"Thank You! It's The Perfect Gift, For Me!"

[Note: This is a devotional, I wrote, especially for this blog, for this Christmas, for my readers! This is a fictional work which I have created, while drawing from an array of my own personal experiences, from both the natural and spiritual realms. So, this is not a testimony, per se, but a holiday "tale" (which is defined as "a fictitious or true narrative or story, especially one that's imaginatively recounted"). Because my blog normally talks about the true events of my actual life it is important that I clarify this for you in regard to this or any post that doesn't, some way. My intent with this post is to share with you the true reason for the season. Merry Christmas!]

This post is dedicated to my dear friend Caroline, who led me to the Baptism in the Holy Spirit, when we were in high school. That 'day of Pentecost' event breathed Life into my faith and my relationship with the Lord, changing it, for the better, forever. How grateful I am for this woman of God, whom, back then, as a teenage girl, caused me to realize I could have more with Him! "They were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to proclaim God’s message with boldness." (Acts 4:31)

The anticipation from wondering if someone special will give us what we really want from them at Christmas is something that even every child is familiar with. We also wonder if they will like what we are giving them, this year. Sometimes, it can be hard to admit, to ourselves, that even when we got whatever it was we had thought we wanted or needed from others, there was still some, lingering, feeling of an unrequited desire, or an unmet need, deep in our hearts. The gift giver can feel those things from us, too, when they give their gift to us, but for whatever reason we don't seem to want it, value it, or even appreciate it. Giving someone whom we deeply love a very personal gift, can put us at risk of being rejected, ourselves, because of, and along with, that gift. They might love it! They may like it. They could even hate it; from not seeing, or liking, or accepting, the meaning of the gift, from us, to them, at all. It might even be seen by them as the very last thing, they could, ever, have wanted, or needed, from us, when we give it to them. Because it came from our heart, out of our love, our care, and our concern for them, it can feel frustrating, to us, when the recipient rejects what we purchased, for them. Especially, when we went well out of our way, and did everything we could to obtain that for them; even at very high cost, to us. But, regardless of all that, they just did not want it. At least, not that Christmas. You may not have gone through this, yourself, with what you have given to someone. But, God has gone through this, with what He has given, to us! Because it is the perfect Gift, for all of us, He has offered that, very same, Gift to us, anew, each and every Christmas, out of His love for us!

Perhaps this Gift had not seemed all that appealing to us as children, when we were excitedly putting together our new toy train's tracks, or dressing our doll, in its prettiest party dress, that she came with. While we were adolescents, we may have been distracted, by, such things as, checking our social media all the time, to see if the one that we had that current crush on was going to "Like" our posts, and, also, us! Then, as adults, there is so much which demands our attention, day in, and day out. We must take care of so many things, that all have to get done; by us. We often feel that we must deal with those things sooner rather than later. On top of all that, the holidays, themselves, add even more to our, already daunting, every day 'To Do List', which is already long enough, on its own, to leave us feeling backlogged, and stressed, as we try, day after day, to get on top of all those time-consuming things. By the end of each day, we are just really tired. We take our multi-vitamin, and hope for strength, after getting some sleep, as we, finally, go to bed, at too late of an hour, for us to have any chance of getting all the rest we need. We don't even want a treadmill for Christmas, because our life already feels like it is one! Christmases come and go, some leaving us feeling dazzled, but others, disappointed, or even discouraged, by what we were given by our family or friends as opposed to what we had hoped for. We learn, to adjust to, and deal with, all of that, as the years go by.  A strange thing happens, to us, though. Even when, we are having, what feels like, a magical Christmas, with all of our wishes seemingly coming true, there is, still, an empty feeling, inside of us, letting us know that, no matter how good things seem, for us now, something, significant, is still missing, somehow. We notice this. Uncomfortably. Even feeling some guilt and dismay, about that. But we do not seem to know what the cause of it is, either. So, we usually try to distract ourselves from our awareness of it, going on, inside of us. We cannot seem to pinpoint it, and we do not know what to do about it, so we tend to try to ignore it, and just hope it will go away. Over time especially, with the help of all the noise and the busyness of our everyday life, it does seem to.

Then the next Christmas comes . . . .

The lights sparkle all around the city in windows and along streets. The snow glistens like the frozen ground is covered with diamonds. The Christmas trees glow in a blaze of beauty. It all looks so "merry and bright", just like the Christmas carol sings about. There just seems to be some darkness though, even inside of us, that all of this doesn't seem to dispel. We don't tell anyone else about it, out of fear they will see us as selfish, ungrateful, a "Scrooge" or even a "Grinch", stealing their joy, by our being so negative, from bringing this up, when we all seem to already feel that if we are acting any other way than festive, fun, and fulfilled, in our lives--- especially during the holidays--- that something is not only really wrong with us but the others in our lives might not even want us around. As we lay our head on the pillow, in the darkness, at bedtime, a few tears may slide down our cheeks, because we sense this deep uneasiness that exists within ourselves, but we just don't understand what is causing that. Or how to fix it. Even with all of the Christmas clamour and glamour surrounding us, this time of year, there is this persistent panic, in us, underneath it all, that we will never stop feeling like there is a hole in our heart somehow. Indulging ourselves, by making extravagant purchases for others, and even for ourselves, that will ring in the new year with a less-than-bright bill, that includes 20% interest on all of that; overeating or drinking; cheering ourselves up by watching the Hallmark movies, or the annual Christmas-themed cartoons; or joining a choir to sing Christmas carols, still leaves us feeling that something--- significant--- is missing from either the holiday itself or from us. We end up, after years of feeling angry at the world (mostly those in our own; from a special someone to our pet, who failed to meet this need of ours some way) realizing that we can't fault anyone else for not being able to stop this, because we don't have any clue how to make our lives, especially at Christmas, not feel like a let down no matter what any one of us does about it; and we have to acknowledge that this, empty space, exists inside of ourselves.

What is it? Why is it there? Is there anything that can be done to fix that, about us? TO MAKE IT STOP, ALREADY! A very soft whisper, inside us somewhere, seems to want to tell us what the answer is, to this dilemma, only we can't seem to hear it, over the seasonal songs, on the shop speakers; the snow plows grating along the street outside; the banging on the door day-after-day by the USPS and the FedEx, UPS, Amazon and DHL delivery drivers all bringing us our purchases from our Cyber Monday self-indulgence. IT ALL JUST FEELS LIKE IT IS TOO MUCH! And yet . . . in some vague, very elusive way, it also feels like all this is never enough. We look around and realize we don't even need more things. All of those we already own are more we have to maintain, manage, and move, and none of them ever brought us that sense of fulfillment that we know has never arrived; and we can't explain this, even to ourselves, for some reason. All of this stuff, that we accumulated, in an effort to satisfy, or satiate, ourselves may have felt that it had done that, for us, at times. We felt mesmerized, at least momentarily, when these things showed up, in our lives. They were often fun, at least for awhile, yet never quite fulfilled us, in our heart of hearts, enough to fill that vacant space sitting empty within us letting us know by its very presence that we are, indeed, missing something that is supposed to be there. "What is wrong with us?", we wonder. What is it, MISSING from this season? We just don't know. All we know is that this emptiness, inside, is a space that is asking to be filled and though we have tried our best to do that, and done everything we know how to do, about it, . . . IT . . . STILL . . . ISN'T. . . filled; meaning something is still missing, from us or our lives. Staring at the bright lights, on our Christmas tree, we say, to ourselves, "What was it, that the whisper was trying to tell me? Was it something about this?" We still don't really know how to hear it, speaking to us, from somewhere down inside us. But, we begin to wonder, if it knows, the answer that we need to all this, that we just don't know. We need someone to tell us what  is wrong, with this picture of Christmas? Will we ever know what it is? Will we ever be able to stop feeling this way about it? In this season which is supposed to be about love and light we can feel so alone, even around others, and it can seem so dark to us then. What is supposed to emphasize the joy, of the season, instead seems to underscore the opposite of that, for us.

Another Christmas morning arrives. The tree almost has a glare instead of a glow to it, after it is surrounded by piles of torn, crumpled, gilded, wrapping papers, and packaging, which were ripped off of the presents, that had been under the tree. All the shiny, new, objects sit, waiting, to be explored, and hopefully enjoyed, although this scene also bodes ominously of the same cycle, of short-term gratification, turning into a long-term emptiness, again. >sigh!<  A thought comes to mind, almost as quietly as the strange whisper that speaks, softly, somewhere deep within me. It almost seems to take the shape of . . . a prayer! It feels awkward. But good. Like taking a very deep breath, after feeling stressed, by something. For a very long time. Tears fill my eyes, and I don't even know why! Something is happening. To me. In me. While this is not considered real in this realm it is very real, in this other, that I am somehow accessing now, in some spiritual way. This is not in the room, where I am sitting, yet it is going on all around me, or perhaps, only within me. A vision appears, imparted to me, from heaven itself! It is not from my own imagination, nor from my own doing, or thinking, or causing. God is Who is giving me the vision, which I am being allowed to see, not with my natural eyes, but with the eyes of my eternal spirit. Could my concerns, about Christmas, finally be addressed; by God Himself? In my spirit, I begin to hear a small, sweet, cry. In this vision, though, it also seems to be coming from underneath, all of what is, now, just a pile of garbage, left lying, all around the floor, after opening all the Christmas presents. What an untidy mess that made! All of that will have to be thrown out, I think to myself.  What is this sound, I can only hear in my spirit, that seems to be coming from underneath all that debris, though? I kneel down, on the floor, and begin to lift all that rubbish and toss it aside, trying to see what on Earth is making me aware of its presence.  Intently, I search for what is making that sound, that is covered over, by the trash, on the floor. It didn't sound like a puppy or a new pet. It was like a . . . human . . . cry. Like . . . a little baby!

But how could that be?

Then, I SAW IT! I saw HIM! A real baby! Lying buried beneath all the refuse, that was left after opening our presents, to one another. Was this--- this tiny being--- some sort of Christmas gift, to us? How was that even possible?  This was not anything that we had given to one another! Where did he come from? Why was he underneath our Christmas tree? Who gave him to us? He was lying there in a not-very-comfortable-looking makeshift crib filled with prickly pieces of hay. Wrapped in a cloth, of some type. I drew in a sharp breath, as I looked at him, lying there. He was so little. So amazing. So precious! I was captivated by him, so much so that everyone and everything else around me faded into the background, as I touched his tiny hand, with my finger. He grabbed onto me, as if he were holding on, for dear life! Like he never wanted to let me go. Something about that caused me to feel so wanted, and so loved by him, in a way that  I had never felt, with anyone else, before. It wasn't anything that I could easily explain, even to myself. I just knew that I felt a love, and a peace, and a hope that I had never, ever, felt before that moment. It was awesome! Although I didn't do this at the time, I suddenly felt like dancing and singing around the room, or something light-hearted, like that. I somehow felt carefree, as if all my cares, and concerns, were gone. As if someone else had come and lifted those off my shoulders. Part of me felt like I had simply suddenly lost my mind, while part of me knew that I had never felt more centered, or more sane, in my life, than I did in this moment, of encounter, with this baby boy. He was still grasping my finger tightly, with his little hand, as he looked into my eyes, and, although I know that it sounds silly, to say this, I felt like I was seen, really seen, for the first time in my life. And instead of that making me feel uncomfortable, due to my being so imperfect, I just felt so accepted! No one had ever really made me feel like that, before. So completely wanted, loved, seen, and, accepted! "What child is this?!?" I asked, out loud, to no one in particular, around me, but the only answer to that came from that whisperer, inside me:

"This, this is Christ the King,

  Whom shepherds guard and Angels sing
  Haste, haste, to bring Him praise,
  The Babe, the Son of Mary."

