From Rocks to Stepping Stones
From rocks to stepping stones
Jun 13, 2015
When I was 3 years old my mother died. Doctors had told my mother she would die if she gave me life, yet she chose to allow me to live. Thus, my father believed I had murdered my mother, so I was treated poorly. He brought a woman home who ended up dying in prison for all she did to my sister and me. Over the years I have been in regular hospitals; mental hospitals; been drugged; lied to; tortured; and tied down. I had electro-shock-therapy treatments in the days before they had enough compassion to at least sedate you first. Back in the days of my youth they did not know how to treat a feral child who was born in America. They experimented on me and those who were like me. I know what life can be for many who are misunderstood.
I must share, for many years, I did not want to live. However, God did not want me to go home before I was able to find happiness, so He refused to allow me to die. Now, I can honestly say, I am grateful for my life. I have learned many things that work and many things that do not work. It is my wish to share some of the good things with you that have helped me when I get depressed.
First off, I want you to know that you need to talk about how you are feeling. If you are being abused by someone (and that includes yourself) you need to share why you have those black and blue marks or cuts. When someone hurts you in any way, you need to share that with someone you trust.
In my very early years, I spent a number of months living outside, in my father’s back yard. Most people did not even know I was there. If my sister had not been clubbed in our front yard, and a neighbor saw it happen, I would have died in that backyard. The doctors said I had “protein malnutrition” and one judge called me a “feral child” A rare condition for anyone in the United States at that time. Now, it is very common in most of our cities, as there are so many children without homes or who have been abandoned by parents. I know of children who were eating out of trash bins behind restaurants. Many times, over the years, I have received telephone calls during the night to alert me that certain children were sleeping in Goodwill bins. I would go pick them up, bring them to my home; feed and nurture them, only to have to return them to those who did that to them in the first place. It broke my heart to know that the courts could place children back into such situations after the parent took a few weeks of classes. When I was young, I kept running away, only to be returned to abusive care. I did not then, nor now, ever want a child to be forced to return to that type of life.
Yes, I know what mental illness looks like, both as one with a mental illness and a person who helps others that are considered mentally ill. I am here to tell you, there is hope. You can heal. You can move forward, but you have to put forth effort to do this. You can’t wait for others to heal you. No matter what drugs they give you, that will not heal you. Most drugs have side effects that are much worse than the illness. Drugs only block feelings, they never help you to overcome what you went through. In my humble opinion, when you are able to find truth, then you can really begin to heal. Truth can set you free from your past. Truth can assist you in living toward whom you really want to be. Who God meant you to be. And yes, I did say the “G” word. I believe in God. I mean, look all around you. Do you see that Sun up in the sky? How do you think it got there? Why do you think it comes up each and every morning? Do you see that Moon at night? How do you think it got there? Can you find a flower (one that has not been sprayed with some kind of chemical) and really see it? Can you smell it? If you are blind, can you not feel that flower? Who do you think created that flower in the first place? Who do you think really created you? Sure, your mother may have given you the body, and your father may have created that body, but who do you think gives you breath each and every day? End of lecture 1.
While I was living in my father’s backyard, I learned a few things. A person can survive in nature even better than in society. Fresh air is good for a human, and since you are human, I suggest you get outside and breathe every single day. Even when you don’t feel like going outside, at least open a window, if you are able to do that.
I also learned that food is very important. Back, when I was young, I only had the fruit that fell from the trees, or the wild things that the animals gave me. But you have other types of food. And I am not speaking of potato chips, hamburgers and French fries. I am speaking of fruits and vegetables. Clean water, when you can get it. Not anything with “additives”. God gave us food enough to last us a lifetime that is clean and pure and healthy for us. We need to be careful what we put into our bodies. When we put garbage in, we get garbage out. That is a fact.
