Tuesday, March 4, 2014

A Cry For Help

Each summer during my mother's vacation from work my family would go stay at my Aunt Leah's camp on Eddington Pond (what's the difference between a lake and a pond anyway? depth? size?) or at some other family member's camp. As I got older, my brothers stopped going to camp and opted to stay home so they could have legendary parties. While the cat's away the mice will play! The highlight of my days at camp as I got older were the boys who had a camp next door. As with any 13 almost 14 year old girl, I immediately developed a crush on one of the boys and I immediately learned how rejection felt. How humiliating it is to feel like the ugly duckling and the odd man out. I hated feeling not good enough. I hated being me.

I've always had self-destructive tendencies as far back as I can remember. Although I've only half-heartedly tried the big "S' a few times, I do wonder now what really was my goal when I downed a whole bottle of aspirin chased by a massive amount of straight whiskey. My mother had brought a whole gallon of Canadian Club whiskey along and now I wonder why she did that. My mother wasn't a drinker. Did she have plans of entertaining after the children were tucked snugly into bed in the loft overlooking the pond? Were my actions a cry for help or was I just looking for the attention I obviously wasn't getting? So many questions in hindsight, but never in foresight!

After going on a very animated teenage tirade that probably resembled the Tasmanian Devil going after Bugs Bunny and ingesting the only things available to me at the time, I remember continually vomiting until all I could do is dry heave and heave and heave. At that point the desire to die was more than just a fleeting impulse. I felt so bad, dying would have been a welcome relief. The next morning when asked about my "illness", I passed off what was wrong with me as being some type of intestinal ailment when in reality I probably should have been in the hospital. It always amazed me how strong my mother's sense of denial was. She was a nurse and never "saw" all the classic signs I exhibited of a teenager in crisis. All my stunts went unnoticed until I eventually overdosed on barbiturates at school a couple years later and was rushed to the ER. Since she worked at that hospital, it was out of the question for me to try to cover up that one. Oops! I got too high and forgot how many I had taken! Actually that was the truth. I ate pills like candy. If 3 were good, 6 were spectacular. Who knew how many drugs I had in my system at any given time? Like an alcoholic, one could never be too high unless unconscious or comatose. Oh, what a wonderful genepool from which I come!

My ears rang for the better part of a week and I felt like I had a severe case of the flu. I hurt all over and I couldn't keep anything in my stomach for several days. A friend who was with me during my dark period and who accompanied me to camp that summer, fretted over me and when I look back, I wonder how close she came to ratting me out. That must have been hard for her to watch me be in so much pain and self-destruct. (I'm sorry, Margie!) Now, I look back and wonder where my mother was during all this and why she had left my friend and I unattended that evening. The unattended theme carried through the next summer as well when I did have a boyfriend and that boyfriend was allowed to come stay at camp with me. Oh what a summer that was! Skinny-dipping, frolicking in the summer sun and lazy nights and early mornings spent listening to the loons while wrapped in each other's arms. For awhile, I got the attention I needed and wanted and then poof! It was gone and so was I. And to this day just the smell of whiskey makes me nauseous.

10 comments:

  1. A lot of pain there my dear. I hope you have someone now who listens to you and cares.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Delores, that was long ago and in what now seems like another person's life. I definitely have many people who love me, who listen to me and who care.

      Delete
  2. Is that the self same Margie who has kept and cherished your drawing? If so, she is the epitome of friendship.
    I am so glad you have found a way out of the pits of despair. Against all the odds.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, it's the same Margie and I've felt like a salmon swimming upstream much of my life, but here I am!

      Delete
  3. The good news for me is that it sounds like that was yesterday and it is behind you. And today you have reached a new and better space. Demons of our past can sometimes rear their heads, knowing so . . . hopefully it gives strength to face and endure. I grab onto these two thoughts when times seem insurmountable.
    I will be okay . . .
    I am a beautiful person . . .
    I hope those two thoughts can be yours also . . .

    ReplyDelete
  4. Whoever said the teen years are the best years of your life was so wrong. It is a devastating time for so many.
    I am glad you found a way out and that you are here today to write this post.
    I do have a question. Was there anything your mom (or anyone) could have done to prevent this from happening?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I've asked myself that same question many times and maybe early on something could have been done but once I shutdown, I was like a freight train running out of control. The problem with the early on thing is that I was a master of disguise and learned how to suffer in silence. I didn't want anyone seeing the ugliness and turmoil within.

      Delete
  5. No need to be sorry...If so it is I that should be. I didn't have a clue about the asperine only the whisky and to self indulged t notice....shame on me....

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. We were just kids! We were supposed to be self absorbed. I feel so fortunate that I made it out in one piece...many others weren't that lucky!

      Delete