July 4 musings...

 This is me today. I love the Holidays and decorating for them and making a big deal out of them. But this one not so much anymore, this was the last holiday that Hubby and I spent together. We had such a good day and even went out to see fireworks which we hadn't done in years. In my mind I somehow made this day the beginning of the end of things. Because the next day shit started and everything went down hill from there. I'm not sure if what happened had anything to do with him taking his life but I know it didn't help. I also know now that what I saw him doing the next 2 weeks was getting ready to take his life. Cleaning up the yard, paying off debts. I also know now that he was mentally battling with himself. But at the same time he was silently saying goodbye to everyone. I know I can't change any of it, you can't go back in time. But this is why I like being alone today, I know I could be with family and friends. but I would rather be by myself and remembering the last good time I had with him. Eight years has made a lot of difference as I can do this now with smiles and not tears or rage.

I hope you have a blessed day, hugs your loved ones 

Huggs,

Cleary (Cie) 

When you are raised a "Good Girl" Part 5: This might trigger some:

 

 

 

    I left off on my first night in IOL. I spent 4 months there until my insurance ran out and stopped paying for me to be there. I've been debating with myself if I want to write about what happened there because the laws were different then and mental health care didn't really care about your age. You got treated the same as an adult or maybe a bit worse. But, then I'm know there are others who also went through the same things. 

    So I will write about what I remember the most about those 4 months. Being on the open unit I was placed on it was co-ed, meaning there were boys and girls on the same unit all under 18 and over 12. The first week I had to have classes because I was under 16 so still had to have school. That took up most of my morning and afternoon. I was still not talking to anyone else on the unit and still not really eating. I had drinks and smoked a lot. Oh yeah they encouraged our parents to put money in our banks for cigarettes and to by shampoo etc. We were encourage to smoke to help keep us calmer.  

    I was doing okay until my Birthday, right before dinner I got a phone call from my parents telling me Happy Birthday and that the nurses will give me my present after dinner.  I did good until I hung up and the dinner bell rang. I actually went to try and eat something, got to the door of the dinning room and broke out in tears. I couldn't stop crying. The boy in front of me in line grabbed my hand and pulled me to my favorite couch by the window and just held my hand and sat with me until I could talk. He told me his name and said he had been watching me all week just waiting for this to happen. I giggled at him and asked if he was psychic? He said no that he went through almost the same thing when he first got here. I laugh and said good because I thought I was going crazy, not being able to talk to anyone or being able to eat. He told me it was shock of being ripped away from everything I know and felt safe with. He honestly should have worked there and not been a patient.

He became my lifeline in there. I slowly started eating again. Went to classes, started going outside to watch him play baseball. Went to the gym. I got permission to go to the pool and swim which was good as it gave me something semi normal to do. This place had amazing food, we had a  movie theater and weekend dances.. You had to earn point to be able to go to these things and not be a high risk. But they helped to keep things kind of normal. You still had to talk to the floor counselors everyday and doctors every week. Plus take your meds, things that made you realize you were still in a mental hospital. So the first couple of months I was doing well and getting adjusted to being there. I had friends now and things to look forward to. 

I'm going to stop here because the next part I need to think about how to put it. But this gives you an idea of what life was like on an open unit.

Huggs your love ones and tell them you love them.

Huggs,

Cleary (Cie) 

When you are raised a "Good Girl" Part 4: This might trigger some:

     I left off with what happened to me in the beginning of my 10 grade year. It totally messed me up. Being brought up catholic I thought I was unclean now, going to hell and could never be loved. I couldn't tell anyone. I became very aggressive, didn't listen to my parents,  started fights , failed classes, got kicked out of one school then transferred to another. In the other school I found the worse kids, skipped classes, didn't do my homework.  I just really didn't care. Started being extremely forward with boys as what did it matter anymore I was already damage goods. Got in fights with my Mom over not being able to do anything my friends where doing. Ended up going to a friends house after school and not telling my mom I was going there. When she found me I said I wasn't going home so she sent the cops to come get me. When I got home I went to go into the house and my bother stopped me and my Mom said to get in the car. They basically manhandled me into the car then drove me to the hospital and had me Baker Acted. (If you don't know what that is it is where they can legally hold you for 3 days because you are a harm to yourself or others.)

