family

All posts tagged family

Published April 23, 2018 by Chloe Madison

Couldn’t sleep last night. Went to church, but I couldn’t tell you right now what the sermon was about. My mind is whirling with the precarious situation at work. Please, please pray for that situation to work out as well as possible.

I was shocked today- had a little tiny bit of a start on my monthly visitor. Haven’t had it since I was in the hospital- that’s six months now! I’m still super confused as to why it stopped and now, why it’s starting again. I always thought it was a side effect of the medicine, but with the recent increase in dosage, it would make more sense if it continued in ceasing, no? Part of me thinks it’s just a side effect, part of me worries about what the doc thought (that I was premenopausal), part of me thinks it stopped from the massive and overwhelming stress of being hospitalized, part of me worries there’s something else wrong. That’s why the med doc tried to get me to see the vajayjay doctor. I just can’t though. I can’t handle any other stressor at this point. As much as I don’t want to deal with it, it gave me a little glimmer of hope of possibly having children in the future. I don’t see how that’s even remotely possible…but I can always dream. Right? Worse case scenario- I get disappointed. Been there, done that.

I’m watching this TV show called “Long Lost Family” that reunites people with their birth parents who had given them up for adoption. It reminds me of the time I set out to find out who my real grandfather was. I’d always been told my dad was adopted. My grandmother who betrayed me and my uncle was their real mother, but my dad’s father wasn’t in the picture. I found the family, but I was too late- my real grandfather had already passed away. And then I think of my own children who I aborted.

My God, I had such a hard time even typing that word. I will never forgive myself for never giving them a chance. The first time it wasn’t my choice- I wanted to keep my baby. My mom refused to let me. It was devastating. But I was a teenager and didn’t know how to fight back with my own mother. For that matter, I still don’t know how to stand up for myself and fight for what’s right. The second time, I was raped. And alone. And he was of a different race. And I thought my baby would look like him and I’d be looking into my rapist’s face every time I looked at my child. And I had this irrational fear he’d want visitation rights so I thought I’d have to see him all the time. And I questioned myself- what do I tell my child about their father? Do I lie and make something up? Do I tell the truth and tell them their father is a rapist?

And look at me. My father was a sexual predator and look how fucked up I am. I would never want to do that to a child. Never. Never. Never. It’s not fair. What if they’re like my uncle and myself and they never recover from it? What if they can’t handle it?

I’m watching these people on this show reuniting with their grown children and I realize I should have given my children that opportunity. But I didn’t. I’ve done a lot of fucked up things in this lifetime, but that stands as the worst. I can never forgive myself for that. And I understand God doesn’t want to either.

I’m certain that’s why he won’t give me children now. He already gave me my chance with children. I did the worst possible thing you can do- and God doesn’t trust me now. I wouldn’t trust me either.

I see these people in the show cry and meet up and get through things. They’re forgiving and generous and kind. And I wonder what’s wrong with me- why can’t I be as healthy? It makes me see that there’s something wrong with me- that I can’t accept my dad was a sexual predator, that I can’t move on from that, that I’m alone and will probably be forever because I just cannot trust a man and know there are so few men who are actually safe, that I’m not meant to have children or a family…and tears fill my eyes and stream down my face as I write this.

This is my life.

And it’s not worth living. I’ve fucked up beyond repair, beyond the reach of God’s forgiveness and grace- not that he can’t, but he won’t. He’s mad and has every right to be.

I’ve messed up in life, I’ve messed up in work- and that was the only thing I had where I felt needed and used by God. The only thing. It gave me a tiny sense of purpose. And I’ve messed it all up.

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Published February 25, 2018 by Chloe Madison

Is there such a thing as spiritual exhaustion? I don’t know how to explain what I’m feeling.

I spent Fri night and all day Sat in a sleeping pill-induced stupor. At least it was slow moving and restful. Today I went to church and for the first time in over a year, I was actually normal. It was so odd! I was ok…I wasn’t scared and intimidated, nor doubting everyone and everything that was said. I was even able to sing from my heart. It felt great. I knew I was a mess, but for a short period of time, I also knew God was good. Until my worship pastor said something about God being a good father…I flinched and immediately felt guilty about my doubt….but what can I do? I sang that song though. And I meant it. I was able to pay attention to my pastor as he preached. Dang, is he talented at what he does. The sermon was very applicable. It was about how we can be so independent that we don’t need help- God’s help. How sometimes our independence gets in the way of us admitting our brokenness and our need for God. He mentioned how we were “designed” to need God. That can explain a lot in our lives. And I was fine for most of the sermon. Then, suddenly and out of nowhere, I started crying again. I can’t even say why. I was just suddenly overwhelmed with an overbearing sadness. It lasted maybe 10-15 minutes and then it left. And I felt normal again and was even able to pay attention again. I don’t know what that was. But today in church was one of the better Sundays I’ve experienced.

