My Chaos

Childhood

I was a pudgy kid with dry skin. My older brother and sister  teased me. They called me BUFMOB (big, ugly, fat, made of blubber). I hated eating at school. I would go hungry, until I got home, where I could binge in the privacy of our living room.

The "growing pains" (the doctor said) of childhood fibromyalgia raged at night, keeping me awake and frightened for most of the night. I went to school, tired and self-conscious, and buried my face in my school books.

I never really fit in with other girls. I always just had one best friend that I spent all my time with. If they weren't at school for some reason, I wandered alone in the schoolyard, mortified, feeling like a loner and a loser.

Mom had divorced my Dad when I was only one year old. She re-married a large and intimidating man with one hell of a temper.

I didn't like him at all. He got angry at me one day and cornered me against a wall. He threw a powerful punch right beside my head, leaving a large hole in the drywall.

He fought with Mom a lot. He yelled at her and pushed her. I hated him.

Finally, after a 5 year marriage, they got divorced.  Soon after, Mom decided to move to the states with her four children (my brother and sister, and my half-brother)

I felt like an outcast at school in Georgia. The other kids had southern accents and called me a Yankee. I hated going to school. The kids teased me every day. I skipped school often to stay home and watch TV.

Mom was depressed. She fought with us all the time. My brother and sister were entering their teenage years, and the battles were intense, sometimes violent. My Mom fought desperately for control. She was very physical about it. I remember watching in horror as she was fighting with my sister who had the keys to her car and wanted to leave the house to get away from Mom's rampage. Mom went nuts. We locked ourselves in her room for safety, and Mom started ramming the door. Eventually, the door frame started breaking and Mom got through our little barrier. She grabbed my sister, wrestled her to the floor and stepped on her face, forcing the keys from her. I pushed Mom off of her, terrified, and we ran out of the house and camped out at a friends' house for a couple of days.

Mom made up her mind. She couldn't handle us anymore. She notified our Dad that we would be living on the streets unless he took us in. He reluctantly obliged. "You would disrupt our lifestyle" he complained when we had asked previously if we could live with him. He and his wife  enjoyed the kid-free life. But, because of his "morals," he felt he must let us live with him.

So, soon after I turned 12, we moved back to Canada to live with Dad. Life was strangely quiet and peaceful with Dad. But we never managed to get close. He kept his distance from us... provided a home and meals, and that was the extent of it. I desperately wanted his approval. I tried so hard. I got good grades, stood up straight and remembered my table manners. He was openly ashamed that I was overweight, and denied me a second helping of supper while everyone else was allowed to help themselves. "You want to watch your figure if you'd like to get married one day," he explained. My step mother was no better. In an effort to motivate me to change, she said gently, "You would be so pretty, if you weren't so fat."

High School

I met Mike when I was 14. He was a grade older than me, in the same Theatre program as I was in high school. He was 5'10, black hair, brown eyes, and a bit overweight.

I liked his sense of humour and his artistic flair. He suffered depression and PTSD from a cocaine-addicted, violent father. He had a very low self-esteem, and dorky interests that grated on me. He was obsessed with Star Wars and his collection of action figures decorated his room.

My relationship with him consumed my spare time.  A month after I turned 15, I lost my virginity to him. We had sex often, though the attraction dwindled after a while. I saw him as dorky, pathetic and annoying. Despite this, I stayed with him for 4 years.

I only had 2 friends in high school, both in the visual art program. One was demanding, bossy and a hell of a lot of fun. The other was passive, soft spoken, and from a terribly dysfunctional home. They spent a lot of time in the bathroom putting on makeup, fixing their hair and trying on different outfits. I followed them, like a lost puppy. I hated being alone over the lunch hour, so I hung out with them in the bathroom and did some makeup too, just to pass the time.

After high school I decided that I'd like to travel. After spending 3 months away from Mike in Costa Rica, my fascination with him died, and I broke up with him a few days after I returned to Canada. I found his company annoying and grating. I was no longer attracted to him in the least. To this day, he still has yet to find another girlfriend.

University

I was very excited to start university. I found a little apartment in Montreal and was acing my courses in University. I was actually getting fit. I was never really good at running, but pushed through the pain of it and was actually able to maintain a jog for about 10 minutes... a life record!

