk of accidentally dropping the seat, which could wake up our dad.

We would also get in trouble if we didn't flush the toilet, so whenever one or both of us would sneak into the bathroom to use it I would be sure to wake up and listen for our dad to up and out of his room to go pretend to use the bathroom and flush from the evening.

After a few years there were fewer spankings, but we would always have to stand in the corner after being yelled at and often it would be until bedtime and we wouldn't be fed anything all day. Our mom would sneak into our room in the middle of the night to feed us a couple slices of bread because she was afraid of him too. She didn't want him to notice we had eaten something because she would get in trouble and to punish her he would be evening meaner to us in our punishment for eating when we weren't supposed to.

By the way grandma and grandpa, this is why I always ate so much when we visited. It was the only time we would actually get regular food and wouldn't get in trouble for using the bathroom in the morning. We weren't afraid because dad was more afraid of you two seeing him act this way. Also, there will be more stories from the past coming out--I need to get them out because they still haunt me, and some of them involve you too because you deny he ever did any of this.

What really brought this fear up was Halloween. About a month before Rebekah and I were at target and she started playing with one of those hanging witches that cackled when it detected a sudden noise. Well, I freaked out a bit and after a little while realized it was because I was afraid of the thing. Not because it was scary, but because of the year our dad put one in our room to torture us. He told us that if we made any noise loud enough to make it cackle, we had to stand in the corner until he told us we could get out. There were a few times we stood in the corner for several hours before he came to get us. A few times he laughed about forgetting about us. But the worst thing of all was that he put it on the most sensitive setting--and then bragged about it. I remember him laughing and telling people about what he had done and just being sad and scared. This witch was so sensitive that it would go off when our toys would touch together. We couldn't actually play quiet enough--even me with my intentional efforts to not make any noise--and spent so much time just standing in the corner because if we didn't we would get a spanking. And more often than not, we wouldn't get to eat lunch or dinner and would have to stand there until bedtime. Rolling around too quickly would also set the thing off. At one point he changed it out to a pumpkin one, but did the same thing with the sensitivity. One year he used a Santa one that "ho ho ho'd."

Starting very young I spent time during the day practicing not moving, being quiet, moving silently, picking up objects and putting them down as quietly as possible and other similar things. My fear has cost me friendships because I was afraid of louder people. It's cost me camaraderie with coworkers because of how soft-spoken I was/ am. I still get overwhelmed by noise when at bars, church, restaurants and other places with lots of noise and end up spending most of the time not saying anything at all. It's been a source of self-esteem problems because I spoke so quietly people couldn't actually hear what I was saying--which I didn't realize and took to mean I was being ignored and not important because I was already messed up from the other emotional and mental abuse from my dad.

So... I'm still scared of loud noises. And my dad is the root of it--as he is the root of a lot of my depression problems. And what still makes me sad is that right now, after writing all this and remembering other awful things he did to us I still want to love him. I still want him to know I've forgiven him. But he refuses to admit he did anything wrong to us. He lies and says we were brainwashed by our mom, he lied to our grandparents who say the same thing. He's never admitted to his faults and shortcomings and though I've told him this before, this is the reason he doesn't get to see his grand-kids. That he wont be invited to my wedding or be asked to take part in my kids lives. It's why I don't call him anymore. He won't make the effort, and continues to deceit he used to confuse and control my brother, my mom and myself. This breaks my heart and I pity him because I know he wont even change. I've even offered him and my grandma advice with dealing with their depression, but they won't take it because I wouldn't understand "real" depression (as my grandma told me) despite the fact that I've been depressed since the 4th grade--possibly longer--and was suicidal from sometime during the middle of 5th grade until college, and still hoped every day I would die in some accident until earlier this year and a few other brief periods of my life (though I only tried to commit suicide during 6th grade--part of my testimony actually--and almost became suicidal a few times in my adult life).

Despite the truth I wrote here, I really do pray for my dad and grandparents well being. They probably don't know or believe this, but I do. I want to be apart of their lives, but can't until they stop vilifying my mom and stop trying to make my brother and I out to be "wrong" about everything.

Speaking of my mom, she used to try harder than anyone I knew to get Thomas and I to like our dad after the divorce. She didn't like us saying bad things about him, and would tell us nice stories to try to get us to like him but they never worked because when we visited him it was still the same abuse. She never spoke a bad word to us about Tom until we were in our twenties and she had finally stopped believing everything was her fault. Even then she wanted us to like him.... I miss her a lot. I wish she could see me now, actually getting treated for my depression instead of being angry and depressed and miserable all the time.

