Bruises Heal...Mind Jobs Are Forever.

Toward the end of my interview for the research project I spoke about earlier this week, she asked me if I had anything else I wanted to tell her before we ended the conversation.  I told her about how important it is to emphasize the invasive impact of living with a hoarder has on a child.  That it's not just about the trash, but emotional abuse and neglect that comes along with it and the long lasting damage on their adult lives.  I asked out loud to the both of us that, aside from the obvious instances of sexual abuse and the like -- could there be a worse thing that you do to a child?

I ended my rhetoric by saying, "bruises heal...mind fucks are forever."

The fact remains that any level of anguish we had (and still have) from our childhoods will never go away. All we can do is learn to accept and live with it.  The pain can -- through hard work on our parts -- lessen to a dull roar, but it will always be there.

The pain is indescribable.  Believe me, I've tried to put it in terms that even I could relate to, but I lack the capacity to put it into words.  The closest I can get is to offer the following analogy:

If I were asked to create a portrait onto a proverbial canvas to describe what is inside of me, I'd have to ask that my palette have a mixture of sadness, fear, anger, resentment, guilt, confusion, self loathing, and shame.  Those would be my prime colors to which I'd blend together in various shades and after feverishly running my brush along the canvas in a manner only really portrayed in movies, the end result would be a self portrait of me.

It would be a delicate balance of rage and vulnerability that only the leading experts of the emotional art world would attempt to interpret, but would always fall short.  I suppose that in a sense, this blog is my portrait.  To me, the moniker "ETH" is my secret identity in order to allow my portrait to speak for itself.  Almost like Banksy, though I in no way mean to draw a literal comparison (I'm not even cool enough to be able to stand in the same room with him), but my real identity is so ordinary and boring that it'd add no intrinsic value to what I am trying to say.  To be honest, I don't want to connect the two: my story is enough.

On some levels, I feel a bit guilty for hiding behind this persona.  Especially when I receive emails from people who have read my blog and want to tell me their stories or how a particular post effected them.  I am always surprised and humbled by what people tell me -- either in the comments or privately in email.  What you tell me is thought provoking and reassuring, to which I am grateful.  Much of what many of you share with me influences many of my posts here and I hope that in some way, I have honored your bravery and have made you feel that what you've told me was credible.

I received an email recently from a reader who shared with me her story.  In her email to me, she asked me a question that had ultimately motivated my moving forward with this post.  She asked me if I felt guilty for walking away from my HP, the hoard and leaving behind the rest of my family.  Do I also feel guilt about not having a relationship with my "mother".

The short answer is yes.  Everyday.

The long answer is two fold. I didn't feel guilty right away after leaving.  I was so caught up in my own anxiety and depression that I couldn't see beyond my own trauma.  It wasn't until my little brother dropped out of school and started taking drugs that I felt guilty.  For years, he and I were so close and I abandoned him. I left him to survive it all.  Then he tried to kill himself and was hospitalized.  That was the icing and the shit cake for me.

I begged him for the longest time to believe that he was capable of finishing high school and going to college.  Ultimately, he chose a different road to forge.  He is laborer, married with 2 children and has a spotty employment history.  He is also financially dependent on my parents, so that adds a different dimension to their family dynamics than what I experience.  He and his wife also rely on my HP to provide daycare for his children (they live over an hour from my parents, so my HP will live with them for a month at a time until my SIL has had enough of her hoarding behavior and kicks HP out).

I use to feel guilty about leaving my father behind as well.  He's such an abused spouse that I'm not certain he will ever grow the pair to stand up for himself.  My father is certainly not the man that he use to be.  He use to be such a source of strength and wisdom for me, but now he's terrified of setting my HP off and will cry at the drop of a hat.  He's a shell of the man he use to be and I don't really know who he is anymore.  At least once a day, I find myself questioning how different he would be if I hadn't cut ties and ran.

Here's what is important to remember; guilt is an emotion and the intensity in which I feel it is my choice.  In this context, I could only control so much and it's unfair to put unneccesary responsibility on myself for a series of events that I logically could never change.  Period.

