2

I was always the good kid. Frankly, I always thought that my parents should have appreciated how undeniably well-behaved I was a bit more.  For a teenage girl I was pretty mild mannered, I did my homework on time, I helped out around the house, I don't remember fighting them often, I didn't have boyfriends, I didn't drink alcohol, I wouldn't have even known how to do a drug if I was giving the option- I was a good kid. As a matter of fact I was only ever grounded once in my life- for something I didn't even do- but that's a story for another day.

When I was in high school a friend of mine, my best friend, started to get into trouble.  To be fair, the trouble she was getting into would be considered mild by most.  But since we were such good kids the typical escapades of American teens seemed like cardinal sins. Up until that point my friend and I had kind of been inseparable, but for no reason in particular we had drifted slightly- that's happened to all of us at one point, right?  So even though we were still best friends, I had no idea that she had been running with a new crowd, drinking a little excessively, falling behind in school. Now, because I rarely got into trouble I also rarely got disciplined. My parents often used other kids failings as opportunities to discipline me- as though there's a quota on yelling at your kids that they couldn't quite fill on my problems alone so they had to borrow scenarios from others.  So when my friend's indiscretions came to light my Dad took advantage of the moment as a time to instill a teaching into me.  With a stern voice, a furrowed brow and a pointing finger he explained to me that once he loses trust in someone it is almost impossible for that person to gain it back.  Now he had lost trust in that friend of mine and I would be wise to stay in line- otherwise I might lose his trust forever.  And with a loss of trust there are consequences.  In this case I wasn't ever really allowed to spend time with that particular friend unless under controlled circumstances and my parents seemed pretty wary about me spending time with any other friends that they didn't know well- that was my punishment for her faults.  It seemed that my parents didn't trust me enough to make my own good decisions if faced with a quandary.  But I never wanted to fail my Father, my love for him had always been so deep, so our one-sided discussion was enough to keep me out of trouble from then on.   

Today, 15 years later, the tables have been turned and my trust in my father has been tarnished. Funny how he acts as though he's exempt from the things he taught me.  He made me a promise a year ago- he would never talk to her again.  But now I've found that he has- behind my back for months and months.  Of course, he can't be upfront about it- he's got reasons of course.  Though I prefer to refer to his reasons as excuses.  I've never been one for ultimatums, but I asked him to choose a year ago, "Is it me or her?"  When someone has hurt you so much and lied to you and about you so much there seems to be no other way.  He answered that he chose me- but his actions today say that he chose her.  

My daughter has a Berenstain Bear book called, "The Truth."  In it the cubs are playing ball in the house which causes them to break their Mother's lamp. Instead of telling the truth they tell what they call "a whopper." At the end of the story they learn the value of telling the truth- because even though the lamp could be fixed as the book says- "... trust is one thing you can't put back together again."  Back when my parents saw my kids more often I would sometimes strategically place that book in the diaper bag- with a bookmark on the last page, part of me hoped that my Dad would read this children's book and be inspired to change his ways. He never seemed to notice.  Since then I've talked to him about my anger and he doesn't seem to care. I worked so diligently and sacrificed so much to keep his trust and he doesn't even want mine. 

If you asked me 3 years ago for a list of the people I trusted, it might be a mile long.  Today, my list would have only one name. Because when the person you've always trusted more than anyone breaks your confidence- once you remove that cornerstone- your trust in everyone else shatters too.  And trust is one thing you can't put back together again... but I'm still trying.

1

I close my eyes and I'm transported back to a memory.  Suddenly I'm 12 years old again, it is October 31, 1999, Halloween. I'm trick-or-treating for the last time- I was on the cusp of being too old but we figured I could pass one more year.  Kelsey and I went together, dressed as cheerleaders, going door to door collecting treats while discussing the things in our life that seemed so important at the time.  This Halloween was significant, because we grew up a little more on this day.  Today when we would finish out trick-or-treating we would find out that Kelsey's mom was getting divorced from Kelsey's Stepdad.  Kelsey never liked him much anyways, but it was hard nonetheless.  What was harder was hearing her Mom's reasoning- he was mean, he said hurtful things to her and sometimes he would hurt her physically.  We ached knowing that she had been in pain and we didn't even notice.  We had school the next morning, but Kelsey and I stayed up all night to talk about it.  I listened to her cry and we vowed that we would always be there for each other- neither of us would ever need to hurt the way that Kelsey's Mom had alone.

