Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Sickened

So I’ve just finished reading Sickened: The True Story of a Lost Childhood. It’s not for the faint of heart.



This is the story of Julie Gregory, whose childhood was dominated by her mysterious illness. At her mother’s insistence, they would see doctor after doctor, putting her through tests, dietary restrictions and even surgery. In the end, every physician concluded that there was nothing wrong with her. Julie’s mother would fume at their incompetence, bringing her to still more hospitals and specialists, telling anyone and everyone that her child was sick, dammit. They had to get to the bottom of this.

But the only sickness was in her mother’s mind.

Sickened is a story about a bizarre form of child abuse. Munchausen syndrome refers to a person feigning illness to garner attention and sympathy. Munchausen by proxy (MBP) is doing the same to someone under the perpetrator’s care – typically a spouse or a child. The author describes being told to ‘act sick’ as a child, while her mother lied to doctors about headaches, nausea, fevers, heart problems, and more.

The setting is backcountry America during the 70s and 80s. Julie’s mother is a tragic, manic figure beneath a mask of normality, herself subjected to horrible abuse in adolescence. Her father is saddled with an inferiority complex, violent when enraged and addicted to television. Her younger brother is the only normal one of them. While there are warm and even comical scenes, dysfunction abounds. On their isolated farm in Ohio, foster children and aging war veterans brought in for the government funding they represent are also subject to mistreatment and neglect.

The author’s ‘illness’ is the core of the story, however. As she grows, she is medicated, malnourished, emaciated and overworked with farm chores, all at her mother’s behest. Her schoolwork suffers, with teachers and peers eyeing her as though she could drop dead at any time. The real tragedy is that the author actually wanted to be sick, to gain her mother’s approval. The illness became her identity.

MBP is highly controversial, with good reason. It’s hard to believe a mother could do all this to her child. The first few times the author strikes up the courage to tell others the truth, she is met with scorn and flat disbelief. Only as a young adult, living free of her parents at last, does she begin the slow and painful process of growing beyond the imaginary illness that consumed her life.

Disturbing though they are, stories like this put things in perspective. Despite all my worries, I’ve got it pretty good. Other people’s lives have been far worse than my own.

Sickened is an extreme example of something that I think is, sadly, quite common: growing up convinced there’s something wrong with you. You’re too loud, quiet, fat, thin, quirky, boring. The list could go on forever.

When all along, the only thing wrong with you is the belief that there’s something wrong with you.

I’m not sure whether to recommend the book or not. It’s slim, less than 250 pages. But I don’t think this counts as light reading.


Thursday, May 25, 2017

2017: The First Five Months

Well, that escalated quickly.

Technically four months, three weeks and four days. But who’s counting.

So this is just a quick post to follow up on the goals I set last time. Because what kind of person would I be if I didn’t keep my new year’s resolutions objectives for the year?

A normal person?

Don’t answer that. I need all the help I can get.

1. Better time management.

Sort of?

Okay, no. Not at all. Need to work on that.

I think the main problem here is that I’m too distracted. Too much social media. Too much scrolling, browsing, eating up my days precious minutes at a time. That’s no way to live.

And also too much overthinking. I worry too much. That takes up time and energy too. I need to relax.

The time is there. I just need to be more focused.

2. Finish Wraithblade.

Ehe. What was that about being more focused?

So I’m two more chapters in and have a bit more developed plotwise. It’s not nothing, but it’s not much either. I need motivation. Or inspiration. Or a better mindset.

Or maybe I just need to get to work?

But making stuff up is hard.

I’m starting to wonder about this dream of mine. But that’s worth a post by itself.

3. Ninety days.

And counting.

Reached this one a few days ago. The difference is subtle, but it’s there. I did it – and with less effort than I expected. I have a theory about how and why. But again, that’s worth a post by itself.

So I can cross this one off. Here’s to self-control.

Sorry. It’s still personal.

4. Saving money.

Ongoing.

Not as much as I should have by now, but not nothing, either. Save before spending, kids. You’ll be glad you did.

5. Put on weight?

I think I’ve lost some, actually.

So I’m what’s called an ectomorph. Skinny, with a bottomless stomach and a gas-fueled metabolism. Gaining weight isn’t impossible, but I would need to make some lifestyle changes. Not just eating more – a lot more – but also reducing my natural activity level. Because ectomorphs tend to be fidgety, and have trouble sitting still for long periods. Yup. That fits.  

