For many years I have been suffering terribly due to the effects of Asperger’s Syndrome (Autism), Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Syndrome (ADHD), Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). And those afflictions were exacerbated by an insanely abusive mother, father and younger brother.
I’ll never forget that atrocious day when I walked in on my younger brother Dan who was in my mom and dad’s bedroom. I was about 10 years old. There he was, when I opened the door, he was standing there, wearing a pair of my mom’s panties with the back massager stuck down in the panties he was wearing, with the massager going full vibrate on his genitals, and masturbating.
To this day I have never laid eyes on something so terribly traumatizing that it left an undeniably horrific impression on me. Even now, as I sit at my computer typing away, I’m sweating profusely and my anxiety and heart rate are steadily increasing as I think about it. Now, at 46 years old, that repressed memory has come alive once again, like a zombie ripping itself out of the grave. Horrific, traumatizing, anxiety-inducing and so far beyond disgusting that I cannot imagine that I was subjected to such a sight.
Dan then yelled at me to leave the room, so he could “finish”. Then I turned around, shut the door to the bedroom and left the house immediately to go for a cleansing bike ride. Riding away at top speed, I nearly hit a car coming around the corner at the end of our back alley at 11235 Wilson Rd. SE in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. My mind was fully and completely occupied by the hideousness of what I just saw and I couldn’t think straight. I rode like I never rode before, hoping that distance and memory were somehow linked like Einstein once theorized, through space/time in the cosmos. After a few hours, my mind seemed to forget the experience. In fact, I didn’t forget it. I returned home from my bike ride and simply pretended like nothing happened. I actually managed to behave as I normally would. But the image was so traumatic that it buried itself deep within my psyche and became what’s known as a Repressed Memory.
You see, according to the International Society for Traumatic Stress Studies, repressed memories occur when the emotion surrounding the “event” is so damaging, particularly when there are pre-existing conditions like anxiety disorders, that, “For more than a hundred years, doctors, scientists and other observers have reported the connection between trauma and forgetting. But only in the past 10 years have scientific studies demonstrated a connection between childhood trauma and amnesia.” Those memories that go into a repressed state, do so because it’s the mind’s self-defense mechanism. At that age, I simply wasn’t equipped to deal with such a thing.
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Now that I reflect upon it, I was so worried at the time that Dan was in fact, a Sodomite. I couldn’t bear the thought of being in a Christian family and having a gay brother. As Christians, we don’t hate homosexuals, but we do believe that they have made poor life choices. Dan has manifested time and again, the so-called “gay” behaviour throughout our lives. It was awful to be even associated with him. Not only is he painfully insecure, socially awkward to the point of extreme cringe, indifferent to other people’s pain and laughably arrogant (we’re not sure why this is), but he never had many friends growing up. He wasn’t even half as extroverted as I was. In fact, he was drummed out of Chestermere High School because he kept acting like he was superior to his classmates. I witnessed this fact several times when he and I briefly went to school there together. It was utterly pathetic. But, secretly I enjoyed it. It was like payback for his incessant tattling and constant hostility.
Well, after I received an e-mail from my older brother Randy in Edmonton, he invited me to give him a call. I had already sworn off my family as a lost cause, doomed to endlessly repeat the sayings, mannerisms and behaviours of my terribly abusive and, unfortunately, influential mother and father. Mom died a few weeks prior to this post and I still have trouble saying it, but I’m glad she’s dead. In fact they’re both gone. And I couldn’t be happier. You might be thinking, “What a terrible thing to say about your mother and father.” Right. You didn’t have MY mother and father, nor younger brother.
Anyways, I called Randy after work one day and we spoke for about 2 hours. And it wasn’t pretty. For the first time with a family member, I was bluntly honest and didn’t hold anything back. As nauseating as my childhood was, it all came out with Randy, and he for me as well. He told me things about mom and dad that I wish I would have known decades ago. Like mom was drinking while pregnant with me, and dad took a swing at my older brother Rick. And THAT’s why he left us! Well hell, I would have too! But my parents both told me a completely different story and why he left. My mom would say (about all my Swedish brothers), “They’re just waiting for him (dad) to die.” Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. But, that was mom and dad, they were in fact, compulsive liars.
Now that changes everything. All that I’ve been told about everything, from them, is now in a serious state of flux. All that has been said by those two is now in a fundamental condition of corruption and the record must be straightened out.
So. Maybe it’s time to start talking about it.