why are you what you are?

Wow Kuvasc that IS a powerful story, and what a way
you FOUND your voice, your own inner power and
inner strength and courage. Your story is inspirational
to all of us. I know it is to me. My own story is an odd
one - defining moments which made me who I am today
"appeared" to be some very, very negative things at the
time - yet in retrospect, it's clearly visible how I used even
these difficult & at times quite painful experiences - by
putting them to use in making me stronger, able to stand
up for myself, and helping me to find my own "voice" so
that I could be heard in the world also, instead of allowing
people to walk all over me all my life, as my 2 sisters have
done, to their misfortune.
***My mother was a severely mentally ill woman, who also
had a real propensity for alcohol. She was a really severe
alcoholic. The whole nine yards, hiding bottles, drinking all
night long, keeping the entire family startled and awakened
by her manic fits of drunken rage. My father, the workaholic
and the "religion-aholic" (this is a new one) who being
"christian" in his opinion meant allowing anyone and
everyone to heap all manner of abuse upon you & never
say stop! I married at 17 ... but married an alcoholic
and an abuser - as so often happens when you grow up
in a family where there is alcoholism, it is the norm that
you are accustomed to and one actually prefers the
old hateful life, better than the new yet different kind of
life. I had the very largest defining moment, although it
involved no other person in my life but me. Just me. My
exhusband had just lost another good job, right at Christmas
time. We had 3 little girls who needed clothing and new shoes
as well as toys from Santa. I had what I can only describe as
a moment of crystal clarity where I saw myself as I really was,
and I realized that as much as I wanted for my daughters to
have what they needed - it would be FAR easier for me to go
out and do it myself....rather than to wait for their drunkard &
lazy father to do it. And so I divorced him - he left the state. I
had to go on welfare, but I began community college courses
(I had to get my GED first of course) and I went there 2 years,
transferred to Pitt in 1979 and graduated magna cum laude in
1982 from the Pitt School of Pharmacy. Then my 3 little girls
and I moved to sunny Florida where I doubled my income &
we had purchased our very own home in 1983 AND we didn't
lack for food or clothing or the elemental things of pure survival
ever again. Defining moment #2 occurred in 1985. After I
divorced - I began to drink. Now when I was a young person I
swore I would never be like my mother, so I wasn't. I never
drank at home or hid any bottles...I went out to party and to
drink with friends,but the inescapable genetic thing happened
and I became the alcoholic. In 1985 I started going to AA
meetings, as I started to see the mayhem that MY drinking was
making in our lives AND at the same time began to get mental
health counseling for the depression that had plagued me
since I was a young teenager. Now - it has been 18 years, I still
go to those AA meetings.... I haven't felt the need to drink alcohol
for all these years...and my relationships with my daughters (AND
my grandchildren) are great BECAUSE of my years spent in
recovery from alcoholism. So, all in all I have been very
fortunate. The inner resources that I needed have always been
there JUST WHEN I NEEDED THEM MOST, and I am quite familiar
with what I call "moments of clarity" where, for whatever reason,
I call it grace - I was able to look at myself objectively - see myself
as I REALLY was, rather than as what I wanted to see. Each one of
these moments has led me to a richer, better fuller life. I see my
other siblings still grappling with the same issues they did as kids
and I just count my lucky stars that I got some help when I needed
it and was not too proud that I couldn't admit that I needed
help and needed it badly. I think this is a GREAT TOPIC by the
way. I can't wait to hear from some of our other members talk
about themselves - because this is one of those topics where
you REALLY get the chance to get to know each other better.
If you choose to, of course. Thanks.

Hi kuvasz, That's a mighty powerful story that you shared with us. For that, I thank you. As for me, how the hell do I know? I've always been the black sheep of our family. Never got good grades in school, and my report card used to say, "c.i. fights too much!" My older brother used to get gold stars and the American flag on his report card. My younger brother was valedictorian. My sister was always in the 'smart' class. Even today, all my siblings are christians, and I'm a atheist. They're all republicans, and I'm an independent. They all married christians, and I married a buddhist. But you know what? I'm probably the happiest of the bunch. c.i.

gosh babs, yours was a hurricane of a story and mine just a tiny little breeze.

it is those things which do not kill us that make us stronger.... nietzsche? i think said something like that and it is sooooo true.

how hard it is to change the habits we develop even though they are often times self destructive to us and those around us.

i don't really know what makes one person draw strength and another draw bitterness from the same situations and how some of us prefer to do things that bring such negative emotional pain when the alternatives are so available.

i am so glad to hear from you. your story is an inspiration for those who have yet to meet their challenge in life.

(((((hugs))))

well c.i. you might want to run some dna testing on yourself and the rest of the family! mistakes do happen in the maternity ward, you know?

:wink:

kuvasz, babs - as I read I was struck by the fact we all seem like ordinary people, but none of us are.