I have so much weighing on me. I have no clue where I’ll be living in 4 months. I have stupid hospital bills still to pay. Oh…that reminds me of a very…I don’t know how to explain it…sharp, stabbing (?) truth that my pastor spoke about today. Shame. I hate that word, but it’s been my life for over a year now. I felt it’s weight and all that comes with it from who my father is and the terrible things my family did to cover it up. For months, I tried with my therapist to convince myself that the shame I felt belonged to my father, not me. That it belonged to my family who wronged me, not me. And then came the hospitalization. And I had no idea how devastating and shattering that shame could be. I never thought of it before because I never imagined it would happen. But now I have my own shame to carry in that. It’s mine, not my dad’s nor my family’s. I was the one hospitalized, not them. I’m the one who carries the stigma, no one else. My pastor said that shame is the most devastating of human emotions. I would agree. It makes me feel like I can’t recover. It makes me feel like I’m not good enough and never will be. It makes me understand why people don’t love me and care for me. It makes me understand why my own parents and grandparents didn’t.

I’ve been struggling to breathe under this new shame. Only one person told me that being hospitalized doesn’t define me. I find that so, so hard to believe. I’m trying to cling to that, thinking that I can move on. But, I think I’m only fooling myself. It’s not like I can forget being hospitalized and what it’s done to me. It has literally damaged my psyche. And I’m afraid that’s permanent.

I was afraid the damage done from my perpetrators was permanent. I know God is able to heal. I just don’t understand why he doesn’t. Why does he let people die? Why does he let people suffer? Why doesn’t he heal everyone and show us his love and compassion in that way? Why is it rare that God will do this? I don’t know. And that’s part of why I think praying is useless. God will do what he wants to do. It’s not like you’re going to change his mind! But even with that, and I feel terribly guilty about doubting God’s goodness, I’ve been praying a little lately. I’ve asked God to help me find a safe place to live. I’ve been asking him to take care of my 911 friend and his family. I’ve been asking God to heal my Madagascar friend’s marriage. (They’re good, they just need a little repairing and they’re working on it.) That brings me to another topic. My isolation and lack of connection to people. My Madagascar friend has been writing a little bit every few days to me. He’s shared that he’s in counseling with his wife and he’s shared some of his own weaknesses and struggles. I am so grateful for that. Him being open with me makes me feel connected. It’s given me something (besides myself) to bring before God. I’m so grateful that our friendship is slowly blooming again. I don’t think I’ve seen this guy in 16 years… we went to Madagascar in 2000, I think and we saw each other maybe a year or so after that. I’m grateful that he hasn’t thrown me away as a friend because I was hospitalized. I’m grateful that he still trusts me. He trusts me enough to share his struggles with and not only is that opening a two way street, but like I said, it makes me feel connected to another human being. I can’t believe how much I lack that. It’s unreal.

Published February 7, 2018 by Chloe Madison

I had an extremely disturbing dream last night. It wasn’t a nightmare, but it was pretty bad and I have such an uneasy feeling from it.

I dreamed my mom murdered someone and we had to kill 2 dogs to cover it up. (What the ?) I didn’t stand up against her and wish I did. It took place in Portland and we were sleeping outdoors. I remember laying/ sleeping on the forest floor with my dog, waiting for my mom to come back. She’d left me with the body and the two dead dogs. 😥 I don’t know who it was that was dead and I don’t recall where my mom went.

I was blogging about it and was hiding the fact I was blogging about it from my mom. I hid up in the trees to blog without anyone seeing me. I was also trying to figure out how I could blog about it without getting into trouble.

Then we somehow caused a bad accident with semi trailers crashing on the highway and my mom left the scene of the accident. That was in or near Portland too.

Next thing you know, I was suddenly test driving Jeeps with people who were supposed to be my family, but weren’t (in real life). It was odd. And for some reason, that whole test driving Jeeps with family members who weren’t my family was very awkward and uncomfortable for me.

Then I saw my aunt who passed away. She was sitting in a chair and I went up to her and I laid on her, hugged her, held her, and wouldn’t let go. She said something about how I never hugged her like that before and I told her it was because I was always scared. And it’s true. Even with my own aunts and uncles, I was always super intimidated and scared during family gatherings. She said something after that, but I can’t remember what it was. I was comfortable and safe, laying on her and hugging her and holding her.