Since I was 5 years old, I have been seen by “professional” people who tried to help. Some were able to put the body back together. Some gave me good advice. One of them told me to write things down, some said to us art or music to speak. Over the years, I have done both. I recommend those things to you. For example: One time, they had me in a straightjacket in a padded cell. I had tried to kill myself when my children were kidnapped and that was the only way they could keep me alive. While I was in there, I began to hum. The birds, when I was little, used to make music for me, and I could talk to them by making music for them. Mentally, while in that padded cell, I went back to the out-of-doors and began to make music to calm myself. I closed my eyes and remembered sunshine and flowers. I remembered my animal friends who have fed and nurtured me. I felt comforted, and once I was calm, they let me out of that room.
I spent a lot of time locked up until I finally learned how to communicate. It had taken me until I was about 12 years old to learn how to speak words. Up until then, I was afraid of people. I do hope and pray you were not treated as I was when you were young. But for those of us who were not allowed to speak, when under a lot of stress, we still struggle to find words that were not there growing up.
I used art to help me talk many times over the years. I drew pictures of many things. I drew a picture of my sister, whom I thought was dead. I wish I could share that picture with you. I still have a copy of it, and was told that it helped me to heal during a very rough time. I drew rain and animals. And while in the orphanage, I used music to create rain and the animals. I loved to draw even as an adult. One of my therapists spoke to me about my art, and he told me that it helped him to understand who I am. I liked and trusted him. He never tried to drug me, nor force me to do anything against my will. Now to my mind, that is a good therapist.
As I grew older, I began to keep what I call: my positivity journal. I recommend it highly and know it has helped many people. Each day, you open it and write down at least 3 things you are grateful for. When I first started mine, the only thing I could think of was toilet paper. Now you may laugh, however, when I was young, I did not even know what that was. I know I was over 5 but under 10 when I got to see and learn what toilet paper was for. A nurse showed me, and she even taught me how to use a toilet. Prior to that time, the only time I had used a toilet was when my head was being held into it by my step-mother. When I saw that the water went down and take all my “stuff” with it, I smiled. She smiled too and I knew it was okay. Now, I’m sure you can think of something in your life that you are grateful for, right?
At one point in my life, I lost my vision. I had a hole in my right eye, and all the fluid drained out. Then I got a very bad infection and lost sight in both eyes. So now, one of my grateful things is that I can see again. I’m sure you will think of many things you are grateful for. May I share a game with you that I learned from one of my therapists? I call it the 5-4-3-2-1 game.
When you are anxious, or feeling sort of out of it: Look around you and find 5 colors. Name them. Next, reach out and touch 4 things. Name them as you touch them. Was it cold, warm, rough, smooth? Next, open your ears and listen for 3 sounds. It might be a fan, or a bird, or music, whatever it is, try to find at least 3 sounds. Next, think of 2 things that you enjoy eating or drinking. Think about what they taste like. Next, I want you to smell something. Then name that smell. What I did, was make a little box and put things in it that I like. For example: 5 pieces of cloth which were different colors and textures. 4 little things, like a smooth stone, a paper clip, an eraser, a small marble, as well as a small bag of cinnamon, and hand lotion (I like wild cherry). I also put pictures of the mountains and the ocean and flowers. I called that my “Emergency box” and kept it close bye for those times when I was stressed out.
I suffer from what is called “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder” (PTSD). Due to sexual trauma at a very early age, and having to live in so many different homes over my growing up years, I learned how to survive in many ways. Many doctors called that “Multiple Personality Disorder” (MPD), which they now label as “Dissociative Identity Disorder” (DID). Doctors have no clue how those types of labels stigmatize children. We should never put labels on our children. Never! That does not cure them. That does not help them to heal. One doctor thinks one thing, another thinks another and thus the child is tossed back and forth and that only makes the original trauma worse. Yes, I do tend to speak with a different voice when I am under a lot of stress. The reason being, it is hard for me to find voice. That “child” within me was never allowed to use a voice, thus I never learned how to communicate properly. That does not mean I must be “weird”. Due to the abuse of my early youth, at times I have pain in places that have no current injury. That does not mean I am crazy, nor does it mean I am faking. That means there is a problem that has not been resolved, yet. It is very real, just like a person who feels pain in a limb that has been amputated. For many years, they took people who were “under stress” and chained them to floors and tossed food at them to keep them alive. They felt that was humane. Things did get better in some ways, but even in the 1960’s we were not treated much better.