Then, Nate took over my life. I met him about a month before I moved to Montreal. He was a tough guy, a bit macho. He was disrespectful, uneducated and very inconsiderate of my feelings. But, for some reason, I liked that he was interested in me. After about a week or two of dating, I slept with him for the first time in his parents' house where he was living. He had a cigarette, looked me over, and said " You should look into getting surgery to make your hips a bit smaller." Offended, I replied that some men liked my womanly hips. He sort of apologized with, "sorry, I'm just not used to being with someone your size." I was probably a size 10 or 12 at the time. I bit overweight, but by no means obese.

I figured that was reasonable, that he was just adjusting to my size since his ex girlfriend was a size 4. But that was just the beginning of the damaging comments. Little by little, he chiselled away at my vulnerable self-esteem. I was too fat, my skin was too bumpy, I had chink-eyes. I was a yuppie, had an air of superiority. He hated when other men looked at me, blamed it on me being an attention-seeker. I learned to walk with my head down and dress conservatively to avert the attention of other men.

A couple months in to my first semester of University, Nate moved in with me. I soon regretted that decision. He was unable to find a job in Montreal. I had saved up close to $10,000 working my butt of as a waitress at Denny's before I moved to Montreal.

He drank heavily, and against my wishes, chain smoked in the house. I had never smoked. I asked him to please smoke outside, but he insisted that it was his house too now, and he would do as he pleased. He even smoked in bed, where I lay choking on the second hand smoke, trying to get some sleep before the next day's lectures.

It wasn't long after he moved in that I really started to fear for my safety. He would drink heavily, and fly into rages over the smallest things. He would throw things around the house, and intimidate me by hovering close to me, his muscles twitching and nostrils flaring. I got up the nerve to tell him that I think he should move out. He said that he lived here now, and if I wanted to go, I would have to leave.

I would go to my courses, work as a cashier in a restaurant, come home to his drunken demands. He would regularly drink until he threw up. He didn't always make it to the toilet. On several occasions I would wake up to go to school, find puke on the floor or in other random places. I cleaned it up, got my book bag, and went to my lectures.

My savings quickly dwindled as he was unemployed and used up the money quickly for cigarettes and beer. He would drink a case a day, if not more. He asked me one day to borrow my bank card so that he could buy a carton of smokes. I said no, he'd need to buy his own. His anger flared, he threatened me, told me I didn't care about him, that if he had the money he would buy me whatever I wanted...

I felt increasingly depressed, and money was running out. In my second semester, I took up smoking too, trying to be closer to Nate and gain his approval. I joined him in the drinking. A straight-A student in my first semester, I would show up late and hung over in my second, exhausted and defeated.

I dropped out of school and moved back in with my Dad. The anxiety I felt over his serious disappointment in me was all-consuming. He shamed me, was extremely angry with me, and hated Nate. I needed comfort, I needed understanding and love. Instead, I felt unwelcome and scorned. I tried to hide my smoking from him, but was soon discovered. This just added fuel to my father's disapproval and disgust for me.

Nate moved back in with his parents, but my turbulent relationship with him continued. I signed up to take Public Relations at the local Community College. A huge change from my original aspirations, but the program seemed interesting enough, and I wouldn't have to take Nate's sarcastic "Whatever you say, miss University. You think you're better than everyone else, don't you?"

I rented a room in a little town home with 3 other people, who were friends of Nate.  At first my classes at College were going well. I didn't have any money, had to borrow the textbooks from classmates.

Depression and anxiety consumed me, though I didn't recognize what was wrong. I just couldn't get out of bed. If there was a phone message for me, my heart would race and I'd feel this awful, powerful dread in my chest. I couldn't focus at school. My room-mates didn't like me. Nate would come over drunk, let himself in, wake me up from sleep and demand sex. If I refused he would throw a huge fit. My roommates told me that Nate was not welcome in the house any more.

I started seeing a counsellor at school. I explained that I was so, horribly tired all the time. And the stress made my fibromyalgia flare up unrelentingly. I would go straight from school to my bed, and couldn't get up until the next day, often too late to get to class.

Journey to Adulthood

I failed out of the program, and my roommates asked me to leave. I rented a room from my sister's house and got a job as a cashier in a restaurant downtown.

Shortly after, Nate asked me to move in with him, and we rented a one-bedroom apartment. I was offered a job as communications assistant. This was so exciting... a real job! I was determined to impress them, to have a career. Nate's antics continued. He was fired from job after job, and he drank. I was so afraid of him drinking, never knowing when he would have another violent outburst.

Shortly after moving in together, he proposed. I accepted. I wanted a family: a husband, children, a dog and a house. Nate had promised me he would quit drinking, get his GED. Finally, my life was coming together.

