The Reality of Michael White: The Nightmare of Reality

By Michael Hardwick

Living in poverty and facing abuses from a nonloving family, a forgotten child fights thoughts of suicide and dark demons in an effort to find a peaceful life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524542290

Michael Hardwick

About the Author Michael W. Hardwick, a retired city bus driver out of Lansing, Michigan, and retired military veteran of twenty-four years, demonstrates to others how to overcome childhood traumas and other challenges to go on and live a fulfilled life.

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SPECIAL THANKS

I wish to thank all of my friends and my many family members who supported me to write this story. I fervently pray that this book helps as many that come in contact with it!

I thank God for bringing me to this point in my life. I thank you, God, for lifting me far above this world and all my problems. I thank God for wisdom and love. I know, without a doubt, I would have never come through it if your hand had not been on my life! And of course, I thank both of my mothers Eva (Hardwick) Owens and Doris White for the ultimate sacrifice you made, raising me and laying down those rule in my upbringing, to set me free.

I need to thank those who were selfish and cruel Because of their self-righteousness and all-knowing, unforgiving spirit, I was able to draw closer to God, in spite of it, and for not killing me in my sleep.

I wish to thank all of my wonderful children and grandchildren for just being there, especially my little Zay, and for all of those kisses and hugs when I needed them the most.

To my offspring, how divided we all are! In spite of all of our faults, you guys have always been there. You will never know how much that means to me, for the roles each of you has played in my life!

THE NIGHTMARE OF REALITY

The life of Michael White the unwanted child as told through the tears of a tormented, forgotten child who unwittingly slipped through the cracks of an uncaring society and into a lifetime of unrelenting, all-consuming pain.

The beginning of my life is rather blurry, as I’m sure is the case with most of you. However, at the ripe old age of three, the fog lifted and presented me with my own personal demons. This reality is to become the beginning of my consciousness. Only now after many clear and peaceful years am I able to tell my life story. Brace yourself for what you are about to read. There really is no way for me to prepare you for what you are about to get into. I wish there were. You are about to journey down some very dark and scary path, but don’t be alarmed—I’ll be with you. I’ll take all the pain and punishment; I’m used to that.

Physically, you won’t feel a thing. However, I cannot say with any certainty, if this journey will affect your psyche. If you are a particularly emotional person, then proceed with caution. If you have children in your home or you are reading this in a classroom setting, be careful not to read aloud. Believe me when I tell you, my life story would make a lousy bedtime send off dreams for your kids. Do whatever you have to to keep this material from entering their young innocent minds.

I love kids; I have eight of my own. I have kept most of my past life secret from all of them until now. My reasons are valid. I believe young children are very impressionable. Letting them read this book or reading it to them would be like handing a loaded gun to a two-year-old. Sooner or later, the consequences would be devastating.

Bear with me once more please as I beg you not to reveal the contents of my story to your children. Keep it locked up or put it in a safe place when you’re not reading it. I believe young people fall enough on their own. We as adults must do what we can not to knock them down! Thank you.

With that being said, it’s my passion to get this book into the hands of anyone and everyone that has ever had to deal with depression, anxiety, and/or suicide.

I am not a doctor of psychology or otherwise, but I’ve been there and dealt with it up close and personal. Through my own experiences, I’m about to take you through some dark places few others ever tread. Please don’t assume I am all that courageous, that’s just not the case. For the most part, I force myself to visit other places in my head that are pleasant to avoid the not-so-pleasant reality of the moment. But sooner or later, something always happens to force me to the surface, where those unbearable memories and horrible nightmares never fail to greet me. I was two when I had my first nightmare (that is) and they’ve been constant ever since. I sincerely hope that the words contained in my life story will help whoever you are to deal with life emotionally, mentally, physically, and spiritually on a much higher plane than you’ve ever been able to before.

First you need to take a deep breath and try to visualize the world without you in it. Then take another deep breath and imagine that it’s the last one you’ll ever take. Then take a good look at the world and tell me what’s wrong. The puzzle is incomplete, but why? Because your piece of the puzzle is missing, it’s gone forever!

