An Interview with IAND

Hello to everyone out there in the land of the Undefined,

I thought it would be a nice change of things to do an interview with a fellow blogger! The author of Thoughtful Thoughts approached me with the idea, and I thought it would be a lot of fun. I used the pseudonym Molly, so the interview she did with a woman named Molly is IAND. I really enjoyed being interviewed and I hope you find it interesting!

The first ever Interview with I Am Not Defined!

Until next time folks!

I Am Not Defined

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Sidetracked

I felt a lot better in high school than I had before, but things were not perfect. It seems like I always had a boyfriend, but my taste in guys was terrible. It seemed like I loved a rebel, and asshole guys were my specialty. I dated a lot of guys who made me feel like I should be doing more with them than kissing, and it made me uncomfortable. It reinforced my feelings that guys only wanted sex.

I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t find a guy who liked me as I was, and didn’t want to pressure me to be differently, or think differently. I had my friend set me up with a guy once, he was a friend of her boyfriend, and played football for another school in town. He seemed very nice, and I thought he really liked me. We talked for ages and started dating. We got to go out on a double date for Valentine’s Day, and it was the first time I got to go out on a date. It was also the first time I had a solid Valentine.

To say I was excited would be an understatement. I couldn’t find anything good to wear, so I made my dress. I did my hair and make-up as well, a rarity for me. We got to get dinner and go to a movie, but my parents were pretty strict, I had to go home after the movie. When the movie ended, everyone wanted to go over to my friend’s house, but I couldn’t go. The guy just didn’t understand why I wouldn’t go back to my friend’s house with him, and thought that I didn’t want to be with him. I tried my best to explain that my parents said I had to go home after the movie, and left.

The next night we were all supposed to go to a school dance together, and I was really excited about this as well. I talked to my boyfriend that day, and he said he would go to the dance with my friend’s boyfriend, and meet me out front. I got dolled up again, and headed to the dance. When I got there I couldn’t find my friend or our boyfriends. I called my boyfriend, and he told me that his parents wouldn’t let him go. I believed him and called my friend to find out where she was. She told me that they were not coming to the dance; they were going to go bowling instead. I told her what my boyfriend had said about his parents not allowing him to go to the dance, and she told me he had lied. I guess he thought he was getting even with me, and I didn’t hear from him again after that night.

I started rebelling because I felt like one bad thing after another kept happening. I was so tired of dealing with all the negative crap. I was having a hard time handling family issues, and trying to balance social pressure, and my own awkwardness. One day I picked up one of my brothers cigarettes, and thought “people don’t get addicted to these, how stupid”.  I wanted to do something rebellious I guess, so I lit it up. I was instantly in love with the buzz it gave me. I had never felt like that before, and it seemed really nice.

After that first cigarette, I started sneaking out of class with some of my friends who also smoked. We would sneak down to the pool hall by our school, and smoke cigarettes out back. Some of my friends started noticing that I smelled like cigarettes, and I admitted that I smoked. I loved the buzz they gave me, and how cool they made me feel. It felt like empowerment in a stick. Several of my friends got very upset with me about smoking, and lectured me. I didn’t want to hear it, and pretty much blew them off. I lost a lot of friends over the situation, but I didn’t care as much as I should have. I even had one friend tell me she hated me to the depths of her soul, dramatic, but it still didn’t seem to get to me. It was the first time I chose something stupid over my friends. I didn’t want to quit smoking, and loose that buzz, so I let my friends go.

It wasn’t the right decision. I should have cared more about my friends, and that they only cared about my health. This was the beginning of a terrible habit of choosing things that were bad for me, over people who loved me and cared about my well-being. It’s part of the mind of an addict. We don’t care what we do to get there, we just want to make sure we get whatever it is that we are addicted to in the end.  The mind of an addict is a dangerous place, and choosing substances over friends isn’t personal, we are just so wrapped up in our addictions we can’t see properly. I didn’t see it then, I thought it was just cigarettes, and I didn’t really care, but over the years I chose a lot of bad things over some truly great people. I wish I could have told myself then that it wasn’t going to do me any favors, but hindsight is 20/20 isn’t it?