Soon after the engagement, I experienced my first full-blown panic attack, the first of many which soon ravaged my life. They were frightening, debilitating, and made me cling tighter to Nate, my protector. This gave him power over me. When I was prescribed medication for my anxiety, Nate shamed me and called me a pill-popper.  I soon ended my treatment and learned to deal with the attacks on my own.

In June 2006, we were married. The months leading up to the wedding were filled with anxiety. I was terrified that he would drink too much at the wedding and cause a scene. I begged him not to drink at the wedding.

Immediately after the honeymoon, his abuse escalated to a whole new level. He would put me down big time... "No one wants you. Even your parents didn't want you." After the worst night ever, involving him drunkenly beating me, pinning me up against the wall, throwing punch after punch and me running out of the house in my pyjamas, terrified, I decided I had to leave him. But he apologized, promised me he would quit drinking. And, I was 7 weeks pregnant with our child. The longing for a home and family life kept me with him, as did the hope that he would change.

Motherhood

Sarah was born, and for a while, I was happy. Our lives were consumed by this new little life we'd been entrusted with. Nate now had more power over me than ever before. Our relationship was terrible, and I often told him that I would like to separate, that I was so unhappy. He would threaten me, tell me that I would never see my daughter again if I tried to leave.

He checked all of my emails, did routine inspections of my purse and wallet. If I was going to leave, I would have to do it carefully.

I finally made up my mind... for the sake of my daughter, I had to leave. I was receiving a bit of money from my maternity leave. It wasn't much, but it was my own. After a few crisis calls to a local women's shelter, I made my escape plan. I sent Nate off with his friend to go out to a bar, packed in a whirlwind, and had my sister drive me to the shelter.

My relationship with Nate didn't end there. I was terribly attached to him. I felt awful, I felt responsible for his well-being. I continued seeing him, making him promise that he would get counselling and quit drinking.

After living at the shelter for a month, I was placed in a two bedroom subsidized apartment for myself and Sarah.

I attended a 12-week group counselling program for women who have experienced abuse. This program gave me so much insight and strength, and opened my eyes to just how toxic and abusive Nate was. I finally mustered up the strength to break it off with Nate for good.

 Online Dating

I had never really dated, and it dawned on me that, hey, I'm single! I joined an online dating site, and was appalled at the options out there. But, armed with my new tools and skills learned in counselling, and tips on spotting out the abusers before they take over your life, I felt that I was well able to sift through the men's profiles and find some gems.

After a few uneventful first dates, I met Julian.  Julian was different from any man I ever met. He was soft-spoken and gentle. He respected me, and didn't try to get in my pants. The conversations were great, and he poured out generous, heart-felt compliments that soothed my aching self-esteem... and my toddler absolutely adored him. Her face lit up when she saw him, and he instantly bonded with her.

I felt safe with Julian. He didn't yell at me, didn't insult me, and didn't drink accept on the rare occasion. I fell deeply in love with him. I ignored the fact that he was unemployed, and he assured me that once the stress of his legal case around his 6 year old daughter was settled, he would return to work.

I had gone back to school, and being a single parent, was given a generous student loan. Julian moved in not long into our relationship. It felt so cozy... a real, loving family! I didn't mind paying for all of our expenses, I was just so grateful to have a loving man to cuddle up with at night and a positive male role-model for my daughter.

Julian was very vague about his past and his legal troubles. I began getting calls from creditors, asking for him. He instructed me to just hang up on them. It wasn't long before I was receiving several calls a day. So he had some money problems... so what? I'm sure he had good reasons. We were a family. We would get through it, together. Surely, once he was back to work, we would just pay off the debts and move on.

But, weeks rolled into months, and two years went by. Julian never went back to work. I tried to be patient with him, knowing that he had been through a lot, and that his custody battle for his daughter haunted him each night.

Motherhood revisited

In the heat of summer, I was out on my friends' balcony, smoking. I felt a strange tingle low in my belly. She bought me a pregnancy test. I went home, peed on the stick, and was elated to see that, yes, I did have a life growing inside of me. I couldn't wait to tell Julian. Finally, our family would be complete!

That September, Julian went back to school to finish the final year of his diploma in engineering. He would graduate in April, finish his certification, and would be employed in no time! Our baby would be born in April... he could take a few weeks to be at home with me, then go off and get a job in his field. Perfect!

I ended my University courses and went back to work. It was exhausting, but I enjoyed it. Every lunch hour, I would call Julian. More often than not, he would still be in bed. "Are you going to school today?" "Yeah, probably later," he'd reply sleepily. I'd get off work, exhausted, picked up Sarah from daycare and came home to find Julian. "I just did my work from home."

