Shattered Memories: Addicted

By R. A. Merrill

A child who was born with an addiction suffered from withdrawals. But, somehow holds onto life by the grace of God. Overcoming childhood abuse wasn’t easy for Ray. A school life that is punctuated by everyday violence does nothing to help the already strained family ties and the sense of loss at the passing of loved ones. While the memories of his past remain unresolved, negative thoughts lead to a life as a recluse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Native Press
• Release date: Mar 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9780578475431

Book preview

SHATTERED MEMORIES:

ADDICTED

R. A. MERRILL

The events in this book have been set down to the best of the author’s recollection; names and details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals. It’s hoped that this book—Ray’s catharsis—will be a motivating inspiration to others that have experienced similar problems and even physically debilitating issues.

Copyright © 2019 Ray Merrill

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

Published by Native Press

Cover photo by Native Press

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to my Grandma, Genevieve Lleetta Merrill; to my Grandpa, Norman Lee Merrill; and to my mother, Christina Louise Merrill. May they rest FOREVER.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to thank my grandparents, Genevieve & Norman Merrill, for saving my life, and all the specialists that helped me through many years of treatment. I’m grateful that the treatment helped. I would also like to thank my Aunts Angelina, Teresa, and Sandra, and Uncle John, Roger, and Norman, and the many cousins for being there when I needed someone to talk to and vent my frustrations. My love for all of you is pure. Every one of you means a lot to me. I’d like to thank all of you for accepting me. I’ll always love you. I’d also like to mention my nephew Thai and my nieces Vanessa, Kesha, and Devina, for being good people you are. Don't ever change for anyone. I love you so much.

I would like to give a special thank you to those who read my book and asked for more. This means a lot; I have the courage to release book number two soon. Again, thank you to those who purchased this book. I will not stop writing books. Another special thank you to those who recommend my book to their family & friends and continue to spread the word. Also, the most important. A BIG THANK YOU to my family and close friends, my sister Elizabeth, my brother Fernando, my loving partner in my life, Samantha, I will always love you. Also, I can't forget every single one of you who have supported me from day one. You’ve inspired me to continue to go after my dreams. You’ve brightened my dark days. You helped me believe that I can do anything I set my mind to. You’ve helped me achieve what I once thought was impossible. For that and for all of you - I will always be forever grateful. Sincerely, Author R.A. Merrill.

Chapter 1

Born Addicted

My story starts in Longview, Washington. I was brought into the world on Wednesday, December 13, 1979. Prior to my birth, mom was timing sporadic contractions that varied from approximately fifteen minutes to an hour apart. She was excited about what was happening. Around 4:00 a.m., the contractions were roughly five minutes apart. Mom told Aunt Lynn it was time to go to the hospital.

My birth thrilled aunt Lynn as she rushed mom to the old Monticello Medical Center. However, after arriving at the medical center, Aunt Lynn fainted because she had hyperventilated. Finally, at 6:28 a.m.

I was born. I weighed 8 pounds (the ounces are unknown) and I was 21 inches long. I am the youngest of three I have a brother, Fernando Angel, born August 21st, 1974, and a sister, Elizabeth Martinez, born May 25th, 1978. Days before I was born, Aunt Lynn had a dream about what I looked like. As her dream foretold, she said I was the most charming newborn she had ever seen. Mom and I stayed for four days in the hospital. After they released us, mom traveled to California for a vacation. She had no way of knowing I was already in poor health. About one week later, mom noticed there seemed to be something wrong; I appeared to be acting strangely. Mom rushed me to Loma Linda University where they diagnosed me with severe health complications caused by drug abuse during the pregnancy. Aunt Lynn had witnessed mom using illegal drugs in the bathroom. I was angry when I found out about this. Despite everything that transpired during my birth, I’m surprised they didn't put me into foster care. 

Medical testing revealed I had meningitis, a life-threatening condition. It’s caused by various forms of bacteria carried by the mother. They determined that mom’s drug use had impacted my development. I have a birth defect — I am blind in the right eye. 