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Confused~Advice

Dear I Am Not Defined,

I’m not sure if I’m asking for advice or what, but just I’m letting you know I admire what you’re doing, it takes a lot of guts. My brother was molested when he was younger, but he was living with my grandparents because my mom couldn’t handle him anymore. It was a retarded guy who lived in the nearby area, and more is being revealed as i get older. He’s all over the place emotionally and he decided drugs were the thing to help him, if not just get him through the day. There’s been a shift lately though, and he is clean and he feels better. He is seeing a psychiatrist to find some meds that can help him feel normal again. He’s been diagnosed with bipolar/borderline personality disorder, all sorts of other things. It makes sense, but he was just a boy trying to figure out what was wrong with him, and he tried every method available. He just tried negative ones, and they all lead him to one addiction or another. The only trouble he got in were cries for attention, like going to rehab, or getting some woman to pay a train ticket to Montreal, where she would wire him money, and he could party for a while. He got to Montreal and didn’t have a photo id, so he couldn’t get the money, and was stuck there without a dime. He was 16, but the adventures he’s been on, and the quest he’s been out for was to feel good. He just wanted to feel good, so i could never stay mad at him for long when he didn’t get along with us. He was violent when he was younger, he did live with us off and on, but it was too late, and the damage was done. I don’t think he ever felt accepted. I tried telling him, to do what he had to do, but I’m always here for him, and I always have been. He’s been there for me too. I hope this time around he sticks to his guns, and stays positive when things get tough. Life is harsh sometimes, but it doesn’t have to be bad, or stay that way. When i was a bit younger, maybe 5 years ago, I went for a mental evaluation, to see if there was anything wrong with me. Sure i smoke pot, and had dabbled with mushrooms and acid, but my plight was different. I knew there was something wrong, something holding me back, but i couldn’t put my finger on it. I told them about my brother, and that i thought it may have happened to my sister. I’m pretty sure it never happened to me, but what if it did? And, why them and not me? I mean, I feel emotionally messed up as well, but my luck has been great in comparison between my siblings, I’m the middle kid and sometimes the oldest, but emotionally, i was like everybody’s father, making sure they weren’t doing anything too stupid or hurting themselves or anyone else. I blame my mum for a lot of the shit now, how negligent she was, and a recovering alcoholic. Now I’m just starting to think she switched from alcohol to her meds. There’s a lot of stuff she did not prepare us for. I’m father myself, and had my family split up because I was so scared the same thing was going to happen. I shut down, and broke down trying to manage my depressed-prone wife, and my own shit. I couldn’t take it. We fought all the time, nothing violent, just yelling and emotional hurt, so i left until things calmed down. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but my wife decided to go back to her hometown with our daughter. I obliged, and let them go. I think I was not able to handle a family because i lacked any sort of emotional experience. I didn’t know how to deal with them properly, and my wife struggled to get better. She strangled me emotionally, and i broke down before I became violent. As soon as the urge to starting hitting something comes up in me, I run away. I’ve seen drunken abuse from my mum’s boyfriends and my brother; i didn’t need to be like that. I always think of my daughter, and she’s my reason to keep going. I want a better life for her, and i hope she’s a lucky one, like me, so that she can help others who need it. I think we all have certain traumas brought into our lives, but it’s how we deal with it that counts. It’s our actions and reactions, not losing control and knowing that life is good, things will turn out ok. Thank you for letting me know that you know it too, and that you’re doing what you can to help those who can’t talk about past traumas, thanks again, you’re doing great :)

 -Confused

Dear Confused,

First I want to tell you that your brother is very lucky to have such and understanding, loving sibling. It is very hard to watch someone you love destroy their lives with addictions and emotional issues, and it is even harder to be there for them when they fall.

