There are many kinds of fear. Fear of flying, heights, enclosed spaces, insects, storms, animals, snakes, needles and the list goes on. It is said that we are born with only two innate fears: the fear of falling and the fear of loud sounds. Just drop an infant onto a bed or make a loud sound, watch its eyes and body language. Is fear a natural instinct?
Associated with fear is anxiety because it is natural for us to be afraid, it is also natural for us to experience anxiety. Anxiety can be an uneasy, apprehensive feeling we get when faced with dangerous situations (physical, mental and emotional). I believe fear is learned. I have always believed that we are not born with any. It is instilled in us by our parents, siblings, our surrounding. I also believe infants are like animals in the sense that they can tell when someone is a bad person. And I also believe that when children are brought up with fear, they end up fearing most things in life. That old fight or flight acute stress is a hard way to live.
I grew up in a fearful house. I have to admit that I did not seem to acknowledge fear perhaps when I should have. As a young girl I was supposed to be able to trust my parents. My dad I could. My mother was another story. She was filled with such hatred. She, her sister Mary Francis and her brother Paul were put into an orphanage by their own mother as young children. My mother and Uncle Paul ended up in a Maine orphanage. I do not remember where Aunt Mary Francis ended up. I had always heard stories growing up about my mother being demon seed. And after hearing stories from people who knew our family back in the days of us being kids, I had to believe it. I always wondered if it was her pain from not being wanted. Even her own mother, my grandmother, had told me that my mother was demon seed.
I know my oldest sister was terrorized and humiliated by my mother. My brother was 6′ 4″ and I remember seeing my mother knock him to the floor, then jump up and down on him. She would make him wear an apron and wash the dishes in front of the men who helped my dad on his farm while embarrassing him in front of them. My other sister was never touched or ridiculed by my mother. I never could figure that out for the longest time. In the end it was because she was just like my mother. I think my mother was afraid of her. I pitied the children that she would have.
With myself, I knew from a very early age that my mother hated me. She would make me sit on the potty chair and if I didn’t pee or poop or if I fell off of the chair, she would smack me leaving marks on me. I was 8 months old. I thought it was just a bad dream but my dad told me I was potty trained very early. Then he asked me about the potty chair, I guess to test me. I told him exactly how it looked, colors and all. He had thrown it out after I was potty trained. He was amazed that I remembered back that early in my life. It would be years later when I was told I had Hyperthymesia. Oh joy another word to define me besides dyslexia. I actually believe why my mother hated me so was because I was the runt and my dad always paid more attention to me. I also looked like her. Guess it was like looking in the mirror and not liking what she saw. I still remember hearing her on the phone as she had called her mother wanting to go to live with her. I heard her say, “No it will be just me”. Even as young as I was, I knew my mother wanted to leave my father and us children. I felt nothing. One never misses what they never had. In the end, her own mother told her no, that she did not want her back or to even visit her.
The only child that would act up was the sister that was never touched. She would swear like a sailor, kick, bite and spit on anyone. I remember the time she wiped her ass on my dress that was hanging on the back of the door of the bedroom we shared and I got blamed for it. Whatever my sister did, I always got the hell for it. She killed my mothers canary and I got a beating for it.
I want to say that my mother was not always miserable. It was as if she was fine one moment then the switch was turned on and we paid for her moods. She was Italian so we heard a lot of operas, arias. I actually loved them. One time I went to sing along with one. She grabbed me by the hair on my head and smashed me into the floor. How did I know she was listening in on the party line. It was back in the 80’s that I heard from many people that she had kept my hair long so she could grab me by it. One of my dad’s friends who had known us a very long time told me he didn’t think I would have survived childhood, and that it was a miracle that I was still alive. Even my dad, years later, told me it was a wonder that one of us kids didn’t kill her. I never thought about killing her. I only wanted to understand what made her like she was.
We had a wood stove we used year round. To the left of it was a white metal cupboard. She was on the phone again listening in on the party line conversation. I opened the cupboard doors. I guess that I was not supposed to do that because she was right behind me. She slapped me and in no uncertain words told me I was not to get in there. Then she took both of my hands and pressed my fingertips onto the woodstove. I don’t think I had ever screeched or cried so much. The older kids knew better than to see what was going on. My dad worked two different jobs and we all knew not to say a thing to him when he came home. If he had asked, my mother would tell him what she wanted him to know. It was not until the latter part of 2003 that I found out I had no fingerprints on the tips of my fingers. I had applied for a job that needed them done. I remember the young man telling me that I seemed to not have fingerprints on the ends of my fingers so he had to do the whole finger. In my mind, I had gone back to the woodstove but said nothing.
Sometimes my dad would have time enough to play with us outdoors. I really hated being the runt but I was included in the sports and I gave it my all. I had my own catchers mitt and baseball bat. I think he bought me those to give me that little bit of a boost in my ego for being so tiny. That baseball bat and her fist was what she used the most on me. Back in 2007 I had to have a cat scan of my head at St. Joe’s hospital. One of the techs came running around the corner to ask me if I had ever been in a real bad accident. I told him not that I had known of all the while remembering my mother and my baseball bat. I never told people that I grew up with an abusive parent. All they would want to do is pity me and that is not what I wanted.
