Raising Hell

Hello, my name is Hell. And from what I can only imagine, raising me as a child and teen was totally hell.

My mental illness kicked in fast as a troubled, trauma-carrying, little human. When I forgot to put away my laundry, take out the trash, or make my bed I would get grounded. Typically I was an okay kid. And my 5 star rating was off the charts for anyone outside of the home who knew me. I didn't wish to cause harm until someone harmed me. And emotional manipulation was easy for me, because of how many times I had been emotionally manipulated already by my family. Only having trouble inside of the home and never anywhere else, typically means.... trouble in the home.

Something like this.

I remember during one car ride when I was about five years old, I had done something or said something wrong from the passenger seat. My mother grabbed me by my left arm and dug her nails deep into my arm, until I cried. I remember looking at the marks and small pieces of skin that she tore up in the process and I picked them off with a glare. One of them bled just a little. Anger made my small body hot, as I felt the seat belt on my neck. (Remember I'm five years old sitting in the front passenger seat of a van, 1998.) I wanted to hurt my mother back. So I got the idea that I would make what she did to me, look even worse. But only while she wasn't looking, so when she ultimately noticed the bruises and redness, she'd feel bad for what she did to me. And so I matched my tiny fingers up to her nail marks she made and dug in even deeper. Over and over again. "Mess with me with me now, mom." I thought to myself. I made sure that the under arm that she had hurt was facing upwards so she could easily notice it. And while she didn't noticed until we got to our destination. I remember she said "What happend there?" and I replied "That's where you hurt me." With a frown and crusty eyes from tears. . . I felt convicted. It's the small things that kept me going. My first vengeful self harm, but not my first purposeful self harm. Hurting yourself on purpose, does hurt others apparently, even as an adult.

For the record, nothing I could have done sitting by myself in the front seat of a moving van warranted her behavior, especially on a 5 year old. But clearly I only remember the abuse, and not what came before it. (how's that for your childhood memories and kids not remembering what you did to them?)

It only cost me what little happiness I had left anyways. And there was little bargaining with me. I just wanted a causal, normal loving family and life. I didn't ask for much. But my mother's punishments during my teenage years, mostly came from her husband's demands, only pushed me farther into a hole of depression. She couldn't physically touch us anymore, with the divorce court cases still present and CPS closely watching, my brutal honesty would have taken away her custody of us. These processes taught me what little happiness or joy I could survive on, just to prove my point. This behavior still affects me today.

When my mother grounded me from social media- I let it go as long as she wanted it to go. It would last days and weeks sometimes. I didn't have a cell phone and I had zero local friends before age sixteen, my junior year of high school. By cutting off my one and only way to communicate with people outside of the home, my mom was able to "get to me". At least she tried. It was her only bargaining chip next to church.

"Why go to church if it isn't making you a better person anyways?" -My mother and her husband would repeat each Sunday as I got ready and asked for a ride to church.

I didn't have extra curricular activities besides school, church seminary, church dances, and church worship on Sundays. And when taking my Facebook password wasn't enough, she would take my iPod, that I paid for with my money, and ground me from church activities. I actually never graduated my 4 years of seminary class because she grounded me from the last 3 months of my senior year of high school.

Seminary is a Mormon intensive scripture doctrine class that is typically 45-60mins long and held every morning before school for grades 9-12. In highly Mormon populated areas seminary is apart of regular school curriculum and there is a separate building near by it is held in, as well as an empty time slot during your school day to attend the elective class. It is mandatory to attend/graduate for Mormon members if you want to get accepted to BYU. The school that was cheap, and far away from family. The only school I applied to and got into.

I know there are parenting studies that show punishments and reward systems as a way to correct behavior. But from where I stand, looking back, moving into my mother's husband's home (it was never, and will never, be "their home"; it's only HIS home), changing schools to a performing arts high school, trying to keep up with everyday life for a teenager with mental illnesses, it plunged me deeper into depression and it started to affect my grades. Probably because they were doing it wrong... But hey I don't have kids, what do I know?

Bad grades were uncommon for my typical straight-A self. It, too, was met with harsh groundings. At first my mother gave the option that I could pick which summer church activity I still wanted to go to, that missing one was my punishment. I chose girls camp at first because I could see both girls and boys at Youth conference. All my friends, instead of some. I ended up doing something else "wrong" and she took away both. Two summer church activities I looked forward to going to, as I did little else that wasn't directly school related as a teenager. She also took away temple trips. Read my blog Tuesday December 11th 2007 for a copied journal entry on why my mother kept me from going. My mother greatly failed me at being a support.