I close my eyes and it is October 2005. My heart is beating hard in my chest as I warm up for my next cross country race.  I love this sport, but each race is an embarrassment.  I don't understand why but over the last year I've lost my stamina and my speed- I'm just not very good anymore.  I get to the starting line and scan the crowd- my Dad isn't there yet.  I'm not upset about it- not at all.  My Dad is the only parent on my team that has come to every single race so he's allowed to miss one.  Some kids haven't ever had a parent show up- not even for the important races.  But my Dad came to them all, with a bottle of Gatorade and a turkey sandwich for afterwards.  He was the best Dad ever.  The gun goes off and I start running, on my second lap I see my Dad on the sidelines cheering with all his might, cooler in hand.  Cross Country Running is a bore to watch, but he came and took such an interest.  I never for a moment felt that I wasn't wholly and truly loved by my Father.

I close my eyes and it's a Sunday in the Summertime, probably around 1991- the exact date has been lost to time.  We're always late to church even though we live right next door.  I'm dressed and ready but all I need now is for my Mom to brush my hair.  I hated it when she did my hair, she wasn't gentle.  It hurt so badly and she would never acknowledge me when I told her so.  To be fair, my hair was a rotten mess- it still is.  It still hurts when I brush it myself.  It's so fine that every step I take jumbles it more and more until it's worked into a massive snarl.  This is all made worse by the dozen or so cowlicks spotted around my scalp and my noticeable lack of a part.  I can understand my Mom's frustration each time she had to do my hair- but I was young and it hurt.  This particular Sunday was worse than usual- she pulled and tugged on my hear and my scalp ached with each pass.  She always used this stiff boar bristle brush that scrapped my skin and made it feel like it was bleeding.  I cried aloud, "Mama it hurts!"  Eventually her patience wore out and she hit me, over and over she hit me that stiff brush.  I gasped and cried and felt real fear as I looked at my Mom, she was so angry.  I bolted across the yard and burst through the doors of church into my Father's arms screaming out loud that my Mom hit me.  He hushed me desperately and stowed me away in his office, promising that it was ok, but I needed to be quiet.  When I stopped crying and my eyes weren't red anymore I went to Sunday School- everything was ok. My Mom didn't come to church that day, but when I got home she was in bed weeping and nothing I could do would rouse her, she was nearly catatonic- but I was used to that.  You get used to a lot of things when you love a parent who suffers from depression.

I open my eyes and it is today. Back to present.  Time has been cruel and my life has taken an unforeseen turn.  Kelsey and I both suffer today- but we do it alone because our mutual suffering has torn us apart.  My Dad is in the same body- but he is a different man.  I can't convince him to call me on the phone, let alone support one of my endeavors.  My Mom.  I understand her better now, because I'm becoming her.  As I sat with my own daughter organizing her bookshelf last night, I heard the soft sound of a contented Christmas carol dancing into earshot- the sweet lyrics "from now on all troubles will be miles away" reminded me that my troubles can't be resolved.  As I start to break down I hear a tiny 3 year old voice in a panic, "What happened to Mommy!  What happened to Mommy!" Begging me to smile, over and over begging me to smile until she was hysterical herself.  "Mommy is hurting again!" she cried and ran to get her Dad who scooped me up and tried to bring me back but I was too deep by then.  The story of how I got here is a thousand of these memories.  How I will be resolve these troubles is still undetermined.

For the audio version:  https://soundcloud.com/estherbloom/memoir-part-1