Wow! I had just met the Son of God! I had heard about Him, only now, I had encountered Him, for myself. I was amazed. I was awestruck. And I knew that from now on, I would never be the same. My life would never be the same. And Christmas! That would never be the same for me either! The Savior--- MY Savior--- came into my home. But even more than that, He came into my heart. I had heard the Christmas story, read from the Bible, every year, around this time. It had kind of seemed like all the other holiday stories that I had been told, from the time I was a young child. With all those other tales, they sounded nice, but just didn't really seem true. This story seemed interesting, to me--- that a baby could, and would, be born into this world, which was God's, only begotten, Son! To take our sins upon Himself, saving us, from the penalty, for those sins, by His fulfilling that righteous requirement on our behalf--- for us!--- because of His love for us! As He lay sleeping, serenely, now, I just stared at Him. I marveled, at the fact, that this newborn baby had come, to Earth, and made everything, about everything, in my life, feel new too! The birthday boy of Christmas. "Happy birthday, Jesus!" I whispered softly, so as not to wake Him, after His long journey, from heaven to my heart. Now I knew it, too: "For God so LOVED the world, that HE GAVE His only Son, that WHOEVER BELIEVES in Him should not perish, but have eternal life." Then I lifted my eyes upward, toward heaven, and I said, quietly,

"Thank You! It's the Perfect Gift, for me!"

Although the Christmas tree lights were still on, they seemed to suddenly go dark as the room grew extremely bright, from some other light source, now. At first, because of the brightness, I couldn't really see, where that was coming from. It felt like I was trying to stare at the sun, and my eyes partially closed against the intensity of this light. I shielded my eyes, with my one free hand, since the Baby would not let go of my finger even as He slept. Then my mouth dropped open, from the sheer shock, of what I was seeing, although all of this that was happening now left me feeling like I was in some other realm altogether, rather than here on Earth. There was a very tall person, standing there, saying to me: "Fear not. I bring you good news, of great joy, which shall be to all people. For, to you, is born, this day, a Savior, called Jesus, who is Christ, the Lord. And this is a sign, to you: You find the baby, wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger." Then a group of these beings appeared right before my eyes, causing me to believe in them, even more than I ever had in Santa Claus. They stood there, praising God, by saying "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." When they vanished from view after that, I looked back down at Baby Jesus. He was still holding onto my hand, as  if He would never let me go, now! I had been kneeling by this thing, that he was laying in; this "manger", they had called it . . . ever since I had gotten onto the floor, to pull all the packaging and paper away which was left there from all the--- other--- presents, to find where that sweet sound had been coming from underneath all of that, and had discovered Him, there. He woke, and fixed His gaze on me, returning mine at him, and I just knew that He belonged to me; but, even more, than that, I somehow knew, in my heart, that I belonged to Him. Now, and forever!

So, still kneeling, I said, to Him, almost like a prayer, "No one has ever made me feel this way before. I not only want You in my life, always, but I can't even imagine it without You in it, ever again. None of the holiday lights or anything else ever made me feel truly happy, or whole, on the inside, like I feel now because of You." My eyes filled with tears as I looked lovingly at His sweet face, and I told Him, "We belong together. You belong to me, and I belong to You. I feel like I can overcome any obstacle, now, in my life because You are in it, with me, now." Then, I heard that whisper, inside me, almost as if it were saying to me what this little Child could not, then, telling me, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." Without knowing how I knew, I knew that this was true, and I felt so much love and joy and a freedom that I couldn't put into words. Then, I realized, with a feeling of complete surprise, that the 'empty space' inside of me that I could never really seem to find or fill, was no longer there! That troubling void was gone, now.  I didn't feel empty, inside, anymore. Tears of relief welled up in my eyes. Somehow, I felt like I was finally saved, after always feeling that I had been lost, before; wandering through this life in search of somewhere, or someone, where I really belonged; which I couldn't even begin to describe, but I knew was missing from my life. I whispered to the baby boy, "I want You in my life! I need You in my life! Please be with me, always. From now on. I don't want it to be like it was, for me, before You came. I felt like such a misfit before, somehow, but now I feel like I'm who I am supposed to be, what I am supposed to be, and where I am supposed to be. I know that everything will work out, for me, now. For the best. Whatever that is. I trust You! Not even knowing, for sure, how that will happen does not stress me out, like it did, before You showed up in my life. I just feel like, everything, that I truly need, showed up, in my life, when You did! With You. From You. Because of You. I can't really put what I am feeling into words right now. But, I just have to tell You, for some reason, that I know for sure, that Your coming into my life today SAVED ME! I always just felt so lost, somehow, before. Now, I feel like You are my best friend, and that we will always be together. I love You! Thank You for being such a blessing to me just by being who You are! I am so glad You are here, with me, now. I just know that we're going to be together, forever, and I am so grateful, and so glad, about that!" Just as I finished, saying these things to Him, from my heart, He closed His eyes, beginning to fall asleep again. Trusting me in all that I had said to Him, He finally let go of my finger. After all, He really didn't have to keep hold of my finger, to know, we would, always, be with one another, from now on.

He had my heart!

After years, of my getting presents, that, even when they were what I thought I wanted, never seemed to satisfy my deepest needs for some reason, I finally got the greatest Christmas Gift ever given to me! My Savior, Lord and Best Friend, Jesus Christ; the Messiah! The other gifts had seemed great at first; then, not so great, somehow; and I never really knew why that was.  I just knew that something was missing, with all those things. None, of all that, had ever really satisfied me. In my soul. Because of that I always ended up feeling that vague, but persistent, emptiness, inside. Now that this holy infant had come into my life, I finally felt like I had gotten what I really needed, and wanted, all along; that I just hadn't realized, before. I was beginning to be able to hear that whisper, within me, alot better now, too! Just as I had that very thought, it said, to me, "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, with whom there is no change or shifting shadow." My very favorite Christmas carol began playing on the CD player then. It seemed like the perfect lullaby for this infant, as He finally drifted off to sleep once again; seemingly reassured, by my decision, that we would always be together, now that He had come. Into my life. Into my heart. . . . "Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace." God's Gift, to me, was this Baby! It was, and will always be, the Perfect Gift, for me! My gift to Him was my heart, which was exactly what He wanted, too!

References for this post:

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life." (John 3:16 NKJV)

"the Spirit of truth. The world cannot accept him, because it neither sees him nor knows him. But you know him, for he lives with you and will be in you." (John 14:17 NIV)

"For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?" (Mark 8:36 KJV)

"Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things as you have. For He Himself has said, 'I will never leave you nor forsake you.'" (Hebrews 13:5 NKJV)

"In Damascus there was a disciple named Ananias. The Lord called to him in a vision, 'Ananias!' 'Yes, Lord,' he answered. The Lord told him, 'Go to the house of Judas on Straight Street and ask for a man from Tarsus named Saul, for he is praying. In a vision he has seen a man named Ananias come and place his hands on him to restore his sight.'" (Acts 9:10-12 NIV)

From Wikipedia.org, regarding the definition of a (spiritual) "vision": "A vision is something seen in a dream, trance, or religious ecstasy, especially a supernatural appearance that usually conveys a revelation. . . ."

"I am the LORD your God. I am holding your hand, so don't be afraid. I am here to help you." (Isaiah 41:13 CEV)

"Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you." (1 Peter 5:7 NLT)

"And we know that the Son of God has come, and he has given us understanding so that we can know the true God. And now we live in fellowship with the true God because we live in fellowship with his Son, Jesus Christ. He is the only true God, and he is eternal life." (1 John 5:20 NLT)

Which, of the 4 gospels, tells the Christmas story of the birth of Jesus?

The birth of Jesus is described in Luke 2:1-20 and Matthew 1:18 - 2:23.

"In the beginning the Word already existed. The Word was with God, and the Word was God. He existed in the beginning with God. God created everything through him, and nothing was created except through him. The Word gave life to everything that was created, and his life brought light to everyone.The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it." (John 1:1-5 NLT)

"Who gave Himself as the redemption price for all--a fact testified to at its own appointed time" (1 Timothy 2:6 Weymouth New Testament)

"Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger." (Luke 2:11 - 12)

". . . He will never leave you nor forsake you." (Deuteronomy 31:6 NIV)

"There is only one God, and Christ Jesus is the only one who can bring us to God. Jesus was truly human, and he gave himself to rescue all of us." (1 Timothy 2:5 CEV)

"Trust in the LORD with all your heart, And lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge Him, And He shall direct your paths." (Proverbs 3:5-6 NKJV)

"And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose." (Romans 8:28 NKJV)

"Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, 'I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.'” (John 8:12 ESV)

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, with whom there is no change or shifting shadow." (James 1:17 Berean Study Bible)

Resources for this post:

"White Christmas"

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know
Where the treetops glisten and children listen
To hear sleigh bells in the snow
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
With every Christmas card I write
May your days be merry and bright
And may all your Christmases be white

Songwriter: Irving Berlin

"We Need a Little Christmas"

Haul out the holly;
Put up the tree before my spirit falls again.
Fill up the stocking,
I may be rushing things, but deck the halls again now.
For we need a little Christmas
Right this very minute,
Candles in the window,
Carols at the spinet.
Yes, we need a little Christmas
Right this very minute.
It hasn't snowed a single flurry,
But Santa, dear, we're in a hurry;
So climb down the chimney;
Put up the brightest string of lights I've ever seen.
Slice up the fruitcake;
It's time we hung some tinsel on that evergreen bough.
For I've grown a little leaner,
Grown a little colder,
Grown a little sadder,
Grown a little older,
And I need a little angel
Sitting on my shoulder,
Need a little Christmas now . . .
For we need a little music,
Need a little laughter,
Need a little singing
Ringing through the rafter,
And we need a little snappy
"Happy ever after, "
Need a little Christmas now . . .
Songwriter: Jerry Herman

[Part of the lyrics from the song] "O Holy Night"
O holy night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of our dear Savior's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope - the weary world rejoices.
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees.
O hear the angels' voices.
O night divine,
O night when Christ was born.
O night divine, o night,
O night divine.
Songwriter: Adolphe Adam

[Part of the lyrics from the song] "I've Just Seen Jesus"

I've just seen Jesus 

I tell you he's alive
I've just seen Jesus
Our precious Lord alive
And I knew, he really saw me too
As if till now, I'd never lived
All that I'd done before
Won't matter anymore
I've just seen Jesus
And I'll never be the same again

Songwriters: Danny Daniels, Gloria Gaither, William J. Gaither

"What Child Is This?"

What Child is this
Who laid to rest
On Mary's lap is sleeping?
Whom Angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?
So bring Him incense, gold and myrrh,
Come Peasant, King to own Him
The King of Kings salvation brings,
Let loving hearts enthrone Him.
This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and Angels sing
Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
Oh, raise, raise a song on high,
His mother sings her lullaby.
Joy, oh joy for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and Angels sing
Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,
The Babe,
The Son,
Of Mary. . . .
Songwriter: William Chatterton Dix

"Silent Night"
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
'Round yon virgin Mother and Child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night, holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight!
Glories stream from heaven afar;
Heavenly hosts sing Al-le-lu-ia!
Christ the Savior is born!
Christ the Savior is born!
Silent night, holy night
Son of God, love's pure light
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace
Jesus, Lord at Thy birth
Jesus, Lord at Thy birth
Songwriters: lyrics by Joseph Mohr; music by Franz Gruber

Video: "Christmas/Jesus; No Better Gift" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y4-puGte31o

Video: "He is the Gift" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uzjFEMmM0Xs

Song "He Made A Way In A Manger" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jGNhKdjdRO8&feature=youtu.be

My Older Brother; And That Relationship.

[Note: Up until this point I have been listing all previous, but associated, Blog posts, if there are any, in the newer posts that are about these same subjects, to be able to cross-reference them more easily. This is my 33rd Blog post, so far, this year. Many of them are quite lengthy, and all of them are really detailed, so my trying to go back now, to list which of these other posts tie in to a particular post, such as this one I most recently wrote, has become much more difficult for me to do, simply because of the sheer volume that I have written so far, in this Blog; with more coming. Therefore, I am no longer doing that here. After all, every post is a part of my life story so they all, ultimately, tie together, and all converge into this one story, of the life that I'm living, on this Earth. You are welcome to use the Blog Archive though, which should be a good guide, if you seek further background on certain chapters of my life story. You can also contact me by the email link, which is located on my Blog's Profile Page, with any questions, as well as leave your comments, for me, and any questions you have, at the end of any Blog post. Thank you.]

