Childhood trauma is the gift that keeps on giving

So I’m starting to piece together the transition from Ricky to Rick/Rich which happened in grade 8.

I was meditating and exploring an outline of memories of throwing myself off the monkey bars multiple times at school with the intent of my dad leaving work to take me to the hospital.

Again, no one noticed. But, I digress, anyway, why would I do that. What forces could make me do that and then it hit me. (pun intended)

My entire life has felt like an experiment and I was testing my environment to see if I was safe with my father and as he “saved” me multiple times, Rick was in charge and I asked everyone to start calling me Rick. You see we didn’t need those memories now that we were safe from Ricky’s mother. But as this was a natural thing for a 12-year-old, no one noticed.

It also explains why “I” have normal memories of living with my grandparents in the summers during the same time, but nothing but a handful of sound bites from time living at home.

I will keep exploiting and report back.

Generational Trauma and Canadian Systems

It’s so obvious now that the Canadian Systems lets people down who suffer from generation trauma.

In my case, while I don’t have many memories of my mother but I have a clear image of her standing over my bed as a small child telling me that she remembers waking up to hands all over her. My child’s mind didn’t understand but now I can see she was abused. It’s understandable given her background that when my brother died at 28 hours old she would break and never recover.

Unfortunately for me, while everyone was trying the help her no one noticed that she projected her anger, frustration and dispare at how unfair life was onto her 2-year-old child.

I asked my aunt if she had any memories of me and my mother together she responded “when you were very little she and I were sitting in front of the house and you came home with uncle Tim. Your mom called you over to give her a kiss and as soon as you did, your mother said “now go fuck off” in a deadpan voice” it shook me to be honest.

This was what she was willing to show my aunt. At home it was much worse and if my physical sensations are to be believed she used to lock me in my toy box and say terrible things me at 2-years-old . Which hindered the development of a sense of self as that happens in the first 5 years of life. I tell you this in an effort to be seen but I am also terrified as the last time I tried to show all of me my mother took away my agency. So, “Ricky” is fucking scared and is trying to make me carpet bomb and salt the earth of every relationship I have, so that I don’t look in that box.

I don’t really understand what this means other than I “know” it to be true.

The health system failed me as there is nowhere for someone like me to get help unless I hurt myself or someone else. As someone in the system it seems that is where the Canadian Government has drawn the line for care “are you a danger to yourself or others” they need to add physical to the above statement to make it accurate.

The Canadian Legal system didn’t protect me from itself. As it seems that the legal system assumes, like game theory, that people will act in their self-interest. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case for the last 11 years as I didn’t understand the rules. Each time I was “reasonable” the court took that as my starting position rather than my compromise. After 12 years of me not being able to defend myself because of my condition, escalated into the court system trying to impute an income of 200k a year on me and if I didn’t pay, I would be in and out of jail every 18 months or so for 90 days for the rest of my life.

So I struggle to go forward, unable to stay here, and back is a path to an early grave.

To run or not to run, that is the question

Today I was exploring the edges of my memories and one thing kept coming up. How am I going to sit with Patrica’s family knowing that they ignored my pleas for help as they were teaching me how to stand on my own two feet?

Then I examined what was actually happening with radical acceptance of reality.

They don’t seem to see me, why?

I try to keep telling them I’m hurting. By telling them that I can’t speak but nothing changes

The answer was very simple because I haven’t been telling them what’s happening

So I told Patricia the absolute truth, today I have been exploring talking to Ros (my sister-in-law) about how (from my perspective) she has tortured me and I was just trying to survive. I even imagine her being cold (like the family has done to whip me into shape) if I reach out for love I’m refused it. Now before you clutch your pearls, that’s how Patricia and Ros got past their child hood trauma. By being fucking badass and unrelentingly diligent in setting their boundaries as strong black women have always done during terrible times. So of course I needed the same thing that’s all they knew.

I can see that Ros loves me but each time I have this thought experiment it always ends the same

With me dying on the floor after cutting my throat in a grand gesture to show once and for all how sad I am.

I have no idea how to get past this but running from it seems like the only viable option.

But, you don’t seem, mentally ill?

But, you don’t seem mentally ill? This is an actual phrase that was said to me in lodge by a VW. Sir. who then commenced to say “hey so-in-so I’ve had dyslexia for my entire life, maybe I can get some free money” it was at this point I unceremoniously left the banquet.

These types of statements are why people kill themselves in hotel rooms. Mentally ill people are not supposed to exist outside of institutions as it offends society’s delicate sensibilities. I’ve had the same problem with my spouse actually and it’s because she cares for me that I’ve had this problem. She just wouldn’t let herself see me, it was too painful for her. So she did the only thing she could, try to fix me which triggered a forgotten problem I had. No one ever believed that my mother tortured me. So I did the only thing I could, try to manipulate her into caring for me. As a strong independent black woman, she sensed immediately and this made her steadfastly resolute.

How we both got out of this cycle I have no idea but I imagine it was Patricia.

Thanks beautiful