It sounds like you carried a lot of weight on your shoulders as a child. It can be very stressful always being the “parent” sibling. It takes a lot of effort to make sure that the people around you are taken care of, and I am sure you didn’t have as much time to worry about yourself. Acting as a caregiver can really force you to grow up, and see the world in a different light. Maybe you were robbed of your childhood because of this?

It also seems like you grew up in a world where things seemed fairly out of control, which might cause you to act more controlling in your adult life. It seems like you have a handle on your anger, in a sense that you know when you need to get away, but have you figured out why you are so angry? Maybe if you can get to the root of your anger, you will be able to get a better hold on it, and not always have to flee?

It sounds like getting help has done a lot for your brother, maybe you need someone to speak to, an impartial person who can just listen while you get it all out. Bringing things to light, and understanding them can do amazing things for the soul. Just because your brother and sister had different traumas then you, doesn’t make yours are less important. You still had to grow up under the same circumstances, with the same people.

Maybe your wife having issues was too hard on you, after growing up with your siblings, and always having to help them. Was it too much to have that in your marriage as well? If you’re not emotionally stable in your own mind, you will never be able to help someone else get or stay emotionally stable. Maybe you both need someone to talk to.

At the very least you seem able to clearly see where your upbringing was flawed, and now that you have a daughter of your own you can do you’re very best to make sure that she is brought up differently. Things may or may not get better with your wife, but you have to come to terms with yourself before the two of you will really be able to hash it out. It sounds like you have a very good head on your shoulders, and I think you can do really well and go far. Turn your experiences into something better, and grow from them. I really think you can figure this out, and feel better about yourself and your life. I’m sure times are hard, but they will get better!

-I Am Not Defined

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Advice/Questions

Thanks to the amazing comments and feedback I’ve received about my posts, I have decided to create an Advice/Questions page. I don’t promise to have all the answers, but I will do my very best do give solid advice, and answer questions honestly. I’ve experienced so much in my life, and it would mean so much if I could help other people! I’ll take your questions about life and just about anything you have gone through, or are going through, thanks so much for taking the time to fill out the cool form I made :)

Please feel free to head that way and fill out the nifty little questionnaire I made! Then make sure to check back often for updates, or FOLLOW us! I can’t do this without your help and participation. I need you to help me get this started, without your stories, and questions I can’t get this off the ground!

Please give it a go and maybe you will be the first person I get to write to!

Thanks,

I am Not Defined

Your name will remain completely anonymous if you take part!

Advice/Questions-go here to fill out the form and seek advice :)

Advice:

Secret Girlfriend

Confused

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Living With Strangers

My family expanded further when I was in fourth grade. My mom brought a boy home from work, and he became my foster-brother. He was older than me by several years, and nothing like the people I knew. His previous foster situation had fallen apart because his foster parents felt they could no longer control him. He was under the impression that he was something of a gang banger, and a bad ass. In reality he was an insecure teenager, screaming for attention.

My brother’s biological father had died in one of the wars, so he was raised by his biological mother. He and his younger sister had been removed from their family home after their mother refused to give up her druggie boyfriend that abused both the kids. He had bounced from foster home to foster home, not really sticking anywhere for long, until he came into my family.

When he first arrived, he could barely sit through a meal. He would shovel his food down as fast as he could and leave the table as soon as he was finished. He wasn’t used to being able to get his fill, and he had no clue how families acted around the dinner table. He was very fortunate to have a caring case worker who took him to breakfast once a week, and helped him get the help he needed. When things got tense in our family his case worker could always calm him down and help work things out.

My foster-brother and my older brother were either at each other’s throats or thick as thieves. They shared a bedroom, so when they didn’t get along it tended to be loud and drawn out since neither of them really had their own space. One night I went into the back yard to get away from their arguing, and was promptly knocked out. My foster-brother had gotten upset, and threw a rock through the window. He didn’t see me outside sitting on my Fisher Price picnic table. Things were pretty bad between my brothers before my older brother ran away for good, and they had long since stopped getting along.