I know you thought you were leaving all of your problems and responsibilities behind you, but have you? Have you really? No! And again, I say no! All you have done is transfer all of your crap to all of those who loved you. I know what you’re thinking. I know because I’ve been there! During our deepest moments of despair, we imagine we’re all alone; no one could possibly love you. Everyone has someone, a parent, a brother, sister, a good friend, a spouse, or perhaps children. Children are very forgiving.

Speaking of forgiveness, how about our heavenly father? Yes, God himself. He has loved you from the beginning; and he will always love you and he will always love me. Do you know why? Because he is God! God doesn’t care how we’ve lived our lives or what we’ve done! Sure, if you don’t seek forgiveness, you might not make heaven. But through it all, the fact remains, God will never give up on you and neither will I. Secondly, no matter how dark your world seems now and no matter how deep the hole is that you’re in, there is a way out.

If your feelings overwhelm you at times, that puts you in the givers category. And believe me, its so much better to be a giver than a taker. If the takers win, we all lose and it would be tragic if we lost you! So get down off the ledge, throw away those pills or needles. Put the gun down! Believe me when I tell you that I know what it’s like to be abandoned in the middle of nowhere. I know what it’s like to cry alone in a dark room at the midnight hour. I know what it’s like to be laughed and jeered at. I know what it’s like to be in such pain and anguish that it hurts to be alive. And each and every day you wake up screaming and crying your eyes out, praying that somehow you could crawl out of your own skin and leave all of your tears, anguish, and those horrible memories and nightmares behind. But that’s not real life, is it? Ideally, every day should be about popsicles and rainbows. But I can testify even days like that can leave a mark! But you can overcome every bad awful thing you’ve ever done or that has been done to you. At least that’s my theory. This book is all about overcoming; that’s exactly what I’m attempting to do, and I’m hoping you’ll come along for the journey.

I guess I don’t need to tell you. As with most guys, we’re a little hesitant to hold our faults as we see them up to the light as it was. That’s only one of the reasons it has taken me more than half a century to write it all down. I have never divulged all of those dark times of horror and shame. No one until now has ever known my deepest secrets or the humiliation I have dealt with all of these years. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with all the crap rolling around in my head. Maybe I would sign myself into some mental ward somewhere and spend the rest of my life wondering what the hell happened and feeling sorry for myself (even though I don’t believe one can). I guess I could have taken one more shot at suicide (no pun intended) or I could put it all on paper, find a willing publisher, put everything out there for all to read, and wait for the fallout!

I thought about it carefully, and through the encouragement of others came to the conclusion that just maybe what I have gone through can be used to help others successfully make it through to the other side. God, I hope so.

In the meantime, as you read my life story, see if you can tell the difference between my nightmares and my reality, because I must admit even after all this time, I still cannot!

CHAPTER 1

It all started sometime in December. Well, that’s when the sperm found the egg; I was actually born in September. My mom by most accounts had no maternal instincts; at least, that’s how she was with me. It seems I used to cry for hours in my makeshift bassinet, ’til I eventually would cry myself to sleep. Is it just me or is it possible I might have needed something? I know what some of you might be thinking, So what? Babies across the globe cry themselves to sleep all the time! That’s not really abuse, right? You couldn’t be more wrong.

There have been several case studies conducted by some very well-educated doctors of psychiatry, among many other doctors in all areas of medicine, from various walks of life. And in the end, the findings were always the same. If you don’t hold your infant, if you don’t talk or play with your baby, if you don’t rock and/or sing to your child; in other words, if there is never any positive human contact, interacting, or bonding between you and your infant, with that said, your child will most likely develop certain emotional, mental, and physical disorders.

Among them are depressions, an overwhelming feeling of disconnectedness, anxiety, a sense of worthlessness, and so on. They may also develop gastrointestinal problems, atrophy, and a host of other mental and/or physical problems too numerous to mention. But I feel the need to mention just one more: some infants just give up and die. I like to think that God is constantly looking down from heaven, watching over all of his children, and sometimes maybe he sees that one of his babies is not being cared for as they should. So maybe he takes them home with him, so he can give them his all-consuming love, and let them know that everything is going be all right. God never came for me, and I’ve always wondered why. I have prayed for this many times.

