Misunderstood ll

Misunderstood

“I’ve been misunderstood for all of my life but what they’re sayin, girl, just cuts like a knife… ‘The boy’s no good.’”
Neil Diamond

Lazy, irresponsible, self-centered, manipulative…
Yeah, that was me, thirty years ago, late teens, early twenties. Not good, but not so unusual for guy that age. At twenty one I married, under threat of her suicide (this threat would hang over our relationship for the duration), a slightly older woman who was all these things and so very much more, so much worse and deeply so. I “grew up” quickly in the fiery crucible that was our relationship. I became the opposite of all her evil qualities, as she viciously attacked in me all the things she hated about herself. She demanded absolute honesty and fidelity, down to the flicker of an eyelid as she compulsively lied and had numerous affairs with persons of both sexes. She was totally self-centered; I became giving, forgiving and so empathetic as to be lost in the other. Patience, responsibility, accountability, courage, endurance, the list goes on; all taught by intense, minute, daily faultfinding, as I came to call it. Were I found to be at all imperfect, which I, of course, always was, she would unleash hours, days, of vitriol. Outside the crucible, in the real world I became a model employee and citizen, always well respected, though too perfectionistic, and always excelled at any job I took. Unfortunately, I “grew up” out of site of my family as my wife and I had fled my hometown leaving financial, emotional, and moral devastation behind. For the next twelve years or so I saw very little of my family. In our typical, though gender reversed, abusive relationship, my wife cut me off from all but her approved circle, which constantly changed. It was often just the two of us as she focused all her considerable energy on making my life quite literally a living hell. The only contact I usually had with family was when she had somehow depleted all my hard-earned money, (she worked only sporadically) meddled in my workplace so much I got fired, laid off, or she made it so unbearable with her maniacal manipulation and jealousy that I quit (I quit spontaneously only once, early on); or she would have to move on, claiming wanderlust but probably in some sort of trouble. She would force me to give notice and we would pack up, move and land someplace new, with little or no cash. I would then be forced to call my father and ask for money. This would be the only contact I had with him for months at a time, so it is understandable that his already low opinion of me would be perpetuated. Repeat scenario once, twice, three times a year for over a decade until she literally drove me mad. Psychotic, twice in one year, eventual diagnosis: schizoaffective disorder. We had landed near her hometown, she found another foe, and she simply let me go. I quickly blossomed. To make a long story a bit shorter, I thrived for nearly a decade, remarried, a very good woman, but my illness (delusions, depression, anxiety, and most importantly voices; which more or less controlled my life for about sixteen years) gradually worsened under the stress of “recovered memories” of childhood sexual abuse. “Memories” of horrific SRA, by a group working for the same national road construction company my father worked for at the time. I wrote a letter about it to all my immediate family and, typically, met with a wall of silence; with the exception of my older brother’s wife, a surgical nurse practitioner and matriarch in training (I actually like and respect her very much, she simply does not know me well yet has very strong opinions about who I am, a surprisingly common phenomena in my life) who, though she did not meet my brother until approximately fifteen years after the supposed events, categorically denied they could have happened. During this period my wife began communicating quite a bit with my family. [I now doubt the bulk of the “memories but am certain I was sexually abused at least several times as a child.] My marriage deteriorated, we separated, then reconciled but with no real resolution of issues. The marriage was shattered when I had an affair my voices guided me into. (I must accept complicity to a point, but I was living removed from reality by then.) The separation and divorce and guilt drove me mad again but this time a sustained hypo manic state, which lasted over a year. The credibility with my family I built over my brief “stable” period, shaken by the “memories”, was shattered by my behavior post divorce. To them it was the same old me, lazy, irresponsible, etc. And I must admit, to anyone who did not know me well, like my family, this could be a realistic view.