Once my older brother left, things calmed down a lot. My foster-brother had his moments of teenage angst, and I can’t imagine how he felt being raised by strangers. We ended up getting along pretty well, and he was a pretty good older brother. He would sometimes give me a ride to school in his cool older brother car, or let me and his girlfriend hang out. He dated the same girl throughout high school, and she was very sweet in an older sister type of way. I loved getting to go to the drive-in with them, even though I was just a decoy to make their outing look innocent. I still got to hang out late and see a movie, even if my brother and his girlfriend were making out in the back seat most of the time.

Even though my foster-brother and I got along, he was still a teenager, and he made stupid decisions. One day he decided to skip school with some of his friends, and they ended up robbing a gas station near their school. They were caught as soon as they went back to campus and arrested. My brother went to jail and was kicked out of high school. Things were never the same between him and my parents after that. When he got out of jail he went to a foster center, basically a limbo place for foster kids. He had to stay in their facility for a few weeks, and then he finally came back to our home.

Things were very different when my brother came back from jail. My parents held him in a new light, and his attitude had taken a turn for the worse.

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A Difficult Christmas

I was very close to my grandparents growing up. I was lucky enough to have two grandfathers and a grandmother around for my childhood. One of my grandfathers, my “Papa” was an alcoholic.

When I was younger, I didn’t really understand words like drunk, alcoholic, sobriety etc. I didn’t understand what people meant when they would talk about my Papa and his drinking problems. To me he was just my Papa. I loved going to visit him, he lived in his trailer on an orange orchard, and there was always plenty of room for whatever outdoor fun we could imagine.

To me, my Papa was a hardworking man, a little rough around the edges, but he was always friendly and loving. We didn’t get to see him a lot, I have a feeling my mom didn’t want us to see him drunk. He would occasionally show up at holidays or family functions. I remember being excited several times because I thought he was coming to see us, and even as a child my heart broke when he couldn’t make it. I didn’t understand why he was always “sick” and couldn’t spend time with us.

A few times my Papa got so “sick” that his body just wouldn’t hold up to the abuse. He would come over and stay with us for a while to sober up, and help his body get better. He was never there for very long, but I remember loving it when he would come to stay.

On Christmas Eve one year when I was in elementary school, my Papa was expected as usual, but unsurprisingly he didn’t call or show up. The Christmas Eve festivities went on as usual, and no one really thought anything of it. Later that night my mom tried to get ahold of him, to wish him a merry Christmas, but got no answer. I am not sure who found him or how, but my grandfather was found on Christmas morning, behind his trailer. He had passed away.

My parents explained to us that our Papa was gone, and we did the best we could to grieve, and continue on with our lives. After that, I didn’t put much thought into my grandfather’s passing, I knew he was gone and it was left at that.

My mother sat me down one day, and told me that she needed to tell me the truth about Papa. I was very confused about what she was talking about. She told me that my Papa had gotten very drunk on Christmas Eve before he died, and he had taken himself out behind his trailer and committed suicide. My whole world spun a little, and I didn’t know what to say. She made the situation much worse with her reasons for finally telling me the truth.  Apparently she was afraid my older brother (the one who ran away), was going to tell me the real reason my Papa was gone, to turn me against my parents, and decided to beat him to the punch. So in one happy afternoon, I not only learned that my grandpa shot himself, but I learned that my mom liked to one-up my brother…classy.

I can honestly say that I was very bitter at my parents for hiding something like this from me. I was even more upset that my mom somehow thought my jail-bird brother would be able to get the message to me, and that I would believe him. As I got older, I came to the conclusion that I wish my parents would have either A) not told us in the first place, why would you put that on a child? Or B) Told us when we were a reasonable age and capable of handling such weight, and not under such crappy circumstances.