There are all kinds of studies done on birth order among siblings, and how much it affects who we become. Various studies debate this impact, on our personality, our intelligence, as well as many other factors, regarding our personal identity; and even whether birth order really affects us that much at all. While there seems to be no clear scientific agreement on this, I can testify firsthand that each, and every, one of my siblings affected who I became, as a person. I could physically see the interactions, that I had, with my three siblings, which I was directly involved in, with them, and also mentally detect, or discover, their indirect influences, going on, behind the scenes; especially from the sister that was the tattler. It definitely needs to be included, in this, as well, the ways that my father, and mother, also had a strong influence in how the four children formed these sibling relationships with one another, since the two adults created the familial framework, that led to all of the dysfunction. For better or for worse, my siblings most definitely helped shape who I am as a person. While birth order was not the only factor, it did contribute to my experience of, and with, my 3 siblings. I also felt the emotional impact, of all that, some of which left lasting emotional trauma, chronic trust issues, and deep resentments in me. I was the second child born of 4 children. The first born, and only son, was my brother, Mike, and I had 2 sisters, (apparently a half-sister) Pat, three years younger than I, and Pam, who was 6 years younger than I. So, I was the oldest girl, of the three; with one older brother.

From what I was told, apparently sibling rivalry was the very first experience that I had, when my parents had just brought me home from the hospital, as a newborn. There is an article on the subject of Birth Order which I recommend you read as an overview of this, which you can access from the link: https://www.sciencedirect.com/topics/medicine-and-dentistry/birth-order.  It describes the family dynamics involved in birth order and sibling rivalry, including this quote from the article:"Because firstborns are physically bigger than their younger siblings, they are more likely to employ physical aggression and intimidation, dealing with rivals. Firstborns are the  ‘alpha males’  of their sibling group, and they generally boss and dominate their younger brothers and sisters." This was true of my older brother with me, although he mellowed some with age. He also seemed to need to establish a better relationship with me later in life for his own reasons.  Sadly, by that time, however, I was living a busy life, far away, in another state, missing those subtle signals, from him, entirely, until it was too late.  Not "too late", because I wasn't open to it, because I was; and I would have welcomed it, as a nice change in what our relationship with one another had been like; but because he was dead. He killed himself. But that describes the end, with my only brother, so I need to go back now, to the very beginning.

I was told that when my parents brought me into the home and had placed me in the bassinet that my brother immediately tried to push me out in it saying he didn't want me here! I already had the physical stigma of being born with port wine stains, on my hand and hip, so I wasn't a 'perfect' baby girl. Now, at mere days old, my older brother adamantly rejected me outright, at first sight, and it seemed to stay that way for much of our childhood, except for the occasional times that he needed me for something. Then he would be more civil for as long as that need of his was being met by me. Otherwise I was basically invisible to him. I have some very early memories, of my interactions, with my brother. As a very little girl, I had looked up to him, and trusted him, to know more than I did and, from that, to help me to learn, as I tried to figure out the world around me, and all these things, that I was experiencing for the first time. One day I had my brand new coloring book and my crayons, at the kitchen table, beside Mike, who was playing with his small, plastic, toy soldiers, there, as well. The first page showed a dog, with a bone, and I had no idea what color a bone was; so, I asked Mike. He then instructed me, very matter of factly, to color it, with first one crayon, and then, over this, another crayon, and then, over those, a different color, until the bone was some murky mess, on that, otherwise, pristine page. When it could not look any worse than it did, he simply started laughing, saying that my pretty, new, coloring book was now ruined because bones didn't look like that at all! Even as a 3-year-old girl, such a 'Life Lesson' stuck, in my heart, and mind. Some of those things remain with us consciously and some do subconsciously. But they are there, all our lives, somewhere inside of us. They become part of us. How we think, and how we feel, about ourselves, others, and this world we live in. They form the unspoken beliefs about, and the rules of engagement for, our relationships, not only with these specific people, but with others as well. So, even this seemingly small incident with my brother that I am describing here left its (crayon) mark on me.

I learned alot that day that I didn't want to learn, but there it was, impacting me, with the shock and dismay, that I had felt, at that young age, which I could not possibly have articulated, then, to my brother or even myself. If it hadn't been him teaching me a lesson for no good reason, it would have inevitably been someone else, showing me such things, about what life was going to be like for me on this fallen planet Earth. I didn't learn what color a dog bone was from Mike. Instead he taught me what being disappointed, and disrespected, felt like, for me, and I began to learn how to be distrustful, suspicious, and resentful from that. If you believe that is an over-exaggeration about such a childhood memory, as that, the very fact that, now, at age 63, I can still see that moment in time, with my brother, so clearly in my mind, from 60 years ago, and, I still feel it, in my heart, demonstrates what an impact that had, on me, as a completely trusting little girl that had looked up to her older brother, with an admiration that he didn't warrant, from me. He scorned me, for trusting him! It is hard to tell ourselves in those moments that the fault is not in us, but in the other person. There is an old saying, credited to Randall Terry, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." The shame for this was my brother's; but especially because he laughed at me, over it, I internalized his belief that the problem was my being stupid enough to trust him. Adults often underestimate the impact of the things that kids experience, especially at a very young age, during what is known as the formative years. But, these are the very years that we learn the things, through this very type of social conditioning, that we'll carry with us throughout our entire lifetime! Robert Fulghum wrote a book titled "All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten", about this very thing, I am describing, here. This link is to an excerpt from his book: https://www.penguinrandomhouse.ca/books/56955/all-i-really-need-to-know-i-learned-in-kindergarten-by-robert-fulghum/9780345466396/excerpt .

When I was around this same age, I once innocently picked up Mike's little stuffed animal, from where he had just left it lying on the livingroom floor, beside the door. Like a ferocious parent to this toy tiger might behave, Mike pounced on me, before I even saw him coming, slamming my head, hard, against the door, as he grabbed this thing out of my hand. It felt vicious, angry, and terrifying, to me! He was very territorial, and no matter what I did, or didn't, do, after I came into this family, he made it very clear to me that I was an intruder, an interloper; and he was always quite indignant, toward me, about that. Since all of this was my first experience, and education, with what a family behaved like, it was what I came to know as normal family life. I had no way of knowing, for awhile anyway, until my limited world began to enlarge, and to include knowing others, outside of my immediate family, that there were actually other families which were truly welcoming, loving, and supportive, to their members, which in my experience ours was not, for the most part. All that I knew, about the concept of 'family', was what was going on around me, in this house I lived in with these people, leaving its legacy within me. What I was learning was our family patterns of behavior. Alot of those things have been discussed, in my previous Blog posts, about my parents. Some of it is also being shared in this post. More will be expounded on in my future posts that I need to write about my two sisters and my relationships with them.

For a variety of reasons, I came to realize over the course of my childhood that I did not have one single secure relationship, within my family, of origin, with the definition of "secure" being "feeling safe, stable, and free from fear or anxiety". The articles at the following links help me to describe here why this was so, in my own life, since one of the most frustrating aspects, of this, which adds insult to injury is that these perpetrators, and their enablers, within the family pretend that this wasn't actually the way it was, for their own reasons. They, at least in effect, call me a liar, for saying otherwise about it, and treat me like I am just some troublemaker for unfounded reasons. They try their best through 'guilt trips', shaming, and other manipulations to simply shut me up about it, since I, or rather the truth, is a threat to them, or actually to the status quo, in the family dynamic. My choosing to speak the truth is one of the main reasons that I have been treated like the family Black Sheep, and discredited in several different, and damaging, ways, demonstrating that, to these people, being honest about it, even if just with ourselves or one another, is generally something that they want no part of. Largely to protect themselves from admitting their part, in it, or having to openly acknowledge the truth about it, for their own reasons, they are more than willing to try to negate the reality of what I have, in fact, experienced in that house and in that family, with these people, leaving me feeling from that as if I am living in some weird,  'Alice In Wonderland'-like, alternate reality, in which they  try to tell me that the truth is topsy-turvy, rather than all of their lies about it. Reference these links:  https://www.kgrierson.com/uncategorized/family-origin-snapshot-history-matters/  by Karen Grierson, who is a Registered Psychotherapist, and this article, from Corrina Horne:
 https://www.betterhelp.com/advice/family/defining-your-family-of-origin-how-it-impacts-you/ .

As kids we would play games like Monopoly together, and go sledding when it snowed, but I just felt that Mike only needed me, to interact with, at those times because of needing others involved in these activities, for him to do, or really enjoy, them. He and I never really had any deeply meaningful conversations, with one another, though we talked together sometimes. I don't fault either of us for that because I believe that this was our natural reaction to, and the way that each of us was dealing with, this environment we were living in. This familial format which our parents had created for their own reasons to be the acceptable atmosphere in this home, was being experienced, every day, by each of us and all of us, as what our 'home life' was obviously supposed to be, which we children learned, because we could observe it and feel it. We kids adapted to that, in whatever way we each did, because we were dependents. There was no choice, for us. The tenor of this home definitely did not facilitate interaction, or communication, of any real substance, or depth, between our family members. I learned this pattern of behavior from Dad, Mom, and Mike, who were part of this before I ever was, and I behaved this same way, then, with them, and with my sisters; but it did not originate with me.

Dad, being Mike's only male role model, in our home, spent the majority of his time in front of the TV. It was not only an easy distraction, for him, from the real life goings-on all around him  in our home, and family, but an actual disappearance, of him, from a relational standpoint, as far as interacting with the rest of us. That left me feeling fatherless, throughout my childhood, and beyond, even though Dad was, physically, present in the home. He rarely spoke with, or spent time with, us, shutting us out, as he watched TV, probably 99% of the time that he was home. He would usually speak to us to sternly admonish us for interrupting his incessant TV viewing by trying to start a conversation, either with him, or someone else, in the room. God help us, if, when he seemed to have finally fallen asleep, on the couch, in front of the TV, we tried to change the channel or turn the TV off, because he immediately woke up and actually interacted with us, then, only for the purpose of demanding that we leave it, just as he had it, saying the TV still had his full attention, even while he slept! The clear message was that his relationship with the TV was much more important to him than a relationship with us children. That was what he chose day in and day out, year in and year out, demonstrating it was what he found to be preferable and gratifying to invest himself in emotionally over anything that he could have developed, or nurtured, with the four children living in this house. This behavioral choice, by him, trickled down from him, as head of the home, and permeated the interactions of all of us, with one another, as he led by example, demonstrating that cultivating real, direct, interpersonal, relationships, within this family, was not considered to be necessary, important, or even preferable, to living disengaged, from one another; each distracting ourselves, with a non-relational pastime, shunning any cohesiveness, each going our own way. Dad even gave each of us our own portable TV, for our rooms, one Christmas; likely so he could watch his in the den mostly uninterrupted by us, from then on. That did not create closeness, between us.

Why does this matter when I'm describing my relationship with my brother? Because Mike also was addicted to watching TV. He shared that focus, and priority, with our father. When we were home, Mike sat himself right in front of the television set, just like Dad did, and he stayed there. One day, I was also trying to see something on a show that was on, only I really couldn't see it at all, because my brother was sitting so close to the TV set that he was blocking the screen. I asked him, several times, to move over, some, so that I could see it, as well, but he completely ignored my requests. He did not simply refuse, to move over, some, out of the way, for me. He did not even respond to me, at all, although he heard me plainly, disregarding my request, and me, totally. So, out of frustration, I went to touch his arm, to get his attention, off the TV, to ask again that he move over a little so I could see the TV screen too, and he immediately flew into a rage, chasing me through the house, hitting me on the head, using the hard heel of his shoe that he had grabbed as he came after me; literally attacking me, because of my small request of him. I was screaming, both in fright and pain, as he kept hitting me hard with the heel of his loafer. I was cowering in a corner, just outside my parents' bedroom, where I had run, to try to get some help, and protection, from our mother. She came out of the room to see what all this commotion was about, but when she saw this she did nothing to Mike, about this abusiveness toward me on his part, but I was admonished by her, for 'starting it' with him. It was scary, and bewildering to me, that she did that! My head had a knot on it from his shoe, but he simply got away with doing that to me. I was indoctrinated to be abused by males while I was growing up.