I do find myself wondering how much of what I feel is more survivor guilt as opposed to the guilt of making a selfish choice.  Of course, I know that I am not a selfish person, but my HP would argue differently.

So, dear readers...do you feel guilt?




Until Next Time,

ETH

Showing Your Underbelly

A few weeks ago, I learned about a graduate student who is collecting data for her thesis on the life experiences of COHs.  I emailed her immediately and without question.  There is very little research available on the topic of hoarding on childhood development and I truly believe that it's important to talk about.  After a few emails, she and I scheduled a time for a phone interview which was last night.

The interview itself was 3 hours long and we talked about absolutely EVERYTHING in terms of my life experiences of living with my HP and the hoard.  It was a very long and emotionally exhausting evening, but she did a great job of remaining neutral, supportive, and non judgmental.  Reflecting back last night, I think I may have used too many "effen-heimers" (holy cow do I LOVE the f-word!) to prevent any direct quotes, but I felt safe the entire time and that I was helping the greater good.  I did cry a couple of times, but to me, the risk was worth it.

Despite all of the emotional boundaries and safety measures that we both took, I felt incredibly vulnerable. Not so much in a "OMG this stranger is going to hurt me with this information" kind of vulnerability, but in a "Wow, I really am fragile" sort of way.  Toward the end of the interview, she asked me if I felt that I was able to trust people.  That question, out of the several she asked me last night, stopped me cold in my tracks because I really needed to think about it. 

I think it's a boundary issue, IMHO.  Because, of course, COHs who were raised in a hoard with an HP were given such healthy examples of how to interact socially, right? 

*eye roll*

Thinking about that question a bit more last night and during the drive into work this morning, I think that in terms of the "right here, right now", I am cautious.  For example, I would not be such an open book about my life as a COH to random strangers who were in the same room with me.  However, I hold nothing back here.  I think I trust my anonymity far behind a carefully protected user profile far more than I trust people.  Believe me, I want to find the middle ground between the two, but for now I have to take things one day at a time

The really annoying part is that I'm going to be analyzing this question for a very long time.  Does anyone know of a good place to get a lobotomy?  Perhaps there's a groupon laying around that no one is using?


Today is a new day.  That's the good part about Wednesday morning.



Until Next Time,

ETH

Today Is A Good Day :)

This isn't hoarder related, but I wanted to tell you about it.

In my job, we care for sickest of the sick -- most of them children. No matter how seasoned of a veteran you are, there's no way to endure that sort of stress over a prolonged period of time.  Recognizing the loss of "self" that can occur in our department I had, on my own, devised "contests" and other fun little things to bring my coworkers together.  It went over very well right away and the staff were hungry for it.  It is a shit ton extra work, but I'm committed to it.

My supervisor recognized my passion for the culture in my department and gave me the task of creating and leading a committee comprised of representatives of the various specialties in order to boost morale and create a sense of community.  The members that agreed to participate are probably the greatest group of people I have ever worked with.  Most of our meetings are spent laughing to the point of tears because it is such a great fit of personalities and everyone's sense of humor is phenomenal which has really aided the buy in of staff when we roll out activities.  It has been a very successful year and the tone here has greatly improved in the daily life in the trenches.

This morning, my department had a meeting with the VP and Medical Director for our quarterly "town hall" style group discussion to talk about ongoing initiatives, and the like.  The VP told us that the results from the recent survey to measure employee satisfaction were not only the highest in the organization, but the most improved.  The results were so significant that the organization is writing an article for the quarterly newsletter.  I remember thinking, "Oh that's nice!" but didn't think twice about it.

Then my phone rang this afternoon.  The caller is a leader in our organization and is a very supportive and encouraging woman.  After discussing briefly about the reason for her call, she changed the subject to tell me that she was in a leadership meeting the day before and the topic of the employee satisfaction survey came up and that my committee is being given a lot of credit for the jump.

