My husband has been wonderful about helping me with my anxiety. We've been talking about it, what gets me upset, what makes me angry, etc.
My husband has helped me realize that 90 percent of my anxiety stems from my childhood. Looking back, I get so incredibly angry and upset about how my parents raised us.
Where do I start? My parents were stoners and alcoholics (one of the reason I have never had nor plan to ever have a drink).
When my parents wanted to get high, they would bring us to their friend's house. They would stick us four girls in the same room with their three boys. Lock the door and proceed to smoke weed in the next room over.
Growing up, we were only allowed in our bedroom (door locked) or outside (house door locked). We were only allowed breakfast and dinner and only allowed to have something to drink at dinner. No water throughout the day. Rarely, we were allowed to have lunch.
We were only allowed one shower a week. We were so dirty all the time our grandparents threw us in their bathtubs every chance they got.
I was born with a bilateral cleft lip and palate. My sisters were horrible about teasing me. If I ever tried to stand up for myself, my sisters would make such a fuss that my mother would beat me. I was so terrified.
My mother got drunk a few times and started talking about "The Birds and the Bees." However, she did it in such a way that my loving husband has had to try to undo some of the damage she did. She made me ashamed of being intimate, of being a female.
I once complained my sisters were farting on my pillow and I did not like it. My mother got naked, sat on my pillow and passed gas. She told me to deal with it.
If my mother was convinced one of us did something, we were guilty. We were not allowed to defend ourselves or tell what happened. I got punished for so many things I did not do.
I was also forced to take care of my three younger sisters. Diaper duty usually. Baths too. I also had to watch them. Mind you, there's only a 18 month difference between me and my next youngest sister.
Once a month, my mother would go into this rage. She signaled out one person usually. Whoever got it that month, boy, you were glad it was not you. The victim would be screamed at, punished and could not do anything right for three weeks. It was a horrendous nightmare.
When I was sick, I was a hypochondriac. When my grandparents got ticked off and forced my parents to take me in, the doctor always had a diagnosis (usually ear infection, sinus infection, allergies or strep throat). When I got older, it did not change. I was still a hypochondriac. I INSISTED on being seen by a doctor. Never forget the time that I gave my parents both strep throat despite being a hypochondriac or the time when my doctor told my dad he had to buy me a $100 pair of orthopedic shoes.
I could never do anything right. I ended up making friends with our shepherd dog and my collection of books. Books allowed me to escape. Allowed me not to feel pain. The dog allowed me to feel loved and protected.
Child protective services were called in a few times. Nothing ever happened.
After I graduated high school, I was their slave. Did not matter if I had work or school. If they wanted me to do something, I had to drop whatever it was and do it, even if I had a major college project to do. Which, by dropping out of my journalism courses, I was a sudden failure. Dropped out of my teaching courses to. Four years later, I run my own business and my own cat rescue.
My husband, then boyfriend and his mom, helped me get out of there. I will never forget the day. I was putting away dishes. Grabbed a towel to dry them.
Mom: "I TOLD YOU TO DRY THE DISHES AND PUT THEM AWAY!"
Me: "I am. Just grabbing a clean towel."
Mom: "I TOLD YOU TO DO THE DISHES!"
Me: "I AM!"
Mom: "I just wish one of us would drop dead or move out!"
I lost it. Called my husband's mom when I was at work. She told me that when I got home that night, shut off my lights, sneak into the house and get clothes for a few days.
When I returned home, my parents kicked me out a week later. I had no where to go. Could not support myself on my own. I ended up moving in with my boyfriend (now husband) and his family. I began to realize what a real family is supposed to act and treat each other. My grandparents stepped out of the picture when I was 10. Have not seen them for the last 17 years.
My mother then started acting like nothing happened, but she tried to control me even though I was not living there. They ended up moving 400 miles away. To this day, she still tries to control me.
A few months ago, I found out she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and told the doctor he was wrong. Walked out and never saw a doctor from that moment on.
As I am typing this, I am shaking really bad. I know I need to see a therapist. We're going to check into it at the beginning of the year.
I am convinced how I grew up is affecting me now. No one lives through that undamaged.