It wasn’t until I went into therapy to deal with my issues because of her that my dad had any idea what had gone on while he was working. “Rhettie, you were always so happy,” he said. I told dad that every day was a brand new day hoping things would be better, but they weren’t. I was the only one that skipped to the breakfast table and would say “Good morning” while everyone there would look at me like I had a want about me. Only my dad would say “Good morning Rhettie and what are we up to today?” I was the only happy one, well besides my dad. And in my old age now, I am so proud to have taken after him, having his good nature and his dry wit.
My mother would embarrass my oldest sister in front of her friends and even in front of her principal at school. My mother never believed any truths we ever told her. We always got beaten to say what she wanted to hear and when she found out it was a lie, we got beaten more. My oldest sister was late in getting home from school one day. And of course, my mother believed it was because she was with a boy. My oldest sister was beaten into submission and told my mother that yes she had been with a boy when she hadn’t been. My mother took her to school and in the principal’s office told him what a slut my sister was and kept running her down. After the doctor’s visit, when my mother actually found out that my sister had never been with any guy, then she told everyone that my sister had lied to her and even made her apologize to the principle for lying.
We never had any of our friends come to our house. We were scared to death to have them see how we lived. We actually didn’t make many friends where we stayed to ourselves, because of fear. My oldest sister got pregnant to get away from my mother. My brother joined the navy even though he was terrified of swimming and water. My other sister used my dad to get away from her by having him go to court to get custody of her then she moved in with her friends. I wanted my dad to help me get away from my mother but where my other sister had lied to him and used him, he thought I was doing the same as she had and didn’t dare to go to court and be hurt again. As unhappy as that made me, I understood. Why was I always the one that understood. He did tell me to call him every day if I had to so he would know I was alright. So I stayed until I was almost eighteen. It was my graduation day. That was the last time she ever hit me. I got away from her and ran to the police station. They showed me where the judge’s office was. I then signed papers to have her arrested and I took off. I stayed hidden until I turned 18 but even then I was terrified of her.
I was the only one of my siblings to go through therapy to deal with what we had gone through. The others, their choices were drugs and booze. My sister that had never been touched by mother tried therapy once. She didn’t like hearing what the therapist said. She could see right through my sister. And isn’t it ironic that the one sister that never got hit has had such a hell of a life. She kept on doing the unforgivable to her own children. She is on multiple antidepressants plus other drugs to keep her going. I think it was seeing that is what made me get into what I had. I wanted to help kids and others like me who had suffered or were suffering from abuse. It was rewarding but I felt I could do more. I just wanted to help people who had gone through similar things as I had. I had no one to turn to. I wanted to be someone’s someone. I wanted them to know that there was a light at the end of their tunnel.
I grew up being terrified of thunderstorms, loud noises, confrontation, just about everything. I was so shy. Therapy helped me in dealing with those issues but also my dad helped me. His Indian roots-he taught me about mother nature and how to accept and respect her. My siblings thought I was stupid for learning what I did but who are the ones on drugs and who drink? Not me. I also tend to be more of an Eastern person. Yoga was a big part of my life. And meditation. I think meditation should be taught in school. Yoga should be a part of physical education. It’s how I deal with my pain. I also believe in trigger point therapy. I don’t panic like most people do. I tell them to calmly go down every avenue. That way they know the best and the worst that could happen. Most people run from danger. I run towards it and that is something else I never understood about myself. If there is a fire, I run to help. An accident, the same. I wished I didn’t feel this way at times. I can’t seem to help it. It is just in me. My daddy always told me I was an accident waiting to happen where I was one to run into danger. He always told me I would need someone to take care of me, to keep me safe. Well that never happened. I have always had to fight my own battles maybe that was what my dad was afraid of.
I guess I am the lone wolf. I do not see my siblings. I refused to take the blame for their problems. Some of the problems they had early on, I wasn’t even born or I was an infant, a young toddler, or I lived far from them. However, I was the only one that didn’t let things bother me like they did. It didn’t make much sense to me to blame someone else for something they never did. I guess they will blame until the day they die. My oldest sister passed away April of 1919. I never saw her before, never went to her funeral. All of my sisters have slept with every man that came their way. I was always WTF. I used to have my niece Stacy in my life but her stepfather came from money and his parents left all grandchildren annuities. So Stacy chose getting 25,000.00 every so often over me. I am good with it. She will be the empty one. Money is everything to her. She might as well accept it will be the only thing that makes her happy. She had slept with so many men that she ended up with herpes and when she tells new men that she has it, they dump her. She is such a needly person which does not help her. She doesn’t even know who her father is. Sweet Jesus, just sitting here thinking about how my siblings have lived and how their children live now, damn I have been lucky.
LexiMe - My journey of faith 