"You DO realize what you did, don't you ETH?  You have been wonderful in taking on this challenge and you have a part of why things are looking up."

Per usual, I deflected and said that it was the group, not only me, that were responsible.

"No, ETH" she said, "YOU are the reason why that group was created to begin with.  YOU are the one guided them to this point.  All of this is because of you."

I was so uncomfortable with her statement that I made some cheesy remark about being one of many -- or something stupid like that, but I was as gracious as I could be.


I made people happy.  That's good enough for me today.  :)



Until Next Time,

ETH

Vicious Cycle

I came across this today and thought it to be rather fitting to my recent posts here.

The Repeative Echo of "Meh"

I wanted so badly for this weekend to be like the others, I really did.  I wanted it to be just another weekend where nothing of any significance would occur and I could sit down in the early morning with my dog and my bottomless cup of coffee.

Nope.

I found myself on the verge of tears all weekend.  I have been irritable and edgy.  Everyone and everything annoyed me.  I guess what started it all was meeting with my hair dresser Friday night to discuss taking out my dreadlocks.  I'm not happy about it, but I understand why.  It was suggested by someone I really respect that I should consider it if I wanted senior leadership to take me seriously.  Not that there is anything wrong with them, it's just that they would cause an unnecessary distraction and take attention away from what they should see.  I was assured that after some time in this new "circle", I would be able to put them back in, but for now they have to come out.  My dreads are being removed at the end of this month and I'm having human hair extensions installed two weeks after that.

I also made the mistake of treating myself to retail therapy yesterday at one of the largest malls in the country and realized very quickly what a truly bad idea that was.  It seemed that everywhere I went, I was treated rudely by other shoppers, the kids who are working retail don't think twice about make a curt remark, and it was the overall image of how low we have truly sunk as a society.  Everything was either deep fried, dipped in chocolate, or covered in swakovski crystal and if you didn't blindly buy any of it, there is something wrong with you.

Or maybe that's what came through my filter and I have just been an extremely bitter bitch this weekend.  Who knows.

The truth is that I hate people.  I really do.  I can't stand the entitlement; I can't stand the need for people to believe that they are fucking special and I can't stand getting slapped in the face with either a cross or an American flag or a pink fucking ribbon.  I'd much rather be a hermit than have to interact with any of it.


My gawd.  When did I turn into this?  I use to have a lot of friends.  I use to always have somewhere to go or someone to talk to.  Now....this is all my life has resolved to.  I have very slowly and very systematically pushed everyone away and here I am crying over the echoes of the room I've locked myself into.

When I am at work, I am fine.  In fact, I'm well respected by my peers.  It's almost as if I live a double life.  By day, ETH is a calm and hard working who can find a seat at every table in the staff lounge.  Her coworkers sit in silence and smile when she stands in morning report to address the group with an announcement.  People respect her and want to be like her.  One coworker was quoted as saying, "ETH, whenever you sit at our table, I always feel more sophisticated because you're next to me.  You just seem to 'class it up'."

By night, she is a lonely recluse who'd rather have a full fledged conversation with her Doberman Pincher than her alley neighbor.  She is suspicious of everyone she comes into contact with and has a more intimate relationship with her running shoes than a group of friends.

Nice, huh?

I think the biggest part about this weekend is that I've been expecting a call from my father disguised as a well wishing for Mother's day but the mask would quickly drop with the suggestion that I call my HP and talk to her.  As of right now, my phone hasn't rang and I'm thankful for it.

I did make a decision, though.  The next time he brings her up, I'm just going to remind him where the boundaries lie.  If he wants to continue to talk to me, he's going to have to play by my rules.

I can just hear the conversations now as I'm performing my morning rounds,

"How was your weekend, ETH?"


*shrugs shoulders* "...meh"




Until Next Time,

ETH

The Travesty of an Ideologue (Why I Hate Societal Bullshit)

Everyone here is smart enough to realize that Mother's Day is made up bullshit, right?  Really, it's true!  It's another way to for corporations to make money by shaming you into the notion that if you don't buy a piece of crap put together by children in India who are paid pennies a day then there is something wrong with you.

