You Don't Own People; You Experience Them (#2)
Remember a few weeks ago the saga about Nate the Snake? Oh so it continues...
I remember lamenting to my mentor that I "lost" Nate the Snake. She old me something I will forever hold dear (and just wish that I could live by!) You don't "have" people; you experience them. Although I was free to own all of my own feelings, thoughts and emotions with Nate the Snake, he was never mine. I never "owned" him. He was always his own man to do his own thing. And do his own thing he did.
I remember thinking giving up my virginity was the BIGGEST deal for me; I had wanted to "save" myself for marriage. As smart as she could be, my mentor stepped in again. "Being a virgin makes you no more special than anyone else. It is a biological fact of nature. We are all born virgins. Some live and die with the hope that they will find "the" one from now and forever until death us do part." So was not to be the case with me and Nate the Snake. I was off to go about the world and lick my wounds.
I have always been a hard worker. In high school, I worked three jobs as well as attended public school full time. I worked, especially when I wanted something, my ass off. None was any different than when I was in my twenties and living in Anytown USA. For health insurance, I worked in a hospital. I got up a 6:00 in the morning to make it to my job working first shift as an Admitting Clerk at Anytown Hospital USA. During the evenings, I worked as a waitress Joe's Jumpin Jive to help make ends meet. I didn't make enough to afford my own apartment, so I rented a room. It is via the home's owner in how I met my beloved MaryLou, who was to be a constant staple in my life for over twenty six years until her death from cancer just a few years ago. More on her to come.
During my "down" time while living with MaryLou, I attended community college and gained an Associate's degree in Liberal Arts. I paid for that degree, including living expenses, 100% on my own in cash. Going to college absolutely amazed me. I never thought that I could do it. But MaryLou believed I could, so I tried and I did. Coming from where I came from, I BARELY made it through high school!
More than a component of a bad home-life than anything more profound than that. It is hard to say out loud, but my parents just didn't care about me. My father, who was verbally, emotionally and psychologically abusive to me was an absolute asshole. My mother, who thought my father was a God, blamed everything that went wrong in our family on me. I was the scapegoat for all things wrong in the Kuras household.
The middle of three children, my mother would tell my brother and sister how much she hated me--and yes, they made sure it got back to me. She told me I belonged in foster care. I would get cold, dark stares and the silent treatment from her. I remember thinking how nice it would be to come home and just have somebody say "Hi." So was not to be the case. My mother would get my brother and sister to gang up against me to expound her hatred of me via them. My father may have been abusive, but it was this lack of love that I did not get from my mother that hurt worse than any sort of verbal barrage in which he could inflict; and believe you me, there was plenty of that. It was often, fierce and filled with rage.
All I've ever wanted is a mom. In retrospect, I realize how I would seek out mother figures in my youth to make up for this absent void of not having a mother. I wanted a mom more than anything. Instead, I got nothing but cold, blank, dark stares with an intense heat of hate that would follow me well into my adulthood. Around the age of 19, I got a job out of state. I took a few mementos from my childhood, left the only house I ever knew, cut all ties with my parents and never looked back. To people that grew up with good families, they cannot comprehend doing such a thing. For me, it was the ONLY thing. I had to get out of that abusive, toxic environment. At the tender age of nineteen, I was completely and solely on my own to either make it or break it. I fought like hell to make it. I fell down a thousand times, but always got back up.
I don't talk about my family life much. I am an intensely private person with many secrets to hide. People can know me for a lifetime and never know anything wrong ever happened. I tend to internalize and take the pain that I'm feeling out on myself. I've done some dangerous, crazy, stupid things to help compensate for how horrible I've felt inside. But my biggest regret? Telling my childhood secrets, something I never, ever did, until I was in my twenties. Unfortunately, I picked the wrong person to confide in--somebody I thought I could trust. Here is where we get back to the story at hand: enter Dr. Oh So Wrong.
That's it for the free-of-charge writing. I am working on a book of my memoirs that encompasses my childhood and the events that forever change me. It is still a work in progress so once it is published, I'll let you know when/where/how to buy it.
