Annette downplays her talents. She does everything well, but won’t be the one to tell you that. You will come to know on your own. I am privileged to be among the people she loves.

Just For This Moment

I am a 49 year old artist and mother of 3 grown children. Life has been full and somewhat satisfying. But when a guy I had gone out with at the age of 14 found me on Facebook, all hell started to break loose in the adolescent strong box that I had so neatly constructed.

Behind Annette

About the same time, I found my diary which was started on April 14th, 1975—my 13th birthday. Between Michael’s recollections and that precious journal, I was able to reconstruct my teenage head space. Bits and pieces of a purposely forgotten time broke through and invaded my psyche causing me to reexamine that painful time in my life.

There were 2 themes: boys and my sister. And I don’t mean one or two boys. There was page after page of crushes, longing and a desperate search for someone to complete my broken puzzle of a life. Although I didn’t realize it, the move toward boys was a direct result of trying to move away from my sister.

Standing behind the pattern

Toni is 2 ½ years older than me. She is schizophrenic and at the time—a drug addict as well. What it meant for me was living with the constant threat (and many times realized action) of physical harm. Anything would set her off. If the stereo was too loud, or the look on my face seemed smug, or if I said something that offended her—the consequences were dire. I would be punched, kicked or have a limb smashed in a door. She had screaming conversations with the voices in her head while throwing anything she could find in my direction. One of her drugs of choice was PCP which gave her what seemed to be superhuman strength. My friends were threatened and sometimes physically harmed. I remember screaming as I held onto the legs of one friend as Toni tried to throw him out of our second story apartment window. My belongings (as well as my brother’s) were often stolen or destroyed.

This all occurred while my parents were out or working. We lived in small, low income apartment so there was no escape from my tormentor. We are the 2 youngest of 5 children. My hairdresser mom and factory worker dad were tired. They probably hoped that we would just raise ourselves so they could get on with the time alone that they never shared. Toni made it clear to me—and I absolutely believed her– that if I told me parents anything, she would chop my head off.

The light comes in anyway

This experience left me with post-traumatic stress disorder that I have carried through life. Mine was a battle that I fought everyday. For my survival and my identity. While the other kids dreamed of what they would be someday, I just wanted to get through the day. I never knew what tactic the enemy would use that day, so a solid ground simply did not exist. Adrenaline flowed constantly, leaving me tired and depleted at the end of the day. I felt completely powerless. My voice silenced. My blueprint was never completed. How could I form an idea of who I was, when Toni fee fie foe fummed all over me.

Me and Mom

My mom, not understanding mental illness, tried to pretend that we were one happy family. She often sent me with out with my sister hoping ‘the sensible one,” would keep “the difficult one” out of trouble. What happened instead was constant danger for me. My mom, who was supposed to love and protect me, threw me to the wolves day after day. My parents left me alone with her to fight a losing battle. Ultimately choosing appeasing Toni over my safety. That pretty well established my inability to trust anyone and killed any respect I had for my parents. I was completely alone and worth nothing.

So here is the pattern that developed: I would find a boy that would love me and fill the black hole that occupied my heart. I could not be whole on my own, so he would make me whole. It really didn’t even matter who he was. If he liked me, I was in it 100%. But how could he possibly like a worthless girl like me? I wasn’t even sure my own parents liked me. So there must be something wrong with him. The closer we got, the bigger the case against him grew. Then I usually did something destructive like start a fight over nothing or cheat. We would break up so I could have the reinforcement that I was indeed alone and without value. The next guy was usually not too far away.

This same pattern repeated with friends and relatives as well. I was a loner (and an angry one at that!) who was convinced that I would be exposed as a fraud–no matter what I did. I never gave anyone the chance to know me well enough to see the cowering child that was reluctantly in charge.

Holding Hands standing on a hill

My marriage was a match made in heaven. He was a narcissist who did not have the ability to get close with anyone but himself. I didn’t have to let him in because he had no interest in who I really was.

The search for my core identity started when my children were born. I needed to have value for them. They were the excuse that I needed to care for myself. I was determined that they would not be damaged goods like me.

I took parenting classes, went on a spiritual journey, discovered my love of dance and fine art and began to form my relevance. I grew up along side of my children and moved toward becoming a solid person. I remember imagining myself as an adult grabbing hold of my young self and hugging her for a long time. I told her she mattered, I loved her and I would protect her as we walked side by side.

The journey continues today. It feels like the universe brings me back to situations like the one with Michael, to clean up the little bits of my past that are still in the way. I now cast my own shadow and refuse to hide in someone else’s just because they tell me that is where I need to be. I know the only existing hell is the one that comes when I lose faith in myself and drift off course. I believe I have power to create the good life I deserve. And finally, that EVERYONE has value—including me.

Smile

Please contact me to submit a piece for Who’s Here

Black & White photographs – Annette Corsino

Unnoticed – Cotton & Porcelain Doll -Jill Slaugther

The Only Girl – Acrylic on Canvas – Jill Slaughter

Two People – Line Drawing – J.Lucy Wallace

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