I’d also need to embrace a weightlifting program; stick to the right kinds of foods; and apparently I’m not getting enough sleep. Six to seven hours isn’t enough? Really?

This would take effort. And money. And given how I spend most days walking around for work, I can’t help feeling the odds are against me.

Screw it. It’d be nice, but I’m putting this one on the back-burner.

6. Write shorter, more frequent blog posts.

Adding a new goal here.

I know I’ve said I would do this before. But it’s worth doing. 

Because I like blogging. I like talking about the books I’ve read, and the games I’ve played, and whatever helpful life lessons I can pass on to others. It’s easy in a way that story-writing isn’t. Blogging is fun.

At the same time, I do have the tendency to go on and on. That Dragon Age game was epic, and deserved an epic post. But did anyone actually read all of that?

I didn’t think so.

So yeah. More short posts coming soon. Yay.

Thursday, May 11, 2017

Sunset Memories

                     A scattered dream that’s like a far-off memory                                                  A far-off memory that’s like a scattered dream                                                   I want to line the pieces up                                                                                  Yours and mine.
                                                                           - Kingdom Hearts II


Lately I’ve been thinking about nostalgia.

If you could go back to being a child, would you? Those carefree days of chasing chickens around your yard, or the urban equivalent. Don’t laugh. I really did chase chickens around my yard. It was fun. Though not very fun for the chickens, I suppose.

Ahem.

A lot of people would say yes. Turn back the clock. Bring on the fountain of youth. But if going back to childhood meant reliving every trauma and heartache you’ve gone through since, would you still want to?

By definition, becoming a child again means giving up everything that makes you an adult. For better or worse, my life has made me who I am. And I like who I am. The better parts, at least.

So I would say no. I have no wish to revisit my childhood.

More importantly, I don’t think the past is all it’s cracked up to be.

Nostalgia gives our memories a golden glow. We forget that our perspectives change over time. The house where you grew up is small and rundown. That dearly beloved video game has a wonky camera. That favorite book is stuffed with padding. You still love these things, sure. But now you see them through older eyes.

And it goes deeper than that. Going back in time means facing the core of who you are – whatever screw-ups and issues that have come to define you.

For example. I’ve always had a problem with guilt. My sharpest childhood memories are the ones where I was convinced that something was my fault. An adult’s reaction, a situation, a misunderstanding. This was rarely true. And even if it was, I was a kid. What did I know?

But even so. My mind would fixate on the most innocent things and tell me over and over, you shouldn’t have said that, you shouldn’t have done that, you should have done better.

You should have been better.

I suspect it went further than that. For a long time growing up, I had the uneasy feeling that my life was on hold. There was a clearly defined path that adolescence was supposed to take, and my life wasn’t on it. I felt trapped. If something was my fault, that meant I could have done something about it. This, at least, was within my power to change.

See how that works? What start out as coping mechanisms eventually become ingrained in one’s psyche. I think that on some level, I blamed myself because it gave me a much-needed sense of control.

If we’re honest with ourselves, going back in time isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. It’s facing the hard stuff, too.

But that works both ways. Don’t get me wrong. I had my sunshine, too. The good old days weren’t perfect, but they were a simpler time. A time of innocence, before growing up forced us to face difficult truths. Bad things can happen for no reason. The adults we look up to are only human. Life can be far more complicated than it seems, and no one really knows what they’re doing.

Life is a mix of day and night, sun and storms. In mine, there’s been bleakness and uncertainty, doubt and depression. Those come more often than they should.

There’s also been warmth, fun and laughter. The best times of our lives are like dreams. The kind you don’t want to wake up from. And of course we do, sooner or later. We sigh and head back to reality, still looking wistfully over our shoulders, even as the dream fades into memory. We almost wonder if it truly happened at all.

These are the times we want to relive.

We can’t live in the past, though. We’re living right now. We have to look forward to tomorrow. To new dreams, and future memories.

That doesn’t mean the ones we have can’t be cherished. Memories of blue skies, and bright sunsets, and the people we care about. It’s only natural to miss those times.




It’s only natural to feel a little bit nostalgic.