The pain of growing up young

This is something I've kept from my mom, not for fear of telling her a secret she would find shocking like most adults, but rather because I don't want her to feel guilt over something she feels she did well in.

I had a rough childhood in nearly every aspect. Food was scarce, often. I remember one day me and my three older brothers were hungry and most of the food from the food-bank a week earlier, was either gone or old. I found some old bread and a little bit of ranch that had been left out, I didn't really focus on taste. I was just happy my tummy wasn't in pain for a short time. My brother found a moldy stale muffin and found it pleasing. His reasoning as to why it was okay to eat was antibiotics are made from mold. If it's good for the goose it's good for the gander, right? On most weeks we had at least milk and cereal. Although not a great diet, we were just glad to have anything considered a diet.

Family time was spent in-doors staring at the computer or TV as dad's then un-diagnosed narcolepsy kept him from having energy enough to go out and about. On the contrary, family time at my moms was spent playing outside all day because she preferred in-doors with her boyfriend or her new favorite substance and didn't want us bothering her. Most of her boyfriends were nice to us but one in particular, "Greg" didn't let me talk much because "my voice was annoying".

Greg also didn't like the irrational anxiety and, in-turn, attachment I had to my mother and the fact that I slept in her room at seven years old. So he told my mom to lock me in my room for bedtime one night. So she did. In a situation where I had so much as a bed in there, this might have been okay. But I didn't. No, in fact the only things in there was a big tree painted on the wall with two red eyes in the tree hollow and two large sliding mirrors for the closet doors. No toys. no bed, no blanket and no pillow. I fell asleep curled up, crying at the door. A fear of closing doors or enclosed spaces like elevators was created and something I battled with until I had to bury that fear when I was 17 with a newborn in the NICU on the third floor at Children's Hospital.

In-doors at moms house wasn't preferred anyhow. Cigarettes and other things were smoked inside. From this, stemmed COPD emphysema at 22 for me - a lung condition typically diagnosed after 40. To make matters worse, a birth defect called Wolf-Parkinson White Syndrome or WPW and an allergy to Albuterol - an inhaler used for breathing emergencies for asthmatic or COPD patients - made it so I have to use an alternative inhaler called Dulera that doesn't help emergencies but rather helps long term.

These health conditions weren't diagnosed until early adult-hood for me when I was able to schedule my own appointments. The health care I got as a child came from my dad and my grandmother taking me in for yearly vaccinations at the school clinic. My health problems were ignored because my mom told me to "lay down flat when my heart was beating fast" and that I "thought too much" when I asked if it was normal that my brothers old bed that got passed down to me, rocked with my heart beat.

I didn't have many friends come spend the night because I slept with lots of stuffed animals and I didn't want to be made fun of. It helped my anxiety at night. I had a real fear that someone would break in and stab me in the heart. So I slept with a lot of stuffed animals tucked in and close, three specific comforters I got over the years, and I put both hands over my heart. In my mind, if someone tried to stab me in my sleep, two hands should slow the blow, right?

My oldest brother had two friends sleep over a few nights a week. We will call them "Ted" and "Fred". Ted was over a lot. He basically lived with us. Fred came over maybe once every two weeks. By any means, at 12 years old, my oldest brother and his friends were 18. The parental guidance was slim to none at mom's house. So I stayed up late and hung out with Ted and my brother while they indulged in marijuana and other things. I would entertain their sailing minds by showing them my ankle would pop every time I moved it a certain way or tell them their futures. I would indulge with them on occasions and they loved that. I was a hoot with oldest brother and Ted. We would watch movies and sleep. I had a crush on Ted. He was so cool and nice to me. I often had to sit in Ted's lap in mom's car as she didn't have enough room and Ted didn't mind.

At 16 I started talking to Ted. Ted told me how he always thought I was cute. He also told me how he would cuddle with me when I fell asleep watching movies. He kept my under garments that I left in the bathroom too. I told my mom about this and she shrugged it off and said we would have cute red-headed babies. She always insisted I was meant to marry him. I stopped talking to Ted because he made me feel uncomfortable when he told me he paid for a subscription for a certain star that looked a lot like me.

A little later on in the year when I was 16, my mom always maintained that if we were curious about drugs that we had to consult her about them. So I did. This boy in school I was dating kept talking about mushrooms. So my mom talked to my oldest brother who knew someone with "magic blue shrooms".

Oldest brother got them and gave them to me and my two other brothers, on the condition that we stayed home so we could be supervised by mom. Mom told us to each have "only a small handful" while she went to get pizza so we had food in our bellies while we tried mushrooms. While she was gone, we had more than she recommended. No big deal, we just listened to music and enjoyed it until she got home. She too indulged and so did her husband. It was way too much for us to finish anyhow.

Shortly after, I didn't feel good and went to bed. She later woke me up to enjoy the night. When I woke up I blacked out. I don't remember much aside from throwing myself down the stairs and screaming. I woke up with hand cuffs on and being put into an ambulance. I apparently freaked out and was continuously throwing myself down the stairs and throwing things around. My mom was scared to call the cops because I was underage and she was high. So they locked me in my room for four hours. Once her high came down a bit she called an ambulance and they took me to the hospital. I had overdosed on something laced in the mushrooms. I broke out my front tooth and now have a fake one.

From this experience I have PTSD. From my childhood I have depression and anxiety. I've gone on to have 5 kids of my own and two bonus kids. I have many health problems from being exposed to dangerous drugs and fumes. I don't drink, I don't do drugs and I certainly don't let anyone tell my kids how they should or shouldn't deal with anxiety. They are also allowed to sleep in my room when they don't feel like themselves. I often ask them how they feel. They all see a cardiologist to ensure my heart condition hasn't passed on to them, and thank God, so far so good. I am over protective of my babies and maintain that they are the most important things to me.

The tea to spill is the neglect and abuse I had as a child. My mom in her tainted view of raising us, in confident she did well. I leave as is. My children don't see her unless they're with me. She's now clean, and for that, I'm thankful. Sobriety is amazing for her. She's smiling, she's happy. That's all that matters. My kids see her as a loving grandma they get to visit.

I lived through my moms hard times. I'm just thankful I broke the standard for my kids.