During the 1970 and 1980’s many of us fought to help change the rules for the mentally ill, so others could have the right to refuse drugs and abuse. We helped so those who suffer now are not raped by those who should have been protecting; to not be drugged into obedience. But rather to obtain real help to heal, and many are still in that same fight.
I’m sorry to say that some people abuse the system, and thus make things worse. Those who are not really ill, they claim to be, just so they can get away with crimes. I believe that we all need to accountable for what we do. They allow prisoners to have food and shelter and clothing, but what are they doing for the mentally ill? Many live on the streets, having to do things that would turn your stomach if you knew.
Yelling at a child does not help them learn love. Beating a child never helped them to learn either. But allowing them to get away with doing things wrong never helped them to learn either. Lifting a child helps them feel loved. Teaching them right from wrong by example is the way they learn best. There is always a reason why children do what they do. Even when they don’t know how to explain it.
I learned about real love at HollyGrove Home for Children in Los Angeles, California back in 1957. I was the first child to be placed there from the court system. I only got to stay for one year, but in that year I saw for the first time what real love felt like. I got my first clean hug from the headmistress, Miss Margaret Ingram. I learned how to laugh right out loud. I learned how play. I learned about music from an old upright piano. I learned I could speak truth to someone and that person believed me. I learned that when I did something naughty, I was held accountable for what I had done. Yet, I was loved in spite of my mistake. I learned I was not a bad person, I had done a naughty thing, and I learned how to correct that mistake. All humans do naughty things from time to time, but that does not make us bad. Those who deliberately harm others are doing something bad. But since we don’t know why they do what they do, we need to stay away from them, or let others know, so they can stop them.
I learned we can do things we might not want to do, and when we are asked by those who really love us (in the correct way), we can learn and grow by doing those things. For example: I learned how to clean the pots and pans in the kitchen and how to keep a place clean enough to be healthy and allow it to be dirty enough to be lived in. I love what “clean love” taught me. That year has stayed with me over 69 years. I still draw on what I learned from those wonderful people.
Anyway, I just want you to know, there is hope. There is a life after abuse. There is a life after depression. There is a way to overcome all things. And that is because there is a God who loves you. There is a God who sent His Son, Jesus Christ to show you that God loves you. Jesus Christ, who is a God, suffered so He could know how you feel, and thus He could come and comfort you when you turn to Him. He not only came for those who do bad things, He came for you and me. For those of us who have been damaged and abused and neglected and misunderstood. He came for those of us who make mistakes and then repent and strive not to make them again. He came before and is coming again to bring us all back to His presence. When we cry, He and all the angels in heaven cry. When we mourn, He mourns. When we suffer, He understands, because He also suffered.
Please, do not give up. There are ways out of what you are feeling. There are ways to find peace and happiness. There are those who really do care and want to help. There really are those who can help, but you have to do your part. You can’t just sit by and feel sorry for yourself, because that never did help you nor anyone else. I know, because I have been where you are. I know because, you can be as happy as you allow yourself to be. You want to know how I know? I lived it. I am still living it. And I shall continue to live it even though I cannot always walk, even though I cannot always use my eyes, even though I cannot always leave my home. I know it even when I am locked up or tied down. I have a form of peace, because: I know that God is watching. He sees everything and His angels keep records over everything that happens to His children, of which you and I are one. I know that when all this life is over (and everyone dies sooner or later), He will make things right. I know that with all my heart and mind and will continue to live, looking forward to that day.
Hugs, from a woman who was once a child. A woman who was once a mother. A woman who was once abused, neglected, tortured, abandoned, sick and felt lost and to whom the good Lord sent help to teach me who I really am. You may ask, “Who do you think you are?” I am a daughter of God, who is telling you that you too are a child of God, and there is hope.
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