Wednesday, June 23, 2010
The Honest Man
IT IS WHAT IT IS. It can be completely devastating. When it first hit me I was standing in the middle of a store thinking "What the hell is this?" When I finished my shopping and got home, I realized what it was. It happened that quickly and came out of nowhere. I remember taking a shower, coming downstairs and having a good cry.
There can be signs of hope. The weather can have both a positive or negative effect on it. Medication can help if your doctor prescribes you the right one and at the correct dosage level. When I went to the doctor for help and got a prescription I noticed improvement in about four days. Wow. There is hope.
Three days later sitting at my sister's house watching a football game I realized it was back. Back to the the doctor with a family member and a discussion about what to do next. Change medications or increase the dosage? I don't know.
This is a problem I don't know how to tackle. I'm a man. I look at problems from a logical point of view and set out the steps before me to solve it. After some discussion and a memorable quote from the doctor we increased my dosage.
Here's what the doctor said, "It started to work and then it went downhill. Think of it this way. It's like being in the desert and finally getting a drink of water. It quenched your thirst for a while, but eventually you become thirsty again. You didn't get enough water."
Okay. I thought. Makes sense to me. Let's do it.
When you get severe depression, You can't just "shake it off." I've heard others say just say, "Suck it up and pull your bootstraps up. You will be fine." NO! Trust me when I believe this is a medical condition that needs to be treated and you should always take this seriously when you hear someone talk about it. You might save a life! It's hard for family members and others who haven't experienced it to understand. All I can say is read up on it. Educate yourself.
Some of the symptoms I experienced were- not being able to sleep at all or on the flip side, just wanting to lay in bed and sleep all day. Isolation is very enticing. You don't want to see anyone for any reason at anytime. There is an a way a shamefulness to it. I'm guilty. I shouldn't feel this way and therefore, cause others to worry about me. It's not fair to them. And therein, lies the irony. You need a lot of support from family, but you don't want to talk to anyone, including them. Even though you know you need and want help, you don't want to seek it out. There can be little to no motivation at all. The smallest of matters seems like climbing Mt. Everest. I couldn't, wouldn't or didn't even want to make a phone call.
There had been thoughts of suicide or how to get away from it all. Was there a way to do it painlessly? I even used Google for help on that. Thank goodness there is no easy way. Can you imagine the pain that you would be causing your family and close friends? Just think of it the other way around. What if one of them "bailed" on you in the middle of this game called life. Think of the sadness, grief, and maybe even the guilt you could have caused as they asked themselves, "Was there anything I could have done?"
Oh, and then there's the fact that although the medication can definitely help, it caused quite a bit of weight gain. Which in turn, of course makes you unhappy. Being unhappy though, is much better than being depressed. Yep. I've tried it all from vigorous exercise, combined with small portion and healthy eating. The results: negligible. Maybe a 5 pound loss for what seemed like thirty pounds worth of work. The needle on that scale just doesn't want to move.
For some, such as me, it will be a lifelong battle. The battle involves many facets from food, to exercise (which can help), to motivation and enthusiasm.
At its worst, I remember standing in the middle of my closet one day talking to my mother on the phone because I didn't want the rest of my family to hear the conversation. Do you know what it's like to have your mother ask you if you are suicidal? I do. I'm not sure what's worse, being asked that question, or lying to my mom and saying "No."
Somehow, someway I persevered. There's too much to live for and too many people to hurt so severely. So you put one step in front of the other for yourself, your family, and your God. It's best to take these steps with your hands clasped.
For as someone whom I greatly respect has told me on more than one occasion, "If you think you can make it on your own in this world without counting on your Lord and Savior, you are sadly mistaken."
Without God, I never would have made it this far in the battle of my life called depression. One step in front of the other.
one step in front of the other
There can be signs of hope. The weather can have both a positive or negative effect on it. Medication can help if your doctor prescribes you the right one and at the correct dosage level. When I went to the doctor for help and got a prescription I noticed improvement in about four days. Wow. There is hope.
Three days later sitting at my sister's house watching a football game I realized it was back. Back to the the doctor with a family member and a discussion about what to do next. Change medications or increase the dosage? I don't know.
This is a problem I don't know how to tackle. I'm a man. I look at problems from a logical point of view and set out the steps before me to solve it. After some discussion and a memorable quote from the doctor we increased my dosage.
Here's what the doctor said, "It started to work and then it went downhill. Think of it this way. It's like being in the desert and finally getting a drink of water. It quenched your thirst for a while, but eventually you become thirsty again. You didn't get enough water."
Okay. I thought. Makes sense to me. Let's do it.