My brother climbed in through the bathroom window one summer night while my sisters and I were all bathing together like three little naked nymphs in the tub on a Saturday night, getting clean for Sunday school and church service, the next day. We girls all screamed, but that did not deter Mike from doing that, to scare us (and perhaps, take a peek at us). Our mother had us girls take our bath that way often, when we were all smaller, as it likely made that process easier for her, by getting all 3 of us clean, at one time, and as quickly as possible. Although it was just a boyish prank, by our brother, then, Mike never seemed to get in trouble, for things he did. Not even those occasional ones which were considered more serious, except for one time, which I witnessed watching from my room, hurting for my brother, after he had stolen a piece of candy from the grocery store and Mom told Dad about it. He hit Mike so many times with the fly swatter for that incident, and so hard with it, that he actually finally broke it in two! Mike was running around the room trying to escape the stinging blows, crying out in pain, but Dad relentlessly chased after him, and wouldn't stop punishing him until the fly swatter finally broke. It was the only time, that I ever saw, my brother being punished, like that, for anything. There was, unspoken, parental, 'letting him off the hook', for most of his behavioral decisions including those that negatively impacted my life at times. Part of that is the 'boys will be boys' get-a-free-pass syndrome, which seems to be some invisible shield that protects males from being responsible, and accountable, for their own, bad, behaviors, or lack of character, in the circumstances that this is applied, on their behalf. Most of it, though, seemed to be due to his being the first born, male, and heir of the family name, since the rest of us children were girls.

Mike did get focused attention from, and social outings with, our father during their father-and-son activities, which just the two of them did, together; even after my brother was grown. Dad was the one that took Mike out, into the backyard, as a boy, for a father-and-son session, and taught him how to shoot guns. I seriously doubt that was something that my brother had really wanted to learn or sought to experience, if the decision had been left up to him. At least at the time. But as children we often go along to get along especially in such situations, because we are a dependent, being told this is what we're going to do now, and because the approval and affirmation of the parent is so needed by the child. Besides being the only son, Mike was even named after Dad, although he went by his own middle name. He was trying, as most boys do, to learn to be a man, from our father, who was, for better or worse, his primary role model. So, when your dad says "I'm going to teach you to shoot a gun today" you just go do it. There isn't the choice, or chance, to say no. I wondered, later, when Dad was viewing his dead son in his casket, and sitting at his funeral, and burying him in the ground, after Mike had used a gun, to kill himself, if he thought about how he taught my brother that very skill, which he used to take his own life. When any of us make choices in life, even the ones that seem straightforward, to us, it is really impossible to see what the consequences of those will be, as time goes by. I am certain our father could have never foreseen this outcome, from teaching my brother to shoot.

One Christmas, Mike got a race car track, and he and Dad set it up, and began to play with it.  I was probably around 7 or so then. That year, while I did not know how to articulate this very well, what I wanted most for Christmas was to have a family! These people lived in the house where I did, but they did not feel like a family to me, in the way that, by then, I had seen other families being together, such as on many TV shows of the 1960s, and when I was visiting the homes of my friends, and relatives. I couldn't exactly explain what was missing, with us, but I knew that something, surely, was! So although I saw, and really appreciated, my Barbie dolls and other gifts, that day, what I longed for was to bond, with my family. I went over beside my dad, and brother, because that seemed like a good place to start, since the two of them were already spending time together, versus the rest of us who were each interacting with our new presents, separate and apart from one another. I sat down on the floor next to them, to watch them race the little cars around the track. They did not really pay me much attention, but they did not send me away, so I was enjoying being able to share the celebration of the season in this way, by seeing them having such a good time, with this toy, together. Mom came and got me, though, and asked me if I did not like my toys, because I had left them, across the room, where 'Santa' had left those for me, to (try to) spend time with my family members; hoping to feel a bond, between us, that way. I answered that I did like all of my toys, but I could not tell my mother, then, what I really wanted and needed, much more than the toys, that Christmas, because at that young age I did not even know how to put into words, yet, what I clearly can, now, about this family, and how I felt about being in the midst of it. So, I returned to my dolls, dressing them in their new outfits, but I looked wistfully back across the room, at other family members, all enjoying their Christmas gifts, together-but-apart from one another (which was the hallmark of this family, in nearly every way), instead of us all interacting with one another.

One day, Mike had a friend over, and they were out in the yard, throwing a disk back and forth to one another, that used to be the metal wheel of a wagon, as they each attempted to portray athletic prowess. I went outside, to watch them, and was standing, behind his friend, when my brother hit me in the ribs, sharp and hard, with that heavy disk. I fell to the ground, and unable to draw a breath, wondered, to myself, in a panic, if I were dying, in that moment. Mother said, afterward, that I had just had the air knocked out of me, by Mike; but I had never been unable to breathe at all, like that, before, so it was really scary to me! However the worst part, of that, was that I always wondered, whether Mike had hit me with that thing on purpose, because if I ever did anything he really didn't like, from the time I was very small, he would not hesitate to put me in my place, as he saw it, by becoming physically aggressive and even violent toward me, if he thought he could get away with it. I was not quite a year-and-a-half younger than he was. Since I was close to his age, and size, he sometimes recruited me, to play football, with him in the yard, since he didn't have a brother. I wanted my brother to recognize that I had at least some value, to him, since he treated me as if I were nonexistent, most of the time. So, I truly did my best to be a good playmate to him, those times that he wanted me to, or allowed me to. I felt myself very consciously making alot of effort to compensate for the actual lack of closeness in our relationship during each of those times, but that ultimately did not change it. To Mike, his relationship with me was merely utilitarian; just as so many males treat females.

[I wouldn't understand until much later that a main difference between males and females, in general, as far as their view of others, especially those of the other gender, seems to be that males view females, primarily, in ways that are utilitarian in function, valuing us when we are being serviceable to them in some way, while females are more interested in experiencing a reciprocal relationship which is mutually beneficial, enjoyable, and balanced in the relational bonds that we form with others with an emphasis not only on allowing that but by promoting that with each other. This is not limited to sexual relationships between these two genders. I believe it is a pervasive problem affecting any, and many, social interactions between males and females. While this is a generalization of the two genders, I believe that these divergent viewpoints account for how men seem much more able to be unfaithful, in what they vowed would be a committed monogamous union and fail to comprehend, or care about, what that does to devastate their female partner who views this as being an egregious violation of the covenant between them. To the man, sticking his cock in another female simply because he saw opportunity, and had motive, was simply further expressing his general view and belief, that the females are mostly, if not even merely, serviceable objects to them rather than their relational partner. I believe that this same predominantly male mindset also greatly explains why the huge majority of criminal acts committed against others, including but not limited to rape, are by males. That fact, also, seems to support this view that men make many of their behavioral choices, based, very subjectively, on what they perceived to be their own needs, with little, if any, thought to the impact, of their actions, on the ones whom they are violating, some way or other, through their assertion that, within this relationship, their own needs are their only consideration or concern; regardless of the impact, this has, on that other person. I've experienced this distressing dilemma, in my attempts to have a relationship with males, including with my brother whom this post is about. I don't want to be just a means to an end. This link provides a further explanation of what I'm trying to say about that, here in this post:  http://www.bbc.co.uk/ethics/introduction/endinitself.shtml.  The bottom line, with my brother, was that we never had a close relationship, with one another, and my only value to him was  my being a means to some end for him at times which, even so, were few and far between.]

Mike came home from an extended hiking and camping trip with his Boy Scout troop along the Appalachian Trail, and not having bathed, for quite a while, and sleeping outside, he reeked of a very unpleasant, gamy, smell! However even with all that, he did not head to the bathroom to clean up but, immediately, sat down, in front of the TV, the minute that he came into the house. That room, and then the whole house, began to fill with this creeping, unpleasant, stench from him, so I asked him to please go bathe! Just as I have described before about him, toward me, he didn't even acknowledge that I was bothered, by this situation, or had said anything, to him, about it. Nothing. I was invisible to him; nonexistent; not even worth responding to, by him. He was the first born; the male child; and, he was going to do whatever he pleased, whenever he pleased. He also knew, just as I did, by then, that for the most part both Mom and Dad let him. I began to ask Mom to make him take a shower, since he ignored me, but she let him sit there. By contrast, when I suddenly hit puberty and unaware of this change in my body came into the kitchen, to talk to my mother, after being outside playing in the summer heat and humidity, she wrinkled her nose, at me, told me sharply to get away from her, and with a look of disdain, and disgust, told me I stank and sent me to shower right away, causing me to feel both rejected by her and judged, especially by this double standard which never seemed to be in my favor. The subliminal messages that I was being taught by my family through these experiences as I was growing up, in this house, including through my interactions with, and due to the behaviors of, my siblings, especially how they behaved toward me, were so often so negative that, in effect, they had little to no positive influence on me, in my life, at all. They were not very good for me.

While we were still living in Mebane, North Carolina, before moving to Hickory, we had large gardens, that we planted, and harvested. When we would have to shuck the corn to prepare that for Mom to freeze it, for later on, Mike would flick the caterpillars onto me, that he came across underneath the husks as he ripped those off the ears. I hated having to do that chore with him, because of that! We had one short season of raising our own livestock there, also, and I felt devastated when this sweet cow whom we had, and knew personally, named Star, was suddenly taken away, one day, only to return, later, in multiple pieces, wrapped in white butcher paper! My brother, knowing it deeply distressed me, began calling every hamburger that we had, from that meat, 'Star Burgers', and every steak, from it, which was now piled in our freezer, 'Star Steaks'. He would say that during these meals, for many months, until that meat was finally all gone. As a result, I gagged, on nearly every bite, and developed such a phobia about it that I was traumatized to the point that I simply could not eat any beef, at all, after that, for quite a while. If I tried, because it was served as our supper, on many nights, I simply couldn't swallow it, and had to just spit it out into my napkin, because it would not go down my tightened throat. Even Mom's admonishing me, for this, could not cause me to be able to eat 'Star', anymore, after my brother had created such a disgust, in me, toward that. Mike also fostered my fear of dogs, I had growing up, that, also, took me many years to get over. He had compassion on the dogs but not on me, his sister. Mom told me that Mike had chosen a collie, Prince, that he picked out at the pound, after he saw someone that worked there turn the hose, with its cold water, full force, in this dog's face. So, through that story, I learned that Mike was capable of being caring and compassionate; only he wasn't with me. Again, though, I blame the family dynamic, this family's dysfunction, for that poor quality, of interpersonal relationships, that developed and existed from then on between its members. Especially since things were not discussed and resolved, resentments built up in members, and relationships either did not develop, or thrive, in many cases. Our parents set that tone.

My brother was extremely intelligent. One summer while school was out, just for something to do, he spent it reading all the volumes of the encyclopedia! He was in National Honor Society, and Mensa. I felt sorry for him in some things, though, that he wasn't nearly as proficient in as he was with his academic accomplishments. Mike felt the pressure of being the only male heir to the family name, since daughters, when they marry, take on their husband's name. He was both interested in and aware of the family genealogy. Sadly, though, from the time he was still quite young, and asked his very first crush to go steady, with him, and she rejected him, Mike never had any success, at all, with women. It is my belief that he died, at age 40, still a virgin. Just as I have seen so many men do he always tried to 'punch above his weight' romantically, shunning the perfectly nice but perhaps a bit plain girls and then women, that still would have been a good catch for him since he grew up from a cute little boy to a somewhat odd-looking, fairly unattractive man. His early balding, and thick eyeglasses, didn't help that any. He came close to being homely as a grown man although he had a nice smile which he rarely used. He was for the most part a very serious person, and I suspect, given our upbringing, and his own unrequited aspirations, a fairly depressed one as well. While he could not be blamed for what he was personally dealt genetically, he continually chased, and tried to charm, females that he was drawn to because they had social status, or looks, while being abrupt, and cold, to any of the regular women, any of which could have probably given him the love and nice married life that he so deeply wanted to find and experience. He never gave any of the average women a chance, but to literally his last breath, he chased women which I believe he knew, in his heart, were always out of his reach. His self-esteem issues deepened; not just from that, and due to his appearance, but the deficits in our upbringing, all of which he tried to over-compensate for.