Anyways, as I got older, I would often overhear my grandma remembering and retelling shocking stories about my not-so-nurturing mother. They would reminisce of the many times they would visit and I would be crying in my makeshift bed. They would check on me and find that I was always soaking wet and usually soiled. After they would change me and give me a couple of life saving hugs and kisses, they would carry me out to wherever my mother, Betty, was and begin questioning her about the obvious neglect. Betty would get very defensive, so they would just let it go.

On other occasions, they would catch her spanking me and screaming at me. They would become angry with her, especially Mama Doris, and she would ask Betty what the hell she thought she was doing. Betty would usually fire back with, None of your damned business! I’ll raise my kids however I want to! Soon after that I don’t know how many spankings were given. I must have figured out how not to cry or draw attention to myself because Mama Doris said that after a while, I didn’t cry anymore. They told me that I would just lie in whatever mess I was in; and from the time I was only nine months old, I would just lie in my crib and stare upward without expression. I like to think I was communicating with the angels, or perhaps God himself, because it was certain that no one breathing air in that house seemed to care if I was or not.

I would love to tell you that those times would be the end of all the abuse. I would rather tell you that somehow from the great beyond someone showed mercy on me and plunged a dagger in my heart, or smothered me in my crib and spared me from this life I have lived. I would love to tell you that after the toddler stage, the worst was over. But looking back, I can honestly say that it only marked the beginning, the beginning of the horrible journey that was to become my life.

I really don’t remember a day without tears of some kind. To be honest, I still can’t go more than a few days; life just won’t let me. As I’ve already said, I learned about loneliness, depression, abuse, and neglect at a very early age. My mother was not a loving mother, only my teacher; she was the prelude to the old man. To me he was the mean angry giant, the one in most of my nightmares.

I never heard the words I love you from either of my parents. However, the old man, the alcoholic, took neglect to a whole new level and then delivered his brand of abuse. Most of it directed toward yours truly.

Not more than two or three days strung together when I didn’t receive his brand of discipline, and believe me I’m not talking about simple spankings. I received these beatings for the smallest of offenses. I remember once when he beat me in front of all my siblings. I thought he was never going to stop hitting me with the buckle end of his belt. He did not even allow me to explain to him how it all came about.

I was attempting to make my sister, Cathy, feel a little better through laughter. We were playing a board game, and as I was losing on purpose in such a way, I was making her laugh. See, a couple of days before, Cathy had an accident while riding on the back of Wendell’s bike. Cathy got her foot caught in the back wheel spokes. One of the spokes broke loose and pierced completely through her foot. Cathy never let on to the old man that she had gotten hurt because we were all going to the Perry drive-in movies complete with fireworks. It was the fourth of July and we all waited with great anticipation the entire year. This was the only time the old man would take us all as a family to the drive-in. We were always very excited to say the least.

Anyhow, Betty told Cathy that the old man probably wouldn’t take us if he knew about her foot. You know, he might have been inclined to get her some medical attention or something, and that wouldn’t be good for anyone. I guess one can’t elevate their foot very well in a car without drawing attention to oneself. Betty’s theory was that the old man would have called off the movie trip and that would have translated to a form of punishment for everyone. So Cathy never said a word. I for one knew she had to have been in a lot of pain, so I kept giving her candy and stuff, reminding her of how brave she was. The other kids were giving her things as well. When the night was through, I carried Cathy to her bedroom and helped her into bed. We had to sneak her into the house past the old man. The next day, when the old man finally woke up, Cathy acted like it had just happened, and just as Betty had planned it, it worked! The old man drove Cathy to the doctor to get the medical attention she needed. Betty rode along with them, seemingly out of concern, but we all knew her motive. She wanted to be there to interrupt Cathy if she attempted to spill the beans.