I have grown to a point in my life where I avoid shopping in corporate stores as much as possible.  If I can't find it in a locally owned shoppe, I buy it online. There are rare occasions where I have to cross the threshold of a big box store (never WalMart though -- I'd rather starve than give them a dime) and I try to make the visit as efficient as possible.

What I hate the most about them is the blatant capitalization of a person's emotions.  Mother's Day is a perfect example.  The displays get bigger and more obnoxious every year and will often hang from the rafters by fish line.  The marketing industry has perfected the application of subliminal messaging: if you don't buy your mother something for Mother's Day, you are an ungrateful child and you should feel nothing but guilt.  Shame on you, member of the target demographic of the lower middle economic population.  Shame on you!

And that, my dear readers, is why I don't go shopping in malls or big box stores.

Let's be objective: this is not a vindictive action on the part of the industry.  They are profit driven and the evidence shows that these sort of marketing tactics work.  I guarantee you that there is not a stuffy board room in the top floor of a sky scraper in New York where elderly men in overpriced suits sit together to consider the impact of their investments.  There is no oversight chair person sitting in the corner of the room sheepishly raising their hand to say,

"Um...what about people who were born to abusive mothers?  This campaign might make them feel bad."

For a few moments of awkward silence, the chairman at the table looks to his right towards the stats guy who feverishly types away at his over rated laptop who says quickly,

"abused children only makeup less than 10% of our demographic."

[fade to black with the sounds of evil laughter]

Yeah...it doesn't happen like that.  Whatever emotions we feel are of our own doing.

For many of us, it's easy to get stuck in our heads and tread within the waves of our reactions.  That's normal for us.

...that's normal for us.  Wow -- that's a really fucked up thing to say, isn't it?  I'm not sure whether to feel disgusted or sad.

The other side of this proverbial coin is the fuel "holidays" like this give to our HP's an inflated sense of entitlement when it comes to being the center of attention.  I mean, seriously -- it's mother's day.  Why not make it all about them, right?


I don't have any advice for you.  I just needed to vent about it and tell you that not only do I understand it, I'll be battling a bit of it myself.



Here's to a rather smooth weekend with lots of wine.




Until Next Time,

ETH

I Don't Have a Fancy Title, I'm Just Pissed

Seriously.  I'm pissed off.

My father is playing games with me and I'm super pissed about it.  In addition to getting random emails and texts, we are getting "gifts" sent to the house from Amazon that are the most random and useless items.  The latest package was some sort of lettuce keeper, a bento thermos, and a plastic lettuce knife.  Seriously?  I can see the bento thing -- that was pretty neat, but lettuce stuff?

My husband and I just rolled our eyes and put it in the yard sale stash.  Last night, I received a phone call from my father asking me if I received "your mother's gifts" and acted like I should be wowed and amazed at how thoughtful and creative HP was in sending.

This is the part of my family that I can't stand: the pretending that nothing's happened and life is all peachy-fucking-keen.  Moreover, I hate that my father thinks he can play the guilt ridden mind games with me to encourage me to talk to her.  It's so disgustingly obvious what he's doing but before I can even say anything, he suddenly had to end the call.

I feel at this point that I can't maintain a relationship with him either if this is going to continue.  My plan is to tell him so after I've relaxed about it.  The problem that I see is that there is really no good way of doing this because he takes on the blame even when it's not his to take.  That's how it's always been -- my HP blames him and has conditioned him to experience the emotion so she doesn't have to.  What is going to happen is that he's going to make himself feel like he has to choose between her and me.

At this point, I don't really fucking care.  I'm just pissed off.  I've spent 15 years undoing the damage she caused me for the first 21 years of my life and to enter back into this toxic dynamic will just undermine the work I've done.

Fuck you, HP.  Seriously -- Fuck. You.


Until Next Time,

ETH