    I freaked out at the hospital about them leaving me there and started screaming that she wasn't my Mother and never loved me if she could do this. Which all that got me was restrained and a healthy shot of Thorazine. I was put on meds, so many that I had to take meds for the side effects. When I left the hospital under the care of a psychiatrist and my parents. I went back to school but was still failing because I could stay awake or remember anything the teachers said. All my friends thought I was stuck up but what they didn't realize was that I was so medicated I couldn't do anything. I had cramps at night in my legs and back and could barely walk. I was really depressed and made the mistake of telling the psychiatrist that I didn't want to live anymore, but I meant like this but they don't take it that way. The next thing I knew I was back in the hospital because I was going to kill myself. The psychiatrist told my Mother that I should always be on meds and needed to be sent to a mental hospital for the rest of my life. I was 15 at the time and 5 days before I turned 16 I was on a plane flying to Hartford, Connecticut and a Place called The Institute of Living

  

    I was put in this place by a psychiatrist and my parents with the thought that I would be there for the rest of my life. I had never tried to harm myself or others. I had only said that I didn't want to live the way I was feeling anymore. But My Mom said that hanging out with any boys and my friends, wanting to go to all night skating, was harming myself. Now to be a bit fair, my Mom was old enough to be my grandmother and when she was a kid in the early 1900's girls didn't do any of that. But this was the 1970's 80's so things were different. I wanted to go to dances and parties at friends house and skating etc with my friends. I also once on the meds stopped caring about any of it, had really weird dreams and heard things That I'm sure wasn't real. Never tell that to a psychiatrist, because then you end up being labeled schizophrenic and manic depressive. 

    Anyways, It was 5 days until my 16th Birthday and I was told to tell my parents goodbye as I wouldn't see them or any family for at least 6 months to a year.  Then I was taken by underground tunnels to a unit and into a room told to strip and was searched. Told to take a shower and when I got done my clothes and stuff would be in my room. I had until the dinner bell to put everything away. I didn't have a roommate on that unit. I could stay in my room or go out into the common area if I wished. Dinner was in a 1/2 hour.  Then I was left alone. I slowly unpacked my stuff from a laundry bin they had put everything in because they had search it and they keep your suitcases in a locked storage area.  I sat on the bed holding my Tom stuffy cat my Dad had got me from the hospital at home and waited for the dinner bell. I didn't feel I could deal with seeing anyone I was very scared. I ended up not being able to eat when dinner time came around, not because I didn't like the food, just because I got freaked out around the other 30 plus people on the unit. So I ended up siting on a couch by a window hugging my knees and rocking until it was time to take meds and go to bed. Now med time was interesting because it is the line outside the nurses station and they give you a little cup with the meds and a little cup of water or OJ.  The nurse got me to actually laugh because she had never seen anyone take as many meds as I had at one swallow. I was on 70mg of one meds 3 times a day, plus zinc and a pill of side effects so that's 9 pills at once that I downed. She called me the M&M lady and I laughed. Which made me feel better because I knew there was at least one person I could go to. And on that note I'm stopping here. 

Remember to hug your loved ones often.

Huggs,

Cleary (Cie) 

When you are raised a "Good Girl" Part 3B: This might trigger some:

 

I'm not writing this for pity I'm writing this because I need to finally acknowledge my past and what it is that made me who I am now. I'm okay with all of this and with what is to come. But If I can help others deal with their past trauma then that is a bonus. I feel that things like this should be talked about and brought out in the open more. I'm not naming anyone because some are still alive and I'm not going to do that, it's not written to blame or hurt anyone else. life has dealt with most of them better than I ever could have.

Anyway. I will be continuing this. Huggs your loved ones.

Huggs,

Cleary (Cie) 

When you are raised a "Good Girl" Part 3: This might trigger some:

 

Part 3 May 30, 2025

As I said, I was busy with school, swimming, and being a kid. But in my 8^th year things started to change and go wrong, and I wasn’t sure how to fix it.  I went out for cheerleading in 8^th grade, and I had a good time with that until I started hanging out with one person who I’m not going to name. We started doing everything together, going out for track, hanging out outside of school. But I was slowing figuring out that my other friends didn’t like her at all. They were making me make a choice between them and her. I choose her, maybe in hindsight I shouldn’t have. There was a bunch of stuff she was doing with boys that I didn’t know about at first. I didn’t believe the rumors were true about her. When I realized it at the end of the year. I confronted her and broke off our friendship because I didn’t want to get labeled the same way.