When you get severe depression, You can't just "shake it off." I've heard others say just say, "Suck it up and pull your bootstraps up. You will be fine." NO! Trust me when I believe this is a medical condition that needs to be treated and you should always take this seriously when you hear someone talk about it. You might save a life! It's hard for family members and others who haven't experienced it to understand. All I can say is read up on it. Educate yourself.
Some of the symptoms I experienced were- not being able to sleep at all or on the flip side, just wanting to lay in bed and sleep all day. Isolation is very enticing. You don't want to see anyone for any reason at anytime. There is an a way a shamefulness to it. I'm guilty. I shouldn't feel this way and therefore, cause others to worry about me. It's not fair to them. And therein, lies the irony. You need a lot of support from family, but you don't want to talk to anyone, including them. Even though you know you need and want help, you don't want to seek it out. There can be little to no motivation at all. The smallest of matters seems like climbing Mt. Everest. I couldn't, wouldn't or didn't even want to make a phone call.
There had been thoughts of suicide or how to get away from it all. Was there a way to do it painlessly? I even used Google for help on that. Thank goodness there is no easy way. Can you imagine the pain that you would be causing your family and close friends? Just think of it the other way around. What if one of them "bailed" on you in the middle of this game called life. Think of the sadness, grief, and maybe even the guilt you could have caused as they asked themselves, "Was there anything I could have done?"
Oh, and then there's the fact that although the medication can definitely help, it caused quite a bit of weight gain. Which in turn, of course makes you unhappy. Being unhappy though, is much better than being depressed. Yep. I've tried it all from vigorous exercise, combined with small portion and healthy eating. The results: negligible. Maybe a 5 pound loss for what seemed like thirty pounds worth of work. The needle on that scale just doesn't want to move.
For some, such as me, it will be a lifelong battle. The battle involves many facets from food, to exercise (which can help), to motivation and enthusiasm.
At its worst, I remember standing in the middle of my closet one day talking to my mother on the phone because I didn't want the rest of my family to hear the conversation. Do you know what it's like to have your mother ask you if you are suicidal? I do. I'm not sure what's worse, being asked that question, or lying to my mom and saying "No."
Somehow, someway I persevered. There's too much to live for and too many people to hurt so severely. So you put one step in front of the other for yourself, your family, and your God. It's best to take these steps with your hands clasped.
For as someone whom I greatly respect has told me on more than one occasion, "If you think you can make it on your own in this world without counting on your Lord and Savior, you are sadly mistaken."
Without God, I never would have made it this far in the battle of my life called depression. One step in front of the other.
one step in front of the other
Friday, June 18, 2010
Mission
The A.E.S.O.P tells thread weaves a tapestry of inspired persons through their tales. Everybody HERE comes from SOMEWHERE.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
The Idiot Savant
I’m smart. Really smart. It’s not something that I announce, and that is probably the first time I’ve written those words. I’m smart.
When I was three, my mother asked, “When would you like to start school?”
“Now.”
The next day or shortly thereafter she enrolled me in a local private school. It was easy. After realizing that that school might not be meeting my academic needs, my parents transferred me to a private school in a neighboring town.
I entered public school in the second grade. At some point in elementary school my father became quite perturbed that the teacher had me teaching the students most of the day. He blasted the entire administration. Then the testing began.
The testing period was quite vague to me. In fact I don’t remember it all, but I remember after the testing people began to treat me differently. Often I would see my mother at the school coming from meetings with one person or another. She seemed perplexed. Many times I hadn’t known she was there until after the fact.
In about the third or fourth grade some students, the gifted ones, would leave for some of the school days, and come back completely satisfied, nourished, and refreshed. I stayed behind continuing to assist in teaching school.
In fact that was what I did all day on most days even in the summer. I beckoned kids from the neighborhood and taught school in my garage. My grandmother served snacks at my scheduled intervals. I taught the school. It’s the same thing I do for a living now.
In the fifth grade, on some acronym created standardized math assessment, I scored the highest grade possible in the state. This gave me some sort of national ranking.
When I transitioned to middle school, no entry testing needed, I too carried the gifted label. The district insisted that to best meet my needs, I needed to be with people like me. They were and I needed them.
My mom wanted normalcy. She feared stories of crazy gifted people not being able to acclimate to regular life or ‘tie their own shoes’. Instead of academic exposure, she exposed me to cultural literacy- literature, dance, classical music, jazz, theatre, travel, and the arts.
It was not until I was nineteen, that Mom told me the results of the test from my younger years. “You are a genius.”
“I know.”
“No, really a Mensa level genius,” she said.
“I know.” By then I really did know.
Life was easy. I understood things. I could figure out things.
