YOU ARE NOT ALONE - A companion online community discussion board for The Mental Illness Happy Hour podcast with Paul Gilmartin

I feel a lot of identification with Paul when he mentions how when others talk about their extreme childhood traumas, sometimes there's just this feeling like... well, let me explain my own feelings; again, I still feel like Paul had a worst childhood than I had.

I was never molested. I was never raped.

I say that because... I just don't know. Whenever I hear about memories being repressed, I always get scared that maybe it did happen when I was really young--but, really, how the fuck am I supposed to know? The only weird memories I have are waking up at 5 am, maybe around 3 or 4 years old, completely naked. I feel like I either put on or took off a bathing suit. I have NO IDEA why this happened because, again, I was so young. It feels like a memory I'm not fully attached to, that I only have because I remembered it happening when I was a kid.

Of course I'd rather think that I wasn't molested. No one really wants that track record. It's only something to be pruod of when you can say, "But I've moved on." I have a mother who was molested as a child; she is still not over it. She hates the idea of therapy because she doesn't want to rake up everything about what happened with it--hence, she is definitely NOT over it, at all. Maybe those are harsh judgments but... well, I'll get to my mother in a bit. If for nothing else, I absolutely sympathize with her, only because I can't imagine how painful it is to rake up those feelings... but she doesn't seem to think there is any coming back from her own trauma, and it's that type of attitude that's been instilled into me.

So, I think: Well, I'm fucked up now. I wasn't physically or sexually abused, so why did I end up psychotic and at a mental hospital? Why so much anxiety, so much depression, before and after that?

Does that mean I'm weak? I have a weaker brain than "normal" people on the planet. Yes, this 100% is my mental state whenever I see people I view as stronger. People who have had more extreme poverty than I had. People who have had those extreme traumas and at the very least leave their houses; even if they abuse drugs and booze or sleep around or do anything... they are living life more than I do. Maybe they're not "over" whatever happened to them, if you have a job, if you have a group of friends you see weekly, if you have your passions--you are doing better than me. Period.

Here's all that happened to me as a kid that fucked me up:
- My mom wouldn't send us to school on random days. We missed a lot of school just because it was a hassle to get us up in the morning; she would sleep in while helping us "fake sick."
This results in MASSIVE guilt that still remains today. All those stories about kids faking sickness so they could get out of school, the old cliche? That was my childhood when I didn't even want to miss school--and oh, when I liked missing school? That just makes the guilt worse. When she homeschooled us and then blamed us for not initiating class like robotic children that are designed to be intellectually curious and willfully pursue their education at puberty? More guilt. When every week I missed a day of high school and going all five days was like an accomplishment? Massive fucking guilt, because then it was me, 14-18 years old, choosing not to go to school.
Now after high school, I want so badly to be educated.
So many days I feel like I can't do it. My mom said to me "I gave up on school for you guys (me and my siblings." She admitted this to me. "At least she admits it" is of course a natural response... but I'm... still trying to fucking go to school. She doesn't get that I want to be educated. She doesn't see that my dilly-dallying over whether it'd be better to just get a job... has come from a direct consequence of her past actions and decisions when it came to school for my siblings.