He was prone to take out his unhappiness and stress, for his life not going exactly the way he wanted it to, on others, but always women, who were not to blame, for this situation. While he was probably just acting out of extreme frustration, and probably alot of anger, over all this, it came across, from him, at least to me, as his being very egocentric, hostile, and misogynistic, none of which caused me to personally admire him at all. When Mom went back to (graduate) school, I did the majority of household chores, made lunch for us 4 children, and basically kept the house going, during that time, while Mike sat in front of the TV all day, was never any help, to me, with any of this, and only, grudgingly, went to mow the lawn (on a riding lawn mower, at that!) because Dad had told him to do that, and he likely did not want to risk another spanking. I was there, for Mike, as much as he allowed me to be, but I did it very circumspectly because he just barely welcomed that from me. When we were both attending high school I'd often buy an extra candy bar, from whichever student organization was selling those, for their fundraiser, and would hand each extra one off to my brother, as he stood outside his classroom and I was headed down the hall, to mine. In playing football, with him, I would let him tackle me, hard, to help develop his male confidence, more, since he did not have any brother to do that with him.

Our parents had moved the family to Hickory, when Mike and I were both in high school. I was a 9th grader but had to go back to middle school, after we moved, because the 9th grade was not in high school, there, although I had already started my freshman year in high school back in Mebane. Because of that, and the school year had already well started, it made things quite difficult for me, as far as feeling comfortable and fitting in. But for Mike, who was in 11th grade, with only a year left, in high school, this family move came at a truly horrible time, for his life. It threatened to take him away from all of his close friends that he had grown up with, something he really resented and adamantly resisted; so much so that our parents allowed and arranged for him to stay behind in Mebane, for the rest of that school year. He stayed with Grandmother, there, after the rest of the family moved to Hickory because Mike was not ready to let go of the support system he felt he had there. He rejoined the family again, after that school year ended, and attended Hickory High for his senior year before heading off to the university and studying to become a pharmacist. However, while he was living as a long-term guest, in Grandmother's house, with her going out of her way, for Mike, and disrupting her regular life, to accommodate him, so that he could attend all of the 11th grade in Mebane, he'd still rather rudely demanded things be on his terms, even with her, which had caused something of a strain with her having him there, although she still always tried to be gracious, and understanding, toward him, then.

When he was grown, our parents convinced him to purchase a house, although he was single, without any romantic prospects, at all, that could lead to a marriage, for him. It may have been advice, from them, based more on making the financial investment in it, but he did not need to do that, then, and he could have really enjoyed other options, such as travel, or moving out of that small city much sooner than he finally did, to seek a happier, more fulfilling life for himself in some other place. Mike was not happy, at all, being anchored to that house, he now owned. Probably from knowing that he was lonely, there, also, Mom and Dad suggested I go see him, and his 'new' house, so I did, to be supportive of him. It was not much of a place, but I tried to be as upbeat and enthusiastic about it as possible to be encouraging since he was stuck with it, now; at least, for awhile. It seemed to me he had taken some bad advice, from our parents. Perhaps, they had even thought that Mike's owning his home might help him attract a woman, which he never had any luck with, by demonstrating that he could be a provider for them. But the women, that he was always interested in, were a cut above the average woman and after seeing that small, plain, house I think that even average women, which he had spurned when they liked him, would not have really wanted to live there. He eventually moved away; once to Utah, to follow a Mormon family out there whom he knew, just because he had a crush on the daughter who only considered him a friend and nothing more. Then he returned back to North Carolina; and moved to Greensboro. It was a much bigger city with alot more to offer than the sleepy-seeming town of Hickory. He had been living in Greensboro for years though, when he committed suicide. People asked me why he did that, like I could read his mind or really know, when ours was never a family of communicators, including Mike with me. I always just answer with the obvious observation of "He wasn't happy." It looked to me like he'd chased everything, that he thought life could offer to him, that he wanted, and he had just never obtained any of it. That would finally make a person lose hope, and people deal with that in alot of different ways.

When I was 34 years old I was living back in Hickory, North Carolina, during one of the several Christmases that I suffered being among these family members of mine, yet again, in my futile attempts to, somehow, by a miracle, I could only hope, and pray, for, have a better relationship with these people, as an adult. Mike was 36, then. When all the presents had been passed, to the people to whom they were each for, one still sat under the tree all by itself, conspicuous in its solitary state. At first I thought it was unclaimed, but I began to realize that it was unwanted, instead! It was still wrapped, so the rejection of that gift had nothing to do with the contents. It happened to be a very popular candy, which was sure to please the one for whom it had been bought. This gift was what I had gotten, for my brother, that year! For no real reason, at all, he simply chose to, purposefully, shun it, which in effect was him showing his rejection of me, yet again. This situation, of such family member's behaviors, likely causes some of you, who had happier, more rational, and more loving families, than I have ever experienced, to think that--- surely!--- I must be leaving something out in this recollection of the events as they unfolded. I assure you, it is as curious, pathetic, and hurtful as what it seems like in my account of it here.

This being a family that continually 'walked around the elephants in the room' rather than really communicate deeply and meaningfully, with one another, there weren't alot of real discussions, or arguments, because either one of those things would take true communication, which rarely occurred in this house. So, there had been no clashes, nor clamoring, going on, between Mike and I.  As far as I could tell, based on the fact that I often, uneasily, had to second guess these situations, or read between the lines in my efforts to sense where I stood with the other person in each, and all, of these family relationships, there was no real problem, of any kind, between my brother and I. So, based on that, I even tried to hand him that gift, from me, to him, directly, myself, but he absolutely wouldn't take it from me! So, it was simply left, sitting, under the tree. This exasperated me, because there was no reason, for him to be acting, like that, toward me, especially on Christmas. So, I went to Dad, who had left the living room, immediately after the opening of all the, other, presents, except for mine to my brother, and was already back in the den, watching TV again. Since he had the closest relationship to Mike, although it still was not deeply close, even so, I told him that there was simply something going on with Mike that was really wrong, and that he needed to talk with Mike, about whatever it was, and get it dealt with. I knew that there had to be some really unhealthy, irrational, and, even angry, emotions, in my brother, in general, for him to behave in this way, because I had done nothing, to deserve this treatment from him. Even though I was now a grown adult, not a dependent child, Dad simply shrugged off my concerns, and refused to talk to Mike, about why he was acting out, that way.

Because of my very real concern for my brother, which Dad ignored, I wondered whether that had anything to do with the fact that none of my immediate relatives, from my family of origin, called me, where I had returned, to live, back in Nebraska, to tell me, themselves, when Mike killed himself. They had my brother-in-law, Steve, call me, whom I barely even knew since I'd lived away, from all these people, for most of my adult years, even before my sister Pam met, dated, or married him. My family's calling me, about anything, was rare, and Steve had never even called me before; and from the awful knowing in my gut, that the family dysfunction was so toxic that at some point it simply had to cause or allow for something really bad to happen  to someone, of us, I said to Steve, almost as soon as I had answered the phone, "It's Dad, or Mike. Which one?" Steve replied "It's Mike", then he told me about my brother taking his own life, with a single shot to the heart. I thought about Dad's downplaying my very real concerns, over Mike's mental state, that Christmas, only a few years earlier. Had that come to his mind, now that this had happened? Because, there were some relatives offering to buy me a plane ticket back to North Carolina, for my brother's funeral, but my parents told them not to bother doing that . . . because they didn't want me there! I sat all alone, that day, in my apartment in Omaha as they all, except for me, gathered in North Carolina as a family, to bury my brother. Afterward, my mother did send me one, small, color photo, of Mike, lying dead, in his casket. How 'thoughtful' of her to even do that for me. I remain so angry about all that, to this day! In fact, during a phone call years later with my dad, I told him in no uncertain terms that I would not be attending his funeral upon his death; or my mother's. Why would I want to be there as some symbol, for these people, of something that is not true? It is not true that I have a close and loving family that I would miss if they were no longer on Earth. It is not true that there's a depth of relationship, for me, with even one of them. That's simply not ever really been there.

Mike had never reached out to me and actively cultivated a real relationship between the two of us, so it shocked me when I got a letter from him, when I was grown, living in Omaha, and working, by then, as a Go Go Dancer in a nightclub. He was not too explicit in the words that he wrote, but, reading between the lines (a skill that I'd had to develop in this family because open and direct communication was almost never allowed or accepted, by this family, due to the behavioral patterns that my parents had put in place, for us to adhere to and accept as a 'normal' family pattern), my brother did not sound happy at all with his life, where he was. He seemed to be reaching out to me, about that! While I was distracted by the sheer shock, of it, after a lifetime of his basically having little to no use for me, I sensed that he truly needed my help and I felt quite moved to provide that for him, only I wasn't at all sure what that help was exactly, that he needed. Since I was making the best money I had ever made, working as an exotic dancer, then, I apparently sent him money, to help alleviate some of his stress, that he seemed to be describing in the letter to me. I actually love to give, and to help others, when I am able to do so and, equally importantly, am motivated to do so; and I do not have a showy style, about doing that. To me, it is simple, straightforward, and solely from the heart. I can. I want to. If, and when, I do it. I say "apparently", though, because, even though his letter was certainly a STAND OUT event, in my relationship, with him, so my responding generously in any way, including financially, should have probably been something I really remembered, it wasn't. I just did it, with an open heart, hoped that it helped, and that it was what he needed from me, and went on, with my own life. After all, his relational pattern with me had from the beginning been such that he had always only reached out to me to acknowledge that I even actually existed when he needed something from me. I was really glad, that he felt he could come to me and that I would be there for him, despite the family's dysfunction. As far as my sending him money, then, though, I personally did not recall my doing it. After his death, our mother was reading his journals and she told me that he had written about my doing that for him and how much that had meant to him. I just wish I had known what he truly needed from me, when he reached out to me, in that letter, which was the only letter he ever wrote to me.

I missed the signal, that his letter, reaching out to me, was sending me, though, and all these years, since, I have so wished that I had understood that he was in more trouble than I could ever know, from my having to read between the lines to try to discern any of it at all, and that he needed me, more than I had any idea about, then. Before God, I tell you, if I'd only known that he was sinking into the despair that he was, and really needed a refuge and a refocus to try to gain a foothold in his life, I would have done much more for him than I did by writing the check to him. (Doing that was actually another familial pattern though. My mother, especially, would, usually, just hand me her charge card and send me shopping, when I tried to express emotional needs, to her, because those real needs I had, which were not getting met, by this family, were something that she also could not or would not deal with. Giving money was the response, of choice, instead, which, while not all bad, never addressed, or met, my very real needs that I had for closeness, affection and affirmation. My check to my brother, Mike, likely had the same effect. Unintentionally.) That was all that I knew to do then. Later on, I realized that he was sending out a Distress Signal, to me, by writing me that letter, and while I am not sure what he saw as being the ideal response, from me, to that, I feel certain, now, the check was not what he really needed, from me. I wish I could go back, in time, and give Mike more! At that time, in my life, I made enough money that I could have invited him to simply come to Omaha and stay with me, with no pressure, while he figured out what he might like to pursue  to be happier, in his life. I could, and would, have gladly given him that time and space, then.

Mike had been a pharmacist. You could say that, on paper, he had all he needed, for a happy and successful life, but his life was really never either of those things, and unable to deal with the deep disappointment of that, any longer, he committed suicide. Not by taking pills, though he knew all about toxicology from his years working as a pharmacist, but by taking his loaded gun and shooting himself--- quite tellingly, and poignantly--- in the heart. That choice of a gun still revealed who he was, though, at his core, because it reflected Mike's anger, and violence, that I had seen, in him, and experienced, from him, especially when we were both very young. Those things were always there, in him, throughout his life, usually, barely, below the surface, with his intense desire, born of those things, to annihilate someone (which was himself, in the end). When he did that, he was still demonstrating that same selfish streak that was strong in him ever since he was very little that demanded that the world meet him on his terms and if it didn't, when it didn't, he lashed out aggressively in some way. Suicide is certainly a selfish act although I think that this is not always apparent to the person that's decided to kill themselves when they are in such emotional or mental pain, in that moment. However, I maintain that this was selfish on Mike's part because he was on the phone when he did it, with a young woman, that he worked with. She was apparently his current crush in a very long series of the crushes that he had throughout his life, that had never materialized into one single real relationship for him. She was, actually, even in the process of trying to work things out, with her on-again-off-again boyfriend, which she had told my brother about. With an extensive history of absolutely no luck with women, Mike was nevertheless interjecting himself into that situation by trying to woo and win her, so he likely would have never succeeded with this woman, anyway, even if her heart wasn't currently caught up in her feelings for this other man whom she had actually had a relationship with. While on a call with her, Mike shot himself. She had to call the police.