Being smart didn’t mean that one always made smart decisions. At least for me it didn’t. It meant that somewhere in my brain, I could figure out things. Decoding. Mathematical equations, theories, philosophy, relationships, business plans, recipes, languages, budgets, people, habits, religion. I could figure out things.
I traipsed around the world figuring out things. This is how it was for many years. Then my father died.
I had convinced the health care professionals, our family, and even him, I had figured out cancer. We would do this and then do that and voila we would begin out next venture in 'regular' life.
Slowly, during his illness, I began to realize that maybe I didn’t have this thing understood. Manically, I continued to search, research, and modify. Search, research, and modify. His health dwindled. For some reason, people allowed me to spearhead his recovery. It was taking over my smartness and my sanity.
When he died, I couldn’t understand. I did everything I knew to do and failed. Within two years following his death, I no longer understood anything. I couldn’t figure out anything.
I lost my business, my marriage, my friends, my financial stability and was near losing my mind. Daily, I would relive the last minutes of my father’s life. What had I done wrong?
Feeling anything but smart I went to my mother’s and become glued to her cold tile floor. The kids stayed three doors away at my grandparents'. She let me stay there for a few days. I couldn’t get up. I had fallen and I couldn’t get up.
My mother came to me, “When would you like to start life again.”
“Now.”
Then she said the smartest thing, “You don’t have time to be crazy. God is love.”
My mother is surviving cancer now. I don’t pretend to understand, or know, anything more than anyone else. I know that God is love. And life is fabulous!
God is love
When I was three, my mother asked, “When would you like to start school?”
“Now.”
The next day or shortly thereafter she enrolled me in a local private school. It was easy. After realizing that that school might not be meeting my academic needs, my parents transferred me to a private school in a neighboring town.
I entered public school in the second grade. At some point in elementary school my father became quite perturbed that the teacher had me teaching the students most of the day. He blasted the entire administration. Then the testing began.
The testing period was quite vague to me. In fact I don’t remember it all, but I remember after the testing people began to treat me differently. Often I would see my mother at the school coming from meetings with one person or another. She seemed perplexed. Many times I hadn’t known she was there until after the fact.
In about the third or fourth grade some students, the gifted ones, would leave for some of the school days, and come back completely satisfied, nourished, and refreshed. I stayed behind continuing to assist in teaching school.
In fact that was what I did all day on most days even in the summer. I beckoned kids from the neighborhood and taught school in my garage. My grandmother served snacks at my scheduled intervals. I taught the school. It’s the same thing I do for a living now.
In the fifth grade, on some acronym created standardized math assessment, I scored the highest grade possible in the state. This gave me some sort of national ranking.
When I transitioned to middle school, no entry testing needed, I too carried the gifted label. The district insisted that to best meet my needs, I needed to be with people like me. They were and I needed them.
My mom wanted normalcy. She feared stories of crazy gifted people not being able to acclimate to regular life or ‘tie their own shoes’. Instead of academic exposure, she exposed me to cultural literacy- literature, dance, classical music, jazz, theatre, travel, and the arts.
It was not until I was nineteen, that Mom told me the results of the test from my younger years. “You are a genius.”
“I know.”
“No, really a Mensa level genius,” she said.
“I know.” By then I really did know.
Life was easy. I understood things. I could figure out things.
Being smart didn’t mean that one always made smart decisions. At least for me it didn’t. It meant that somewhere in my brain, I could figure out things. Decoding. Mathematical equations, theories, philosophy, relationships, business plans, recipes, languages, budgets, people, habits, religion. I could figure out things.
I traipsed around the world figuring out things. This is how it was for many years. Then my father died.
I had convinced the health care professionals, our family, and even him, I had figured out cancer. We would do this and then do that and voila we would begin out next venture in 'regular' life.
Slowly, during his illness, I began to realize that maybe I didn’t have this thing understood. Manically, I continued to search, research, and modify. Search, research, and modify. His health dwindled. For some reason, people allowed me to spearhead his recovery. It was taking over my smartness and my sanity.
When he died, I couldn’t understand. I did everything I knew to do and failed. Within two years following his death, I no longer understood anything. I couldn’t figure out anything.
I lost my business, my marriage, my friends, my financial stability and was near losing my mind. Daily, I would relive the last minutes of my father’s life. What had I done wrong?
Feeling anything but smart I went to my mother’s and become glued to her cold tile floor. The kids stayed three doors away at my grandparents'. She let me stay there for a few days. I couldn’t get up. I had fallen and I couldn’t get up.
My mother came to me, “When would you like to start life again.”
“Now.”
