Much like a science experiment that we had no choice but to do in high school chemistry--that has been my life. I remember when I was a little girl--around the age of 8, my pediatrician left a voicemail on my family's answering machine-saying something that sounded like "Amy has leukemia!" After the initial freak-out by my mother simmered--she spoke to the doctor-who helped to settle my mom's nerves -and explained that I had "LIPEMIA". Okay...so the good news--was that I wasn't going to die! The bad news is that I had too much fat floating through my veins!! EWWW!!!!
Then enters this doctor whose name was quite similar to "Snufflelufagus" from Sesame Street....who worked for Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. I was entered into this study where every few months I would go be a pin cushion and have my blood tested to see how my lipids and cholesterol were doing. They even had me meet with a nutritionist to help me out with my "diet". But seriously--I was 8 YEARS OLD!!!! A nutritionist? WTF?!! Who were they kidding!!
My favorite was the day that they had me drink heavy cream and poked my arm 7 times throughout the duration of one day. That wasn't exactly my idea of a fun day off from school--I can certainly tell you that much. And perhaps the most grotesque portion of the day--was the actual ingestion of said heavy cream. "Let's just have her drink it out of this!" (as the nurse hands me a BEAKER!!!!) I can tell you this much--that was about 18 or 19 years ago--and I still have yet to touch heavy cream to this day! BLECH!!! Little did they know that at the time of that heavy cream experiment--I was severely bulemic--thanks to my father and his controlling ways. So with that being said-I'm fairly certain that their experiment was probably not as accurate as they were anticipating that it would be.
Life for me has always felt as though it was an experiment....like it was just a combination of different elements thrown together to see what would happen next. A test even...which unless it was a written exam--that I could bullshit my way through--I probably wouldn't do very well. I've always chalked it up to being test anxiety. So perhaps that is what I've been experiencing my whole life--test anxiety?? Well--I'll explain-and maybe you can share your opinions....
Perhaps it would be best to start towards the beginning of my life....or at least as far back as I could remember. I was three....and his name was Michael R. he was my 19 year old next door neighbor. And I absolutely ADORED Michael. I thought the world of him. I remember him coming home from work or community college every day-driving up to the front of his parent's house where he lived, in his bright orange sports car--where I was waiting patiently in the living room window. I would run out of the house (naturally the family knew where this little three year old was headed,) and I would run down the driveway-straight into his arms . He would pick me up and swing me around "Aimekins! My little munchkin!!!" And give me the biggest safest hug I'd ever had--topped off with a nose-to-nose eskimo kiss! Unconditional-safe love. I don't remember anything else like it after that point. After three years old-nothing else?? That's just a tragedy-wouldn't you agree?? A little girl--who lives in a home with her mother, father and older sister-should feel safe and loved, no? But my story is a bit different. Especially when your father tells you that your mother doesn't love you--and that only he does. It leads to a very confusing upbringing for a young and impressionable child.
I could go on and on with the details of how my father used to tell me how my mom didn't love me--and how he was the only one that did-but after the 2nd or 3rd time-you might find yourself growing tired of it. Or at least frustrated. Imagine how I felt when I started to put the pieces of the puzzle of my life together--beginning at age 16. I realize that I'm sort of all over the place with this story-but to be honest--when you have 32 years of memories running rampant through your mind--especially as mine have been--I barely know where to begin first. One day, maybe I'll put them into neatly written chapters. But for now--let's just roll with it-and see how it goes.
It was October, 1992--and we had just buried my grandfather--whom I was VERY close with. He was only 68 years old, and taken from us much to early. His story is a blog which I'll save for another day. Almost immediately following his death--we also lost 2 cousins--each to a different form of cancer...and then the night of my Sweet 16--we lost my other grandfather. That was a very difficult year for anyone to have to experience. But put that together with a 16 year old girl who was living in a household with a bipolar and abusive father while suffering from severe bulemia....and you've got yourself a potential explosion (and perhaps the makings of a Lifetime Movie of the Week..do you think Melissa Gilbert is available??) At the end of that summer--I had returned from summer camp-where I had spent much of my time there extremely volatile and just plain nasty to anyone and everyone. I don't remember a time before then-where I was so angry. When I was unpacking-my older sister approached me and said I didn't seem right. And she was on point. We then spent the next two hours where I revealed how I'd been suffering with this severe need for self-control for the past 4 1/2 years. Well--I'll go into the beginning stages of the bulemia at another time as well. But for now-let's just continue to forge ahead--there's lots of good stuff to come!!! That night was the night I finally began to know who my mother was. It was the first time I actually allowed myself to see that my mother really did love me...and that my father had spent 16 years brainwashing me into thinking that she was an evil awful woman. Not long after that--I entered treatment and therapy for my eating disorder. I even remember telling my father (we can begin to refer to him as "the asshole" from this point forward...) how he was responsible for my eating disorder. Thanks Asshole!!!