- I had no friends until high school.
Instead I had a group of girls that would use me as a personal jester (I'd make funny accents that they'd demand I repeat at least a million times; I would, just because I was so afraid of being abandoned by them); in first grade and for a good portion of second grade, I was just alone. I blame the school system I grew up in for this one, and for not fostering an academic interest for me; it was all rote learning and once I was out of kindergarten, kids were on their fucking own. The monitors at recess wouldn't help you if you were friendless, only if you were being bullied. This is much different from kindergarten, where at recess, everyone would play with each other and there wasn't any boundaries or concepts of "friends" or "enemies"--we were all in the same fucking class. Then bam, first grade, and you're sharing a black top with 2nd-5th graders and your classmates all separate and dash off.
Was I just a social moron? I feel that way and feel like I just... when people were handing out the "how to make a friend" directions, everyone got their list of directions, and I ended up having to fill up my directions myself, with all of these edits made over the years because I've always been so unsure. Sometimes, it feels like I spent most of my childhood fucking disassociated. I was in fantasy land, dreaming of being a different person.
Instead of high school... you know what? Scratch that--punk rock gave me friends. I'll always love the outcasts I made friends with in high school but I only ever saw them at lunch; I still didn't have friends in the classroom in high school. Punk rock gave me a place to hang out with like-minded people who were all REALLY ACTUALLY SUPER FUCKING NICE, which is like... WOW, what a fucking concept, right? Not to mention you wouldn't expect punks to be fucking nice--but the community I still consider myself a part of? It's a policy. You can be socially awkward, you can be crass and angry, but if you go to a show... you'd have to do something significant to get more than a side-eyed-stare, and honestly, there's a point in my own punk philosophy where it's just like "nah, they're here, they're enjoying music; there's nothing further to judge." Just... it's so different than not just high school but school ALTOGETHER, where you can be a weirdo and it's like "hey, what are you expecting at a show like this?" You can find your niche of people and stick to them. It's not perfect but it's a good dysfunctional group of friends and acquaintances.

- My brother and sister were more temperamental; they bullied me.
I got confirmation from my mom today: she was relieved that I wasn't as bratty as my two siblings, who gave my parents hell in their younger years. They would argue with each other, yell at my parents--my brother would beat me up and my sister would boss me around. "That's just what siblings do" is what I was told when I was a kid... looking back: no. They went too fucking far and it's going to take me a good damn while and lots of therapy to really forgive them. Outwardly, I'm friendly to my siblings--I love them, mostly for how much they've both changed for the better. Inwardly, I still remember. I don't know if I can blame children for this... but I would say this was a large part of me bottling up any anger I had. I didn't want to burden my parents with my problems or anger, and I couldn't compete with my sibling's anger when they were the ones who made me angry--they could get MUCH angrier. They had the buttons to press my anger back down into sadness and pity.
Depression, as I'm discovering the longer I'm in therapy, is totally in part anger turned inward. I feel like so much of my anger is yet to be expressed and it's part of why I became manic and delusional--all of these feelings that didn't have fruitful or real expression all confused and being spurted out.

- My mother had little to no support in helping raise us.
She had three kids and helped raise my two step brothers; my step dad, meanwhile, was hands-off. Per my mom's policy, which... yeah, I'll never understand that arrangement. Meanwhile, my dad was only around on the weekends and he and my mom never got along; my mom's family are miles away from each other; and my dad's family... it's only now, after spending a week with them in Las Vegas, that I feel an intellectual resentment towards them. Finally. It hasn't caught up to my feelings yet, but when I think about it... well, I guess... they just had their own lives to live. But they SEEM so "perfect." Perfect in that "Oh isn't our family just so wacky! Break out the wine and let's eat delicious food and watch football on the big screen, because apparently everyone in this fucking family likes football! Oh we're just so BUSY BUSY BUSY it's so nice to spend time with the family." It's... like spending time with aliens. They're healthy. They're so "normal." Imagine me wearing a black wool coat just to hammer the point home: there is a fucking disconnect... and it's just because I lived with my mom, who divorced my dad. Meanwhile, my auntie used to be friends with my mom; meanwhile, my dad fucking LOVES us and made it a point for us to see his sisters and their husbands, my aunties and uncles, every other weekend; meanwhile, these sisters, my aunties... their two boys grow up as each other's best friends.
It never occurred to me but it feels like something was fucked up. I don't know who or why... but my mom needed some god damn help. Maybe it's just all the adults in my life... they were always too busy. They were never the types to go to ask for help, or to ask if my mom needed help; I feel like my mom would've accepted it, if it didn't mean too much invasion... maybe that was the problem. Maybe my mom and dad both maintained a facade that it was all going well enough and my aunties never saw a sign of trouble.
I don't fucking know.
I feel like I'm looking for someone to blame at this point... but when I hear how some other families work... I definitely get jealous of all the good aunties and uncles that have existed. Maybe I was never fucked up enough as a kid to deserve their help... and no one wants to help a fucked up adult, really, anyway.
I just know I felt like a black sheep for most of being a teenager with them, and still feel like that in a lot of ways.

