Fifty Shades of Grief

??Two days ago was exactly 3 years since the death of my colorful sister Katri. A remembrance day this year was Long Friday. The same day the [fictional] character Jesus died. My sister was not fictional but real. I think it’s about the time to start to open up the whole truth about these two little girls in the picture: me and my [severely disabled] sister. Both of them raised by emotionally extreme dysregulated and abusive parents.

??Three years ago I hold a speech by my sister's coffin. A year later I hold a speech by my mum's coffin, and last autumn I again hold a speech. This time by my dad’s coffin. It was my grateful and loving soul that was speaking by all the three coffins. And I was truly listened. But my soul has much more to say.

??Both of my parents had their own unsolved inter-generational traumas that had severe consequences. I was both victim and witness of the brutal and sadistic violence at home. As a very young girl, it was mostly my mum I was scared of. I think my mum had an undiagnosed borderline personality disorder. I was blamed to be a difficult child that needed to be punished. In our family I was not allowed to cry, and normal child’s anger boosts were met with brutal violence. If you didn’t like the food, it was stacked to your mouth by force. It hurts your teeth, I can tell! Oftentimes, when I complained about something, my mum told me how I should never complain about anything since I am the healthy one, unlike my disabled sister who would need assistance 24/7 for the rest of her life. And for sure I felt ashamed. I sometimes even felt ashamed when playing with my toys. In my early childhood it was mostly my mum who was the unpredictable one. I was about 4 years old when she chased me with a knife. I managed to escape but I for sure got aichmophobia* (I managed to overcome my *fear for sharp objects in my mid-twenties)

??My dad was a kind-hearted workaholic, a farmer who was the only one bringing food to the table. Even though kind-hearted he was emotionally immature and he lost his temper easily. And when he lost it, his fist was talking and his eyes turned devil. It got worse when I was a pre-teenager. He never hit me to the face, telling me the reason being that then no one would find out. And no one ever did. I was too ashamed to tell anyone about my bleeding blue marks. In my twisted mind, I did blame myself. In my mind it was all my fault. At the high school I often changed my clothes in the bathroom before the gym class so no one could see the massive bruises in my body. I also oftentimes witnessed when my dad was beating up my disabled sister. And that was scary often. Sometimes my mum made my dad to beat up both me, and my sister. And yes, I oftentimes though of taking my own life.

??For sure the mental part was the worse. I was told by my mum how I was a truly ugly child, and both of my parents often told me how I would never manage in life. Especially my high school was a roller coaster. In the beginning I was the top student, especially excelling in mathematics. I rocked in school. And I loved writing essays. And I was told to be such a good writer, with a soul. But in the end, I almost failed the whole high school, and some teachers were worried about me because of the bad results. No one knew the reasons behind. Guess it was during my high school years when I really started to [unconsciously] realize how sick my family really was. I was relieved to move from my childhood home at the age of 18 in 1997. And I was relieved to permanently move from Finland for over 20 years ago. And I was relieved to hold a speech by the three coffins in such a short interval (less than 2,5 years).

?? Despite it all, I was a rock for my emotionally immature family, until all of them died. I was my parents’ therapist from an early age, and I was the one who calmed my mum down in her death bed. I was the one who managed to over-speak my parents to put my disabled sister to a supported accommodation, a lovely and safe home she had for the rest of her life until she slept away 3 years ago.

??Both of my parents were sent away from my childhood home a bit over 2 years ago. It was me who called an ambulance to both of them at the very same day in February 2022. At the time my dad was newly diagnosed with (already severe) Alzheimer, and my mum with dementia. They both ended up to involuntary treatment in the psychiatric (geriatric) hospital. I was on distress of course, but at the same time damn relieved that the Finnish authorities finally took over. My mum died on (Finnish) Mothers day in May 2022, and my dad died of Alzheimer in August 2023.

??I’ve been myself tested for all sorts of mental health disorders. The only disorder I have is PTSD. And that is my blessing. Because of PTSD I might get 20-30% disability [I hate the word disability and disorder btw, those words are so stigmatizing. I am completely functional even though I can no longer take any kind of bull-shit]. In practice, and for me, having a diagnosis of PTSD means that I do not have to accept whatever kind of a job offer in order to survive financially. No more nights shift I used to do while being a student at the university. No more survival mode. But more time for my main energy sources: nature, sauna, and all sorts of creative projects, like writing. Whether someone wants to hire me for only 70-80% is another matter. Meanwhile, I stay on social benefits. Blessed the Norwegian oil money.

?? There is so much more to say, most probably enough for a book, trilogy even. Now I have buried my beloved family and the only one who I need to be a rock for is myself. Thanks for my dysfunctional family, I surely became a damn good listener, and an observer, a quality that is both a blessing and a curse

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