I think I've had several moments in my life. The one with the greatest impact was - I don't know what it was, since I'm not a particularly religious or spiritual person. I was scheduled for open heart surgery ( a legacy from my father, who really should have left me money, but he didn't have it). It was the night before, and everybody had been to see me - family, all the hundred and one people who would be working on me - and now I was alone. I had never had an operation, never been in the hospital except to have my children. Something very strange happened. I stood up on the bed and said OK God, that's it. It's in your hands, I can't do it. With that, I got very serene, and went to sleep without any aid. Early next morning they wheeled me into the operating room, and my major feeling was curiosity. I didn't see how anyone could get near me with all that equipment standing there. Then they put me under. Nine days later I was home, and I went back to work about 4 weeks later. I can't claim I haven't had my moments since (and a lot has happened since then) but I feel I can cope.

My husband says it was a twelfth step moment, but I think maybe a revelation of insignicance - a true handing over.

kuvasz, No such luck; a midwife helped with my birth, and I was the only one in the house with my mom. c.i.

These are really amazing stories. I've already known some of Babs history; she is a fighter. Mamajuana's ability to let go just about made me cry. Whew, I hate going into hospitals.

Your story, Kuvasz, is really remarkable. I can see how it would be an incredible turning point. You don't know how glad I am that it had a happy ending! You were so young! So brave! So cocky!

CI -- I can't believe you didn't say anything about going to an internment camp. We all know that you're a sterling character... with the emphasis on character!

I feel even more insignificant after reading these. I've searched my memory and though there are lots of good things, there's nothing that compares. The only turning point I can think of are the years I watched my mother die. She had cancer and fought for life, doing everything to try and stay alive including going to the Philippines for a treatment from a hands-on faith healer (definitely a fake) and to Mexico for the banned Laetril. I was the one sibling of five who stayed nearby and gave her and my dad whatever support I could muster. There were times we were sure she'd make it and then a year when we knew there was no hope.

She was a really good mom, a true matriarch who reveled in it. She would have been a wonderful grandma, but she died 2 months before her first grandchild, my daughter, was born. Without wanting it, the mantle of being the matriarch in the family passed to me. It's been a heavy burden sometimes, especially after my dad died. I have three sisters and a brother but I'm the head bitch, the oldest one with the oldest kids, the one the other moms in the family come to for advice, conflict resolution, favors and hand-me-downs. I've got the family history: the paperwork, the photos, the books. I'm the guardian of the family memory. It wasn't what I expected... but that's who I am.

Piffka - I'm the oldest too, with the oldest kids. A little while ago I started writing family stories - about my aunt carrying a gun, my father's funeral - you know. What I found was that the kids weren't interested in the geneology - they wanted the stories. So I thought, this is called memories. I wish I had asked my parents for family stories. Anyway, I keep writing them, and the nieces and nephews email me wanting to know more. My sisters and I agree that I have the best memory, although we do confer, and I'm the writer. I am today conscious of every passing moment, and I want my grandkids to know about the rich life that existed before them, and helped make their lives. Now, the story of how my sister Patsy got her yellow front teeth..........

babs, I've been trying to think of what to say to you, because you are a very special person. I understand how destructive alcoholism can be, and not many manage to dig out from it. We have friends whose children are literally killing themselves from alcoholism, and they are powerless to help them. It's very painful to watch them suffer while their children go into one binge after another, can't hold jobs to support themselves or their family. Your's is a success story that I shall remember. c.i.

I agree that these are some amazing stories.

I pretty much spent all my school years being harassed by school bullies for one reason or another. In my younger years I was picked on because I was chubby, in my first year in junior high I was still chubby and was still being picked on until one day I told a girl that was part of the tough crowd to shut up. Well, at that moment I went from being picked on to being threatened and jumped. There were only 2 girls in that tough crowd that threatened me, but I was still scared because they were always with a large group of these tough kids. I use to skip school all the time because of the abuse. I still remember the fear I had every single day that I had to go to school and I couldn't wait for summer vacation because I knew I'd be safe at home. During my summer vacation between 8th and 9th grade I lost a lot of weight and was nice and slim by the time I went back to school in 9th grade. The abuse continued until I went to high school in 10th grade. I decided to go to the vocational school to get away from these girls that just wouldn't leave me alone. Things were great at the beginnng of high school. I started lifting weights which helped me vent a lot of the anger I had built up through all the years of abuse in school and I felt really good about myself. The girls in the voc were really tough chicks, but they didn't bother me at first, Unfortunately, this guy in school that I grew up with liked me a lot and made a point in sitting with me at lunch and talking to me every chance he had. The unfortunate part of it is that this guy was going out with the toughest girl in schools best friend and she didn't like him warming up to me at all. Suddenly I have all the girls in the school cornering me in the ladies room, in the hall, at lunch, walking home, etc.... It was a nightmare that wouldn't end. Well, needless to say, I quit school at 15 because I couldn't take it anymore. I started working full time 2 days after I quit and it was a breath of fresh air to work with civilized adults that didn't abuse me daily. I continued to lift weights since it did wonders for my self esteme. After a few years of lifting serious weights I was stong as an ox, LOL! When I was 16 my best friend and I were walking down the street one day when I hear someone yell my name. I turned to see who it was and it was the tough crowd from junior high right across the street. There were about 6 girls and 7 boys. One of the girls said I better run because she was gonna kick my ass. Well, that did it for me. I was scared to death but I walked across the street and right up to that bitch and told her I came across the street to make it easier for her to kick my ass. I then took off my jean jacket, handed it to my best friend and turned to see the girls face drop as she saw how pumped my arms were. She turned to look at her gang for support and they all walked away saying it was her fight. I smile and told her to hit me with her best shot because I was gonna give her mine. She said she wouldn't hit me first, so I told her "fair enough, but if I so much as hear you squeak at me again, I will kick your ass and that's a promise"! Neither her or anyone in her 'tough" crowd ever bothered me again and that was quite a turning point in my life. From that day on I've held my head high. I have run across other girls who abused me over the years and I confronted them as well and even became friends with a few of them. Funny thing is that I was beyond prepared to fight physically, but I never had too. If I had known long before then, I would have stood up for myself from day one.