I just took some Zzzquil and am hoping to get to sleep on it... so I might post more later, just to get it out of me. To be angry and feel justified in my words and in this strange dichotomy between love and resentment.
There's more than everything I've mentioned. But this is what I'm talking about. All of this.

It's SUPER, SUPER grey. If I were to describe the different situations for different people, I guarantee you, only a sympathetic/empathetic/educated ear would be able to identify what was "bad" about it--more often, I'm sure, people will be quick to point out the good stuff that happened. Or not know what to say at all, because none of it is as fucked up as deserving a "I'm sorry that happened to you."

I was just the quiet kid. SURE, not all kids are outgoing--nothing wrong with being shy.
I was the kid with no constructive hobbies. SURE, not all kids end up prodigies--plenty of kids try things and don't end up pursuing them for that long.
I was the kid who was sat in front of the television and videogame systems all day. SURE, not all kids end up fucked up when that happens
I was the kid stuck in her head all day, where her brain was her playground. SURE, nothing wrong with a kid who has a big imagination.

But I was the kid who masturbated before puberty, because nothing else made me feel as good.
I was the kid who couldn't go to bed at night.
I was the kid who didn't have an imaginary friend--I had an imaginary boyfriend at age 7. I wanted to be spooned in bed because I felt so scared and alone.
I was the kid who had no friends in school and had no idea how to make them.
I was the bright, imaginative kid who couldn't connect with her school work. Whose mom did her homework for her.
I was the kid whose mom didn't believe in schools, and later as a teenager, didn't believe in doctors.
I was the kid who wanted to crawl into the TV and live with anime and cartoon characters, more than she wanted to live life.
I was the kid whose mom could at best feed and clothe her, give her some attention and NO guidance, who would be more of a friend than a mother to me emotionally.

My therapist makes me feel better about all of this. Sometimes I want to cringe when he says things like "considering your childhood..." or "growing up in a high stress environment..." but: the mental illnesses is there, and I agree with him when he says it's nature PLUS nurture. BE-CAUSE of my family's predisposition for mental illness? Yes, I did need the "extra" attention. I did need the "extra" guidance. I needed whatever you would consider "extra" instead of... I don't know... required to make a healthy sane human being? Like having a kid know what to do when they want to make friends and not be so alone? How to get to sleep without resorting to masturbation by age 9 or earlier?

Kids are fucking tough to raise. I know it and hope, just for the sake of not passing down further anguish and illness, that I won't have any--that at most, I'll adopt or foster, JUST because so many adoptees and foster kids end up in WAY fucked situations that it is a real "better than nothing" scenario.

But I'm feeling Zzzquilly (boy that's an odd sleepy-headache) and though I know there's so much more, especially what happened when I was homeschooled and in high school... but I'll leave it off tehre for now.

I'd love to hear from anyone else who had the "grey" childhood; for those of you with "black" childhoods or the seemingly rare "white iridescent" childhood, maybe talk about some traumatic "greys" that can still happen even if you had the worst/best situation.

Thank you for reading if you've gotten this far; it was good to get out even if no one else reads.

I read your whole post, Sherlock. You deserved a better childhood. You deserve help now. I am happy you are getting professional help. Please take care.

