The accident

Around the time I was 13, so about 1990….

We went to church regularly every Sunday and my parents encouraged me to go to the youth activities with the Mormon Church. I really tried to go along, I a few friends there. So least, I knew somebody; my one female friend and I were getting more distant because she was interested in boys. And I was consumed by what was going on in my own life. Most of the people or kids at these youth activities were mean judgmental and treated me like I will have some sort of disease. Between there beliefs in God, and that I had been in a mental institution I was having problems. Therefore to say the least people treated me differently. When you’re a teenager it changes weekly and no one is really a “friend”, and these teenagers acted like they've never done a wrong thing or had any compassion whatsoever for anyone. This included their parents as well, most of the adults have their own judgment and thought they had me pinned down as a troublemaker. When in fact most of the time it was, their own children or daughters sleeping around and doing the so-called sinful acts. I will admit I was not nice to them, but they didn't treat me well or ever give me a chance. A lot of the people in this particular Mormon Church acted like they were holier than anyone. As if their lives were perfect and I was just a speck of dirt. They had their youth dances, their youth trips their youth volleyball team and the youth outings, and I was dragged to all of them kicking and screaming. If my parents only knew the torture I had to go through and endure. Maybe they wouldn’t have made me go. Maybe my parents thought that it would save me somehow from my negativity. The whole experience of youth activities just made me despise the Mormon religion more and the people that practice religion. It made me think why God would really want people to judge each other this way. In fact doesn’t it say in the Bible do not judge. Will these holy rollers had judgment downed to a tee and practiced it often.

Girl’s camp every year was an adventure. Just imagine 200 Mormon girls ages 12 to 17 together in the mountains learning how to be good little Mormon wife’s. Church was at 7am everyday and we got to sing for our food, hooray!! Let me tell you I would find interesting ways to try and be sent home. They made us sleep in the dirt and I usually had about 20 mosquito bits by the second day. Then on the ride up altitude sickness never failed to kick in with motion sickness from the back of the bus. I think it was all the medication I was on at that time. Everything about the camp made me physically sick. The girls there giggled all the time, they made beads and had skit night so everyone could sing and dance. I do not remember having fun and I usually was a loner because my only friend and I would get in fights or trouble together so they would separate us from each other all the time. I think she would request to be away from me she had a habit of being two faced a lot at that age. The last year I was there they told me we were going on an all day hike and would need to pee in the bushes. I refused to go and made a point of being difficult in hopes they would send me home. Needless to say I don’t enjoy camping ever. I really like my own bed and indoor plumbing.

My little brother was at the right age, and he wanted to go on the snow trip with the youth in the Mormon Church. Well, there was no way I was letting him go alone. Not with those people, even though I don't like the snow. They usually had someone keeping an eye on me, can't trust me I'm crazy as they used to tell me all the time. My little brother was playing on a snow dome or I guess it's one of those sliding snow things that are metal and that handles on the side. You slide down the hill, and somehow he's slid into something and knocked himself unconscious. I freaked out, one of the group leaders said it is no big deal hockey players do it all the time?? It's no big deal?? Right? I demanded they call my parents immediately. They said no there's no reason for that we don't need to call your parents he well be fine. I started screaming and screaming and demanding they call them, my little brother was hurt. The bishop at the time pulled me by a car and tried to calm me down. He actually grabbed my wrist hard shoved me against the car and became stern with me. I told him if he ever touched me again I'd rip his balls out and shove them down its throat. I began swearing and screaming some more. He then left and went to talk to some other leaders of the activity group. I looked at them and said I'm going to get my bag and take some of my medication. I was upset, and I'd had enough over the last couple months. So I took all of the medication and some Tylenol. Because I knew mixing Tylenol, with about 10 pills of lithium is toxic and that would get their attention. I went back to the bishop and told him what I took. They were forced at that point, when I went and told them what I did to call my parents.

I woke up later and a local hospital after having my stomach pumped and drinking charcoal. But my parents were there, and that's what I wanted. My parents said I was trying to kill myself. I just thought, hey, what is the worst that could happen? I would die, but my parents would show up and my little brother would be taken care of, like I wanted.

After everything we all went home and my little brothers was not returning back to normal over the next couple days. He was sleeping a lot, so they took him to the doctor and did some CAT scans. Over the next couple weeks, they found out my little brother had a brain tumor. And I wasn't in a good spot of his brain. It was an area that they could not operate and they believe it to be cancerous. I do not regret doing what I did in order to draw the attention to my brother. No one was listening to me, because of his or her judgment. So I made them listen to me.

My argument with my mother during that time escalated and I was sent to another mental ward. This time it was a different mental ward, not a lockdown unit, but still with adults. It was bad; I was still around to many adults with major issues. Some of the adult women there cornered me and ripped my clothes, stole my necklace and slapped me. When I told the doctors they said they could not prove it and I probably made it all up. I was scared and alone again. My roommate was one of the girls that would hurt me and then laugh about it when there wasn’t anyone around to see, they were adults and I was just a child. I started becoming more and more numb at this time, I figured why should I care about myself, no one cares about me and people will hurt me wherever I go so why try. At least this time I had arts and crafts time so I could focus on anything but waiting for one of the other patients to hurt me.

I was there for another two weeks. The doctors were wondering why I tried to kill myself since I was only 13. I said, wouldn't you want to die if you were me? Plus I wanted my little brother to go to the hospital. It made sense to me; no one ever listened to me so why shouldn’t I do something drastic to get their attention.

I spent most of my time trying to fix everyone else's problems, because that's what I did. I ignored my problems, and since I was the youngest one there, I just felt out of place all the time. So what was the point of trying to get better, they had already labeled me. That evening another of the girls later stole from me and ripped apart more of my clothes. When I told them again they'd told me I was lying again because she said she didn't do it. I guess that is what you get when you're the youngest. I looked at the doctor and screamed; you think I am tearing up my own clothes??? I started freaking out again when they would not believe me. The doctors added on Prozac to my list of medication. So now I'm taking 180 of lithium and 80 mg a Prozac and no one has diagnosed me with a manic-depressive behavior or bipolar behavior. According to my medical records I was never diagnosed with any mental illness.

Just a thought? Maybe a conversation and anger management would've helped more. Maybe an appropriate setting or one on one time could have been more helpful? By the time I left, I didn't eat I didn't sleep and I was a zombie. The medication made me shake all the time and felt really sick. I could barely function. I was nervous all the time and could not be touched. I would not want to be around people, I would become angry when people where around or would shutter if anyone tried to touch me. It seemed that the medication made me worse not better. However in my parents eyes I was better because I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t fight back, I couldn’t find the energy being so drugged up to do much of anything. I am sure they were happy that I was no longer a loud mouth in their home.


2010/ Current thoughts

For the record I do not hate my parents anymore. I can’t live with that much anger and pain all the time. I may not ever have a relationship with them. It has taken me 20 years to be in the same room with them and not break out in hives or scream. I have accepted the loss I moved on and have my own family now. Therefore in order to do the right thing and allow them to be involved in my life as grandparents I must create a relationship I can have with them. I do not go to their house for holidays or anything normal. I just make sure they see their grandkids, because that is the right think to do, and my issues with them are my issues not my kids.