I don’t remember much from when I was 5 years old, what I do remember is a few glimpses of something I’ve been trying to piece together over the last few years.
My earliest memory is me on my mom’s lap and she is rocking me to sleep, humming a song. I remember I feel safe and loved.
My next memory isn’t as pleasant, and I remember more pieces of it.
I stand on a parking lot with bags of clothes next to me. I’m feeling scared, alone, and missing my mom so much.
A car pulls over and a woman gets out to greet me, she takes my hand introduces herself. I follow her inside the car, and we drive away.
I remember crying.
Next memory is me lying in bed thinking of my mom, crying out for her. Not understanding why she isn’t there to tuck me in at night, and a lullaby pops into my head, a song where an elephant mother sings her baby elephant to sleep, and I cry even harder, wishing my mom was there to tuck me in too.
When I was 5 years old, my gypsy moms brother died in Serbia, and as tradition says she had to go to the funeral and be there 40 days.
She wanted to take me with her, but a friend of hers in Denmark told her it wasn’t a smart idea to take me with her, because I would get upset seeing everyone crying, so she offered I could stay with her.
So my mom went thinking I was safe and happy back here in Denmark, what she didn’t expect to happen, was when she got back I would be in foster care, and the little happy girl she left was now traumatized by her leaving.
What happened at my mom’s friend’s house?
Well I remember not feeling safe. I was later told I was too scared to go to the bathroom or even eat. My dad told me I called him, and that I cried saying I wanted to go home, and my mom’s friend and my dad both called the state and got me placed into foster care.
Why wasn’t I put into my dad’s care ?
He wasn’t allowed to have me. He was deemed an alcoholic at the time, and only had me for one day a few hours every 14 days, and my mom had full custody of me.
At my foster parents house I didn’t feel any safer or happier, and it took a long time before I could feel safe again.
My mom came home, and I still remember glimpses of her, and me not being able to believe she was back.
I was told I drew pictures of an airplane crashing and my mom lying dead under it. I believed she was dead or had left me, and suddenly she was there, in front of me. So, I was hesitant, but also slightly hopeful.
I remember every day since I can remember I wanted nothing more than go home, to be with my mom, come back to live with her, but since she had left me the way she did, and the background she came from, the state didn’t trust her to not go away again, so they decided to place me in foster care every weekday and I was only allowed home in the weekends. This would go on until I was 18.
I had to lie a lot and tell the state since I can remember that I wanted to live with my foster parents, and that I was happy there.
I never was. It was a struggle for me trying to keep it hidden, that I cared for them, that I loved them, but the truth was, I was terrified of them.
They told me on several occasions that if I didn’t want to live there, I wouldn’t go back to my mom, I would be transferred to another family across country, and they wouldn’t be as nice to me.
I don’t remember how old I was, but I have an early entry in my journal when I was 12 where I wrote that my foster father sexually abused me, but I’m very certain I was a lot younger when it first started. It went on until I was 17.
And my foster mother was very strict. I was never hit, but they used fear tactics on me.
I was shouted at, if I didn’t eat my ice cream the right way, she would grab my chin and make me look into her eyes, while she reprimanded me to eat my ice cream and not lick it as a child would. I was 8 or 9 at the time.
They would shout at me if I ate too much at dinner or too little. I would get shouted at if I did my hair wrong or picked clothes they didn’t approve of. I was shouted at because I choose to spend more time reading then seeing my friends.
I remember when I fell and got a cruciate ligament injury, and I told my foster mother it really hurt in my knee, she was telling me off for being a hypochondriac until we went to see the doctor and he told her about my injury and that I had to get surgery.
I learned after that, to toughen up when I wasn’t feeling well, so I often went to school with a fever or other pains. I just said I was feeling fine.
I once had an astrology book that my dad gave me, and I loved reading it, and telling people about what I read.
One day I told my foster mother about her star sign the Leo, and she told me I had become obsessed with astrology and that she would take the book away, and if I ever read about astrology again she would burn the book.
The book was precious to me since it was a gift from my dad, so I never spoke about astrology in front of her again, and I longed for the day I would turn 18 so I would get my book back.
I have more stories like this.
Lying became second nature to me. I lied to avoid confrontations with them, I lied if I thought they would prefer another answer to the truth.
I tried so hard to please them, so I didn’t have to get into any confrontations with them. Fighting with them scared me, even when I was 17 years old, I was terrified of making them angry.
I believed the things they told me. That if I hadn’t moved in with them, I would end up like my mother, and father. On welfare.
I learned I couldn’t be myself. I had to be different people to please everyone around me.
What everyone saw was a girl who always had a smile on her lips, a happy girl. But it was my mask. Behind the smile was fear, shame, sadness and so many dark emotions, I buried every day.
I couldn’t let my emotions slip out, because then the lie I had lived with for so long would slip out too.
It was only in the weekends and when I was at school, I could be myself. It was where I could be relatively free.
In the weekdays I would spend most of my time with my nose in a book, reading, trying to forget how I was feeling, and I managed to put most of it in a box, being able to lie to myself, that I was fine.
Every Friday I was filled with joy, I was going home to see my mom, and every Monday I was filled with dread, I was going back to my foster parents.
I did have some good memories with them too, and in those moment’s, it wasn’t too hard living with them, but the bad moments, made me long for the day where I would turn 18 and be free.
I went to see a therapist not too long ago, and she told me a harsh reality that gave me the answer to why I’ve been struggling so much with pulling myself up, from bad times in my life.
She told me I’ve been lacking self-esteem, and that self-esteem is something we develop in our childhood. It’s what makes us feel rooted, and feel that we are okay, and be able to pull ourselves back up from adversity in our lives.
I’ve never managed to grow my self-esteem.
I think it’s because of how I grew up. When I turned 18 I had to figure out on a massive scale what I liked and didn’t like. I’ve been so used to pleasing everyone around me, that I never stopped to think about what I liked or who I was.
It’s still something I struggle with, but it’s been easier with age getting to know myself.
What has followed me since I was a kid up until now, is that I really care about people around me. I love interacting with people, being social. Making people smile is one of the biggest joys of my life.
One of the biggest things, that helped me through my childhood, was my imagination, and learning to look at the positive side of life. When there was only darkness around, I learned to see a little light in the small things. I think that’s why I managed to go on for so long lying to myself and everyone around me.
I remember when I was riding my bike home and I was terrified of the dark, I would sing, and if it didn’t help, I would sing louder until it worked, and the fear would vanish.
I remember at night, when I was scared off monsters coming into my bed, I would build a fortress of teddy bears, to keep me safe. I think I had 20 teddy bears all surrounding me while I was sleeping, because it would make me feel a lot safer.
I spend a lot of time reading fairy tales about princesses and princes living happily ever after. I had a lot of friends, that I loved spending time with at school even though I never really went to visit them after school. I had something I looked forward too every day.
And when I was 18 I got out, not the way I imagined, but I got out, and I learned to stay true to myself, and keep seeing the positive in small things.
to be continued in having lived with PTSD…
Missfaylyn 