I usually try to figure out what my brain was processing while dreaming. This hurts though. My mom murdering someone? That could be the forced abortion, her covering up my abuse…and I’ve never, ever vocalized this before…I always thought I was way out of line when I thought this…but I always wondered if my mom killed my dad. I thought it would have been a mercy killing. He was in a ton of pain from cancer and he died several days after my mom forced both my brother and I to leave town. I went on a youth group trip and I think my brother went to a Boy Scout camp. I threw a fit because I didn’t want to go and I really didn’t want to risk my dad dying and me not being there. Over and over and over, I insisted I didn’t want to go- but my mom made me. So I always wondered if she did something to expedite his death while we were gone. It was odd because he’d been in their room the whole time he was sick and when I returned after he died, my mom said he was on the living room table and I wondered…how the hell did he get on the living room table?? He could barely get himself into the bathroom to throw up. I was so numb from his death that I never bothered to question things further. It was just odd.

But I think the fact that I didn’t stand up to my mom and I regretted it in my dream aligns more with the forced abortion.

Killing 2 dogs? I have no idea what that’s all about. The only thing I can think is my heavy and overwhelming guilt…and how in my dream, the killing of animals that I absolutely love- would tear me apart with guilt. (?)

Sleeping on the forest floor? No clue what that means.

Hiding while blogging? That’s easy. I’m always secretly blogging. The fear I had in my dream of getting caught equates to the fear I feel every time I need to write about suicide or any negative thoughts or any thoughts of death. I’m so, so terrified it will be held against me again… I know my friend who called 911 no longer reads this, but….damn…that fear persists. It just won’t fade.

Portland? No clue what that’s supposed to mean. I had a friend (911 friend) just visit there. I have another friend moving from Seattle to Portland and I was supposed to visit her last summer and never did. So I’d already thought about visiting her this summer…and she’d probably be in Portland by then. I just watched The Goonies for the millionth time and always think of Astoria, Oregon when I watch it. Other than that, I have no clue where Portland came from.

Test driving Jeeps? No clue.

Seeing my deceased aunt….I don’t know. I was never really attached to her and don’t know why I’d be so affectionate in a dream. It would make more sense with my most favorite uncle (who also passed away) or with my most favorite cousin (who was murdered). I don’t know why I loved on this particular aunt so much. I don’t know why I suddenly felt so comfortable with her either. My family has never been affectionate. Hugging, even a pat on the back…that’s pretty foreign to me. I learned to hug people in middle school when I joined the youth group. Before that…I don’t recall experiencing any kind of affection.

Guilt and shame. This dream had a lot of that. Those two feelings have been permeating my being.

I like that my dream ended with me hugging on a family member. But my mom murdering someone and then me being involved in covering it up, the fear I had while blogging about it- all of that leaves me feeling horribly uneasy.

All of this from just one dream.

Church this past Sunday went well for the first time in months! Like 6 or 7 months! Before I was in the hospital, I started taking a young girl (she’s 17 years old) to church with me. I remember having to cancel on her when I got locked up. I was such a mess after all that, that I never took her to church again. I purposely stayed away from her and her family- I didn’t want them finding out I was in the hospital. She finally called me out on it and point blank asked me to take her to church again. So I had to do a lot of faking while I was there…singing when I really didn’t want to, saying hi to people when I really wanted to hide…but it went well. I can’t remember what the pastor talked about. But I wasn’t upset leaving there, like I have been. So that’s good. I was drained though. It felt like I was physically dying by Sunday afternoon. I had to suddenly leave and go home and rest. I was completely drained and then couldn’t sleep that night. But still…church went well.

I have more to write about, but no energy to do so. There’s so much uncertainty with what I’m stressing about anyway. I’ll leave it for later.

Published January 30, 2018 by Chloe Madison

I cannot stand this feeling.

I can’t even articulate it. I feel so, so alone. I can’t get over how incredibly alone I am in this world. I think it would be easier if I was the only human on earth, instead of being surrounded by people.

My roommate went to our apartment when I was at work today and took a bunch of her stuff. I only saw her once since I was in the hospital. That time, she came by the apartment and tried to run out without speaking to me. I said hi to her and she said hi back…but she refused to even look me in the face. She literally darted out the door. I don’t know why I’m so bothered that she took some of her things today. It just feels more empty.