They hospitalized me in intensive care for approximately two weeks because of meningitis and drug abuse. The withdrawals were intense; I trembled uncontrollably. Apparently, the doctor in Washington overlooked many drugs-induced medical complications that had severe long-term effects years later. I struggled to stay alive; it was touch and go for some time. As my mother sat in the hospital, she prayed I’d be healed from all the illnesses I had.

During those two weeks, there were small improvements, but I was not out of the woods. As my health stabilized, they finally released me. However, after the release, I was curled up in a fetal position and needed therapy to help gain better posture and straighten my legs and arms. My neck was weak, so I couldn’t hold my head up.

My head was leaning to the left. I recognize that mom hadn’t been dealing with life stressors the way she should have. She should have thought about my health during the entire pregnancy. She was battling a serious addiction. Apparently, that was a tough addiction to break. I’m not contending she didn’t care about my development, but the substance abuse ruined my life because drugs were her daily addiction. Her life had difficulties. She alleged it concerned her about my well-being, but all indications tell a different story. She gave up and didn’t want me.

She felt tied down and couldn’t do what she wanted. She called my grandparents, knowing they would help her. She talked to my grandfather about the health problems I was battling and how she needed their help. Grandpa told mom, Bring that baby.

So, mom bought greyhound bus ticket, and we traveled to Woodland, Washington. It was cold when we arrived. I don’t know what mom was thinking; she had me wrapped in a thin blanket and I was wet from head to toe. Mom requested my grandparents take care of me until she came back from California.

She said she would return in two weeks to get me. They agreed to keep me however long they needed to. After mom left Woodland, Washington, weeks passed nobody could locate her. She seemed to be in hiding for some reason. While my grandparents were caring for me, they developed a special love for me and raised me as their own. We had a special bond that couldn’t ever be broken.

I slept with them in their bedroom. This is when Grandpa called me Bunky. The name stuck with me throughout my childhood. I would have died if they hadn’t gotten me the medical care I needed.

As months passed, I continued going to treatment at the progress center. As I gradually battled the ailments. Therapy helped some. A year and a half later mom decided she wanted me back. By that time, it upset my grandparents about the situation. The issue wasn’t that I was in their care. The real problem was that my mother had no interest in my wellbeing. Mom and Grandma argued about the abandonment. My grandparents threatened to get an attorney. Grandpa told mom if she wanted me back, she would have to fight for me. Mom met with my grandparents and the attorney. She willingly agreed to sign her parental rights away. I’m glad my grandparents gained custody.

It appeared something confused mom. She had no problem signing papers they gave her. It proves she didn’t care about me. During my time at the progress center, with months of therapy and patience, I began slightly improving. I was almost two years old when I learned how to walk. The medical staff worked with me for many years.

They also came to our home for follow-up visits and exercises. So many professional therapists did many therapy sessions with my little body. It was horrible. I was stiff and weak. I still couldn’t hold my head up for an extended time since I had weak neck muscles. 

As years passed, my time at the progress center ended. I was approximately seven when I finished therapy. I also remember having three eye surgeries during this time. The surgeries didn’t correct my eyesight.

At a follow-up appointment, I recall Aunt Marie and Grandma being there the day we found out I was blind in my right eye. I suddenly panicked because I knew I would have to go through life being blind. It was a horrifying realization to deal with.

Everything I had been through ultimately affected me, but I kept fighting and struggling to improve my quality of life. I was always sick because of my weakened immune system. If it wasn’t one health scare, it was something else. I could never, ever get a break from anything. Earlier during childhood, I had uncontrollable body twitches. To this day, I have a neurological issue. Sometimes I still have uncontrolled body twitches. It’s believed to result from many things during pregnancy. Some childhood memories are a blur. But my toughest memories aren’t good ones. Almost everything I imagined when I was a child was unreal, I remember I’d create different thoughts within my mind as if it really happened.

Odd thoughts began when I was approximately 7, my grandmother said I had a wild imagination, very detailed I must say. Oddly, at the very top of that stairs stood a large silhouette that looked at me. It terrified me of what might happen if I went upstairs to see who it was.