So yeah, I'm still afraid of loud noises, and though they are bothering me less and less often, every now and again I freak out and say mean things or react oddly because of it. One of the many things I'm looking forward to becoming less of a problem for me now that I'm getting the treatment I've needed since elementary school.

I Need To Write – 10/29/2015

I need to write. I’ve felt the need for several weeks now but haven’t been able to sit still long enough to do something about it. Well, I just got back from lunch and have been struggling to focus on anything for any length of time due to a deep sadness of some sort. I say deep because I feel/ sense/ know it’s there, but can’t access it. I need to cry, but I can’t call the catharsis into being. I’ve got too many demands on my attention and right before I start being able to be still and silent for any length of time, something happens. An e-mail dings, my girlfriends needs something (need meaning casual “hello” or text), a coworker asks me a question, I have to get something else done, my body starts to ache, I need to use the restroom, and on and on and on….

With my talk therapist Dr. LeGrice bringing up my tendency of dissociation last week (she was very reluctant to do so because she didn’t want to disturb or frighten me with some of the really bad and extreme elements often associated with the idea of dissociation), which I fully agree with upon hearing the word—the perfect word for how I’ve felt my entire life—combined with the many niggling things on my conscious. It’s started to bother me more than normal that I just “blehed” it away. I feel bad, but not bad (dissociated from the emotion/ feeling), and I think the bad feeling is some combination of sadness and regret and possibly disappointment, but I can’t access it to figure out what or why. And being so incapable at access this is further compounding to the bad feelings.

Today I’ve been so distracted that I’ve taken care of dozens of tasks and little to-do items both work and personal related. I can’t get my mind to stay on anything in particular—such as my planned tasks before me (conceptual for Pleasant Valley)—for more than a few minutes so I took an early lunch (left about 5-till 11) and went to Riskey’s because I could get an isolated seat and be quiet. I couldn’t even focus enough to mess with my phone idly. I finished eating in about 10 minutes and then forced myself to sit and finish another glass of tea while enjoying the quiet as best I could. The result is this writing.

I was mostly thinking about how upsetting it was to not be able to access my feelings—despite knowing it’ll probably take several months to address properly—and wandered across a bunch of other thoughts regarding violin, Rebekah’s degree, work lack of focus, exercise, not having time…. Then I decided I would just write. So I came back to the office and here I am. If you haven’t noticed I’m still distracted, and feel (think really) I’m running from what I sat down with the intention to confront. So…perhaps a way to ease into this is to bring up the Babylon 5 questions:  Who are you? And what do you want? The first is being explored by therapy and my letting go of the past and trying to define myself in a post Venlafaxine (the very effective antidepressant I’m taking) world. I’m discovering how to live life to the fullest and what it means to have vitality (what Andrew Solomon’s TED Talk entitled, “Depression, The Secret We Share” for more understanding of what I mean). Who I am is part what I was, where I am now and who I want to be.

What I want is a bit more whimsical because they are hard to acquire and hold desires. Part of what my mind is trying to run (dissociate) from. I need to pee and will hopefully return.

Icon for Hire probably says it best in their song Iodine, “I want to be healthy, but I turn up the noise….” That’s what I want most, to be healthy. Mentally, physically, and spiritually healthy.

Since physical health is probably the easiest to address, I’ll start there. I want (trying to avoid the word “need”) to eat better overall. More fruits and veggies, with a wide compliment of grains. More importantly I want to eat appropriately portioned meals with a balance between meat, veggies, grains and fruit daily. Over time it would be ideal to graduate slowly towards an almost vegetarian diet again (meat only one meal a day) with plenty of yogurt for gut consistency. By diet, I mean the sum of all foods typically eaten, not an idiotic self-limitation to lost weight or a medically necessary restriction. I want my diet to be varied and colorful. After that I want to exercise more, both weights and cardio. I want to be stronger because I’m tired of feeling weak and useless all the time. When I lift consistently, I feel more comfortable with myself, as if I accomplished something or could go accomplish something with ease. My body aches less, cracks pops less, and moves around better. I want to run more often because I really like it. When I was consistently running I had fewer problems with allergies and sinus, my gerd and acid reflux (heartburn) went away, I slept better, my appetite shrank (I was less inclined to gorging and would actually feel full when I ate). It got even easier to move around, my asthma stopped bothering me and probably a bunch of other things too. Oh, my sexual health improved a great deal. When I masturbated I had the most intense orgasms I ever had in my life (actually felt satisfying and relaxing) and produced a good amount of ejaculate. I also masturbated a lot less often because I wasn’t as depressed. Bike riding is just fun. It’s like a very very easy running that helps my running improve. I also have more friends who are willing to ride with me than run, so I get more socializing out of it—even though I’m still slow. Out of everything though, I want to run. That’s the activity I feel the real longing for. And this desire to run makes me want to lift weights, bike, eat better, build my mobility and flexibility and just be better overall. It’s peaceful, calming, exciting and encouraging all at once. I’d like to get to the point where 10k’s and half-marathons aren’t a big deal to me. Being able to run a marathon is also a wonderfully lofty goal I’d like to one day achieve if I can rebuild the discipline.