It’s a more physical reality of the fact that people are distancing themselves from me. She acts like I have the plague. Everyone who knows I was in the hospital acts like that. People have stayed away from me, have stopped talking to me….and people who I used to think cared, have made it clear they don’t even trust me anymore. I’m broken over that. So, so disturbed and hurt and broken over that. Just as I start to open up and share and trust another human being, they bolt and act like I’m diseased…like they’re not allowed to be in the same room with me. It makes me feel like shit.

I wish to God I could just disappear. Forever. For fucking ever.

I hate this. I hate myself. I hate that I can’t connect with people and when I do, it somehow backfires and they bail. I hate that I don’t trust people…and I hate that they don’t trust me. Don’t people know I wouldn’t hurt a soul? To feel unwanted and not trusted…ugh…it’s a horrible, horrible feeling.

I have no idea where I’ll be living come this summer. I’ll need to move again. I don’t know where to go. I’m thinking of putting my stuff in storage and going without a place for the summer- just to save money. I’m not praying much, but the very few things I’m asking God for includes a place to call home. Somewhere I can belong.

But I just don’t. I simply don’t belong anywhere or with anyone. I wish I had a family. A nice, loving family that talked and hugged each other all the time. Tears are streaming down my face and clouding my vision as I write this. I want to belong. I want a family. This, though….this will never happen.

Resiliency.

That’s something I don’t have. You would think I do…after all that I’ve been through, I’m still walking upright. I was physically, psychologically, and very much emotionally abused by my mom. My father molested me when I was 11 or 12. My mom and grandma conspired to cover it up. When I was 9, I was raped so many times by a neighbor, that I don’t even know how many times…that included sodomy. That shame has never left me. My father died from cancer only about a year later…after I wished him dead. For half of my life, I thought it was my fault he died. I got pregnant at 18 and planned to marry my boyfriend. My mom wouldn’t allow it. She forced an abortion on us. I was raped again when I was 22. I got pregnant and out of fear of every possible scenario, I had another abortion, believing it was the best course of action. I still solemnly remember those would-be birthdays. I believe that’s why God won’t give me any more children. My house has been broken into, my car has been stolen. My uncle committed suicide over the fact that my dad sexually abused him and no one believed him. My father is a sexual predator/ molester/ whatever you want to call it. I’ve been mugged, pretty much every single crime you can think of has been perpetrated against me. Yet, I still stand. Wobbly and shaking and reaching out for something to hold on to for support…but I’m still upright.

But I’m no longer resilient. This has changed me. I’ve given up.

I used to be much happier. I saw a video of myself today from a while back and I couldn’t believe how funny, energetic, and happy I was. I didn’t even know the girl in the video. It was surreal to watch someone who looks so much like me be so completely different from who I am now. Is that what depression does to you? Is that what anxiety and PTSD does? Is that what happens when you’ve lost hope and people have dipped out of your life because they simply don’t care? Do you turn into this wasteland of a body with nothing but numbingly sharp emotions and tears and fears? Do you just have so much rage inside that you have to act- even if that means hurting yourself?

Published January 28, 2018 by Chloe Madison

If you are a follower of Christ, please do not read this.

I am completely overwhelmed by feelings of anger, hate, of not belonging, and of feeling detached from absolutely everyone. In church today, I was so agitated and angered by everything. I was even annoyed by the singing and felt like I wasn’t welcome the second I entered. That unwelcome feeling never waned. I don’t know why I have so much anger there. I think it’s just my anger at God. I’m not sure.

Today my pastor was talking about Revelation 2:12-17. Gah. Now I can’t remember what he said. But whatever he said, he talked about Satan.

It triggered the memory of the time a few months back when I told Satan to kill me. I wanted to die so badly. I had already begged God to take my life over and over and he wouldn’t do it. I knew Satan would. I also knew Satan would screw me over. I figured he would make me get into a horrible car accident, where I’d be horribly maimed or a vegetable- but wouldn’t die. I’d just suffer indefinitely. I knew it was a mistake, but I didn’t have the courage to take enough action myself to ensure my own death.

Sundays are terribly difficult. It’s all I can do to go to church and I instantly feel like I don’t belong there. Half of what’s said are lies. I have so much rage that builds within the service. I swing back and forth between tears and rage.

Last Sunday, I didn’t go to church. I walked for miles and miles, hours and hours, during a snowstorm. At one point, I felt so weak and dizzy (I hadn’t eaten anything), I thought of just laying down right there in the puffy snow. If it wasn’t so frigid, I would have just rested right there. Like, if it was a warm desert….that’s where I would lay to rest. I don’t know why I walked through that snowstorm. Half of it was for an adventure- to do something that was a bit of a thrill and made me feel alive. Half of it was…I don’t know. I was hoping I wouldn’t make it back. It was like a representation of where I am in life: struggling against forces greater than myself, wandering in the blustery void of coldness with absolutely no direction and no strength.