In case you are wondering how I know these things, when Mike killed himself, and I was kept out of the loop and away from his funeral by my parents, for no good reason, and shut out by the family as far as much information since, of course, no one wanted to actually talk about it,   I contacted the police and spoke with the detective that had to investigate his death, who was very forthcoming with me about all that he had discovered about it all. He appreciated my call because he had been curious about some things regarding my brother, and what had led him to do this. After we exchanged information between us, that we each needed, and wanted, to know, about this, he thanked me for filling in some of the details about Mike's life, that helped him to more comfortably close the case as fully investigated after indicating to me my parents were not very communicative, about these things. That was typical, for our parents, of course, since communication, while it is the very lifeblood of any relationship, between people, wasn't something that was practiced or allowed in this family in any real form or fashion. The woman had patiently reiterated to my brother that she did not see him romantically, and her heart was somewhere else, besides, but being unable to accept that answer from her, and being unable to handle any more rejection, he called her back, to express his pain, and then left her on the line, to listen to him pull the trigger to take his life. The Mike that I knew, from the time I was a newborn, insisted on his life being laid out for him exactly as he wanted it, and he did not deal well, at all, with it when it was not, which, in truth, was far more often than not; turning quickly angry and aggressive to express his displeasure and likely his despondency, over this turn of events. His suicide was just part of this pattern. He wasn't usually violent, and I don't mean to portray him that way. He, as I did, ultimately kept to himself, much of the time, as we grew up in that uncomfortable household, where mutually supportive relationships were not well made with one another. I'm acknowledging the latent hostility, that was in him, especially toward the females in his world who were not cooperating with how he wanted, even demanded, it to be. That fury was always there, in my brother, at the deepest level, and in the end, it took his life.

I Was Left Burned Out And Brokenhearted

[Note: In my previous post published 9-11-19 titled "My Caring For Others, & Killing Someone" there is the background information on how I came to be a CNA, and the primary back injury I suffered while I was in that job, which was caused by a specific patient, is also detailed there.]

My doing constant patient lifting, as a Nurse's Aide (with my slender frame, at 128 pounds, and 5'9" height), began to cause more and more lower back problems for me resulting in increasing anxiety, as I started to see 'the end of the road', then, for being able to continue working in this medical career field. I had loved doing this type of work because it felt very rewarding to me as I gave the very best skills and effort that I had to offer in my caring so conscientiously for these patients. I was also respected, by the nursing staff, and doctors, and treated like a very valued member of the hospital staff, by them, as well. I especially enjoyed doing new patients' intakes upon their admission to the hospital floor that I worked on. During those initial assessments, I focused on gathering and charting all of the information that could help the doctors and nurses with their diagnosis and treatment, of these people arriving for our care. I prayed with patients, comforted patients, and sometimes cried with patients. I laughed with them, rejoiced with them and shared special moments with them, as well. I was the very last person with them, at times, before they went downstairs, for their surgery or other procedures that they were having done, which some of them, occasionally, did not survive and return from. Because of all these things there was an underlying sense of purpose, even drama, in the career field. There was tragedy, comedy, and everything in between in helping these people who were admitted to the hospital to receive our care, while they were in a vulnerable state, in some way or another, while there. The one constant thing, about it, was that I knew that everything, that I did, made a difference.

Because I gave everything in me to this job and these patients that I directly cared for, one of the doctors, Steve, who was Head of the ER Department, sternly warned me, that I would be headed for burnout, if I approached my job, and these people, with such an open heart. I felt that of course he had to feel that way, to protect himself in that medical career field, because he saw the very worst of what there was to see in this hospital, down there, in the ER, as the ambulances brought in people, needing care from hapless, to horrifying, reasons, to be dealt with, directly; often by him. As for me, performing my daily duties, up on the medical surgical floor (https://www.nursingjobs.com/explore-travel-nursing/things-to-know/content/med-surg-floor-nursing) away from the terrors and tragedies, that he saw, in the ER, it was not always pleasant to do some of the patient care involved but I strove to make it a positive experience for them. Because this work was so personally rewarding, to me, I became despondent as I realized with each new back ache from it, now (which I limped and winced from, sometimes being unable to perform my duties), this career field was quickly coming to a close, for me. I was given rounds of physical therapy, and medications which I didn't want to have to take to begin with, for my back problem, now. Despite all this I had no reassurance that I would ever completely heal, or be able to continue doing this type of job, which was clearly beginning to wear out my lower back. In fact, I was being told that I was risking permanent damage to my back, if I continued on, doing what I was doing. So many people working in this nursing field end up losing their career, in it, as I did, due to it stressing, straining, and ultimately causing, what can often be, lasting damage to their back. Now, it was happening to me. I did not feel ready to let go of something which had meant so much to me, when the recurring back pain became increasingly frequent, even more problematic and just too much to ignore anymore; but It was forcing my decision. I would have to let go, of this work, in nursing, and move on.

So, with a very heavy heart, but still wanting to stay at this hospital, where it felt so much like a family to me with my co-workers, I took a clerical job in the Admissions and Billing Office. I had thought that I would find this same camaraderie between the staff, that had caused all of us on the nursing floor to be so close to one another, emotionally. I saw, almost immediately, that this was not at all the case, in this jarringly different atmosphere that I was in, there. The women in the office were as walled off, from one another, personally, as the separate cubicles and desks portrayed. I easily, and continually, overheard rude, demoralizing comments being made about one, to another, and even face-to-face, from one, to another, with no remorse, or apology, ever coming after such shocking snarkiness. To me, it felt like I had just left a warm bath, only to be plunged into icy waters, socially speaking, as I tried to comfort myself, in my own dismay, after realizing that I was no longer in a team spirit environment, now, but a bitchy, unsupportive one. I did not even feel welcomed, or wanted, in that office. There was a plant, on someone's desk, that she said smelled bad, that she therefore brought over and sat right under my nose, on my desk, as a very telling 'Welcome' present, to me, which she smirked about, as she returned to her own desk, leaving me looking down at this thing, wondering what I should do with it since I wouldn't give it to anyone else in there, like she had to me. Also, watching patients which I had just been caring for up on the nursing floor, and had only been concerned with doing all I could to help them to feel better, coming down to this business office, upon being discharged, getting relentlessly hounded, by these office women, for immediate payment, on the spot, in cold, and callous, ways (and seeing their distress from that) took my breath away! Clearly, those working in this office in no way saw their job description as having anything, at all, to do with caregiving of these patients. It was a HUGE culture shock, for me! It was very difficult to even reconcile in my mind that this was actually a part of the hospital that I had so loved working in, where I had both given and received so much caring, between my heart and others there; from the doctors, and the nursing staff, to the patients, we had all cared for. It didn't take me long to see that this was not going to work, for me, which meant that I would also have to move on, in my life, now, from not just my nursing career, but this place, that had been so fulfilling and nurturing, for me.

While feeling the deep loss of these, very meaningful things, in my life, I was still, emotionally, dealing with the custody transfer of my son, too! I had moved to a (somewhat) better, but very small, efficiency apartment, during my time as a Nurse's Aide, at the hospital, and Linnea had brought Jay to visit me, there, just as she, and Jim, had also done at the previous place I had lived in, after I had given them custody of Jay, to give him a better life than I could give him all alone. My little boy was still so young, and all of that was still so hard, for me! Now, with these other losses happening with my career, significantly affecting my life as well, it just felt like too much heartbreak for me to deal with, all at one time. I had already been brought to the ER, by ambulance, when I mixed my medications for my back with alcohol one night, in some foolish attempt to numb all of this physical, and personal, pain. (This is also described in my post, on 5-8-19, "More Of My Memories Of My Mother".) Now, I felt both my morale and my motivation slipping away, from me, and I knew that I needed to talk to my supervisor, in this office, about how I was feeling, from all this. I dreaded coming to work, anymore. It was adding to my grief, and my distress. I was miserable, now, at a time in my life when I had still really needed to be in a positive atmosphere to motivate and to encourage me, like the nursing field had been for me once I began to work at the hospital. The two nursing homes I had worked in, prior to that, had felt significantly less uplifting, to me, perhaps because staff, there, were taking care of the same patients day in and day out for extended periods and those patients were not improving alot, if any, in their health conditions, or normally being discharged, to return home to a happy life. They were basically there to be cared for until they died, at some point, which made even getting too attached, to them, painful, for me, on top of all the other relational heartache I had.

When I went in to talk to my office supervisor, he was very affirming, and wanted to be helpful. He seemed to feel that I could, or would, adjust to this new environment I was now working in, over time, but I felt so turned off toward it, virtually from the beginning, that I could not see that happening. I NEEDED SOMETHING, AND SOMEWHERE, WITH HEART to it, FOR ME to be able to thrive and be happy, as I had been while working on the nursing floor. I deeply needed something in my life that felt optimistic, pouring its positivity into me, since I still felt so drained, and depleted, emotionally, from my heartache in the Air Force, followed by my heartbreak with my son's father, Jim, the divorce from him, and my struggles as a single mother with a baby to care for, all alone, 24/7, and then my transferring custody of our baby, Jay, to Jim and his new wife, Linnea, after helping my son to transfer his attachment, especially to this new mother, so that he would not be traumatized by my eventual absence, from his upbringing and life. These things gave all of them a brighter, happier, future, as they each either got what they wanted or needed, but I felt like it had left me with nothing, for myself, in my own life now. I did what was best in the situation, but it was hardest on me. Jim got a loving, new, wife. Linnea got the man that I was still in love with, who did not love me, and my son, as her own baby, now. Jay got a two-parent home, with his father, and a wonderful step-mother, giving him a greatly improved opportunity to have the fullest and happiest life, possible, for himself, as compared to what he would have been exposed to and affected by in what my life was and would end up being like. (All of the subjects listed in this paragraph were each described in detail, in previous posts, in this Blog. Please refer to those, for alot of background information, on each of these issues.)

What I got was a divorce, from the man that I had loved more than anyone else, in my life, that I did because Jim made it so completely, and continually, clear that he did not love me, or want me, as his wife. I got an amazing step-mother for my son, who would lovingly raise him, as her very own, that he would someday tell me (earlier this year, as an almost-38-year-old man now) is the mother that he remembers, knows, and loves (which is as he should feel, toward Linnea, given the situation of his upbringing). What I got was the peace of mind, from knowing that Jay would have much better of EVERYTHING, with the two of them, than I could EVER have given him, with me, and my limited resources, which I wanted for him, because I loved my son, and I wanted the best for him that I could get for him; even if that wasn't going to be ME. All that was what I had to show for the situation. It was lonely, and loveless; hurtful, and hard; and now, my ability to make a living to simply care for myself, since I was all that I had left, was sliding down a slippery slope, and just like it had been with so many things in my life that I so deeply wished had been different, than what they were, I had no way to stop it. I was so despondent, about it, that the office manager, who I had talked to about this new job at the hospital not being a good fit, for who I am as a person, set up a session, for me to go and speak with one of the hospital psychiatrists on staff. This man, hearing all my pain, and my difficulty in dealing with it, took no chances, especially since it was in my employee-patient record that I had been brought, by an ambulance, to the ER at our hospital, recently, from mixing pills with alcohol. When I made the statement to him, actually referring to the office job that I now had, at the hospital, that "I don't want to be here!", he had me committed to a mental hospital, for the first time in my life. Given no choice in the matter, I was taken by a female associate, who was present during our talk, to the Nebraska Psychiatric Institute, by that evening, where I was given supper, after I arrived. I sat alone, and ate, having no idea what to expect. Although I thought this was rather ridiculous, I was in alot of emotional pain, from how things had gone for me, in my life, especially recently, so I understood why he went to such an extreme, with me, in this situation. It was what it was.