Until then, take care.
sK
I remember lamenting to my mentor that I "lost" Nate the Snake. She old me something I will forever hold dear (and just wish that I could live by!) You don't "have" people; you experience them. Although I was free to own all of my own feelings, thoughts and emotions with Nate the Snake, he was never mine. I never "owned" him. He was always his own man to do his own thing. And do his own thing he did.
I remember thinking giving up my virginity was the BIGGEST deal for me; I had wanted to "save" myself for marriage. As smart as she could be, my mentor stepped in again. "Being a virgin makes you no more special than anyone else. It is a biological fact of nature. We are all born virgins. Some live and die with the hope that they will find "the" one from now and forever until death us do part." So was not to be the case with me and Nate the Snake. I was off to go about the world and lick my wounds.
I have always been a hard worker. In high school, I worked three jobs as well as attended public school full time. I worked, especially when I wanted something, my ass off. None was any different than when I was in my twenties and living in Anytown USA. For health insurance, I worked in a hospital. I got up a 6:00 in the morning to make it to my job working first shift as an Admitting Clerk at Anytown Hospital USA. During the evenings, I worked as a waitress Joe's Jumpin Jive to help make ends meet. I didn't make enough to afford my own apartment, so I rented a room. It is via the home's owner in how I met my beloved MaryLou, who was to be a constant staple in my life for over twenty six years until her death from cancer just a few years ago. More on her to come.
During my "down" time while living with MaryLou, I attended community college and gained an Associate's degree in Liberal Arts. I paid for that degree, including living expenses, 100% on my own in cash. Going to college absolutely amazed me. I never thought that I could do it. But MaryLou believed I could, so I tried and I did. Coming from where I came from, I BARELY made it through high school!
More than a component of a bad home-life than anything more profound than that. It is hard to say out loud, but my parents just didn't care about me. My father, who was verbally, emotionally and psychologically abusive to me was an absolute asshole. My mother, who thought my father was a God, blamed everything that went wrong in our family on me. I was the scapegoat for all things wrong in the Kuras household.
The middle of three children, my mother would tell my brother and sister how much she hated me--and yes, they made sure it got back to me. She told me I belonged in foster care. I would get cold, dark stares and the silent treatment from her. I remember thinking how nice it would be to come home and just have somebody say "Hi." So was not to be the case. My mother would get my brother and sister to gang up against me to expound her hatred of me via them. My father may have been abusive, but it was this lack of love that I did not get from my mother that hurt worse than any sort of verbal barrage in which he could inflict; and believe you me, there was plenty of that. It was often, fierce and filled with rage.
All I've ever wanted is a mom. In retrospect, I realize how I would seek out mother figures in my youth to make up for this absent void of not having a mother. I wanted a mom more than anything. Instead, I got nothing but cold, blank, dark stares with an intense heat of hate that would follow me well into my adulthood. Around the age of 19, I got a job out of state. I took a few mementos from my childhood, left the only house I ever knew, cut all ties with my parents and never looked back. To people that grew up with good families, they cannot comprehend doing such a thing. For me, it was the ONLY thing. I had to get out of that abusive, toxic environment. At the tender age of nineteen, I was completely and solely on my own to either make it or break it. I fought like hell to make it. I fell down a thousand times, but always got back up.
I don't talk about my family life much. I am an intensely private person with many secrets to hide. People can know me for a lifetime and never know anything wrong ever happened. I tend to internalize and take the pain that I'm feeling out on myself. I've done some dangerous, crazy, stupid things to help compensate for how horrible I've felt inside. But my biggest regret? Telling my childhood secrets, something I never, ever did, until I was in my twenties. Unfortunately, I picked the wrong person to confide in--somebody I thought I could trust. Here is where we get back to the story at hand: enter Dr. Oh So Wrong.
That's it for the free-of-charge writing. I am working on a book of my memoirs that encompasses my childhood and the events that forever change me. It is still a work in progress so once it is published, I'll let you know when/where/how to buy it.
Until then, take care.
sK