My friend, J and I, were talking about belonging. She said how in psychological circles, it’s one of the most basic human needs. Most people have that need met with their family unit. Others, like me, might have to rely on a church or some other group to get that need met. I guess not belonging and loneliness go hand in hand. Or is it that you can be lonely and still belong… but feeling like you don’t belong anywhere is a further, deeper level of loneliness?

I don’t know. All I know is I don’t belong at church. I don’t have a family. My father sexually abused me, my mother and grandmother lied to cover it up. What in the actual fuck? I don’t have a spouse or children. I guess I never will. Y’know, as a child, I had always wished I was adopted. I guess I knew my family didn’t measure up and I wanted another one. That’s funny and sad at the same time. What’s worse is I’m still there. I still wish I had a different family. I still wish I could be adopted into a loving, caring, gentle family. I wish I could have created one like all my other friends have. I do know I have lots of fears with that. I fear no man will actually love me. I fear if a man will love me, he’ll soon decide I’m not good enough and leave. It’s happened before. I fear I’d be a terrible mom. My mom was so violent- screaming, hitting, throwing things at me, constantly degrading me…I would NEVER want to do that to my children. But I fear being like her. I always thought God didn’t trust me with children and that’s why he never gave me any. And then I think of how I had 2 abortions and I realize that God did give me children and he’s not going to give me another chance.

I love God. But I’m mad at him. It’s not that I don’t believe he exists. I do. I know for a fact and would stake my life on it in a heartbeat. I think I believe that God is mad at me. He won’t love me until I’m not mad at him anymore. I hate this distance and detachment I feel from everyone and from God. Clearly it’s me, not them. I’m not blaming anyone. I take all the blame. We all know I’m a shitty person. I fucking know it. God knows it. Satan knows it. I’m so sick of this fucking shitty ass life. I want out. I don’t care if you judge me and think I’m a shitty Christian and a shitty person. I could have told you that.

Published December 29, 2017 by Chloe Madison

My mom told me I was garbage. 😣 The only plus side is she kept saying it in past tense- as if I wasn’t currently garbage. I responded, “MOM!!!!?” And she said, “Well, you WERE GARBAGE!” I’m so sick of her degrading me. She said this in front of my brother and his wife and his little children. 😓

She criticizes everyone- even strangers. Loudly. It’s embarrassing, but I follow behind her and apologize to people. It’s becoming ridiculous. She is so unwaveringly negative….it’s astounding. I don’t think I should deal with this anymore, but she’s my mom. My inclination is to keep my distance- for my own sanity- not to be rude or anything. But I swear, I really think she’s getting worse every time I see her.

She knows I’m struggling so hard with self-worth…and yet she couldn’t stop herself from saying something negative to me. 😞 I’m so over this.

It makes me want to disappear. It’s like…I feel so out of place or unwanted or alone or like I don’t fit in where I live. But when I go to my mom’s, it’s worse. I feel like there’s no place I have a respite where I can just be myself. I need that. I remember craving that so badly this past summer and literally wandering all over this God forsaken country, with no place to go….

I tried to focus on the positive. I posted only positive pics on Facebook. They were of my brother’s beautiful children. I love babies. 🤗 They’re so sweet and they won’t ever criticize you. Even though it gives the illusion that everything is wonderful, I’d rather post nice things on FB so I don’t spread negativity.

I’ve had several nightmares the last few nights. I remembered them when I woke up- but now I can’t recall them. One was bad. I couldn’t go back to sleep for hours after that one. But I’m sleeping more now- so I can’t complain.

My brother never asked why I was in the hospital. Neither did his wife. So I didn’t say a word about it. I wanted to tell him…I’m torn between not saying anything and wanting to say something, just so I can have his support. But it’s not fair to sacrifice his happiness so I can have his support in this. So I guess what God wanted to happen happened. I let it play out naturally.

I’ve been thinking about it so, so much lately. I don’t know why I can’t get it out of my head. I’m starting to just let my thoughts go with it. It makes me so mad that it’s not ok to think about this stuff or to do it. I think it should be legal and that people should just let others do as they please, as long as they’re not hurting anyone else. I think it’s completely f***ed up that I can’t do what I want with my own body. I saw that in the Netherlands, they’re trying to make it legal. I might need to go there just so I can be left alone and not be so paranoid to talk about it. I really wish I had someone to talk to about it that I could trust. That doesn’t exist though.