The evenings were great. He played with Sarah. I often went to bed early, exhausted and pregnant. I worried about Julian passing his courses, but I trusted that he would get the work done.

Finally, April came.  Julian finally admitted that he was not sure he would pass all of his courses, but he could still find a job anyway. He would just finish up the last one or two in the evenings.

I was annoyed, but the joy of bringing a new baby home quickly overshadowed my worries.

I had an unplanned C-section, and was glad that Julian was available to help around the house.

Soon after Kayla was born, my depression seemed to be getting worse. I asked my doctor to increase my dose of antidepressants. He obliged, and doubled my dose of Celexa. Shortly after, I started feeling great! I had energy, and huge goals. I grew increasingly annoyed with Julian. April rolled into May, which led into June and he had not even gone to a single interview. Money was running out.

In the manic euphoria of my high dose of anti-depressants, I decided I would take matters into my own hands. I would start my own business... yes! I contacted Avon and signed up immediately. I would need inventory, a web site, some business cards... and a launch party!

My new project consumed me.  I worked away, buzzing with mania. Julian and I started fighting more often. I had lost all patience with him. He refused to get a job, our family had no money, and I was left shouldering the responsibility of the family finances.

Our fights were getting ugly. He, who had always been so kind to me, called me a flake. He said that I just got pregnant with Kayla so that I could use him. He said that he would have left me last summer, if I hadn't got pregnant.

Descent into madness

My world came crashing down. This "perfect" man was not so perfect. I was shocked. I was heartbroken. The stress of our money problems burned into me. I threw myself into my new business, making new contacts every day. By the end of my first month, I had a good 20 customers and a large inventory.

But, July came. The high of my antidepressants wore off, and I crashed. I fell deeply depressed and dejected. Julian still had not gone to an interview. There was just no way I could support our family with the bit we were getting from welfare and my little Avon business. Julian slept half the day. I was exhausted and incredibly down.

Then, at the end of July, came the final straw. An eviction notice. We had failed to pay our rent in July, and would have to vacate. Something broke inside. I flew into a rage at Julian, and, terrified, checked myself in to the Mental Health unit at the nearest hospital.

Julian had never treated me so badly before. He insisted that he won't bring me anything for comfort. He told me I had abandoned him and the family, that I was a terrible mother. I had been breastfeeding Kayla, and my breasts were sore and engorged. I felt tremendous guilt that I wasn't with my daughters and that Julian was left to take care of the girls. But I just couldn't cope any more.

The staff at the hospital were alarmed by my confessions that I felt overwhelmed by my kids. I didn't have the energy to be the Mom I wanted to be. I wanted to give up. And so... the Children's Aid Society came into my life.

During my first meeting with the CAS, it was decided that for the time being, I would need a lot of support. Someone should be nearby to help me with my kids.

Julian moved in with his parents, and Kayla moved with him. Sarah stayed with relatives. With an impending eviction, I had to find a new place to live. I thought that things would smooth out after a couple of weeks, that I'd have the kids in my care. But things got worse, not better. I couldn't provide stability for my kids. The CAS was concerned, and my children were at risk of being put in foster care.

With reluctance, I signed custody of Sarah over to Nate. He has a job, a two-bedroom house, and a home that Sarah is familiar with. I had none of those things.  I cried for days, and the depression deepened.

Meanwhile, Julian was treating me like a threat. I went over to pick up Kayla for a visit... things unravelled quickly and he ended up calling the police. He told them that I was likely schizophrenic, doing cocaine and was trying to abduct the baby. WHAT!? He had clearly gone off the deep end.

My visits with Kayla became fewer and farther between. I now have a little one bedroom apartment on the same street as Sarah and her father. I feel a tremendous sense of loss. I'm alone, frightened, and my heart aches so painfully for Sarah. And for Kayla, I feel nothing. Numb.

I was referred to the mental health day program and the hospital. I am still waiting to receive a start-date. I am completely broke, and broken. I want to go back to work, but can barely find motivation to get out of bed, cook a meal, or brush my teeth.

I need to recover... but recover what? I don't know what I want or who I really am.

As it stands, there is no cure for fibromyalgia's unrelenting pain and fatigue. The recovery from Borderline Personality Disorder (the conclusion reached by two of the psychiatrists at the hospital) is long and arduous. My motivation to recover is fleeting.

I have two beautiful daughters and my dearly loved career. I have a little apartment, a computer and a coffee maker.

And through it all, I still have a killer smile.