I have not spoken publicly about a lot of things, but I'm trying this out as a test to see if I can tolerate it.
Yesterday I was feeling spacey and strange and noticed lately that I've retreated into my reliable coping mechanism of watching streaming media for hours on end. The subject matter deals with crime solving, with a heavy psychological component. On this show, as many others, there is closure and the perpetrator always gets caught. I like those "happy endings."
At 2:30 AM, I finally realized that July 1 was the day my M took her life 45 years ago, shortly before my birthday. I was 22. And the event is all tangled up with the way she handled my congenital birth defeat of a dislocated hip, now called developmental hip dysplasia. For the first year of my life, the neglect caused by 3 children in diapers, mental illness parading as religious fanaticism and my F's alcoholism, no one noticed. At approximately 18 mos -2 years, I was casted in a double hip full body spica cast, which left a scar on my lower spine. I have 2 photos of me during this period, both grinning absurdly; one sitting in a chair immobilized and one standing on my "good leg" in a crib, holding onto the edge with the other leg in the air.
These two pictures say a lot to me. One of the primary ways to care for a child in this cast is to prevent the kind of antics I'm shown doing. Conversations with family members revealed that my nickname was "rubberlegs". I find this so tragic and appalling. These pictures sum up my childhood amnesia and decades of somatic complaints to due revulsion and powerlessness. It ushered in a 15 year period of sexual abuse by multiple family members; much of which I've not "overcome" and which prevents me from forming any meaningful romantic attachments.
The point here is that there's still repercussions, even though my parents and both sets of grandparents are dead. I can't get enthused about organizing my photo albums any more because of the toxicity. I am temporarily stuck in a dead zone of amazement, anger, disbelief and rage that I never received health care even after the cast came off. Scoliosis has followed me my entire life, and sickeningly shown on my DEXA scans. I have been in chronic pain for 15 years. It takes a lot of motivation and persistence to exercise so I can move at least part of the day with minimal pain.
I've occasionally managed to be charitable towards the upbringing of my parents, but find myself wallowing now and then in shallow water where my boat is stuck on the rocks of memories. Sometimes I lose the paddle, but then, I always find it again. July is a tough month.