Running is the primary health goal and all others support it. It is very disappointing when I don’t make the time and even more so when I have the time but bleh out instead (usually to sit around) or make lame excuses not to go. It doesn’t bother me when I go out to run but stop because I’m not feeling it, because at least I took the opportunity and made the effort. The same goes for the gym as well.

In the mental realm of things, I really want to play my violin, read, write, get smarter and other stuff I can’t think of right now. I really don’t know the words for what I want with writing. It’s always been the best way for me to express myself fully. I can often write better what’s on my mind than talk with someone about it. It seems to be a vehicle which distracts my mind and occupies my body just enough to let the stuff trapped in my head escape. There’s a power in writing to calm and organize and declutter the mind, leaving me to feel soothed. I’ve had the urge to write for several months now. I even started a blog to help encourage me to write. The only problem has been a lack of time. The same lack of time that contributes to my inability to be still long enough to access whatever my mind is trying to hide from me. I’ve had a few moments where I felt the urge to write and was in a state to actually take advantage of it and then Andy decides to be sociable, or Rebekah leaned on me making it too difficult to type or (most often) it was already past bedtime or I needed to get to work. These same lack of time excuses come up for me for almost everything I want to do but don’t (including video games).

Reading is a hard one to do, not because of a lack of time, but interest and focus. Granted I write this after starting and finishing Starship Troopers and several technical papers this week. But I still want to read more. Partly for the escapism it provides, but also to learn and improve myself. I’ve got several power books that will help me improve at work, but haven’t actually read. Surprisingly, I’m just now realizing, while I desire this it doesn’t really bother me that I’m not actively pursuing reading as much as I could be. That’s good news. I’ve just felt a bit of relief come over me, and I smiled some.

Violin is a biggie for me. It’s one of my childhood regrets (stopping just because I was depressed) that I’m correcting via lessons. I wish I practiced more and want and need to practice more even when I play dreadfully I enjoy it. If I never practice and go to my lesson, sucking up all over the place, feeling bad about not practicing, it is still the highlight of my week. It’s probably the one thing in my life that consistently makes me happy. The sound, the feel. The ringing! Even thinking about playing right now is lifting my spirits. I feel a restful/ joyful continence coming over me. It’s a nice feeling. It still bothers me a lot when I don’t play. It’s usually for silly reasons like getting distracted, or not silencing my brain enough or feeling bad/ tired.

The spiritual aspect is the least urgent and concerning to me because over the past several years I’ve grown calloused and indifferent to most matters of faith. I long ago gave up on finding a church with a good bible study (not a bible teaching or extra-biblical book study). I also gave up on finding a church where the pastor/ priest/ minister/ whatever uses the bible in context to support/ begin the days sermon AND doesn’t express the superiority of their church or denomination (I’ve yet to see both in the same person). Hell, I’m even almost to the point of giving up trying to find Christian community in churches—which is the only reason I keep trying to go. I know part of this is my own doing because of my depression, being introverted and general stand-offish-ness; but I need help getting involved. I’ve got so many hurts and hang-ups from the church it’s hard for me to get “plugged in.” Luckily I’ve still got Ginger, Patrick, Walter, Andy and Ryan to keep my embers of faith from being fully snuffed. Oh, and God too I guess. The more I fail to find God in the church and I the lives of Christians I meet, the more I wonder if faith is just a self-delusion, the more I wonder if it’s worth trying to sustain, the more I regret making the choice to follow God. It hurts a lot to see the person I used to look up to the most, Matt, post crap on Facebook that (to me at least) indicates he’s forgotten what compassion is, what mercy and grace mean, who Jesus is. It hurts to see the person who had the most influence on building the foundation of my faith openly oppose what he taught me about the character of God though sexist, semi-racist and classist (elitist?) comments over the past seven years. It’s been discouraging. Sadly I’ve generally accepted this at this point, and am no longer as bothered by my weakened faith as I once was except for Sundays when I try to seek God though Christian community. I still pray (feebly) and read my Bible (once a month or so), but this isn’t a part of the big pain and grief I’m to access through my writing (not that it doesn’t contribute somewhere in my life).

