I was born to an OCD (and I don’t mean he likes his shelves neat, he has actual obsessive compulsive disorder) father with bulimia, and a bipolar, schizophrenic, epileptic mother. My mom, brother and I were beaten and terrorized by my dad for the first nine years of my life.
We escaped him, but we landed square in the middle of poverty. My mom drugged herself silly, and my brother and I went hungry and ran wild. There were spells of foster care, hospitalizations, suicide attempts, expulsions, evictions, and too many other fun things to count.
When I was twenty, my mom developed Parkinson’s, and I was the one that took care of her. She was my world, for better, or worse. We loved each other more than words can explain. Despite all the hell we put each other through, we had a bond that I thought could never be broken. But, death has a strong scythe, and an inescapable swing. She died in her bed, and I found her, lifeless.
That was the end of my first life. The second started a few months after my mom died. I met and then married a brilliant, maladjusted, deviant. He was/is everything. When I met him, he weighed about 160lbs, before I met him, he weight about 500lbs. He had clawed his way out of depression, panic disorder, and obesity…Only to fall directly back into it two years after we got married.
As he slowly pulled himself together, I fell apart. I started getting debilitating headaches. My physical and mental health spiraled out of control. I almost killed myself, and, honestly, I still might.
That’s the Reader’s Digest condensed (very condensed) story of my life. Oh, the stories I could tell…and that’s why I started this blog. These experiences can’t just live in my head. I need them to be out there, where they could be of some use to someone.