Choosing Sides. Amnesia?

My last post made me think. I was thinking about it all day, thinking about that and more.

That was not the first time I had encountered my stepfather when he was angry, nor would it be the last. What it made me realize, though, is that every time something like that happened… I moved out. He was not kicked out. My mother did not leave him. I was the one who left; I was the one who, essentially, was told she was in the wrong. At least, that’s how it feels now.

I spoke with my mother that day. I asked her several things, mostly about my childhood, before and after that specific incident. I fibbed to her a little bit, not stating that I awoke in the middle of the night nearly screaming because of the memory of it happening appearing in my dream. No, I didn’t want that to haunt her, knowing that she put her oldest child and only daughter at risk; I didn’t want that. I did call her that day with a purpose that day.

Throughout the whole day I had been thinking, going through my memories of the incidences and there are only three specific times that I can remember living at my mother’s while she was with my stepfather and then having to move back in with my Grandparents after something happened. Two of which have to do with my stepfather. One of them, there is a 2-3 week blank in my memory, starting with my last day of school when I lived with my mother and stepfather & beginning again with my first day back after winter break at a new school and living with my Grandparents again. Somewhere in-between that timeframe of 2-3 weeks something happened and I moved out.

I was in fifth grade. It was exactly a year before I had my seizure, leading to my diagnosis of epilepsy.

My mother could remember the incident of my stepfather chasing me through the house in a rage and me running to my room in fright, closing the door behind me and locking the door and him bursting it open, breaking the lock then hovering over me cowering on my bed, with his fist above his head; she could remember that clearly. That was the summer before I advanced to third grade.

My mother could remember the incident in ninth grade, the incident from the previous post. All of these were at least 10 years ago.

So how does she not remember the incident from the winter of my fifth grade year? I had called my aunt, her sister, before I called my mother to ask about it because, honestly, I was afraid of asking my mother. But my aunt didn’t have an answer; she didn’t know.

I can’t even give you a straight answer on what my mother told me. She was vague and tried to stay away from the topic of what happened. In the end, though, she did blame it on the fact of “that might have been when your absence seizures started”.  Absence seizures being basically when I space out. That’s the only outward sign and then I have no recollection of what happened during said time period of the seizure. They normally last 3-5 SECONDS.

How do I tell my mother, who definitely knows all the information about my epilepsy & the types of seizures I have, that there’s no way it could have erased 2-3 weeks of my memory and that I have AMNESIA. How do I tell her that she’s lying and it’s so obvious it’s ridiculous? How? What could have happened to me?

My husband thinks that there’s a possibility that something severe happened to me and she’s covering up for my stepfather. Honestly, I don’t doubt it. It just makes me worried because nobody will tell me, even more-so because she is still with my stepfather.

I’m scared.

 

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WTF?

This isn’t going to be very long and hopefully nobody will hate me for what I’m about to say.

I get on facebook daily. Multiple times daily. And I’m constantly seeing pictures of the children (and, occasionally, adults) that were killed in the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting on December 14.

All I have to say is this: let them rest in peace.

I’m a mother of three and it tears me to bits every time I see one of the small, innocent faces that died. I instantly vision in my head the child whose picture was posted on facebook with their eyes wide open in shock and pain looking down at a bloody bullet hole in his/her chest.

It reminds me of my children. And I cry. I just sit there and ball my freaking eyes out.

And the picture, itself? The ones I normally see on facebook? They normally have writing above them that say something similar to “Like = respect, Ignore = not human”.

What the FUCK, people?! What. The. FUCK?!

So I can sit there and ball my fucking eyes out because an innocent child is murdered for no damned reason other than a fucking crazy person went on a murderous rampage at the school his mother taught at AFTER killing her at her home?! OH! And I cried my eyes out because I pictured said child as my OWN child?! I’m sorry! I didn’t know not liking a facebook picture of a child that isn’t my own made me inhumane, but if I cry my eyes out because I care about those children – OH! and my own?! – you don’t give a shit?! I’m still a fucking inhumane bitch?

WHAT THE FUCK, PEOPLE?!?!

I don’t think the pictures should be passed around at all. I am, surely, not the only person who pictures those children as their own when they see the children of the Sandy Hook shooting that are being passed around facebook.

In fact, I wonder how the parents of said children feel. I wonder how they feel about their children being advertised all over facebook. (I wouldn’t like it, I know that.) Sure, to a point they’re getting sympathy, but I don’t think it’s the right way to go about it.

If people really cared they’d do something about it. If all they’re doing is liking a facebook post to show that they “respect” everybody who has to directly deal with the Sandy Hook shooting, and to make sure that they aren’t labeled as “not human”, well, I feel sorry for them then, and they probably really don’t care that much at all.

It’s physical actions, not meaningless words or pictures on a computer, that count.

Even I know that my blog post right here isn’t going to do anything, but it makes me feel better and gets things off of my chest. I’m just a 22-year-old mom of three hoping that I never have to experience what those parents in Connecticut did, and my heart and prayers go out to them. That’s as much as I can do.