One hot mess

I was born on Friday, September 12, 1969, just in time for happy hour at 5:34 pm. My birth was pretty uneventful except that mom had to hold me there until the doctor decided to finally leave the golf course. She almost gave birth to me in the toilet because she thought she had to go. Nope, just the pressure of my noggin there.

I am the younger of two children. My brother is 19 months older than me. I’ll talk just a little about him because we do not have a relationship anymore and I know this upsets my mom, but he played an integral role in making me who I am. We used to be very close when we were little. As we grew, we grew apart. Different personalities and different sets of friends. My brother is a sociopath. Many sociopaths torture small animals for fun. Well, I was my brother’s small animal. He kicked my ass a lot, but he did always stick up for me. He caused much heartache in our household. That’s all I’m going to try to say about him. I’m sure he will surface here and there as my story progresses.

I think I was born with generalized anxiety disorder. I have always had anxiety issues and I think that’s why I cried so much when I was a baby. I cried so much that I nearly drove my mom insane. I was painfully shy and never wanted to leave my mom’s side. I was afraid of everything. What I mean is that I hated being put on display in any way, shape, or form. I just like to blend into the background. I’m always afraid I’m going to draw attention to myself or embarrass myself. I take meds for that now so it isn’t nearly as bad as when I was growing up, but growing up was painful. Add to the paralyzing anxiety coke bottle glasses, braces, unruly curly hair, and a body that developed way to young and you have a recipe for disaster. By the time I reached middle school I was one hot mess. I was bullied and beat up a lot. I think that is when my bipolar began to manifest itself. I think my first major depression was the result of the death of a very dear friend to leukemia when I was eleven. I never quite recovered from that. What do you know about mourning and grief at that age? You know nothing, but I found ways to numb the pain.

My brother turned me on to pot and booze. It helped on many levels. When I was drunk or stoned I lost all inhibitions and came out of my shell. It was much more comfortable to live that way so; I smoked a ton of pot. Despite this I still maintained really good grades and even got accepted to some Ivy League colleges. Unfortunately, I was too afraid to go. I went to the local community college for a few years, trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. I eventually did go away to college and wound up losing my mind and getting locked up in the nut house for 72 hours (the first of several times). I came home after that and just sort of drifted. I always worked so I wasn’t a financial burden on anyone but I was still painfully shy and awkward in social settings. I had not been diagnosed yet. So, I was just the manic depressive, anxiety riddled mess. That’s when I met Pete.

I met Pete at my parent’s 25^th wedding anniversary party.  He was playing in the band. He was a guitar player. My mom and I were standing on the dance floor while they were setting up and she said something to the effect of, “Well, he’s got a nice ass.” I said, “That’s the man I’m going to marry.” Her response was, “So it shall be.” Almost a year to the day that we met he showed up on my mom’s back porch looking for me. It was love at first sight. It was a whirlwind romance. He asked me to marry him two weeks after we had been together and I said yes.