She thought that taking these things away would change my mental illness symptoms she mistook for disobedience. After all she couldn't beat me anymore, I'd put her in jail. Instead I just over slept even more, skipped showering, and didn't do my homework anymore. I was ready to be done with high school and ready to be out of their manipulating homes. I had all the necessary classes and credits for the Maryland Completers Course for a high school diploma when I finished my junior year anyways. Except for one more science and language arts class, I didn't have to go full time as a high school student my senior year, I chose to. I went for friends and because I didn't know what else to do otherwise; I was buying time. I was told when I was done with high school I needed to move out immediately or start paying rent. (my mother's husband is such a charmer) I didn't have a license, vehicle, or employment and I didn't want to think about those things yet even though I was so ready to be out of that house. So, I didn't care about any other classes, even though neglecting them affected my previously amazing GPA.

I stayed in my room, journaled and cried. Almost every night. I actually named my journal after one of my elementary school friends who moved away in the 7th grade. My journal was my only friend. Therapy wasn't as regular during high school as it was for middle school because my schedule didn't permit missing classes regularly and my mother couldn't miss her work day to transport me so frequently to all my mental health providers.

Conversation with my high school boyfriend, Hunter. LOL

I use to save old conversations by copying and pasting instant messages to my email and emailing them to myself for memories, because unlike today where Facebook stores all messages, once your inbox got so full, it auto deleted itself. Usually the messages were just flirtatious conversations talking to boys. You know, the things that made me smile and happy. The things I wanted to remember. I saved everything important in my life, so I'd never forget. I typed in the word "grounded" to search my emails while writing this blog and found that conversation. It's a little difficult to read because it doesn't exactly dictate who is saying what, but the pronouns make it easier. I'm sure you will figure it out. This one mentioned the reason my mom didn't want me using Facebook was because she believed it was giving the computer viruses. *insert biggest eye roll* My mother didn't use, and still doesn't use social medias. She literally was looking for any reason to prevent me speaking to my peers and expressing myself. Gee thanks.

I even recall my mother's husband being livid when he found that I had a small stash of trash in the corner of my room. It had used tampons and tissues. Gross, I know. I'd change them in the middle of the night when I leaked during my heavy periods because otherwise I'd have to walk upstairs in the through the house to the nearest bathroom to change my bloody clothing. I just cleaned myself downstairs and left it. I was so depressed I never took the trash upstairs and threw it away. These are one of the things I was grounded for. It was often embarrassing things really, like coming home from school and not working concessions because of being bullied. Yup, grounded.

And so the manipulation continued, until I didn't go anywhere or do anything, or have anyone. And yet I still had no drive to increase my two classes grades that I had 67's in. My first failed classes ever. Neither of them mattered anyways. I didn't have motivation to clean my room, or care for myself. And I wasn't allowed to go to church anymore. What was the point?

I remember hearing my mother and her husband fight, with me in the room. "Lynn, this isn't working, she isn't getting better, there is something wrong." She would say. He'd cut her off and say "The only that is wrong is her not listening, you're being too gentle, you need to take more away and hold to it. She walks all over you." I was winning the game. The one that pointed that my parents were shit heads and I'm the fucked up result of it. Every millennial dream! Participation trophy, saaaaay what?!

I'm convinced that if my mother could have taken me away from going to school or at least find a way to prevent human contact during my schooling hours, she would have done it. Because apparently I deserved loneliness. And I continued to have mood swings and anger. Those are the symptoms that bothered my family the most. She didn't care it numbed me. She didn't care I slept 14 hours a day. She didn't care I planned my suicide regularly in the basement room that her husband "graciously" made for me, but didn't have to. (he reminded me regularly) She didn't care that the medicine wasn't helping anything else, as long as she didn't have to listen to or hear me....She just needed relief from me.

Well, I'm an adult now and free from them. But it won't stop me from telling my story. That's all for today's memory dump. When my brain gets too full I come here to my blog and word vomit everything I can remember me that triggered me to relive those memories. I just don't recall what I did as a teenager that was so bad to be punished from everything, all the time.

What's the stupidest thing your parents grounded you for doing?

Special Thanks to my editor: MC_hammer