Dear LK;
Growing up, I did not learn cause and effect; properly. It took me back to the early 2000s when my sister told my father to ‘shut the fuck up’ casually. Okay -- probably just as problematic as me keeping diaries in the house. Did she think my Dad was a jokester like that? Did I think my parents weren’t going to go through my personal things? That comment was worth my sister’s inheritance; apparently. Dangling carrots yanked away; my father preached stability on waving waters. My sister was “going to die or be raped” because she chose a house too close to the ghetto -- a house costing a half million. That is why he offered her “his” inheritance; otherwise he would die with every last cent. “Just like Poppop” he told her. Maybe he is realising that he is no different or better than his father; just made a bit more money. These responses did not teach me cause and effect -- properly. I beat myself and others up too harshly; judgmental, cruel, an executioner. I didn’t know how to pick the battles with myself! I didn’t shower; grounded. “Could be all weekend” if I kept badgering them about why -- it did not seem like a reasonable disciplinary strategy. I too became unreasonable in my demands and expectations. Why couldn’t they just let me go to school -- smelly? Or to bed -- smelly? Was I too inept for society’s non-verbals? Or did my parents project their identity on me; so much so that if I smelled -- it was like they smelled. And that was too embarrassing. At that time; I showered every other day -- I even shaved and used soap! I shampooed every other day; washing too much causes dry skin. That’s the irony. I used to take care of myself better before.
For the behaviors that they read about in my diaries; I couldn’t even spend Thanksgiving or Christmas at home. You think they could have at least told me about what they had been reading? Or asked me to stop -- threatened me with the next action step forward? But getting my ass out was that urgent. I was going to die, remember? Three days before Thanksgiving; gone. For Mar-a-ju-annna. I got drunk once; but I lied to my therapist at my second placement center. I told her I used to get the shakes; I desperately wanted to fit in. I could not let the others tease me like Savannah and Bekah did after I read my impact letter in wilderness. “Don’t” You said to them sternly; looking at me from across the fire. You told me they were wrong -- I did deserve to be here. Their connotations echo’d; because it was true. I was on the low end of the “BAMF-Scale” (Bad Ass Mother Fucker Scale). I heard this same sentiment in other placements there-after. And I couldn’t explain the length of my stay -- well enough. “I must be insane”, I thought. Your nod at that group implied what my parents did was correct; why was I here? For oral sex and sneaking out of the house? Would a judge have done this to me? Or were my parents harsher than any judge and jury in Delaware. I couldn’t break out from the bars of money; locked away -- because they said so. I kept asking myself that -- and crafting reasons why I was in treatment centers for so long. I exaggerated my symptoms and story. I was too bad for home; too good for detention centers. I had a hard time making sense of this; while still “taking responsibility” for my actions. And did I need to take all of it? It felt like sometimes I needed to take my parents' dose too. So I grew out my armpit hair and stopped showering. I felt like a black sheep; destined to be different -- by design. I lived in the shadows. Who was I? How and where did I belong -- honestly?
I guess the truth is: I just want others to stop pathologizing me, and I desire to see my stories in a new light. I did not see the natural ebbs and flows in relationships dynamics during elementary schooling; constantly switching. This caused me to adopt a permanent, absolutist mindset. I saw in black and white. Now, after an intense level of education my mind has pivoted. I began to recognize many findings that others awaken to in their teenage years. I do not enjoy conforming for the sake of harmony. I want to understand why. I did not understand their punishments; this includes the rigidity of my father. When asking for a rationale; I became the bad guy. Who was I to poke holes in their logic? When you are young, they treat you as an inferior -- as if you are not watching with a fresh perspective. I explained this to my father the other week; I didn’t go into wilderness with a comprehensible story. Truthfully, my parents were both under the assumption that you all would figure out what was wrong with me -- as you are the experts. My behaviors were witness in my slanted writings of a teenage girl obsessed with sex and danger. I asked my dad how he believed I should have played it -- both of us being armchair critics at times. “Easy. Lean in to your molestation story” he said. The problem is -- that wasn’t the truth of why I was there. It was a facet; a dimension to the story, of course -- not the cause. I believe I was there because of a lack of communication; feeling isolated from my nuclear family. I didn’t have any adults I felt like I could trust and go to with my problems. I was the one that did not feel safe telling my mother my story. I just didn’t want to get “in trouble”. And my parents were all about crime and punishment. So I rebelled; I entered the shadow lands of my mother. I became the bad girl; at least I felt good at something.
That’s not really what the therapists wanted to hear. Truthfully behavioral modification programs, such as Uinta Academy, only “work” when it is the child’s sole ‘fault’. Which rarely is it ever a single party. The type of family therapy I needed was not a once-a-week moderated phone conversation about x,y or z in my life. And who knows if more “family therapy” would have worked; God knows we have all been through therapy before. The problem I had was a lack of personal identity in such an overbearing household. I didn’t feel as if I could choose my own path, my own way in life. My dad felt he could control my major choice in college by his monetary contributions. He chose my sister's college by refusing to pay for the places she got in; only the University of Delaware parallel program. Or an Ivy League. I wish I could say my father has changed; however with enough power he’ll turn into a hierophant again. As his child, I felt like his subject. And my mother fed the beast all her worries and concerns. I am a very open person; the relationship was not built between me and my mother. I did not trust her to work inside my best interest; to hold a safe space for me to share and express. Rather those places that I created were exploited, read, and ultimately used against me. I had to read my writings in front of a group of strangers. When was my boundary of self protected? I was expected to take on the good and healthy projections. They also gave me their fears; I accepted them instead, they were more prominent.
My parents put me through hell; their intentions only to keep me from harm. As if it was as easy as a broken bone; wilderness was simply supposed to be an accessment. And they may never see it; the times I use absolutes are few. I must accept that I alone define myself. I am not defined because of my flaws; or what I have been through. I am not defined by my high school era. I am not defined by my diagnosis. I am not defined by the experts. I used to define myself by my problems; as my parents once did. Life happens and moves forward; what are the long term impacts of taking a child out from their nuclear family? It was traumatic and I am healing from this wound. I had to begin a self-directed program full of love and care. Not of others telling me what was wrong; and what exactly to eat. I needed to internally explore myself. I do agree with your initial assessment in wilderness; however. I had devastatingly low self-esteem and self-efficacy. I bought Nathaniel Branden’s The Six Pillars of Self Esteem and began reading a few years back. I’ve been reading that again; all while listening to lectures about Carl Jung’s explanation of the shadow and Nietzsche. It’s been fascinating to learn the psychology behind the mind. The “why” I asked my mother; she did not know. And how could I just expect her to google or watch a few youtube videos. She was just a woman of her generation. And she’ll hold onto religious coattails till the day she dies. Hopefully one day she’ll actualize; waking up to understand it was a loving higher power’s formal attire she was clutching, everyone was. There is a universal force; and it’s not what the mainstream tells us. I spent my childhood in fear of hellfire and brimstone. It’s daylight now. I woke up and looked around. Others were still in a coma; breathing deep into their generational wounds, fueling the fire their father’s stoked before them. I am stepping out of this narrative now. I am free from the wounds inflicted on me. I do not want to bleed on others any longer; a bloodborne disease could arise. I am now defining myself; working towards a healthy level of esteem and efficacy.
My father’s money means nothing to me now.
I can forge my own path in the world, find my own gold.
I don’t need his inheritance; it’s worth too much pain.
I create my own reality.
I hope this letter finds you well,
@laurabell