That first night, I was sharing a room with another female who did not have much to say to me and was discharged soon after this. On a subsequent night, as I slept alone in that room, now, I was roused by a bright light, and thought that perhaps it was morning. Instead, as I wakened, I saw a male attendant, holding a flashlight, which he was shining in my eyes, in the otherwise dark room. Smiling at him wanly, in my sleepy state, I asked him why he was doing that. As he smiled back at me, with a compassionate expression, on his face, he replied he was checking to see if I was asleep, so that he could chart, about that, on me. Waking me up, to see if I was asleep, seemed a little crazy, to me, so I said, as I gave him an amused grin then, "Would you please state, on my chart, that I was sleeping just fine until someone woke me up by shining a flashlight in my face?" Chuckling a bit, he answered that he would do that, and I turned over in bed, and went back to sleep. I was here. This had happened. I knew that the intent, excessive or not, was to help me, and I was just going to be myself and let this thing unfold. I knew that I wasn't crazy. I also knew that I was very damaged, by so much mistreatment by people, in my life, that my heart was broken, as a result of all that, and that I was very, very, very sad. If any of these people could help, mend my completely broken heart, then that was something that I certainly needed someone to help me with. God knows, I had not ever found a way to do that.

Since I liked to learn new things, and I was also a trained medical person, myself, this was an interesting opportunity, for me to see what this type of patient care environment was like. I felt like I had given other people, from my son, Jay, to Jim and Linnea, to the patients I had cared for, all that I had to give, and I was worn out from the emotional toll it all took on me and worn down from not having nearly as much poured into me, from others, as I had been pouring out for them. I had given all that I had to give and, out of my self-discipline, even more, and being taken care of, by others, even if it was in a mental hospital, felt like I was finally being carried, and cared for, in other people's arms, for a little while, now. I was not there very long, but I do recall walking to a nearby store on a patient field trip, while I was admitted to NPI, and feeling strange somehow during that, to be back out in the traffic, noise, and indifference of the world at large, again, then, after experiencing the comforting cocoon, of being kept away from all of that, in NPI, for that brief time. The sins, of this world, in myself, and in others, had so sucked the life out of me that, when I felt the harsh reality of that with my tender heart, again that day, there was a part of me that actually was not sure that I COULD handle that again, on my own, since I was about to be discharged. I was not sure that I was up to such a daunting task, now, based on the Return On Investment, I had experienced, from my loving, and caring for, others which ended up leaving me not only with nothing, in my own everyday life, but worse off, than before I had opened my heart up to these people who had caused me so much hurt and harm.

Feeling more than a little like Alice in Wonderland while I was there at NPI, I interacted with the other patients there very circumspectly, when socializing was required of us. Everything, about our behavior, including our interactions with others there, was charted on. What we did and we didn't do; said and didn't say; ate and didn't eat; et cetera. I was good with people, which is the height of irony given that my personal relationships were so fraught with failure. So, interacting with the staff and the other patients came easily, to me, even with the self-consciousness I felt about being there because I had been Committed, which is a scary sounding situation, in itself. It was a fascinating place. I had taken care of all ages and types of patients, except for mental patients, of which I was now one, so seeing this type of medical practice, up close, was a new and interesting thing, to me. Especially when the peer votes were cast. Patients were required to come together, as part of the treatment, for group sessions. During that time each one of us was discussed, with the others, openly, in this setting, as facilitated by a staff doctor, as to how these others each thought we were doing, socially, behaviorally, or attitudinally, based on their individual interactions with and observations of us. Then, each of the patients is asked to cast their vote on whether they each felt that so and so was ready to be discharged, based on their own interactions with and observations of so and so, in this setting. I am smiling a bit, as I type about this memory, because it was so charmingly bizarre! In a group, of perhaps 6 - 8 patients, with one or two staff members, facilitating these sessions, there was the full spectrum of every kind of mental malady that could be imagined. There were the antisocial types, paranoid types, even delusional types of patients all in this group, among others. I felt sane, at least, whatever else was wrong with me, just from comparing myself to some of what I was seeing in the other patients, as well as from feeling that this was a crazy way to be evaluated, as a mental patient! To sit in such a group session, as this, as I did, and listen to each one, casting their vote, as to whether they personally thought that each one of these others was sane enough, to rejoin and reengage with society, now, outside of the hospital walls, had seemed to me to be a bit bizarre.

In my case, somehow these people all assessed me as being more than ready, to go back out there, which at that point demonstrated more faith in my ability to handle it than I felt like I had, at that time. One of the patients was convinced that he was literally Jesus Christ, reincarnated, and he even voted that I was ready, to go back out, in this fallen world, which had crucified the actual Jesus Christ, after He gave all that He had, to it, as its response to Him, for that. I didn't have any illusions left now, that this often irrational, selfish, and destructive world was going to treat me any better than it had Him. The Bible assured me that it would not. I was not a person who was in any way out of touch with reality. I was never medicated, for any mental conditions, and there is no worldly treatment for a broken heart, which is what I had, and have, to this day. The closest thing it offers, as a healing factor, is love, shared between us and other people, or pets, et cetera, which is very effective, when it is real, and reciprocated, and righteous. I never really experienced that love growing up in my family, or in my romantic or marital relationships, though, leaving me having no earthly idea what that looked like, or how to find, and engage in, such love with other people. Besides my relationship with the Lord, the deepest, truest mutual love, that I have ever experienced, on this planet, was with my Cockatiel, CeeBee, which is a precious and miraculous story that I plan to share with you here, in some upcoming Blog post.

The fact that the other patients at NPI were polled about one another's ability to interact and to cope out in the world was both bemusing and fascinating to me. In no way does my saying this imply that I was in any way disrespectful toward any of these other people. I interacted with the guy who believed that he was Jesus Christ, there, as respectfully as I did with everyone else. I have a very empathetic heart, toward those who act decently and those who are doing the best that they can, in this life. Those who do not think that I am this way, or that do not see that side of me, are those who have earned my scorn, or, outrage, for how they have mistreated me, or others, in some way that is grievous to me. So, to my thinking, that is on them, not on me, and it is certainly their loss, with me! I cannot recall exactly how long I was at NPI, now. It seems to me it may have been a week. When I was about to be discharged, I asked that male attendant, when he awakened me once again with the flashlight in my face at night, what was wrong with me exactly; at least, as far as any official diagnosis. He said that I had "an adjustment disorder, with depressed mood". Not sure, of the meaning, of psychological terms, then, I replied, "So, I have Depression?"  He answered, "No. Depression is an actual illness, all on its own, and you do not have that diagnosis."  "I don't understand, what my diagnosis means, then."  Looking at me, with that wonderfully, and all too rare, compassionate look, of his, he responded,  "What it means, in simple terms, is that you are  'feeling blue',  now, but, over time, you will get over it".

I'm 63, now, as I type this Blog post, and I am still waiting, for that day to come. I have learned to be as happy as possible, living with a broken heart, as I am, throughout my life; primarily by knowing and praising the Lord and the fullness of that relationship with Him including counting my blessings on a daily basis. I also seek out the things that make me laugh, as much, and as deeply, as possible. I spent most of the day, yesterday, watching a marathon airing of "Animals Unscripted" videos from The Pet Collective on the TBD TV network, because that type of thing does me so much good, in my spirit, as I laugh over and over and over, during that, and am so touched, by the antics of the animals! In addition, I eat as healthy as possible most, but not all, of the time, and try to take care of myself in a holistic way. I do good deeds for others, as I find opportunity, and have the resources needed for that, as well, so that I feel able to give that, to them, without throwing my own life completely out of balance from going overboard with that. I enjoy helping others, especially those who are appreciative, of that, and respectful toward me. Having a wide variety of hobbies and interests also helps to uplift me, in life, such as enjoying music, in several different ways, or reading a good book. Feeding and caring for animals both outdoors, in the wild, as well as when I have had pets always helps my frame of mind, too. To be completely candid about my 'What Makes Me Happier' List, I would have to include the act of pleasuring myself, but that is not limited to 'sexually'. This could be something as simple as eating dark chocolate or taking a long, lavender-scented, bubblebath whenever some form of tension builds up, in me, and is undermining my mood, or overall health, in some way. Due to my being celibate, for decades, now, and having no other sexual outlet, while being a sexual creature by nature, there has to be a release of that tension in my body, at some point. I was shocked, frankly, that aging in no way diminished my sexual urges or expressiveness! I have some physical limitations now, which I have to adapt to and work around, but the smoldering sensuality, and the sexual passion, in me at least, have remained unchanged! This is the list, of things that have helped me have a happier frame of mind most, thought not all, of the time.

After my discharge from NPI, because the work environment, in that hospital office, had felt so toxic to me, I was transferred to the Insurance and Adjustments department in another area of the medical center which was much quieter and more behind the scenes, and only had a staff of two other women in it, for me to deal with, instead of the half dozen or so that worked in the other, bustling, office area. It was better at first, but they decided to be catty and cause trouble with their gossip when Steve, the Head of the ER Department, came over, to this smaller, and more isolated, office I worked in, now, to see how I was doing, out of care and concern for me, and to wish me a happy birthday. He had done my pre-employment physical for my job hire at the hospital (reference my 9-11-19 post titled "My Caring For Others, & Killing Someone") and we had been friends ever since, which both of us needed, at that time in each of our lives, but it was never more than that, between the two of us. I appreciated and admired him, and Steve was concerned for, and very helpful to, me, in ways that sometimes made me feel that he was the closest thing I ever had in my life to the father that I never really actively had in my life, but had needed, so desperately, from my own present-but-emotionally-absent dad. Steve was the one that informed me that I could get the Laparoscopic Tubal Ligation done for free, as one of my employee health benefits, when I told him how much I wanted to be permanently sterilized after the different but heartbreaking outcomes of both my unplanned pregnancies. At that time the procedure was $1,200.00, I believe. As a Nurse's Aide, I had no way to pay for that on my small salary, so this information that Steve gave me was a real blessing to me. He knew that I had been through alot, so when I mentioned to him in conversation, one day, that my birthday was also coming up, he took note of that, and stopped in, to my new office, to be caring, and supportive. Because he was a married but separated man at that time, these two other office women tried to spin this visit to me, by him, into something that it wasn't and never had been.

As a result of that, he blamed me, for the problems their gossip caused him, since he was in the (long) process of reconciling with his wife, as the gossip spread through the hospital staff from the both, but one in particular, of the women, in this second office, that I was working in. Hurt that he turned on me over it, and devastated that now I had lost the man whom I viewed as a surrogate father to me, emotionally speaking, I became bitter over that. So, I left this job, and the hospital, altogether, soon after that, due to the relational breakdown between me and these two bitches, after that, which rendered me unable and unwilling to work with them, now, and the fact that, adding insult to injury, this prominent, and powerful, doctor was always very outwardly cold, even hostile, toward me, after that happened, although he had come there, to that office, to see me, and I couldn't control the bad behavior of these two co-workers of mine. They were determined to be troublemakers, to me, when that was the last thing that I needed or could cope with at the time. It flooded me with those all-too-familiar feelings of vulnerability, unfairness, hurt, and anger which went all the way back to my earliest childhood, and through my entire life, especially from my mother being like that, toward me. I did not need that, at all!

So when I became a Go Go dancer just after that and I was asked there what my stage name was going to be (which was highly recommended to us for our personal safety) I said "Stevie", which was from Steve, this doctor's first name. Since that situation with Steve, on my birthday, had caused the end of this deeply meaningful friendship, in my life, and led to my leaving, this hospital, that I had so loved, and now, to this huge career change, that name just seemed like the natural bridge, between these two worlds, as I made this significant transition in my career path, now. However, when I told him about my using his first name, as the basis for my dancer alias, Stevie, when I saw him at some point, later on, he actually threatened to sue me over it, which was such a stupid statement, for him to make, that I laughed, at that. I was bitter, about him ending our friendship when I was not to blame for the situation that caused him to do that, and at this point I was also cynical, about the fact that this man, who had always been such a good friend to me, and was so caring toward me was, now, being this self-protective; and that he was even threatening me, over my innocuous use of the stage name, Stevie, which no one would ever even connect, to him, at all! The music of Stevie Nicks, Stevie Wonder, and Stevie Ray Vaughan was all played, in these nightclubs, when I was a dancer, so I knew that no one would ever link this doctor to my dancer name unless I had made a point to do that, by telling someone, which I never did, for almost four decades, until I just explained that here, now. For me, it just felt like I was taking a parting shot, at an unfair situation, which had left me in more pain, when I did not need that! It was just my way of mitigating my deep hurt over it all by this type of 'thumbing my nose' at Steve, because I was indignant, due to how he had treated me. 