I’m feeling a sense of loss and relief right now. As if I’ve misplaced something precious, can’t find it, but know it will came back eventually.

I also feel a desire to volunteer again rising. I should call Becky (a kind woman I met a few weeks ago) at the food bank to find a place for myself to contribute. My impulse is to attribute this feeling to God. If I can’t find Him through the church, perhaps I’ll find Him through civics.

Now that my mind seems to have been pacified, last week I was looking over my finances and seeing that I had way overspent this month for various planned and unplanned reasons, I noticed that I still spent well over $1,000 on food this month. I don’t think this alone was the reason I wanted to cry, but it certainly was the tipping point. I was just so disappointed in myself and all my perceived failures I felt profoundly sad. Then right as I felt the tears start to form, it all disappeared and I felt nothing, but the negative side of nothing. Normally that would be that and I’d think nothing of it (that’s the sub-conscious’ job, right?), but this happened right after my talk with Dr. LeGrice about my tendency to dissociate. As I alluded to earlier, I immediately identified with the term and her description of how she thought it applied to me. My entire life I’ve never quite felt like I belonged. I felt/ feel alone when I’m with friends, family and loved ones. When in a group, even ones I put together for something, I have a feeling f not actually being a part of it. Like I’m somehow detached or separated from it all and shouldn’t be there, or like I’m intruding on others and they are merely tolerating me. When it comes to emotions I typically feel nothing. I use nothing instead of neutral because looking inward I would (do) see a void rather than something that balanced out to neutral. I mostly faked emotions based on what I learned from books, TV and movies.

Anyway, having just talked about it, I recognized the dissociation in progress I tried to recall the feeling and figure out where it came from. So here I am less than a week later on my tenth page of writing for 3 and ½ consecutive hours, almost on the verge of getting it out of my head and down ono paper, and my mind is still trying to distract me from the potential pain.

I’ve just had a few minutes of no thoughts….

The personal finances issue is definitely just one of many things bothering me. I’m disappointed that I lack the discipline to spend less, to get to work before 7:30, to exercise, to play my violin, to be aroused and feel it when making out with my girlfriend, to read, to play games or watch Netflix, to sleep consistently, to prepare my meals, to spend the time I make for things actually doing those things. To stay focused on work while at work (I’ve been better overall, but not this week), to prepare the final 6 toastmaster speeches I need to do, to work on my graduate portfolio, to read for fun, to write, to read for work, to spend quality time with Rebekah or friends, to do laundry, to clean in general, to get my car detailed, to spend time with family, to do the minimum stretching necessary every day to keep from hurting, to brush my teeth, shave or shower regularly. To eat breakfast, to volunteer, to write letters to friends, to rest and spend some time in quiet….

I didn’t intend to make a list, but it finally spilled out. I’m sure there’s more, like wanting to talk with Rebekah about a couple of topics, but at the core it seems my sadness, the disappointment in myself, seems to stem from what I’m not doing and why. Probably my personal sense of failure too—which clearly (at least clearly right now in this moment) stems from relating what I have done to what I need to do and what I perceive I need to do. I guess I’m not really a failure, I just know I could do ore, and when I don’t, I automatically jump to “I’m failure at x” because that’s how I’ve been conditioned to think by my dad’s abuse and all the other mental traumas I was subjected to in my youth.

I’m feeling a lot better. I think relief is prevalent more than anything else. I also feel a bit of eagerness creeping in.

So apparently I’m not a failure and shouldn’t be disappointed in myself for not having/ making enough time for everything. While I could be doing more, what I am doing I’m succeeding at. What I will be doing, I’m also succeeding at. I’m looking forward to posting this and using that list to make a more organized action item list, since things like making a meal plan and budgeting can be done rather easily, while running, violin and sleep can be main focuses for whenever I have some extra time. Naturally Rebekah will need to be worked into it all as well.

I’m feeling a lot better now, a bit of happiness at the success of connecting with my emotion a bit—even though it took several days and finally being broken down to write even though I should be working (I’ll come in on Saturday morning or Sunday afternoon to make up the time).

This was a good day I think. I’m happy with it and am really tired now. I might even skip the show and go to bed early tonight. Four and a half hours of writing really takes it out of you.