I knew the next evening that she still had to be in a lot of pain. So as I mentioned, we were playing and I was making her laugh. I guess we got a little carried away and woke the monster. Did you ever wake up a mean angry giant with a hangover? Out he came stomping into a room full of people, but of course, his radar focused on me. Cathy attempted to take the blame. I stopped her and admitted the whole thing. You know the rest.

Every time I received a beating, it always made Cathy cry. Needless to say, she cried a lot. I can’t remember how many beatings I received just for being in the same vicinity with the perpetrator who dared me of waking him up. See, we had a different set up than most. The monster worked third shift, or as he called it the graveyard shift. When I first heard him use that expression, I envisioned him stumbling around in a graveyard somewhere with the zombies, ghosts, and other scary things that wander around at night. I figured his job had something to do with making sure that all the vampires got safely back in their caskets before they were sun dried. Then he was allowed to wander off with a few other monsters and they would all get drunk together and go their separate ways until they all met again in the cemetery at midnight. What do you want; I was only seven or eight.

Anyway, because of the old man’s late working hours, we would all be in bed when Betty woke him for work. Believe me, it had nothing to do with good parenting skills; none of us kids wanted to be up as the angry giant cussed and stomped his way across the floor and out the front door. The mean angry giant would then work until 7:00 AM, then go to the bars with his buddies, get as drunk as he could, and be home around noon. He would then eat whatever Betty had fixed for him and then be in bed usually by one or one-thirty.

Of course, us kids didn’t get home from school ’til about three or three-thirty. As we entered our house, we had to be as quiet as church mice, as Betty would say. So as you can imagine, it became very difficult to be a kid indoors. Often times we would have to invent things to do outdoors. Some of those things I’m sure are considered dangerous today, but when you’re a kid, you just don’t think about those things, or at least we didn’t. The only time we ever saw the old man during the nine school months would be on Sundays when he would pack us all up and take us to the pub. This was our church! We didn’t mind though because we were allowed to play pool, the jukebox, shuffleboard, or whatever else they had going on at the particular pub we happened to be visiting. And we always had the added treat of watching the old man get drunk.

Okay, let’s go back a few years to where it all started. When does it start for anyone? I know that according to the Christian faith, life starts at conception, and technically, that’s true I guess. But I personally think life as we know it starts with our first memory. I mean, if your brain is not functioning in the level that allows you the ability to react or remember or rationalize with other human beings, are you really alive? Scientists claim that the womb is a very comfortable, serene, and secure surrounding, but is that really living? I read an article once by some well-known psychiatrist that claimed we don’t get back to the emotional well-being of the birth sack until we attain the age of three, and that’s only if we receive the tender love and nurturing that most of us expect and take for granted. So let’s ask ourselves: if we are unable to move past that emotional completeness of the womb, are we doomed forever to be an emotional cripple? You be the judge.

So I ask you once again, when was your first memory? You know the memory that activated your existence. I guess theoretically, my life started at age two, my first memory. It became the first event in my life that I am unable to forget. I know what you’re thinking; Oh, you were way too young to possibly remember anything at that age. You really can’t remember anything before age four or five, right? Well, maybe that works for you. Then again chances are, when you were born, there were two sober parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. You know the usual. They probably passed you around from one to another, with some people pretending to get angry because they just couldn’t wait for their turn to hold you. And after they placed you in the nursery, all the people who just held you, but especially those who didn’t get their chance to, were now tapping on the glass and making stupid sounds and faces to get your attention. Well, about all I can say is good for you. I on the other hand, have no such illusions of being held, coddled, or played with. As I’ve already explained, I was rarely held, never breastfed, and was left to lie in my own soiled, wet diapers for hours on end. Anyway, that was my very beginning, and I really don’t remember any of that. What I do remember is much more dark and terrifying.

Little did I know, my first memory would lay the groundwork for the rest of my life. This particular memory led to my first nightmare. Unfortunately, they’ve become more frequent and terrifying. These nightmares usually were preceded by something way too scary, painful,