Then she said the smartest thing, “You don’t have time to be crazy. God is love.”
My mother is surviving cancer now. I don’t pretend to understand, or know, anything more than anyone else. I know that God is love. And life is fabulous!
God is love
Thursday, June 10, 2010
The Student is The Teacher
“Real success is finding your lifework in the work that you love." --David McCullough
The quote above sums a lot of what my story is about and that is finding my passion in work. I still don’t know what I want to do. Well… if I were honest with myself, I probably do know. I just don’t feel at peace with it yet. I still can’t believe that I am suppose to be a teacher. Most people would say that this is noble profession and well-appreciated. On good days, I feel that way. On bad days I say to myself, “I could be making so much more money and still get the same amount of job satisfaction.”
I think I am a teacher because of a combination of my personality, my God-given gifts, and my environment. On good days, I am thankful that God made me who I am. I can’t imagine being anything else. On bad days, I wish I had the creative gifts to be an artist, jewelry designer, or even a gift shop owner. Those jobs just sound more fun to me. How cool would it be to wake up each day and create a necklace or painting? The problem - I lack the gifts and personality to make it happen successfully. Instead, God gave me humbleness, patience, understanding, empathy, knowledge-seeking, and problem-solving skills. Great, these are perfect for a teacher. So, why can’t I be at peace with this?
At the root of the problem is probably my upbringing. No, I am not going to blame my parents. They were fine. The problem is that I grew up the majority of my life in an upper-middle class neighborhood where people looked at houses, cars, and clothes. They were important and reflected status. We always belonged to a country club. My sisters and I knew how to behave in social settings. It was important to make a good impression. Parts of my family are still this way. I am not this way anymore. It creates too much drama and makes me discontent with what I do have. Also, being a teacher doesn’t allow for much of this.
How does this relate to me not knowing what I wanted to do when I grew up? Because I spent the majority of my young adulthood not focusing on what I was good at or trying to find what I was good at. Instead, I spent the majority of my time thinking, “What could give the most money? How can I maintain the lifestyle my mom and dad gave me?” Instead of taking liberal arts classes, I would take business classes. I hated them. I hated economics, finance, business math, and accounting. I hated going to school. I did poorly. Instead of saying to myself, “Hey, this isn’t your strength. You should reconsider.“ I said, “Hey, you are not very smart. You need to try harder.” At one point, I considered switching majors to education. My dad talked me out of it. He said that was a “Gee whiz” job. So, I stuck out business. I got my degree in Marketing and never used it.
During my last two years at college, I interned at General Motors. I did this during the summer. I made a lot of connections. Can you believe that when I graduated I never contacted them for a job!? I never ever contacted them. Why? At the time, I just said “I don’t want to move to Michigan.” Oh really, Michelle. You don’t want a well-paying job at a big company. I guess not. But, I thought I did. Isn’t that why I chose a business major? Isn’t that why I even wasted two summers interning? Now, I am not going to try and get a job there? What sense did that make? Wow - I was really screwed-up.
After college and for the next three years after that, I worked at the following places: a retail store, a downtown catering business, a hospice, a personnel company, and a software company. And guess what? I hated all of my jobs for one reason or another. I didn’t hate my job at the computer company as much as I was so VERY bored with it.
What finally changed? Two things happened in my life. I was commuting to work one day. I was stuck in Houston traffic on the way to work and I said to myself, “Why I am doing this? I don’t even want to go to work. It is meaningless and boring. I need a job that has more meaning to it. What could that be?” So, while I was stuck in traffic I began to play the “What job would I still want to do even if I won a million dollars?” The answer was teacher. The seed had been planted as well as another one. I found out I was pregnant with my daughter. It was time for me to figure this whole work thing out. I wanted to be settled so that I could care for her and be of sane mind. When I decided to just become a teacher, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace inside. After Alexis was born, I went back to school. It was a program for people who already had degrees but wanted to be a teacher. It was called An Alternative Certification Program. After one year of course work, I was able to get a job being a teacher. I still had to finish a year of teaching so I was on a probationary period where I still had to met regularly with the school professor.
The problem was that I started my teaching career in the hardest of all possible schools. I didn’t even have a chance to catch my breath before I was dealing with problems and issues that I didn’t even know existed. It was tough to say the very least. After three years, I had to leave the school; too much heartache and drama. The next 4 years have been better, much better. Without me realizing it, I have become a language arts guru. I didn’t plan on this. I never woke up and said, “Hey, I see this need and I am going to fill it.” I just did what was required of me and somehow, BAMM, I am considered the one to go to for language arts.
