Friends of the Family

I resent typing this because I don't know if this is someone else's problem or mine.  But seeing as this has been on my mind, might as well tell you.

Where do I begin?  The pain was just horrible growing up, but to me it just seemed so normal.  I remember coming home to spotless floors, and homemade bread.  Winters were so cold back then but we got to sit on the couch all warm and cozy with slices of homemade bread after school.  I would even watch mother start cooking pork chops in the electric frying pan.  I don't like an electric frying pan and don't have one, the things conjure up bad memories for me, that I don't even remember.  Just looking at one makes me want to puke.  But I loved watching her cook in it.

There was lots of happy times, from what I can remember.  I was physically active but I had to stay close to mother at all times.  I would come up with games to play outside on my own, I guess that was ok.  The law of attachment varies.

After dinner I would go outside to play.  There were things we played at school recess that I engineered to play alone.

We were indeed a weird family when we grew up.  Ok, not a lot of people wanted to be around us, it seems like there were at times different people, but I knew a family that we were a lot around.  They were nice people.  It was fun to go there, as there house was always a mess and no need to worry at all.  They were just so laid back.  The mother was smart and educated and clearly this was amazing for me.  There was something like eight kids, but a few were grown up and on their own.

They owned a farm.  The farm was unkempt.  There were a few cows, and chickens, but it wasn't functioning.  From what I understand, farms have to make some money to pay the taxes that are much higher than living in town.  They eventually lost their farm and moved to the city, but that's for later.  For now, they had the farm and it was fun to go there.  They were much more laid back, and their food was plentiful, which they would share all around.  But they were dirty, and had bedbugs, and, well, they just lived with the bedbugs.  I don't know how mother kept the bedbugs out of our house, if we did get bedbugs, I'm sure she would have been horrified.  We were always back and forth at eachother's homes.

But it was fun.  We would all go camping together, and the youngest daughter was my close friend.  I still remember, and I'm sure she does too, that one time we were on top of a horse and then the horse took right off, knocking us off, we both laughed.  The memories were so good.

The mother of that family was the woman who got me to the hospital the day I cut my foot with the axe, and thank God she was there I'm telling you.  Mother turned to her emotional 3 year old, the mask was off.  She didn't want to handle this, it was clear.  But the other mom was there and even held my hand while my foot was being stitched up at the hospital.

We would go swimming, ride horses, go camping.  The girl I was friends with didn't go to the same grade school as me.  I was in Catholic, she was in Public, but we were from a small town and the gossip from the other kids came to me.  That she was dirty, and her pants would come down to show her butt crack.  But who cares right?  I enjoyed this time and this family, in a way, was what saved me from a horrific childhood.  When they came for a visit, I never wanted them to leave, I felt so safe with them around.  Except for the father, but I'll get to that.

But, it was hard to maintain this girl's friendship.  She lied all the time, there was no truth in her.  It was more of a lie just to talk, she wasn't hurting anyone, just a huge liar.  It was ok, but who could be friends with her?  I was always annoyed by her lies, but somehow I don't think I was gaslighted, I knew she was lying.

After she grew up she had a disabled son, and a lot of her seemed to grow up from the lies, I suppose it did.  We would talk all the time on the phone as truth seemed to have stabilized.  So I started to trust her.

About 10 years ago she called me and told me that 3 of her brothers were having sex with her from the time she was two, till she was old enough to leave the house.  She told me that her mother was having sex with all the brothers.  She even told me that she was forced to have sex with her brother when she was sleeping right next to me on the bed, during a sleepover.

I don't know what happened after that.  My marriage split up, I was on the run again, so we lost contact.  But I never forgot what she told me.

Its weird because as I was thinking about her for a few days, she called me yesterday.  We had a long talk, and it was apparent she obtained a level of healing, although she told me she was totally healed. She spent years seeking out counselling and found the answers through many sources.  She said she went to counselling, some religious stuff, some native shaman stuff, some secret of the universe stuff. She overwhelmed me with so much stuff that I had to tell her so.  I told her please I can only take this one step at a time.

She informed me of me getting drunk a few times when I was a child.  I remember getting drunk when I was three, she remembered me getting drunk when I was seven.  She said my whole family was alcoholics and drank beer like water.  Oh, it was a lovely talk, some memories were actually quite pleasant.

Some were bad.  When she was little her mother threw out her medicine bottles when she got sick. She said that her mother was the only one allowed to be sick in the house.  That my mother actually gave her mother shit for doing that.  As her mother gave my mother shit for other things.  They were the family that got me to the hospital when I cut my foot with the axe.  Now ain't that screwy?

But she felt my family was quite normal and was shocked by what I had to say.  I do believe the stuff she talked about in her childhood.  After she mentioned them, I can actually "see" it now.

She told me that her mother didn't treat her like she did the brothers.  That she was watched more carefully because girls can get pregnant and boys can't.  I had to laugh at this, but I don't think its bad for families to watch more carefully and protect the daughters.  I don't want to get into another anti-feminist rant over this, so I won't.

She said things were horrible when she was growing up.  Except when we were around or when her father was home from work.  She said her father was the best and her mother treated her father horribly, and he tried to straighten out the family.

I didn't tell her that her father used to try to grab my butt, I spent my childhood running from his grasping.  And one time when I was twelve and we were out camping together, her father came behind me and bumped me with his midsection.  Now I know thinking back he had an erection.  A very big one in fact.  I felt it, ugh. I was setting the table and he was behind me for a long time, growing this thing and then he humped me.  I can't tell her that.

I felt I had to warn her of the memories and thinking they are good memories.  I know, we all want our good memories but if you have been raised in a sociopathic household, how much of it can be true?  We lived in a world of gaslighting, so maybe most of it was just that.  Or perhaps, our child minds were blackmailed into being happy, when we weren't.  Oh my, I'm afraid this is too deep, even for me.

She said some memories were real and we were happy.  Maybe.  But what memories are we to trust and believe.  I wanted her to understand that maybe some fear, obligation and guilt could play a role in us wanting to believe some good memories.  Do you trust your memories to be true?  And if they are not true, maybe they aren't safe to trust them.  And since no family is perfect can anyone actually believe and trust their memories?

When I was in my last marriage, he was the all around "good guy" and I remember some good times with him.  And sometimes I believe he is more "pleasant" to be around the husband I have now. I can talk to him, and he listens, but the participation is minimal.  At least, I think so.  Really so different from my last husband was a conversationalist. And very interesting.  But I was always being interrupted and he was the only one who had anything worthwhile to say.  But it was ok though, he was interesting and so much fun.

If I was to look at it, it would probably look like the last husband was better.  But my gosh, he was a complete sociopath.  And the child mind does that, it needs to protect itself.  The happy guy was just a ruse for what evil lay underneath.  I've seen the mask come off sometimes, and what happened was outside normal humanity.

As I longed for the truth I asked her how did she get my phone number and to that she would not answer me.  There it is.  That tiny bit of danger.  It is rational, I think, to tell someone how you got their phone number.  It was years since we have spoken and I ran here and the phone number is not listed in my name.

She could have gotten it from my sister.  And sister is in contact with mother.  This old friend might still be in contact with my sister.  Absolute no contact for me means exactly that.

She didn't go to her mother's funeral and she says she has been out of contact with her family for 28 years. Unfortunately, the last time we talked she was still camping out with her family 10 years ago. I'm afraid I smell a rat.