P.S. I skipped going to see Kinky Boots. I gave my ticket to my neighbor and sent her in my place. I feel so wretched right now. I hope she goes and enjoys it. The thought of wasting the money on the ticket would make me feel so much worse right now. I just want to stop trying and stop doing everything, but I don’t want to, but I’m so tired of trying to find the point in doing anything at all. Why do I keep having these moments where it’s so very hard to do anything at all? I just want to quit, but I can’t and then I just fight myself so very much. I hate it, and I hate this misery. I just don’t know why I should bother trying. Rebekah’s said she was coming over for dinner. Perhaps some hot food and sleep will help…. I just don’t want to try anymore, but I can’t not try, and now I’m paralyzed. I’m laying down now.

10/30/2015

So, after dinner last night I tried to lay down, but decided to play a video game instead because I was in a slightly better, but still drained, mood. I played for a bit, then I put on Raising Hope and started coloring. It was a good way to sink my focus into something unrelated to my thoughts. I woke up this morning feeling great again. Not necessarily happy, but definitely positive—on the good side of neutral—at the least. I was still distracted at work today, didn’t really accomplish anything at all, but in much better spirits. I feel restored.

First Memories

It started with some lights. Looking up into a blend of yellow, blue, green and white as they gently flickered between each other. I remember seeing this and feeling very calm. Then I remember trying to move, but was unable to. I could look to either side, but for some reason I couldn’t get up or roll over. After struggling for a while, and trying to figure out why I couldn’t move, I gave up and went back to watching the lights move around until I eventually fell asleep.

Later in life, my mom, brother and I were discussing the first memories (what is the first thing you can remember) and after I told her this she was shocked. Apparently this memory of the lights was when I was an infant. My mom and Aunt Julie would set my cousin Michael and I under a tree in the front yard (I don’t recall the species—my guess is an elm, sycamore or maple) with broad, translucent leaves. They would do this regularly and she said it calmed the babies (several at the time) and I in particular enjoyed it. Granted, my enjoyment of it at the time was possibly due to me being able to just be.

According to everyone, I was a “good” baby in that I didn’t fuss or cry. I was mostly just quiet and watched everyone. A lot of people wondered if there was something wrong with me because I didn’t laugh or giggle or fight back or much of anything in particular as the other babies did. I usually sat around watching the world around me. Looking at everything in a room and taking in everyone’s actions.

My next oldest memory is a series of flashes when we lived in Cedar Creek near Austin. I recall there being a pond with ducks and my dog Lady (a black lab) chasing the ducks. She made me feel safe when things got bad. I still miss her. There was also the strong smell of cow poop from the neighbor’s cows, which turned into a source of comfort when I got to college. Anytime it would rain after the farmers put out manure, I would smell it and think of one of the few happy times in my childhood—before I knew enough to be afraid of my dad. 

The next distinct memory was of my aunts and mom arguing. My aunt Sherry wanted to take me and the other kids to get haircuts and also wanted to clip our nails. My mom didn’t want my nails to be clipped, and also didn’t want me to have any candy for some reason (I learned why when I was older). So we walked to the barbershop—Aunt Sherry, Aunt Julie, my cousins, Michael and Daniel—and afterwards my aunts tried to give me candy. After a lot of refusing I eventually gave into the pressure and accepted it. This was the first sucker and gummy bears I can remember having. I really enjoyed the gummy bears even though I really didn’t want them. When we got back to the house, Sherry began clipping everyone’s nails. I told her not to clip mine, and she did it anyway saying, “Oh, it’ll be alright, your mom told me I could do it right before we left for the barber.” Well, later that night she got back and found out what happened. They then had a big argument about it and I realized I shouldn’t trust my aunts.

The next significant memory is of my brother being born—I was two years old at this point. I didn’t understand what was going on, only that we were at the hospital for mama. We drove there, then drove back home, then drove there again the next morning. I then remember sitting in her hospital room and being really cold. One of the nurses brought me a blanket and a snack while I was in the chair with my mom. When she left the room my dad took the blanket away and made me sit on the floor (I laid down at some point). He also ate my snack.

After a while I started crying softly because of how uncomfortable I was and my dad made me go outside the door by myself. I kept crying and eventually a man came by who stopped and comforted me. According to my mom, that man was Tom Brokaw who was visiting his mom (or grandmother) in the hospital. After talking with me a bit, he took me into the room and said stuff to my dad. After that we left because my dad was angry. He drug me out of the hospital—I was scared and worried about my mom because I didn’t understand she was giving birth. I remember crying and trying to get my dad to take me back to the hospital because I thought mama was going away. It was frightening to be driving away from the hospital and not knowing what was going on. I remember looking out the back window at the hospital, crying and trying to get my dad to take me back because I thought mama was going away. A day or two later Thomas came home with mama and I wasn’t as worried anymore.