Kevin's Story by Kevin S (online e reader .txt) 📖

had better have your wits about you if you wished to cross swords with her. But hard to talk to sometimes, she was not afraid of silence. So there could be long breaks in the conversation, which could become uncomfortable when I was calling her for money. I could hear the wheels turning in her head, “is the kid lying to me”? Which, while I was drinking, I did more often than I care to think about. I also tried to lie to her by omission, I don’t know for sure, but I think she saw through all the bull, and helped anyway.
AJ was about 5’6” with auburn hair and hazel eyes. An had a half
smile that made you wonder what she was up to. She also had a look that made you think she could see deep into you. Her bullshit detector was always turned up high.
She also was the source of all good things. She was in high school when I was born. She more or less adopted me. She, and her first husband, Uncle Dan lived in Milwaukee WI. For most of my early life, they came to our house almost every weekend. And when ever they did come, something fun was bound to happen. She taught me all the fun things in life. She taught me about fun stuff like bowling and golf. She bought me my first new bike, it was a Schwinn three speed, and I loved it. And she gave me my first car, it was her old one, but she bought a new one and gave me her old one, A 1966 Ford Galaxy 500. I loved her a great deal and would get excited about their coming, by about Wednesday. I remember, when I was little, sitting out side when they were due to arrive, and then go running through the house yelling “their here “. Uncle Dan was my buddy; he and I got into mischief nothing serious. When I was old enough he would let me smoke, when I was with him. He never tried to be authority figure. We just had fun. Things like going to the store and me getting a treat that AJ and Grandmother, would not approve. He also talked my grandmother into letting me get a subscription to Playboy when I was about 14.
AJ, was also a buddy of sorts, she was he one who turned me on to museums, and some of the finer things in life.
She was and wasn’t an authority figure. I was taught very early on that she bought my new school clothes, and my bike, my coolest X-Mas presents and helped Grandma with money. So it was driven into my head to not ever make her mad. That without her we would be in trouble. We got to go on vacation because of her.
I don’t know how many times I was scare shitless, when I thought she was angry with me. I would get so freaked out that I would end up puking.
When I got divorced she helped me with my child support for a couple of years, until I got back on my feet.
When I got into financial trouble AJ would bail me out. I would get sick to my stomach, when ever I had to call. I tried very hard to not ask her help, but I had no choice. She never said no, I was terrified of her saying no. I didn’t have anyone else to call.
When I was drinking heavy, she would send me money, to keep me off the streets. I would start to shake and sweat when ever I had to ask. When I was homeless, I wouldn’t call her, I was too ashamed. Finally when my health was going down hill fast I called and she gave me money to stay at that hotel. And bitched at me for not calling sooner, that she was worried about me.
She insisted that I give her an address that she could get in touch with me. So she started to support me again. And after I got sober she supported me. So the only thing I had to worry about was staying sober.
It helped me do what I needed; I didn’t have to work, so I got involved with AA and ended up the current president of our club house and the weekly visits with my counselor. I didn’t have much money but was able to keep a roof over my head, and some spending money. All I had to do was get my head back together.
I was unable to keep a job. The PTSD and other issues had me ovewhelmed. In fact I spent three different weekends in the Phych ward in the hospital. I wanted the pain go to away, and suicide sounded awful good.
I did call for help, and the crisis center, would give me some time in order to help me get my head around all the stuff that was changing in my life. As my counselor told me, I had lost my best coping tool, alcohol. I would find myself over whelmed. And I need some place safe from my impulses.
For the first six months or so, I was a real wreck. The nightmares would wake me up screaming, I couldn’t sit still for more than about five minutes. I was hyper aware, I would get panic attacks. What really sucked is I knew what these feeling were about, but I was unable to control them. I would get just a bit freaked when there would be a knife in some show I was watching With time and medication those feelings have gone away, mostly. I still get tense if there is violence in a movie, esp. if it comes about in a in a sudden way/
Aunt Judy passed away, at 68 years old, in my third year of sobriety. She died in her sleep, from an aneurism. It’s what has killed most of the Setzers. It seems we have bad veins. She again helped me: She left me a nice little nest egg. It helped me to be able to work part time and work myself up to full time.
I owe Aunt Judy, so much more than I could ever repay. But at least she got to see me sober and standing on my own two feet.

I wrote Kevin that I hoped he was really thankful to have someone who believed in him, and who repeatedly helped and never gave up. But I wanted to know how he got to this spot of self-loathing, which he so graphically described.
Here is his reply.

My Mom


My brother Ron was conceived in the back seat of a car, coming home from a Christmas party. He was born Sept. 4th 1954. My Dad left and joined the Army. I was conceived when Dad came home for a leave. He left and went back to the army.
Mom was from the wrong side of the tracks. Trailer trash would be a good word for her.
I was born Sept.6 th 1955, just one year and one day younger than my brother.
So while Dad went back to Germany and the army, my mother Ellen was left at home with two young ones. I don’t know the story from her side; I have only talked to her twice in my life. But she neglected us to the point where we both had to be hospitalized for three weeks, for malnutrition. The only relative from my father’s side of the family who was allowed to come to see us was my great grandfather. And he told me the story of finding me in a diaper at least a day old and sucking on a bottle of curdled milk. My paternal grandmother sued for custody. She won, unusual in the 50”s, and was going to take both of us. But my mother begged to keep Ron and she could keep me. When I was about 5, I started to wonder what was wrong with me. When I was young my brother and I saw each other about once a year. My grandmother’s second husband (Abe) would track their family down; they moved about every six months. And I would get to see Ron for a weekend. But as soon as we took him home, I wouldn’t here from him until Abe tracked them down again.
I have only talked with my mother twice in my life. The first time was when my Dad went to see Ron, and took me along. I didn’t know what to think, it was over in about 60 seconds. I didn’t know what to expect but I thought there would be something, not just disinterest.
The second time I met her was at my high school graduation. I had sent an announcement to Ron’s last known address, just to let him know. Well about two weeks later I got a letter from my mother, asking if she could attend. I was more than a little freaked out; the rest of my family left it up to me,
So I answered back saying yes come if you wish.
I met her after the ceremony she walk up to me and introduced herself; it all seemed so surreal we talk about nothing for about ten minutes. I even invited her to the party going on at my house. She declined, and said she had to get going, and walked away. That is all the interaction I had with my mother. She was a small Woman 5’4” or so very dark hair and brown eyes. Which could describe my brother as well. Except he was a bit taller he very much looks like mom’s side of the family. Where as I’m a Setzer, no doubt about it I look a lot like my grandfather.
I found out that Grandma wasn’t mom around the age of 4.
I remember being called in the house, and sat down and told the story even then I remember wondering what was wrong with me? I was a good boy wasn’t I? I asked grandma about it and she told me what trailer trash she and her family were. I then asked why didn’t she want Ronnie. And being told that my mother begged for Ronnie and didn’t want me. It didn’t take long for me to be sure that there must be something wrong with me. After all mom picked Ronnie and not me.
I learned two big lessons from that talk, one that my needs didn’t count. And that there must be something wrong with me, for even my mom not to want me.


My Dad


I don’t remember much from the age of 6-7, they are a gentle blur of playing and going to school.
The next big thing that happened to me is in the summer of my seventh year I was shipped off to live with my father. How this all came about is lost. I guess that my Dad wanted me to come live with him. But there has always been a feeling that grandma wanted to get rid of me.
I was packed up and put on an airplane and 707 it was the latest and greatest at that time. I was excited by the whole process, looking forward the trip.
What I didn’t think about was living with complete strangers. I had no memory of my father. I don’t know if I had ever met him.