bm

Well, Max, you seem to have bought in to what the conservatives call a liberal, so I am going to explain it to you real good, because your emoticon of astonishment that my experience made me a liberal person really disappoints me and shows you don't really understand a thing.

You see, you would have to know the times. February 1969. Less than year after the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert F Kennedy, when the nation was ripping itself apart over race and Viet Nam and my own city of Philadelphia had endure race riots months earlier.

It takes only a little maturity to realize what happened that day. A white boy standing up and demanding that his heritage was not one to be slurred, while a 50 year old black man born in segregated America sat watching as his own boss threw an ethnic slur at a kid who was unwilling to stand silent.

You think that Mr. Anderson did not see the dynamics at work on that late bus on a cold February night in 1969? That a 14-year boy would recognize the hate in the slur and respond to the hate with censure, even at the cost of confronting the adult who cast it? That perhaps if one young white man could see that to denigrate one ethnic group that he might see the immorality of having the same thing done to Negroes in 1969? You think that maybe he felt a hope that seeing me stand up for my rights might make me and others around me sensitive to the rights of other who had a different color skin? You think that is why he drove me to my door instead of making me walk a half-mile to get home that night?

That is the lesson I learned, it is the lesson I carry from that day. That is why when I review the philosophies of conservatives, who are the intellectual offspring of that superintendent, I chose to be a liberal.

kuvasz, old buddy, it was a great story.

like a lot of great stories, it was ruined when politics was injected, needlessly and inappropriately.

but hey, it's your perogative, just don't expect the rest of us to purchase it, ok?

There was never in my life a single defining moment, but, rather, a number of series of events, beginning with an early childhood among migrant workers. My father was a criminal and an alcoholic and my mother was quick to lay into me with a switch, her sole teaching tool. By age three we had transplanted to California and I already had an alcoholic step-father. We meandered up and down the belly of California like an infestation of fleas, becoming over the next ten years a family of thirteen. I averaged attendance at two to four schools per year, becoming enrolled in the same set of schools in succession numerous times. The family was supported by welfare given to my two full brothers and me, while my step-father spent his checks on booze and running the streets. He was an intimidating person, before women and small kids, teasing and picking without mercy. Of the kids he determined that I would be the stupid one. He belittled and derided me at every turn. He called me "Snurd" instead of my name. Snurd is a name of one of Edgar Bergan's radio show puppets. As his feud with my older brother developed and became increasingly bitter, he became increasingly physically abusive to his three step-children. I used to lie in bed at night, debating the pro and con of "Is there a God?" I eventually determined that no God would allow this type of Earthly existence. At Christmas time we would see the neighbors get good gifts while we got few to none. One evening my drunken step-father came into the house with the tools of his trade, two butcher knives. He announced to my oldest, 16 yr old, brother that they would fight it out with the knives. My Mom, who was actually a very good person as she evolved over the years, 7 mos. pregnant, got in between to stop it. Fortunately, the police were called and the old man was taken away. He came home long enough to tell Mom that "These kids don't want me here and I'll be damned if I'll stay." He left, but spent the next year trying to move back in. We eventually skipped out to return to Texas. The result of all this was to make me morbidly shy and unable to converse at all with people. The extent of my conversational abilities was to answer "Yes" or "No" and the like. I spent ten years in school in virtual silence. The only work I knew how to seek out was carpentry with relatives. Only after a hitch in the Navy could I make contact with other people. The breakthrough came when I learned I could argue. The years of reading authors such as Philip Wylie had given me a great deal of amunition to use against Christians. Eventually, I grew sick of argument, but, by then I had become able to hold a conversation. It took most of my lifetime to overcome all of this and to come to live the happy life I now lead. It came about incrementally, and not all in a defining moment.

yes eddie, wylie's chapter 'the man on the cross' in his "generation of vipers" is about the most devastating indictment of organized christianity i have ever read.

mamajuana has it right, we appear ordinary but each has a wild tale to tell as to how we got where we are.

And as we get older, and hopefully wiser, we no longer care about what's in our closets, and share them willingly with whomever will listen. Everybody has closet secrets. Why hide them? They're part of our real lives, for christ-sakes. c.i.

Everything I am I owe to McDonald's, Pizza Hut, and TV remote control.

Some of us control the tv remote. c.i.