I sometimes wonder if he would still be around, had he decided not to end his life. I wonder if the people who choose this ending think about the people they leave behind. I wonder if the think of the holidays, birthday parties, weddings, and special occasions that their presence will be terribly missed at. Sometimes I am bitter that he gave up these moments because he didn’t want to be around, but then I remember how sick he was. Having suffered addiction problems myself, I know how hopeless and horrible it can all seem. I will still always miss him, and I will always wish he could be there, in body, for all the amazing moments I have been fortunate enough to live, but I hope he has at least found peace.

Authors Note:

Suicide is never the answer. It is a permanent solution to a temporary problem, and will not solve anything. If you have had, or are having suicidal thoughts, I encourage you to find someone to talk to. Seek help. You are loved and unique, and the world needs you here. If you don’t think anyone cares, I do. I think the world is made up of beautiful, unique, amazing people, and it would be a tragedy to lose anyone to such an unfortunate end.

If you need someone to talk to:

The International Suicide Prevention Wiki

Or give me a holler, seriously; there is always someone out there that cares!

iamnotdefined@yahoo.com

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Runaway

Growing up in my home wasn’t always easy. My older siblings had some problems that caused a lot of drama in our lives. My oldest brother was a pathological liar and had some mental issues. In simple terms, it meant that when he lied about something, which he did often, he truly believed he wasn’t lying. He could convince himself that what he was saying was true, and then get upset because no one believed him. You could watch him do one thing, and then tell you point-blank he did another, and truly believe he was being honest. I can’t imagine what it was like for him growing up, but I do know how it affected me.

Many nights were filled with drawn out arguments, my parents knowing my brother was lying, and him believing he was telling the truth. I have watched my mother practically throw my brother’s things out the door one evening, and hold onto him, begging him to stay the next. It was very confusing as a child, to see all of this play out. My brother also had some violent tendencies as well as drug problems. It was always scary when he would lose control when my dad wasn’t home. I remember seeing my mom pinned behind a door a few times, and they had to take away his bats and hockey sticks.

One year when I was about 8 or 9, I had a very nice birthday party at the park. It was a beautiful day to be outside, I had great friends, and I got all the toys I had asked for. The only problem was that my dad and brother were missing. I remember pulling into our driveway after the party, and hearing a loud argument. I guess my dad and brother had gotten into it that day. It was so bad that my mom ran inside to get our things, and we stayed at a Motel 6 for a few nights. It wasn’t the first or last time we would have to stay somewhere else because my brother was out of control.

On nights that we did stay home through the arguments, I would hole myself and my brother up in my room, and we would watch TV loudly. Some nights the police were called by neighbors, other nights by my parents. My brother ran away a few times, and eventually he didn’t come home. I know that he eventually landed himself in jail. The only reason we found out he was there, was because he decided to write to my parents. Unfortunately they were not happy letters. They were often filled with violence and threats, and denial of any familial ties. It was a big rift in my family, and to this day we have nothing to do with him. I do know that he is alive and well, but I haven’t gone down the road to reunion.

My memories aren’t exactly happy.

I had a hard time understanding why my parents dealt with my brother the way they did. Couldn’t they see that he just didn’t get it? I didn’t like arguing as a kid and I still don’t as an adult. It makes me feel sick to my stomach and like the world is falling out from underneath me. After seeing my family argue so well when I was younger, I avoided confrontation as a teen, and it didn’t do me much good. Bullies are still bullies, even when you walk away. And yes, they will hit you from behind.

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I Felt Ashamed

I once read that nearly 2/3’s of abused children later have drug problems. Is that why I went down that path?

As a child you are supposed to be able to trust the people around you, your family and the people who your parents believe safe enough to be a friend. When that trust is lost a whole new world is exposed. When I was about 7, I was approached by a member of my family. To put it simply, he asked if I wanted to hang out with him, the way he said he “hung out” with some of my friends. As a 7-year-old, I figured if my friends were doing these things, then they  ok, after all, why would a family member do something bad?