Interestingly, this idea was reinforced by my then relatively new psychiatric provider, a nurse practitioner working for the state and my counselor, a burned out MSW also working for the state. This counselor had early on in our relationship admitted to me that the state was “getting out of the mental health business”. Cutting back services, staff and forcing clientele to seek private services. This nurse practitioner changed my diagnosis from schizoaffective disorder to a personality disorder (exactly which one was never made clear to me). Which meant I required only minimal medication, I just needed to get my act together. Such had never, to my knowledge, even been considered before (seventeen years), and was scoffed at by the psychiatrist I saw when I left the state system, which anyone in town who could, did (mission accomplished?). She reduced my medications during this incredibly stressful period (right after the separation) and I promptly became even more delusional, the voices multiplied and became stronger. I became unable to work. I began writing long, rambling emails and letters to my mother and father. I asked for and got well over ten thousand dollars during this period from my mother. It was all spent on bills and necessities, contrary to anyone’s opinion. Where I got in trouble was the money ran out but I believed I had a nearly unlimited supply. The checks started bouncing and rebouncing everywhere, I ran out of credit and food and finally wrote a mostly coherent letter to my mother describing my situation. A “family meeting” (first of its kind) was called, releases of info signed and mailed. This “family meeting”, which only half of my immediate family attended, was convened in the state offices in the city I then lived in with my counselor present. One issue was a very bizarre request I won’t go into here, it is discussed elsewhere in my writings; which was flatly denied and rightly so. But for me this meeting was a disaster on myriad different levels, my dignity, my point of view, my veracity, my very life story was discounted by all. They professed love but refused any respect or trust. Once again, my much respected and loved sister in law did much of the talking, being the resident authority (she did have some experience and education in mental health, how much I don’t know), and disrespected me on several levels. My counselor felt it was a great success. There were promises of support and communication. Neither materialized, with the exception of my mother. My relationship with my counselor, which had never been very good, deteriorated. He had always been cynical and sarcastic, he became more so. He seemed to lose all respect and trust and offered no real council. I stopped seeing him recently as well.
Were my family to speak with anyone who knew me, anyone who worked with me or for me over the last twenty-nine years (the time since I permanently left our hometown) in a half dozen cities scattered over three states, anyone in my church of nearly twenty years, they would find I am very much respected, trusted and liked. Even in the city where I currently live, where my condition and much of my behavior is well known. My reputation before this debacle and subsequent integrity have overcome the stain of my recent disintegration. I have spoken openly about my illness and mental health in general in various forums, before university classes, a government inquiry, a mental health publication. I once had the privilege of being misquoted on the front page of the local newspaper, an article about a disabilities seminar in which I was a panelist/speaker.
I have received perhaps a dozen phone calls from my family in the two years since the meeting, with the exception of my mother. I have made numerous calls, many to voice mail, most not returned, I have been mysteriously hung up on at my older brother’s home several times. This brother has called me, sporadically, at least made an effort. Some members of my family have been in town and not contacted me. On my recent fiftieth birthday I received no calls, no cards, no letters, nothing from anyone in my family of origin or their families. My mother called and left a message the next day. A week later, a CD of photos from a recent family reunion was given to my by my older sister’s youngest daughter who is going to college here. We seldom speak. She is very busy. Over the years I have seldom acknowledged their birthdays either. But then I was not the one who pledged love and support so recently. My recent ex and her family had me over for BBQ and cake. They BBQ often on summer Sunday evenings as this was.
I have not been a good brother, a good son. But, contrary to what my family believes, I have been a person of uncommon integrity, a good person.