It pissed me off!

My accumulated anger at people, for how they had treated me, became the main energy that I drew on to fuel my ability to even become 'Stevie', on stage, and to do that job. It was the alter ego, of what I had been, as Debby; as a caregiver. My nature is to nurture, but, because I was so burned out and brokenhearted from that, it was both a much-needed relief and a surprising source of healing, for me, physically and emotionally, as I switched gears, now, in my life, and career, and focused on, and even amplified, this opposite side of me, this alter ego, this public persona, which became ME more and more as I 'grew into it' over the years that I worked as a dancer. The name became my own, early on, after I took it as my stage name, quickly ceasing to remind me of the ex-father-figure doctor, Steve, whom it came from, originally, as it became my own name, now, with new experiences and memories, attached to it, as time went on, and my own unique identity, involving it, became solidified. Over time, I even went by that name in my private life, because it was who I was, even to myself, by then, with my last two of my four husbands calling me 'Stevie', in our relationship, with one another. It was just who I was, now, who I had become, and it was a REAL RELIEF to me, to be able to NOT be identified with my childhood name, in my relationships with most people, anymore, and all of the negativity, and the pain, that name represented to me, in my thoughts about it, and my emotional responses  to it. The Bible is filled with stories about peoples' names being changed, in order to better or further define and even facilitate their destiny and to represent the significant changes in who they were (to become). One of the most redeeming accounts was of Jacob in Genesis 32:24-30 and Genesis 35:10. What I needed, at this point, was real redemption from the pain of the past. I needed a fresh start; a new life. Marelisa Fabrega has an excellent Blog post about all the aspects to this, which I recommend that you read, titled "How to Create an Alter Ego (and Why You Should Want To). The link for her Blog post is: https://daringtolivefully.com/alter-ego.

While I had not intentionally set out to become a dancer, my path had seemed destined to go there, even from the time I was a little girl. Enthralled by Gypsy Rose Lee from my seeing the movie about her when it aired on TV, I had done some of those type of routines, that she had done, when I was a teenager alone in my room. Back then our neighbor once told my mother that she had caught her brother, who was considerably older than me, watching me, from his darkened room in their house, so as not to be detected as being a voyeur, and while I initially had felt very ill at ease about that, it had also given me a strange kind of thrill; that a guy had found something, about ME, in my pubescent struggle, to express my blooming womanhood, worth watching, even captivating to him! Better still, it was an aloof form of appreciation of my femininity; from a distance. It didn't have that sweaty, sleazy, feel, like it had, to me, when my Uncle Jim had pulled me onto his and Aunt Ginny's bed, that one time, and put his hands on my body, in a lecherous way, before I fled that room, and him. The 'window-watcher' was still creepy, but it was also affirming, while not being accosting, of me, which had given me some newfound sense of female empowerment. HE was at a distance, from me; DISTANCE being the operative word. I felt empowered, ALOT, while I was a dancer; that sense of control over my own body, and sexuality, while bouncers, if nothing else, kept men away from me, where they couldn't directly touch me . . . or take me. It was a taunt, a tease, and a triumph, for me.

People working in the field of psychology, like Dr. Phil, have often expressed real surprise that those working as exotic dancers have described feeling an empowerment, through this line of work, which is very gratifying to us in many ways. These mental health professionals seem to stereotype this job as actually being particularly victimizing of women. Speaking first hand, as  a female, I can say that this is not the case for many women, including myself. While we have many motivations, for becoming dancers, some positive, some negative, the empowerment is for us a very healing feeling. This is because of the one fact, the one truth, that counselors do not seem to grasp, very well, which is: Simply being born as female, on this fallen planet, and living our lives having a vagina, creates opportunity, and motive, for a great number of men to victimize us, in a whole range of ways. We don't have to become dancers, or even prostitutes, for boys and men to determinedly seek ways to satisfy their desires at our expense. From our dads leaving us emotionally starved for male affirmation, because we grew up without proper, healthy, forms of that being shown toward us, by them, while our self-esteem was developing under their roof, along with our bodies, for 18 formative years, to an uncle, touching our pure, prepubescent, bodies, because we aren't protected, by the adults in the family, that knew this man was like this, but were more concerned with the perception of family honor than keeping the daughters in their care safe, the high school boyfriend trying to get you into the back seat of his parked car, and if he does, could get you pregnant, while he just gets off, to the rapists, who just take us against our will in spite of our fighting against it, because they are physically stronger than we are, to the rest (of the long laundry list) of lustful ways males seek to satisfy themselves, at the expense of females, much of the time, we are NOT victimized, for being a helpless child, for being a divorcee, or promiscuous, or for being an exotic dancer, or being a prostitute, or for any labels, on us, despite the stereotypes that may accompany these things, that we are, or become, in our life. We are VICTIMIZED simply BECAUSE we are FEMALE! This is ALL that it takes, for THAT TO HAPPEN, to us, and IMPACT OUR LIVES, and HURT us, and HARM us, and sometimes even BREAK US, as human beings. That. is. all. it. takes. BEING FEMALE, in this life on this Earth. NOTHING ELSE! In my own life, it, long ago, quit shocking me, anymore, that so many men either victimized me or attempted to victimize me. To this day, what REALLY SURPRISES ME are the very few times that I encounter men that DO NOT try to take advantage of me in some form or fashion. That list is VERY SMALL . . . .

When I had briefly been a stripper, in Biloxi, in 1981, I never really 'danced'. I walked around the stage, and slowly took my clothes off, in what was supposed to be tantalizing teases, for the customers, while bending over and doing other suggestive posturing. (I learned watching what the other girls did there, which wasn't much, as far as the stage show went.) There was music, as background to my motions, but the emphasis was on the undressing, there; not on any real dancing, per se. I only worked there for a very short time, perhaps a week or two, at the very most, but I doubt it was even that long since I left as soon as I finally figured out that this employer pimped the girls, into prostitution. It would be many years, even decades, later, before I would do that, and even then I take full responsibility, though not all the blame, that I ever did that at all, and for reasons of my own, which weren't very good ones. That's another story for another time which I plan to cover in a future post when I write about that chapter of my life story in this Blog. Back in Biloxi, which I am speaking of, now, in referencing the short introduction to my being an exotic stage performer, black feather boa from New Orleans and all, I would never have considered doing that for one moment, because I was in my mid-20s, was completely in love with a young Air Force lieutenant whom I was staying with at the time, and I still believed in some silly guarantee, I felt Disney movies had subliminally promised, to me, that I would, absolutely, have my 'Happily Ever After' romantic relationship in my real life. That was what I believed then. That was where my focus was. That was where my heart was. (This other chapter of my life is described in much more detail, in my Blog post from 7-24-19, titled "More On The One Man That I Would Love Forever: Ending Up In Omaha, & Married".)

Because of that first experience I had, of working in that strip joint in Biloxi, Mississippi, I never wanted to work in such a place as that was, again! So how did I end up dancing, in nightclubs, as a GO GO dancer, in the Omaha, Nebraska area for much of two decades, after that? I truly think it was inevitable, as in 'Destiny', for me, though I did not realize that, at the time. Life just kind of unfolds into what it is actually going to be for each of us while we are often thinking, or hoping, or planning that it will be something else entirely. It is what it is. So, since my Certified Nursing Assistant job had left me with lower back problems which waxed and waned between improvement and pain, my back continued to simply go out at unpredictable and inconvenient times. When that happened, I couldn't do alot, and desperate to get it to correct itself, again, I took to lying flat on the floor of my apartment, when it was out, which seemed to help it, some. One day, I called a feisty, fiery-red-headed, friend of mine, on the phone, who had been in my CNA class, at school, and told her about my back injury, and employment situation, since she would be able to commiserate with me, about how this had just ended my career, in that field that we both so loved working in. I told her how I had worked in a manufacturing plant making elasticized hosiery yarns, in Hickory, North Carolina. I had joined the military, but that had not gone well for me, and ended in discharge. I had been a homemaker, twice already, in fact, as well as a mother, but I was divorced now, and had transferred custody of my toddler, to place him in a stable situation for his own sake. I had been an outstanding Nursing Assistant. Then the back injury from my doing that work made it increasingly impossible for me to perform my duties, causing my work load to have to be put onto others, on top of their own, which wasn't fair to them, leading me to decide to leave the field so they could replace me with a CNA that could do all that was required of them in that job now. My two separate attempts at desk jobs  at the hospital, after that, had not been a good fit for me. With all the interpersonal negativity, and toxic drama, that had gone on in those two different offices there, I didn't want to try that, anywhere, again, if I could help it. After telling my friend all of this, I ended with "I need a job! But I don't know what to do, now," to which she had replied, "I'll be right over, and we'll figure this thing out." Unlocking the apartment door so she could get in, I lay back down on the floor where I had just been trying to get my throbbing back to realign itself, to get some relief, now.

She brought the Help Wanted ads from the newspaper with her, for me. Back then, there was no internet for doing job searches. Most jobs were either found in these Want Ads, or through networking (word of mouth; job leads from people you knew or talked to) or simply applying in person, to places of interest, that then hired you. While I continued to lay flat, on the floor, she read the various job ads to me and we discussed the viability of each one of them. One of the main concerns was that most employers paid every two weeks and two weeks back, meaning that once I would be hired by them it would be about a month before I would ever see my first paycheck! I had been living at poverty level, as it was, although I had been working fulltime at the hospital. So, I didn't have any savings. Being alone, on my own, I had the regular monthly bills coming in for rent, utilities, food, and so on, which needed to be kept current. I had a bad back now, and when it acted up, the pain of it affected my being able to walk, stand, bend, lift, and other things. It was a real liability for me because it could affect my job performance, and my attendance at work, and most employers were very strict about those things, especially in evaluating new hires, who were usually given a probation period, to prove themselves before they were considered to be permanent hires. I wasn't at all sure how much of this I was up to now. I felt completely discouraged; but, undaunted, my friend was determined that there was definitely a job out there, for me, that I could do, so she continued reading the Job Ads to me, saying finally, "Here's one! Dancers needed. Good money, plus tips. No experience needed!"

As I lay there, I responded, "What kind of dancers?" She said, "It says, 'Razzle Dazzle'. Their address is just across the river, over in Council Bluffs. They hire on the spot! I think it's one of those 'Strip Clubs'." As she looked up at me, rather matter-of-factly, from over the newspaper she was holding and reading, I raised my head up, off the floor, and reacted by saying to her, emphatically, "I could NEVER do that!" Of course, I had my reasons, for saying that, because of my experience as a Stripper at the bar in Biloxi, but I had not mentioned that, in describing my past employment to her, so she just took my response as my being too shy or shocked to even consider that so, grabbing me by the hand, she pulled me up off the floor, with a strong, quick, motion, which shockingly put my back into alignment, again. As I said to her, "You just fixed my back, when you did that!" she pulled me toward the door, with an 'I won't take no for an answer' attitude, saying to me, "WE are going to go over there, NOW, together, and JUST LOOK, and see what we think. It won't hurt, to just check it out, and see . . . . " All the way to her car, across the bridge into Iowa, and up to the door of the nightclub I kept protesting and resisting this but she was determined. She made a good point that this job hired on the spot, would pay me faster, than any 'ordinary' job, I could get, and had tips, as well, which I would have for daily expenses right away. If they hired me. She was right about all of this, but I still DID NOT WANT to GO IN there! It was still light outside as we drove over there, and as she literally pulled me, up to the entrance door, I kept trying to keep the door closed, to not go in. She finally got the door open, and was pulling me through it while I tried to grasp the outside door frame, so she couldn't, but she was stronger. We stood just inside the door, in this dark room, and as my eyes tried to adjust to it, after just being outside in the sunlight, I heard her boldly announce to somebody standing nearby us, there, "SHE wants a JOB!", meaning me.

I will continue this story, about this chapter of my life, in another post, as there is so much still to tell, about this new adventure I was suddenly starting, and this post is already quite lengthy. This post has described some, but not all, of the events that led to my leaving my employment at the hospital, and how, through and because of my feisty friend, that dragged me over to the Go Go bar, that day, literally against my will, I started a whole new career, that became a new favorite, for me. I will begin there, and go into much more detail, about it, in an upcoming post.