We spent the next 5 months preparing to take a giant leap of faith...and move out on my father. When we did--I remember feeling a sense of relief. But even though I thought the hard part was over, it hadn't even really begun!! We had an opportunity at a fresh start. So I graduated high school 16 months later--went off to college--and even graduated with my Bachelors Degree. I managed to pull myself up by the bootstraps--and finally by the age of 21...nearly 10 years after my eating disorder had begun-I was finally 100% on the wagon. The screen play I wrote in college played a huge role in the healing process. Hanging up the phone on the asshole periodically helped as well! But little did I know-the repercussions of my childhood were lurking just around the corner.
Right out of college-I got a fantastic job-lived on my own--and started to meet men!! (By the way-I should probably mention--that me-and men--well I never dated--I just had crush, after crush, after crush...but nothing else...) And all of a sudden-the revolving door at Casa Aimes began to move-and didn't stop. It was one guy after the next. The fact that I can still remember their names-is almost humorous to me. I kept thinking to myself--that if I slept with these guys-that they would want to be with me-and would love me. Can anyone say WTF?!!!!!! Because in hindsight--I sure can!!!! But at the time--it seemed normal to me. If you give them what they want-they'll love you!! Okay--seriously?? I'm getting nauseated just thinking about it. Then began the depression.... What a low point for me...but again--certainly not the lowest. Once again-I pulled myself up by the bootstraps--and forged ahead into the next stage in my life. The funny thing about me--is that while my personal life was in shambles--I always managed to have my act (for the most part) together when it came to my professional life. I've never been unemployed for very long-and I've always had some concoction brewing when it comes to career moves. I've had people tell me how they were always fascinated because I've always got my hands in EVERYTHING when it comes to work! But inside--things still weren't right.
Let's fast forward to where it all came to a head for me--17 months ago. I was driving crosstown in Manhattan, on 36th street--heading to work, when some guy cut me off. And boy did that piss me off. So rather than honking and letting it go--I did what any other crazed lunatic would do-and I played cat and mouse with him. Eventually, I got out of my car at 6th Ave and 36th Street--and started yelling at him while banging on his window. It didn't actually dawn on me what was happening until I had gotten back into the car. And then I freaked out and had a meltdown. I called my sister and said I needed help. My very wise sister-(who had also been through the horrific abuse of the asshole-but not the same type that I had experienced)--started a non-for-profit organization to help coach clergy members of all faiths how to work with congregants who are victims of abuse....because our rabbi turned a blind eye--just when we needed him the most. After years of training-she was able to recognize signs of different types of abuse-and in me she recognized a girl who was in pain....who had potentially been molested. But I needed to be the one to be ready to admit this. Although she tried to drop hints over the course of several years-I refused to listen to her --until the road rage had begun. I then was ready to admit that perhaps there were things that I was experiencing in my behaviors--that weren't "normal".
Enter SAVI--Sexual Assault and Violence Intervention program--affiliate of Mount Sinai Medical Center....let the fun begin....NOW!! If I thought that my years of healing with the bulemia were tough....let me tell you--that was nothing!! I have had ups and downs....highs and lows. I've started a seemingly new life. I've begun to learn of the things that the asshole really did to me--which go much deeper than telling me that my mother doesn't love me. The flashbacks of the repressed memories...are horrifying to me. Everytime I have another memory- I get a chill running through my body like a bolt of lightening. (It was discovered through my treatment-that the sexual abuse took place between the ages of 3-11....which also explains my relationship with Michael R.-who was my safety blanket until I was 8 years old when we moved away.) But I also know that with every memory--I'm another step closer to healing--and being able to handle situations in a healthy fashion-especially when it comes to men. Right now--I'm at a place where I'm feeling stuck as the 16 year old girl who was emotionally abused and molested by this asshole-- who was supposed to be my protector from evil people -and doesn't know how to even approach a healthy dating situation. There's the fear that I'll never break out of this pattern. But at the same time--with the help of SAVI (whose program I just completed and am now moving onto the next stage,) I'm certainly much closer than I was before. The good news is that the road rage has disappeared....and I'm working on the other "behaviors" and how to start making positive strides to shift them the right direction.
I was also recently introduced to the Joyful Heart Foundation (founded by Mariska Hargitay of Law & Order: SVU) for survivors of incest, rape, and abuse in general. And in the short amount of time I've been speaking with other survivors-I know that I am not alone--that although we each have a different story--we're all pulling together as a united front--to help one another. I've never done the "group therapy" thing--but I have to say it was the best experience for me thus far-and I'm looking forward to more workshops and retreats with them. This is not a situation where someone can wave a magic wand over my head and poof--it will all magically disappear and I'll be freed from these grapples and chains of the asshole. It's a process. And I know that with time, love and understanding--it will happen. I don't know who's reading this--but if anything this is just a place for me to write-and share. The bottom line is that, we are all here together--to help one another to heal. Hopefully my story can be a part of that healing process for survivors everywhere!! More to come another night...I'm drained.