Heya Sherlock,

I had what I would call a "grey childhood". I was hungry, but there was food there at least! The house was always covered in filth, but at least I had a house. My Father would yell and throw things at me, but at least they never hit and I wasn't ever molested. But you know what, that really doesn't matter. To be a kid and be hungry is horrible, because with that hunger comes fear. To live in a house with filth is constantly distressing because you can never escape it. You don't need to be hit to feel hurt, and what my father was yelling was that I "didn't act right" which translated into "you act gay" essentially telling me that I was horribly wrong. When you are told that a part of you is horribly wrong it isn't a far jump to view the rest of yourself as horribly wrong as well. I still walk around telling myself I'm horribly fucked up. I'm horribly fucked up because I have an anxiety disorder, no one will love a guy who is constantly freaking out. I constantly have to doubt people I am interested in dating because so many times I have walked into relationships with men who reinforce this horrible person theory of mine.

This is the easy stuff to identify as wrong with my grey childhood. That is why I cut contact with my father years ago. However, what was much harder and sometimes I think equally damaging was the relationship I had with my Mother. When I was little my mother was a workaholic. She would leave before I was up and come home after I was gone to bed, because while she had work she could have finished at home she always said I was "too loud". ((News flash, kids are loud)). When she was home she was depressed, which I understood. She was married to my father after all. When they went through the divorce suddenly she was my best friend. She would tell me everything! About how my father is a horrible person, ask advice about how to tell my sister what was going on, ask advice about how to deal with money. I was attention starved and I ate it up! However, a 12 year old kid is not equipped to handle the problems of a fully grown woman going through a horrible divorce and struggling with depression. Later when I came out as "Bisexual" (Sorry bisexuals, I am one of those gays that enforces that "just a phase" theory. My bad.) she forced me to come out infront of my sister and all her friends and suddenly stopped being my best friend.

Now my mother is not a bad person. I have a lot of compassion for my Mother. She was in a horribly emotionally abusive relationship that mirrored the relationship she had with her father. She had kids because she felt she should have kids because that was the pressure on women at the time. To her friends she is a warm caring person who will help them in anyway she can. When she heard bisexual she heard "gay." and when she heard "gay" she thought that because she had married this horrible man and not been a good mother her son was going to be gay. That is what she had been taught. So what she did was her attempt at trying to save me from dying of AIDS.I have tons of compassion for my mother.

However, I have to also have compassion for myself. Part of having compassion for myself is realizing however good of person my Mother is and however hard her life was back then, at that time she was a bad mother to me. She hurt me, and today she refuses to acknowledge that so I am going to be angry. I am allowed to be angry because I can afford myself the same compassion that I give her. I grew up with a horrible father who I often try to reproduce in the men I date (yippee!). I want to have kids but am terrified that I am going to ultimately fuck them up. Shaming me into the closet is about the shittiest thing you can do, fucked up logic or not.

Reading your post I can tell you have a lot of compassion for your mother, but I have to wonder if you have compassion for yourself. One thing that was triggering for me in your post was when your mother says to you "I gave up on school for you guys". It reminded me so much of what my Mother used to say to me: "I married your father because I wanted to you". That isn't taking responsibility for the fact that she is the one who had kids or that she was the one who married my Father. I didn't hover over her shoulder in pre-baby-spirit form and go oh yeah that winner there who doesn't want to get a job, is a homophobic ass, and huge Rush Limbaugh fan. He looks like GREAT father material. As adults we make decisions, both conscious and unconscious, and they effect us in good and bad and most of all grey ways. Other people may play a part in why we make the decisions we do, but ultimately only we make the decisions.

I also want to say that most childhoods are grey. Think of all the survey's Paul reads where people say "I don't know if this counts" followed by something many of us go "uh-yeah that counts!" Grey to me used to translate into invalid. I often compared my best days to other peoples worst. We really don't have to do this to ourselves. I think if I had continued to insist that my childhood wasn't that bad I wouldn't have been able to really dive into it and flush out the roots of my problems. For example, if I had never admitted that my parents taught me homophobic thoughts I would still have mass amounts of internalized homophobia. I'd still be walking around saying to myself one day I'll probably die of AIDS (thanks Mom!).

As my friends say it "Feel your Feels bro, and shake like a chihuahua." I'm not entirely sure where shake like a chihuahua comes from, but it is part of the sentiment.