The preceding grew out of my need to explore a repressed anger I didn’t understand.

So, I am now stuck. My income is rigidly capped. I resort often to the pity of my mother for money to get through. I do not misspend my money. I often buy things for my grandsons, which they need, but their very limited, often irresponsible parents do not give them. Their grandmother, is overworked, and has lately become disgruntled, and resentful and thus sometimes disinterested with their daily needs.
Debt collectors hound me; I have no way to pay any more than I am now doing. If I show any more income than I currently do, not only will my SSD be cut off, but my wages will be attached. I will be unable to return to college in my present financial state. Nor will I be able to enter religious life, which remains a question before God, though I have been invited to join Ascension Priory near Jerome.
I could provide my family with several dozen references to support what I say. I give only two…

This “life” which I am stuck in is intolerable. Were I to declare bankruptcy part of my financial situation would be resolved. I have been asked, nearly begged, to take a weekend position doing maintenance and covering days off for the owner/managers (a longtime friend and his family who own a local restaurant also) of a restaurant in Issaquah, the nearest suburb of Seattle. I cannot take this job with my present vehicle in its present state, it would simply not hold up under the weekly 600-mile trek. This job is possible because I can work only 4 days a week at my present job, which I am committed to indefinitely for the sake of my former wife’s grandchildren, no blood or legal relationship. The Issaquah job can be paid in such a way as to not show up on my income.

Yes, I said intolerable. Without hope of relief. My situation is not the result of laziness, irresponsibility or an other character flaw, it is the result of delusion, and of voices I thought to be divine. I do not wish “to be taken care of”, one of the many degrading comments made during the “family” meeting. I had no such illusions, even in my delusion. On the contrary, as a male, I could at this moment got to at least two women here in … and be “taken care of” in grand style if I so chose. One is merely upper middle class, the other the wealthiest woman in town by her personal fortune, by her family fortune, which she is heir to; she is one of the wealthiest people in this state of wealthy people. She also happens to be very attractive, but married. I have had many such offers in my lifetime, none of which I took advantage of.

I request from my entire family $5500 to facilitate bankruptcy, cover bills about town bankruptcy will not include, and to upgrade my vehicle. I can supply receipts for all purchases and commercial payments upon request. Some debts are very personal and I will not request a receipt. I request this for the sake of my future, my sanity, my … family…at the very least.

Should my family be unwilling to do so. I shall no longer consider them my family and cut all ties. Including my Mother. Which would not be so different from the way it is now. With the exception of my Mother. But there is something important which she is not telling me. Perhaps nothing truly specific and concrete, but something. I sense it only in her, perhaps others also know something, some things I do not.

If, as has been so in the past, there is no response to this email, which I am sending to my mother only, for her distribution to the rest of my family, if there is no response or a negative response by Tuesday of next week, my family will no longer hear from me and may not know where I am.

Yes, this is drastic. I am stable at this time; this is not the product of delusion but of desperation and frustration and indignation and disability and, most of all, necessity. I have thoroughly exhausted all other appropriate avenues of attaining these funds. And I believe this to be the sort of thing families do. It shall be repaid in payments of approximately $100 a month, beginning when bankruptcy is resolved.

Mark

Note: my entire family, with the exception of myself, is at the very least, solidly upper middle class, a position which they have reached, in large part… by exploiting me.
I have, contrary to my empty “threat” contacted my family. I have received, so far, a net of $246.00. Less than I was receiving by begging my mother to help me. I have received, since reestablishing contact, received absolutely nothing, with the above noted exception. My entire family of origin has literally all my contact information, which has not changed in nearly 4 years. I can no longer afford any form of psychological counseling, with the possible exception of my former, sadistic, burned out, but beloved, state funded counselor. I am doing OK. I am now bombarded by near constant voices and grandiose delusions. I hold a position of responsibility at a social services corporation located in my present town of residence, where I have now lived for twenty years. I am paid $8.00 per hour for my services, my hours vary widely, my employer is well aware of my mental health history, and federal income cap. My finances are now entirely handled by a state appointed entity. I am unaware of how much money I actually receive for either wages or SSD benefits. I receive a weekly allowance of $125.00 (I have requested slightly more and received a net cut), with a $100.00 per month allowance for car insurance. My primary responsibility is behavior modification of my ex wife’s family residing here. My ex wife is a highly respected PhD psychologist with her own apparently thriving firm. In 1998 she requested and received some sort of legal control over the care of her two locally residing grandchildren whom I now provide services for. She seems to have largely removed herself from their care. She cares for them from @8:00 pm on Friday evenings until whenever her grandchildren call me the next day to pick them up. She has not spoken to me for several weeks, despite my efforts to contact her, both in person and by phone. She too has all my contact information. Recently, (less than two weeks ago) I was contacted by her grandchildren, from a public phone at the local outdoor swimming pool on the last day it was open to the general public. As I pulled into the parking lot the boy’s grandmother exited the parking lot rather quickly with her cell phone to her ear. The boys were unable to tell me just what was going on. They had no dry towels, nothing to eat or drink. There was a definite wind chill factor. The pool facility was nearly empty of patrons, I located only two other occupants of the pool, both roughly my charges’ age @11 (=/- 1.5 years) and two adolescents seemed to be wandering from the pool to the dressing room. The pool staff, all seemingly less than @ 25 years of age, were at their stations. I assisted my former wife’s grandchildren and the two children in hypothermia relief. We left within a half hour, shaking hands with the entrance/exit staff and thanking them for a job well done.