But I found out in 9^th grade it was too late everyone thought I was like her. I used to find nasty letters calling me names in my locker.  I used to work out a lot to stay fit for swimming and even though I could out bench most of the boys in my class, who were only friends at first. Everyone called me a whore because I hung out with guys all the time. But I didn’t want to hang out with people (girls) who were calling me names. I ended up hanging out with the wrong crowd, yes, they have that crowd in private school. I ended up going to a sleep over that was more than a sleep over, even though I didn’t do anything I was accused of it and the rumors were all over school. I ended up failing classes because I didn’t want to be there and asked my parents to put me in public school so I could be on the swimming team the next year.  And my parents agreed if I brought up my grades.

So, in 10^th grade I was in a new school where no one knew me but a couple of people. I was on the team with who were my friends. Everything was going well. I was a bit overwhelmed because it was a big difference with everything.  I met a boy in one of my classes that was very persistent about being my boyfriend, so I agree, as I thought he was cute. We used to go out to the parking lot everyday for lunch for a couple of months. I was very happy with school; my friends and swimming team practice every day. I thought that I was passed everything from before and was looking forward to the rest of the year. 

Then one day we were out at his older brother’s van for lunch and everyone left early. We were talking and he started kissing me, but it was more insistent than ever before, being from catholic school I was a bit stupid about some things even though you know the basic ideas of sex. Mostly the bases 1 through 3, and no one ever went all the way. But that day he wouldn’t stop, and I was raped. Then he told me I couldn’t tell anyone because they wouldn’t believe it since we had been going out for so long. And if I did tell he would kill me. I was physically hurt, not just mentally. I was in so much pain and bleeding so heavily that I had to tell my swim coach I was on my period so I could go home. I didn’t tell anyone and tried to deal with it, but I didn’t want to go back to school. So, I started failing my classes and skipping school. I even ran away just to get attention because I couldn’t say what was really bothering me. I wanted to die.  I started acting out and yelling at my Mom.  It was a very hard time for both of us and the rest of my family.

Okay I need a break, I will write more later

Remember to hugg your family and tell them you love them.

Huggs,

Cleary (Cie)

When you are raised a "Good Girl" Part 2: This might trigger some:

 

I don’t want you to think that I didn’t love my mother, I did and always will.

Without her I wouldn’t be who I am today. She was a very creative person. She could walk into a fancy store make a sketch of a dress, blouse or pants then come home and make it better. She took all my dolls one year and made them new dresses for Christmas. I thought I had all new dolls lol. One of my earliest memories is sitting under her sewing machine playing with my dolls and her fabric and feeling so safe. She made sure no matter what happened between her and my father that my brother and I had what we needed to thrive, not just survive.

 I have so many happy memories of my childhood and being with her and my family. But there was a generation gape between us that made my teen years hard for both of us. I wasn’t an easy child to deal with either. I have always known I was adopted, and I used it as a weapon when my Mom hurt me.  Which I knew hurt her also. I was a very busy little girl growing up. From age 5 I was swimming in competition, being on teams and practicing every day after school. I was also in brownies and girl scouts. I took ballet in the winter when we didn’t swim. I loved to dance and wanted to be a ballerina when I grew up for a while.

My Mom made this dress and a lot of my clothes growing up. When I wasn’t wearing my school uniform.  It became part of the problem when I got older. But that’s for another day. I loved my school, my friends and swimming every day. I wasn’t the best student, especially in writing and math. I broke my right elbow when I was in first grade and was learning to write so they taught me left-handed while the cast was on for months. I almost had to have surgery to fix it. But the nuns decided that once the cast came off, I had to learn to write all over again right-handed. So, I was way behind everyone else. But by 5^th grade I could write okay, but I sucked in math. But grades didn’t really matter for me as I was learning to run a household at home and cook, etc. Also, I could swim very well so I was busy with that. So with all that I was a happy child until 8^th grade.

Enough for now, I need to think about how to write about my 8th grade year.

Tell your family you love them daily.

 Huggs,

Cleary (CieAngel)