What I did before I got sick - Living With Schizophrenia

September 4, 2007

What I did before I got sick

After my marriage from hell broke up, I spent a lot of time with my best friend and her kids. I also attended college full time.

I really miss the kids. Her oldest child, a daughter named Samantha will be 18 next month. The last time I saw her, she was about 9 years old. I helped raise them, since their mother is a drug addict, and I was not at the time. If anything, I consider myself to have been codependent at the time. Aside from school, most of my adult life was occupied with caring for, and, I have to admit it, enabling drug addicts. My ex husband was a drug addict and an alcoholic. And the three women I spent a lot of time around were all drug addicts. All of them had children.

Bonnie, my old best friend, can best be described as Cajun. She's from New Orleans. She was with a real loser named Patrick when I met her. He used to beat Samantha for wetting her pants when she was three or so. I was avidly opposed to their marriage, and tried for years to convince Bonnie to leave Patrick. I offered her a room in the house that me and my ex husband were renting to get her out of her mother's place and away from Patrick. I never liked Pat. He hit on me several times. I told Bonnie about it. She did not believe me. He is an alcoholic and a marijuana addict. Bonnie's mom is convinced he is a child molester. But the kids never said anything to indicate that he is one. I know he is violent, a philanderer and white. I have no doubt, with the verbal abuse he heaped upon Bonnie that he would have eventually hit her.

When the marriage finally broke up, Pat put up quite a fight for the kids. Some of Bonnie's old friends exaggerated her parental faults and filled out statements against her. Bonnie didn't want to say anything bad about Patrick in court or in front of her kids.

Quite often, I stayed over at her place, when she had one. In the mornings, she'd refuse to get up with her kids, so I'd have to feed them and supervise them, so they wouldn't run out in the street or cause too much mischief. Bonnie would often talk over Samantha or ignore her, I would try to pay attention to Samantha, because she often had interesting things to say. I haven't seen Samantha in over nine years. I have no idea what her interests are now. I spent a lot of time with her and Danny, her little brother. Danny was about four the last time I saw him.

It was shortly before I left that Danny told me that he was going to buy me a truck when he grew up.

The whole family was poor. Bonnie could barely afford to clothe her kids. Bonnie has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder because her blood father raped her for the first thirteen years of her life. She relives the nightmare in her sleep and through flashbacks. She didn't have anybody to teach her how to live on her own properly growing up. Of course, the drugs didn't help. She graduated from taking speed and smoking a lot of pot when she was a teenager to drinking and taking lots of perscription pain pills she'd get for a cough she never had.

I had a feeling if I called CPS they'd do to her what they do to most Native Americans, take her children away and give them to white foster or adoptive parents that conform to white societies norms. So, I thought, if I was available and able, I'd take care of the kids when she couldn't or wouldn't. Besides, I missed my oldest daughter, who I had given up for adoption a few months before I met Bonnie. So, in a way, Samantha took Chelsey's place in my life. I defended them from racists and various other predators, too.

I did get tired of never getting a thank you for taking care of the kids, much less any kind of payment for the free babysitting, or, if you prefer, being a nanny to Danny and Samantha. So, when I'd run out of cigarettes, sometimes I'd take one or two out of her pack. She did feed me quite often, and donated some half and half to me. She also loaned me a crib and some other things for the baby I had in 1997. I guess I felt, at first, no thanks was needed, but I got fed up with it.

Bonnie can't hold down any kind of job. She's never coped real well with the demands of being employed. She can't seem to cope with the system. She can't cope with college. She's tried to cope with all of those things, but what her father did to her affects her too much. She did complete two quarters of a community college even though she never completed high school and got decent grades. We started a liberal's club together when we were at the community college together. I had to tutor her in Algebra and precalculus. I am a trained tutor in both Math and English. She never said thanks for that either.

She's been with a man named Randy, who is an alcoholic and a marijuana addict, for almost thirteen years now. He helps her out financially. He's never been violent to either her or the kids that I know of. They live together. They were hand fasted but never married. Bonnie's tubes are tied, which she ordered done after her last high risk pregnancy. Later, she claimed the doctors tied her tubes without her permission. She claims he's been a good father to the kids, but I doubt he's been there emotionally for them. Randy didn't want kids. So it worked out good for him. He has someone to cook and clean up after him. He seemed pretty sexist to me.

Bonnie isn't speaking to me now. When I became actively psychotic, I had visions of her children being molested by both Randy and Pat. I published my "theory" about Randy on the internet. I also accused Randy of rape. The website has since been removed from the internet. She never forgave me for my false accusations. I had delusions that every man was a rapist. I honestly believed Randy raped Bonnie, because he didn't ask permission to touch Bonnie even though she invited it. It was all very black and white in my mind. All the things I did for her and the kids don't count for much since I accused the man she's dependent upon of rape. She also got upset about my accusations of some other men we knew. Some of whom were guilty of sexual abuse.

Relationships should be a two way street. I learned that from Bonnie and her kids, who loved me very much, and were dependent on me when I flipped out. It was the closest relationship I had to a two way street. Although, I have to honestly say I was doing most of the giving. I know Bonnie loved me in her own way.

In a way, the kids gave me the chance to feel like a mommy again. I didn't feel like one when I gave my eldest daughter up for adoption. I had another little girl to love and give to. I don't know how I did as a "nanny," maybe I really screwed things up for Samantha. Or maybe I showed her when it was time to leave bad relationships. In any case, it's impossible to find out since I don't know where Bonnie or her kids are living. I have Bonnie's email address, but not her snail mail address or phone number.

I did a lot of service work before I became sick. Now, it seems, nobody wants my services because of my illness. It was very rewarding, like school, which I also miss. I allowed my loans to go into default after I became actively psychotic. After four years of school, that's a lot of loan money. They want a really high monthly payment from me and aren't the least bit understanding of my illness. I have to pay that high monthly amount if I want them out of default. Maybe someday I'll be able to get them out of default, and become eligible again for financial aid. I'd love to go back to school.

My various odd jobs weren't my real job. My real job was defending my "adopted family" from prejudice and racism, taking care of kids and going to school. I miss my job.

September 4, 2007

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About This Post

This page contains a single entry by Theresa posted on September 4, 2007 5:36 PM.

My Battle With Drugs was the previous post in this blog.

Sorting out the symptoms of my illnesses.... is the next post in this blog.

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