I decided to call my story this because I don't remember much of my childhood. Never really did, but somehow I didn't notice the gaping black holes in my memory, or remember that I did do something, but saw myself as if in a movie, in third person, until 3 years ago, when a repressed memory came out.

I'm not very good at dates, I can kinda tell what happened when by 'landmarks' that took place, maybe someday I'll actually write a time line out, maybe.

I was born February 1st, 1972 in Lake City, Iowa. My older brother (I hate using the terms 'brothers', 'mother', or 'father' to describe these people, but for simplicity's sake...), my older brother was 4. My father was a farmer, my mother a housewife.

This is my first memory.

I was about 3 or so. Grandpa and Grandma A came down to Lanseboro to visit, they bring a truck with a camper. It's time for them to go, I don't want them to leave. I sit on the back bumper of the camper, it was homemade. Next thing I remember is looking down at my feet and the highway moving by. It's hot, dry. I scoot closer to the edge of the bumper, stretching my toes down to the moving pavement, feeling tiny rocks hit my toes. I grab the handle next to the door and stand up, look into the camper. They had brought my aunt and cousins with them and to keep them from bringing my brother or me back with them, they locked the door to keep them in the camper, never in a million years would they have known that they were locking me out.
Now I'm standing beside the camper. Grandpa, Grandma, some of my other family that lived right next to them are out on the front yard in chairs. I'm scared, I miss Mommy. I walk around the camper. They see me, they start yelling at my cousins, my cousins and my aunt tell them I wasn't inside the camper. Their eyes grow wide. They laugh.
I'm sitting on Grandma A's lap driving back to Lanesboro.
I'm sitting on the couch in Lanesboro, both mom and dad are above me, they're upset. Mom says 'How could you do that to us, make us worry, don't ever do anything like that again.....'ect ect.

I'm 5, we move from the little house in Lanseboro to the farm just outside of town. Grandpa and Grandma H have built a new house and we're going to live in their old one. I get to ride in the back of Grandpa H's truck, tucked in among the furniture so I couldn't move. It's a clear day.

Life goes on, start playing piano at 5, drums shortly after that, they say I do good in school, I don't. Some of the teachers in Lake City say I don't have the 'right last name'. A few of the teachers can't answer my questions, and lash out at me. They're teachers, people of importance, I don't say anything. I never did feel smart. They put me in TAG (talented and gifted), what a load of.....they send us to the library and have us do word puzzles. The teacher makes fun of me as I leave the class.

I love the library, the 2 librarians and the library become home. One of the librarians let me play on the appleII, she claps and thinks it's the most awesome thing that I made a turtle move in basic.

I dive into my music, it's my world, that and books.Theater comes in high school, as does Academic Decathlon. Junior year we did pretty good, Lake City went pretty far I think. I think I got first in science and interview, but I can't remember. I never check.

Junior year my best friend's mom says I'm comming to work for her, she's exec director at Opp Living, they work with the mentally/physically probs of ppl. It's a group home. I stay there as much as I can until I leave for Wartburg.

As academic decathlon nears my senior year, I have my first breakdown. I feel so ashamed, crying in a desk in front of my science teacher. I just can't do it. I know she's dissapointed in me, she went through all the trouble my senior year to change the physics books to ones more with less math.

I get a scholarship to Wartburg, one of the only 2 schools in Iowa with music therapy. I have no money, but thankfully the grocery on the corner lets the samples set out longer than they should.

I would also like to insert here that this is when I first started noticing complete strangers coming up and talking to me, like I had known them for ages.

After the band trip to Colorado I leave school, move to Illinois, get my first training in CNA from a gal in Harley gear. She feeds us purred food while we're tied to a chair, metal spoon. We all asked for it. We are now our brother's keepers.

mostly blur.....working as CNA/group homes, get trained in helping those with the most violent outbursts (yeah, can't get away with a bear hug nowdays...) play in a few bands, never make anything out of it.

I start smoking marijuana to the point that I go camping in Canada for years at a time, learning to grow, putting myself into dangerous situations. Even though Grandpa H was a gunsmith, I can't remember anything about guns. This troubles me to this day.

Come back to Iowa, find out mother has been seeing a psychologist, find out the family has a history of schizophrenia. She takes me in. I remember the therapist looking pointedly at her asking her if I ever was allowed to go to a Dr's or therapist's session by myself. When I was staying with my 'family' she was always there, speaking for me.

Mid 90's. Mankato, I try to hang myself after having a long talk with Mr. Daniels. I call my family, screaming at them. I goto Midas and hang myself with an orange extension cord.

Flashlight in my eyes, cops. I'm sitting handcuffed to a wheelchair, crying, sobbing to the cops, because they have so much more important things to do.

I go into the psyc ward in Mankato, they take my shoes. They let me walk out of the hospital the next morning with a per>

Edited by ModTeam (10/21/11 02:39 AM)
Edit Reason: Trigger warning added.