DEPRESSION AND ME...NEVER PERFECT TOGETHER...PART ONE.

My History with the demons of depression...

I wonder if it's hereditary.

My mother was 19 when her beloved father died unexpectedly at the very young age of 45. Grandpa's death devastated her. Prohibition was in full swing and Mom found a shield for her to hide her pain behind beyond the hidden doors of Speak Easy s and alcohol.

I was never told WHEN Mom slipped into full blown alcoholism...but I know she drank the entire time she was pregnant with me. (She was 34 when she had me...She and Dad met in a Speak Easy when she was 20...they both enjoyed...alcohol...although I'm not sure that's accurate...Dad ENJOYED drinking...for Mom I think it became a way of life...from the moment she'd awaken till she passed out for the first time, only to regain consciousness and repeat the pattern all day, every day. (I have repeatedly said if my Grandmother had not lived with us I would not have had a Mother...this is why...Mom was rarely sober. Nonnie, thank the merciful God, raised me. She gave me the ONLY love and unconditional acceptance I would know throughout most of my life. She died when I was 11...Mom didn't stop drinking...and Dad? Dad hated females. He was the only boy, with three sisters, one older, who happened to have been one of the first pro women wrestlers in the United States, Aunt Stella, and the others, thorns in his side the entire time he was growing up.


I promised to share MY journey through the dark pitfalls of Depression as I further pay tribute to Robin Williams and try to explain why it is so important for me to DONATE ALL MY ROYALTIES for my 99 cent book LIFE'S JOURNEY IN ROBIN'S NAME for all sales of it from now until the end of 2014.

I hope you will bear with me as I explain my journey and why ROBIN'S brilliant comedy gave me surcease from some of the intense pits of despair I have battled over the years.

This is PART ONE...

I will turn 63, Robin's age, on December 12th of this year...Battling Depression is NOT an overnight process and like an angry sea the waves will pummel, subside, calm, only to rise up and pummel again.

I will try to be diligent in sharing a slice of MY Depression pie right here, every day from this point on...so please come back...but also remember I am doing this so I can make this donation in

Robin's name so someone in the future, dealing with the viper's bite of depression can reach out to the two agencies I have chosen to receive this donation will help someone down the line from feeling the darkest war any soul will ever have to face, alone.
Two damaged people got together to create the next generation of damaged people.

At the end of this posting I will copy the information you need to be one of Robin's angels and my heroes.

LIN'S JOURNEY INTO HELL'S OCEANS.

I was the first of my parents children to be born in the hospital. On December 12, 1951 at 11:05 PM...Mom squirted me out right there on a gurney in front of the nurses station...her previous yells for attention ignored by the hectic bustle of shift change.

Mom never made it to either the labor or delivery rooms...before there was me...9 lbs 2 oz...of unhappy baby.

I was born with blood tumors between each of my toes and fingers and a good size one on the right apple cheek of my butt.

Dry ice was applied to all tumors, burning them off, leaving behind angry skin...skin a baby cannot keep her pee from scoring into every time said baby has a bit of a nature event. (I was a very unhappy, screaming baby...not at all peaceful to have or be around.)

Eventually the wounds...surface...wounds healed...the scar on my right butt cheek...was never pretty...but became the source of much...odd entertainment.

First it convinced my parents that I wasn't really THEIR child, but the spawn of Satan. How they used to brag about my demonic parentage to anyone who came along to visit.

Most people pooh pooh such a claim when made by tellers with scotch or whiskey glasses in their hands...so my parents would call me down from my bedroom, make me pull down my pants,turn  and  bend over to show one and all the symbol of evil, verifying  most visually what runs in my genes.

I learned to hate visitors...I became shyer with each exposure and learned to hide my pain behind a frozen mask that allowed no emotion to show.

Friends? How could I let friends into my life? If I did that I risked THEM learning of my evil mark and the truth.

Sleep overs? That would mean possibly bathing together...NO WAY could I risk that.

I became a loaner. Shy, afraid, timid, and insecure.

My ONLY friend after my Grandmother died, throughout my young life would be my dog Heidi...I could tell Heidi anything and know she'd never stop loving me. Heidi gave enough of her joy to me, I managed NOT to slip so deep into the insanity of my parent's cruelties to give in to the voice inside my heart and soul,  telling me the world would be better off without me.

Heidi made me believe I had SOME value in life...some GOODNESS, she could see...she gave me a reason to HOPE I wasn't JUST what my parents wanted me to believe.

 I was NOT the cause of Dad's heavy handed anger. I was NOT the cause of Mom's deceit about that not JUST being Pepsi in her glass...a glass that had odd fumes rising from it that never rose from the glasses of Pepsi I poured for myself.

I wasn't responsible for the fire my brother started in the attic of the garage even though Dad swore it was me, not Don that dropped that lit match into the hay bale..despite the two octogenarians two houses down swearing I was with them when the fire happened..

Heidi happily leaped into the pool with me and played water sports with me with a grin on her face and a twinkle in her eyes even thought it was ME she was palling with...

Still there were times when I hid beneath the blanket on my bed listening to the fury escalating between my parents downstairs, certain I'd done something wrong and their fury with each other was my fault...a belief Dad would reinforce the next night when he'd get home from his job, pick me up eager to tell me what I'd done wrong, something I could never remember doing, while threatening to toss me into the nearest wall so I'd remember to behave myself next time.

(Dad actually only hit me once...I was seven...It took a month before I could sit...and in that month when dad was home, I'd hide behind the couch praying he couldn't see me.

SEVEN!

Some of you might want to know where was Nonnie when dad ripped into my body with his angry hand...

In Michigan for a rare month visiting her sister, my great aunt.

(Dad never hit me or tossed me into walls when Nonnie was around...

I never knew why, I was safe when Nonnie was around, except when she died...a very strange thintgs happened...for the first and ONLY time in my life, I saw Dad cry. (Nonnie was not HIS mother...she was his MOTHER-IN-LAW, but she is the only woman he ever cared  for...teased with gentle affection...He called her "Toots" in such a soft, loving tease...I think he LOVED her...so much so he CRIED when she passed on.



That's it for now...PART ONE. is complete.



Now please remember 100% of the sales of my book LIFE'S JOURNEY...(Nonnie's in this book)...is being donated to Suicide Prevention causes in

ROBIN WILLIAM'S NAME.

Help me honor this genius...Please.

Thank you.

And check back for PART TWO of my Journey Through the rising and Falling of MY Battle with Depression.

LIFE'S JOURNEY is available at my publisher, Muse It Up Publishing, Inc for $0.99

At Amazon.com for $0.99

And where quality e-books are sold.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story and I hope you'll continue following me as I honor

Robin Williams the only way I know how

Again...Thank you Robin...you made me laugh...I can never thank you enough for that..