{Spell Check is at times illogical and not user friendly}

PS: During a State Health and Welfare investigation of her son’s home a few weekends ago (the two aforementioned grandchildren’s father and his wife (clinically depressed), all four developmentally delayed, all four with unspecified personality disorders, the older child with ADHD and the younger bipolar, perhaps antisocial) my ex wife could not be reached, though I called her personally and left an urgent message. Her son contacted me via his cell phone; which I provide for him on my plan, without charging him, and alerted me that a State Health and Welfare person had interviewed his wife earlier in the day with only the children present and another would soon be arriving. I do not know where he was but he generally works weekends and evenings maintaining lawns and is employed full time at the same firm where I work, @ 2.5 years my senior (his sons’ tell me he has recently been promoted and is now in some sort of supervisory capacity which I see little or no evidence of. They also tell me he is now “my boss”. He recently purchased, on his own credit (according to him), a new 2008 Dodge 1500 quad cab pickup, V8, PW, PD, CC, AC, CD, light weight towing package. I do not recall precisely when or where he contacted me, only that it was Saturday afternoon and I was quite busy, perhaps assisting a friend in a nearby town with renovation of his recently fire gutted home ($10.00/hr +meals. I have 25 years experience as a carpenter, 24.5 years journeyman level) I left carpentry @ 6 months ago to take my present position). I left whatever I was doing, calling my ex wife on the way (I admit my message was less than cordial), I stopped along the way to buy groceries for their refrigerator, (with my own funds, which were not claimed or reimbursed) which I knew to be usually quite empty by Friday. They receive allowance checks from the same state appointed entity as I do, I receive mine on Saturdays, I do not know when they receive theirs, I assumed Saturdays also. When I arrived a 30ish woman was already there, questioning my former stepson’s wife on the front porch, clipboard in hand, with the two children standing nearby, also on the porch. Neither my ex wife nor her son were present. I walked up with a ready-to-eat barbecued chicken in a plastic grocery bag in my hand. When I arrived on the porch, Rachel was crying, but the boys were smiling. The young woman was very polite and professional. She was an on call social worker for State Health and Welfare Child and Family services. Though I became rather emotional at one point, the visit went well. There were no adverse outcomes to my knowledge. My ex wife did not contact me, I called her after the meeting on the porch, apologized for my rudeness on the prior message, and told her the meeting went well. Her son arrived home @15 minutes after the social worker left. I believe this incident to be prior to the pool incidence. During the meeting I recommended Rachel be re evaluated for clinical depression, among several other suggestions, including a supervised (by the social worker) intervention with Rachel about her care of the home. To my knowledge I was in no way reimbursed for time or mileage.




Some time ago my employer’s representative called me on my cell phone and said, “The family doesn’t want you working with the boys anymore.”
Since that call my life has gone spinning out or control, I said I quit, gave a wee bit of advice as to how to revamp their system to comply with regulations and properly serve their clientele, and hung up I have heard from neither my former employer nor my sweet little boys since.