As a child, I was raised in a large family, and it was a struggle- I know there are many people who have said they would love a huge family- more sibs for the others to play with, but in all fairness, the numbers don't work. I had one sister who was 6 years older than I was, and she was married at 19- and as in as much as I loved riding my bike (which my brothers that summer canablized for parts for a go cart that ruined it- they were willing to play with my toys, break them, and move on. I retreated to my room alot, got a lock, simply because my dad was on the road alot, and my mother worked, leaving us to be latchkey kids. When they were home, they were constantly helping my brothers with their homework,and their projects leaving me to struggle, and give up on asking for help. I saw it as my brothers needed more help than I did, and I was left to fend for myself , including my own battles, (yes bones were broken! Ironicly, my mother never took me to the hospital to have them set. She never believed me when I said my brother had broken my nose until years later when I was getting my tonsules out that the dr had to do reconstructive surgery before doing the operation, leaving me in the hospital for 4 days to recover when it could have been an overnight stay. The dr asked, how it happened, and I was quite frank, my brother had broken my nose and my mother didn't believe me. When my hand was broken by my brother, (she wasn't there) she said it was my own fault for provoking him- (my mother was ether in denyal that he had a drinking problem at 14, or that even though I had locked the door he had kicked in the bottom and had come at me in a rage because I had refused to clean up the mess he had made. I ended up taping my hand up, and pushing the bones sort of back into place, and was told by my mother that that would be what the hospital would do.
No matter what I did, it never seemed good enough, and my mother would say, "others do better"
It made me an angry child, in a way, at school with a hair trigger who could, and often did beat the crap out of the kids who would tip my books from my arms or push me on the play ground. My brothers, had, at least, taught me how to fight back-
Then my mom gave me the speach that If I continued to be someone who fought all the time, I would have no friends and that I had to be a proper young lady.
I think, that was the year I gave up on my parents.
my sister wasn't any help. She had said, "her being married wouldn't change anything. that we would still go out for lunch and to the mall, and that-never- happened. I wasn't expecting it to- and to this day, I've never recieved an invitation.
In a way, it changed me. I had one really close friend, who was manipulated into thinking i was this horrible person, and she abandoned me after all of the things that I had done for her. Over the years, I became someone who was always looking into the room, not someone- in - the room. It wasn't until I was almost 40 that my mother finally said that what I did was worthwile, that I was actually doing things that made her proud, or that she talked about to her friends of my accomplishments. her praises don't come often. more than likely its geared to my sister who my mother has said is the perfect daughter. what am I chopped liver?? when I commented on that- what I had been told to my mothe she said my sister would be very hurt- well, bloody wickets! no account for my feelings I guess. I make it a point to visit my mother- make it a point to call every day - she is my mother, and perhaps the hope of her praise would still be forthcoming... and I am there, and the phone rings, and I become invisiable, as it is my siblings chatting away- or I call, and they call and she has to take their call over mine- even though I am in need - I call back later. and I stay invisable.
I became someone who was both starved for recognition, and someone who held others at a distance. I did make other friends, but for the most part, they were kept as just aquantinces, few- if any ever knew the turmoil that was churning inside of me- and I saw as the years went by, how I had been forgotten by my family. I was not thin, nor rich, or married with children - I had to work for a living, back breaking, mind numbing work, but- it didn't stop me from going to college and getting 2 degrees- or furthering the writing skills that I had started so long ago.
When my second *best friendship* snapped, something in me broke. I swore that I would never let anyone close to me again- and it gave me time to look around at the people I work with- the people that I had associated with them and see- the petty jelousy that they harbored because I had more education and made more money and the only reason why I was there was to have the medical benefits and pay off my home. I was told by one of my co worker that I had to stop being such - a pushover- and to stand up for myself.
being like, being popular- it doesn't matter. To some, it would, and its not about being center stage- (though I did have someone who didn't know me say that "the world doesn't revolve around you Kath" )
For the longest time, I only wanted to feel well. I have been battleing melanoma and skin cancer for 9 years, I have been tested positive for Leiden factor V and i have worked to bring down my blood pressure from 190/110 - the heck with weight loss! one battle at a time.
There are things that are important, things that don't matter , and times when you have to build a bridge and get over it.
I have taken to writing things- and its funny in a way, because very few people have ever read *everything* that I have written. (though I have found this to be the most open of forums that I've ever blogged in, )
Profile me- I was abused by sibs and tormented as a child, went on to study and collect murder mysterys and research books on poisons, manors of death, had a history of solving issues with violence in school, wrote stories involving people getting killed and how people did it- have issues with family still, and those at work who- *hate me because i make more money than they do so they give me the silent treatment* On medication for high blood pressure, colesteral and thyroid, was treated for depression I WASN'T BLOODY DEPRESSED I HAD CANCER THAT THEY MISSED~ I don't allow guns in the house- I have a collection of knives and a sword (all legal) and it would probably be my weapon of choice, and I have dark thoughts of how people could die- whoa, would that be I am a serial killer??
As I approch my 52nd birthday- i still see myself, sometimes as that little kid who has been left behind waiting for my parents to notice me over my siblings. I have struggled with feeling- invisable. being overlooked, being talked about in a negative way because they never bothered to know me.
its changed how I look at people, how I care- and how I help those who also feel invisiable.
I haven't been well for a long time. There are times when I feel better than others, and days that it is a struggle for me to stagger to work, and I think, great, all I need to do is collaps at work. I make it through the day, and the next, and the next, and I find myself retreating- into myself until the headaces clear and the chest pains stop. I am beyond- anger- and sadness and sorrow, and it leaves me with wondering, if I was rich, or thin, would my sibs notice me? Would my own sister want to take me on vacation with her?
I wonder am I just a little voice in the corner shouting "I am over here!" waving my arms , hoping to be noticed, if what I write is worthwhile, or if anyone even bothers to read what I have to say. forever being a little kid with a simple drawing that I hope my parents would place on the refridgerator.
I understand- the aloness.I have worked through that- I think, with all the rest of the hurt I have had to endure over my life-
i find myself keeping cards, and the tags at christmas time- and Iook at them- and I can remember what they were attached to- and its like- tiny bits of attention over the years. A pair of socks, a set of gloves and scarf- scrunchies for my hair. a mug- all treasured.
Want to know a secret?
yes, I write. and people have commented on the cast of characters -the story lines- well, I write what I know. Being left behind, dealing with siblings, looking in while others have the fun. I know the kids reading the stories, understand- they have felt that way- but- my sibs, and my mom, haven't caught on yet. I don't think they ever will. Those who know me- and know the family shake their heads.
for now, I wonder, Is any one out there? does any one care? or bother to read the musings and ramblings of an old woman? maybe.