I’d yell, grandma, she’d reply, what!? I told her there was a scary man standing at the top of the stairs looking down at me. Oh no, grandma said. She was a worrier, very vigilant. When it was bedtime, most nights I’d suddenly awaken, she didn’t understand exactly why.

But, as odd as it may be, I felt someone tugging on my blankets almost every night. I had become terrified of my bedroom. The upstairs townhouse terrified me. And the nightmares I had were odd. I’d always fall out of bed during those frantic times. I don’t know why I cannot recall certain things. However, I know that when I was a child; I complained a lot to Grandma about not feeling good.

I would always feel strange. I didn’t know why the feeling wouldn’t abate. I didn’t know what was wrong. I only knew it terrified me about those awful sensations throughout my entire body.

That was the beginning of mental problems. It frightened me because my heart would beat fast and hard. I knew something was wrong. At the time, I didn’t know what anxiety was. I knew I was struggling with something serious. Now I’m older and I know what those feelings were. Had I known then; I could’ve gotten the help I needed. I will never forget those frantic panic attacks. It terrified me! Many times, I really thought I would die. As I went through my childhood, I tried my best to battle the intense ruminations, but the negative thoughts wouldn’t go away. I became sensitized, being into my own thoughts for too many years. I thought the worst was always about to happen. Grandma didn’t help the matter.

She would freak me out with her reactions to certain things. She knew how to get into my head. Grandma always believed the worst was about to happen; she had an intense fear I would die when I was sick. It was strange. I would lose control and freak out and panic about what she said.

Despite all of that, most of my childhood was good. But Grandma also had a negative impact on my mental health. I was raised well; I’m not disrespecting what she did for me. I wish she hadn’t gotten me into that state of mind at such a young age.

I recall having some weird nightmares. Memories of those nightmares were an issue for years. It was like I was hallucinating, and as much as a tried to awaken, I couldn’t. I remember grandma shaking me, attempting to snap me out of the odd occurrence. I’d fight to open my eyes, but it felt like someone glued them shut.

The sensation was strange. I couldn’t move; my entire body felt paralyzed. The sleep paralysis was dramatic. The nightmares terrified me to where I didn’t want to go to sleep. I experienced recurring nightmares for many years. I would awaken feeling panicky, and some nights, I would sleepwalk — not a good thing to do.

When I awakened, my heart would pound. I had a habit of running down the street feeling an intense sense of doom and panic. I was running from my own shadow for years. Every breath was shallow; I’ve struggled with odd breathing difficulties for years. This experience was a struggle for several years. I knew someday I would be relieved from this. The same sensations followed me into adulthood. I attempted several strategies to make those odd sensations abate. None of the therapy sessions eliminated the mental issues I had been battling since childhood.

I’ve always been a worrier most of my life anyway, many others who suffer from anxiety at some point will go see their practitioner. They will then complain about having some mental problem which is making them anxious, or they would rather die.

Dealing with anxiety is pure torture, I know this all too well. I know there is an obvious reason I experienced anxiety for many years–the loneliness I felt was overwhelming to accept. Even talking about the stresses of my family issues would snap me into a panic attack.

It sensitized me. I admit, my mental state was a big part of my personality, it might be something I was born with because I’ve battled anxiety since childhood. So, the way I reacted to certain traumatic issues only made the anxiety much more potent. This is common, However, long ago, I sat and thought about what my options were?

Well, I knew my doctor would prescribe medications again tranquilizers, antidepressants and whatever else. I realize there is no getting away from pharmaceutical drugs. Some doctors will prescribe placebos to their patients, doing so is unnecessary.

When I attended counseling, it did not benefit me at all. Although, Maybe it's right for someone else. When all the counseling sessions were over, I sensed that it was only a matter of time until the intense distress would appear once again. I once asked my doctor a simple question of why people seek pills to battle their mental problems, she said there were little treatment options available to help combat anxiety and depression. I was in disbelief knowing doctors had little to offer.

This proves that anyone can change the way we think. Honestly, when I went to Lower Columbia mental health treatment, I was skeptical about it. overcoming the anxiety, I battled wasn't easy. It's clear we are our own thoughts and contents of our