Haunted

I sit here at my desk, sobbing into my hands.  They say you aren’t punished FOR your sins, but BY them.  The only ghost that haunts me now is a little 5 year old with a sheet over his head, trying to engage his vacant-eyed mommy.  OOOOOOO, look, Mom!  I’m a ghost!  And she shoves him away, hard.  And he cries.  But I’m the one crying now, uncontrollably with grief, over the pain I caused that can never be taken back.  When I remember moments like these, I try to hug him extra hard, to give him extra compliments, to tell him I’m so sorry for the way things were before.  But it happened, it’s there, and it never goes away.  Will it ever go away for him?  Is it forever imprinted on his subconscious, affecting his ability to love himself or carry on meaningful relationships?  Will he grow to abuse or be abused?  Will he hate himself, the way I told him I hated him, standing over him screaming that I couldn’t wait for him to go live with my brother because I didn’t want him anymore?  What will it take to erase the ache of feeling unwanted?  What can I ever do that could end the pain, not just for him but for me?  When will I ever be able to forgive myself?

 

These are the hidden secrets of my past, my skeletons in the closet.  I know I was a monster.  I knew it then.  It’s easy to say that I was a prisoner of mental illness, but which part of mental illness exactly set this into motion?  I remember being filled with rage, hijacked by desperation and swallowed in the crushing tide of anger.  I felt it rip through my body, sinking its vicious claws into my brain.  Everything was falling apart.  I was losing everything.  I was so surprised to find myself standing there, hitting my child, screaming at him.  I wondered, “How did this happen to me?”  I was confused, because I love my children, always have. So it didn’t make sense that I would do that.  I even wondered that inside, while the horrible things were happening – but I love my children, this can’t be right.  How can this be happening?  I thought only parents who didn’t love their children would hurt them.  How could I have been susceptible to possession by this demon? 



I knew I needed help, but you can’t ask for help.  Not for problems like these.  Who could I confide in, who could help me?  If you tell anyone things like this, they take your children.  I felt like I had a chance to fix it, that I could overcome it.  I would fight with every breath to come out on top, but the struggle in the meantime was hurting us both.  I wished I had somewhere I could turn, but these shameful confessions are not well received by anyone.  I wonder how many people, engaging in these behaviors, wish they could ask for help?  I wonder how many people choose to remain silent, guarding their secrets because the consequences of admitting such things are just too great?  The same fierce love that made me regret it so, that drove me to WANT to ask for help, that love forbade any kind of action which would surely separate me from my child indefinitely or forever. 



I was ashamed, terrified, and helpless.  I would promise myself, once the rage had subsided, that I wouldn’t allow it to happen again.  But considering that it always appeared unbidden from whatever depths of hell it originated from, I was at a loss for what measures I could take to defeat it.  This weighs heavy, so heavy on my heart.  I don’t know what drives me to this confession, what idea of penance and payment make me believe I can bargain for my worth.  Does it matter if everyone knows I was sorry?  Will it change anything if the whole world hears me repent?

 

It’s behind me, but I still live in fear.  What summoned it then?  Could it come back again?  Could I ever be that person, and would I know it if I was?  Could I fight it?  So I break it apart.  I could say it was because I was enduring a personal crisis and the pressure made me crack, the bipolar part exploded into some kind of beastly rage which I had up to that point managed to keep subdued.  I could say that it was because my husband had just left, I was unemployed, and a very busy 5 year old depended on me.  Was it because I was overwhelmed, trying to figure out how to make the house payment and feed the cat and pay the bills, get money to put gas in the car to go to the library to look for jobs, all while putting out fires created by my disruptive son who was tearing through the library like the Tazmanian devil?  Sure, but how did I end up THERE?  Was it because during a manic phase, believing that I was aware and in my right mind, I heeded the siren’s call of hypersexuality and went on a promiscuous rampage which destroyed my marriage?  Maybe, but was the manic episode triggered by the drug abuse, trying to numb the feelings and silence the self-judgement?  Okay, but was the drug abuse in response to the guilt of being a call girl, which is really just a hooker with a photographer wearing expensive dresses and lingerie with champagne in a 4 star hotel suite, but the end result is the same, I had sex for money.  But what drove me to do THAT?  Well, it was the only option available to me when I was facing an eviction notice, water shutoff notice, AND electric shutoff notice in January in Michigan.  And I had a 4 year old depending on me, I had no car, and needed money.  Why did THAT happen?  Because I got extremely depressed and quit my job, lying on the couch for weeks, barely able to function.  So I guess, in a way, all of it relates to some aspect of mental illness.  But in another way, it doesn’t.

 

I have a counseling appointment next Wednesday.  I don’t know if anyone can help me exorcise these demons, or if anyone can show me the way out of the forest of guilt.  But I’m going to grasp at every lifeline like it could be the one that saves me.