I was very wrong, and this was the simple beginning to two years of molestation. For two whole years I snuck around my home with this member of my family, doing things that no child should even know about. Eventually I figured out that what was happening was not right. I told a friend at school that one of my other girlfriends was doing these things, and he told the principal. The principle believed I was saying bad things about another student, so instead of reaching out and trying to get to the root of the situation, I got in trouble. The principal called my parents who were very upset to hear that I was saying such things. I didn’t really understand the situation, and I thought I was in trouble for what I was saying, and did not elaborate on what was really going on.

Eventually things came to an end when this family member was kicked out of our home. I never told my parents what happened. When I was old enough to understand what had happened, I felt too ashamed. I thought “Why did I think this was ok?”, and how weak I was for doing this just because I thought other kids did it. I was also afraid of how my father would look at me, knowing this had happened right under his nose. I felt like I had brought shame to my family.

Eventually as a teenager I did share my experience with a good friend. I was shocked to hear her story, and horrified at how well it mirrored my own. I remember thinking “Oh god, this happens often?” Since then I have met several women with their own stories of abuse, and they are always heartbreaking. I remember how terrifying it was to think that I lived in a world where most of the women I knew had some horror story of past abuse.

This was the beginning of many of the problems I still have today. I think that it was very difficult for me to understand and come to terms with what happened. I sprouted multiple issues because of it, and it made me lose my trust in people.

I think that was when I figured out that the world was not always a good place. Bad things happen to all kinds of people, and life is never fair.

Note:

Molestation and rape are never ok. It is never your fault. Someone should never force themselves on another person, and nothing a person can do should ever be considered as “encouraging” rape. I don’t care if you are a kid, a drunk, or an idiot etc, no one deserves to have someone invade their personal space. I encourage anyone who has been raped or abused to tell someone. Tell a friend, a counselor, a family member, anyone. You shouldn’t have to go through that alone. I also encourage you go to the police. Do not let a rapist hold power over you.

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In The Beginning

I am 24 and I am a mom. Most people don’t see past their preconceived notions of a young mom, to see that I am so much more. I have made many mistakes in my life but the road that finally led me here was a bumpy but happy one. My 9 month old daughter truly is the light of my life, and I can only be thankful that I made it to this point. There were many times in my young adulthood that I did not expect to see the next day. I think I often believed that there was no way I would make it to my mid 20’s let alone through another week with myself. Growing up in my shoes had its difficulties, and I quickly grew to be my own worst enemy. For many years I dabbled in drugs and bad decisions. I neglected to care about myself and the people around me. For years I used whatever drugs I could get my hands on to numb my feelings and thoughts. I didn’t want to feel, or have to think, or handle reality.

I know there are millions of people out there who choose to use and abuse substances over living their lives, and for many years, I thought they had the right idea. I in no way condone drug use, I have been down that road and I can tell you endless stories about the stupidity and bad decisions involved in drug abuse. I have driven friends away, watched people die, and nearly killed myself in an endless quest for what? A better high? I hope for a chance to share some of my stories and memories in a format easily accessible to other people with a past.

I strongly encourage any readers to share their own stories. If you felt you could relate to something I have said, please feel free to share. I hope for this to be a place for free flow of thought without judgment. I know that so many people out there have a colored history, but I also know that we are the people we are meant to be because of the experiences, and lessons we live through. I personally believe that we go through all the things that we do, so we can be better equipped to handle situations later on. An easy example of a life lesson? Put your hand on a hot stove, after you burn it the first time I doubt that you will put your hand back, or any other body part for that matter. Life is just a series of lessons accumulating and turning you into the person you are. I plan on laying out several of my own personal life lessons, with hope that someone out there can relate, learn, or enjoy my personal stories.

I am not defined by the person people see when they look at me. I am defined by the way I have lived my life, the decisions and mistakes I’ve made, the consequences I have lived through and the way I have handled the hurdles life has thrown my way.

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