Excerpt #16: The Friuts of My Parents Labor

The following is an excerpt from my book (p. 204) that should give you an idea of the lifetime nightmare that I was  thrown into after my horrendous childhood experience. This is not pleasant reading and I certainly didn't enjoy writing it but I felt it was the best way to tell of how my life carried over into young adulthood. It was beginning here that the fruits of my parents labor began to bear its bitter friut indeed. It's here that you'll learn of the consequences of childhood abuse.

   I developed a rather commonly known disorder know as: Obsessive Compulsive Disorder or OCD , a result of my parents actions. Early on in the book you'll read how it all began, and how OCD ruined my life.

Thoughts Run Wild

It all started in 1969, when I was nearing the end of my apprenticeship program. I was in class, going over some new material. We were studying electrical symbols on electrical diagrams and blueprints in preparation for the big one: The final exam that would qualify us toward being full-fledged journeymen electricians. It was time for me to be responsible for anything that went wrong, with no one else to blame. Damn it, everything would have to be absolutely perfect! I was not going to be criticized for anything done wrong. All of my work was going to be just right! There would be no room for error! I would make sure of that.

     I was thinking these relaxing thoughts when I noticed that something was wrong. Suddenly, and without warning, I focused helplessly on one electrical symbol after another, any symbol that crossed my line of vision.  Worse yet, I was unable to break away, move my attention from one to another as easily as  I had just a few moments before. What the hell was happening? It was almost as if each one had a magnet within itself that stopped my sideways movement, drawing me inward with such force that it was impossible to break free and go on. I simply could not move my line of sight and go on. Each symbol on the diagram seemed to generate some kind of force field that grabbed me, held my attention, as if it was staring back through a magnifying glass. It didn't take long before the very sight of a symbol, any symbol, exerted such an emotional force that every bit of psychic energy I had became depleted within seconds. I know that's hard to understand. I hate writing this: I've never told anyone, not even the psychiatrists that I saw for so many years. This is difficult.

     Only with supreme effort could I break away from a symbol, only to be drawn and held fast by another. No matter how hard I tried, I could not set myself free from the diagram itself. So there I'd sit, moving from one to another. I could not break free, get up, and walk away! What was happening to me? It seemed as though my mind had to be occupied with one thing or another. At the end of the class session, I had to force myself to get up and leave. When I did, I got a frightening surprise. I was shocked to realize that there, firmly entrenced in my mind, was the last symbol I stared at. It really didn't matter what kind of symbol it was for it could have been the symbol of a wall outlet or an electrical switch! As I walked, staggered, to my car, it would not let go!  It was as if I'd taken a snapshot and walked away with it imprinted, photographed, within my brain cells. My entire childhood trauma was coming back, crying out to make itself known...but it had to be deciphered. The unconcious mind works that way, you know: it speaks its own language, encoding the past to be deciphered in the present. Many times a lifetime of therapy fails to give answers. The symbols were my particular code.

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As you can see the fruits of abuse will always blossom at the most inopportune time.