One would think this would be the end of my story, I have a job that allows me to spend time with my husband and daughter. I get to see my daughter everyday at school and have all holidays off with her. I get to go to Michigan to see my family each summer. But, guess what? I am still not at peace with it. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to accept that this is my life’s work. It seems too easy. But, it hasn’t been. It’s meaningful. Yes, but the pay is smaller than I’d like and sometimes the parents and students are disrespectful. But, the kids love you and your daughter loves having you at school with her. Yes, but next year, my raise will be $200.00 and I am taking on more duties. How am I going to afford to fix up the backyard? You get to see your sisters and mom every summer for two weeks! Yes, but today Johnny was so difficult to deal with…And the thoughts in my head go on and on and on…
find your lifework
The quote above sums a lot of what my story is about and that is finding my passion in work. I still don’t know what I want to do. Well… if I were honest with myself, I probably do know. I just don’t feel at peace with it yet. I still can’t believe that I am suppose to be a teacher. Most people would say that this is noble profession and well-appreciated. On good days, I feel that way. On bad days I say to myself, “I could be making so much more money and still get the same amount of job satisfaction.”
I think I am a teacher because of a combination of my personality, my God-given gifts, and my environment. On good days, I am thankful that God made me who I am. I can’t imagine being anything else. On bad days, I wish I had the creative gifts to be an artist, jewelry designer, or even a gift shop owner. Those jobs just sound more fun to me. How cool would it be to wake up each day and create a necklace or painting? The problem - I lack the gifts and personality to make it happen successfully. Instead, God gave me humbleness, patience, understanding, empathy, knowledge-seeking, and problem-solving skills. Great, these are perfect for a teacher. So, why can’t I be at peace with this?
At the root of the problem is probably my upbringing. No, I am not going to blame my parents. They were fine. The problem is that I grew up the majority of my life in an upper-middle class neighborhood where people looked at houses, cars, and clothes. They were important and reflected status. We always belonged to a country club. My sisters and I knew how to behave in social settings. It was important to make a good impression. Parts of my family are still this way. I am not this way anymore. It creates too much drama and makes me discontent with what I do have. Also, being a teacher doesn’t allow for much of this.
How does this relate to me not knowing what I wanted to do when I grew up? Because I spent the majority of my young adulthood not focusing on what I was good at or trying to find what I was good at. Instead, I spent the majority of my time thinking, “What could give the most money? How can I maintain the lifestyle my mom and dad gave me?” Instead of taking liberal arts classes, I would take business classes. I hated them. I hated economics, finance, business math, and accounting. I hated going to school. I did poorly. Instead of saying to myself, “Hey, this isn’t your strength. You should reconsider.“ I said, “Hey, you are not very smart. You need to try harder.” At one point, I considered switching majors to education. My dad talked me out of it. He said that was a “Gee whiz” job. So, I stuck out business. I got my degree in Marketing and never used it.
During my last two years at college, I interned at General Motors. I did this during the summer. I made a lot of connections. Can you believe that when I graduated I never contacted them for a job!? I never ever contacted them. Why? At the time, I just said “I don’t want to move to Michigan.” Oh really, Michelle. You don’t want a well-paying job at a big company. I guess not. But, I thought I did. Isn’t that why I chose a business major? Isn’t that why I even wasted two summers interning? Now, I am not going to try and get a job there? What sense did that make? Wow - I was really screwed-up.
After college and for the next three years after that, I worked at the following places: a retail store, a downtown catering business, a hospice, a personnel company, and a software company. And guess what? I hated all of my jobs for one reason or another. I didn’t hate my job at the computer company as much as I was so VERY bored with it.
What finally changed? Two things happened in my life. I was commuting to work one day. I was stuck in Houston traffic on the way to work and I said to myself, “Why I am doing this? I don’t even want to go to work. It is meaningless and boring. I need a job that has more meaning to it. What could that be?” So, while I was stuck in traffic I began to play the “What job would I still want to do even if I won a million dollars?” The answer was teacher. The seed had been planted as well as another one. I found out I was pregnant with my daughter. It was time for me to figure this whole work thing out. I wanted to be settled so that I could care for her and be of sane mind. When I decided to just become a teacher, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace inside. After Alexis was born, I went back to school. It was a program for people who already had degrees but wanted to be a teacher. It was called An Alternative Certification Program. After one year of course work, I was able to get a job being a teacher. I still had to finish a year of teaching so I was on a probationary period where I still had to met regularly with the school professor.
The problem was that I started my teaching career in the hardest of all possible schools. I didn’t even have a chance to catch my breath before I was dealing with problems and issues that I didn’t even know existed. It was tough to say the very least. After three years, I had to leave the school; too much heartache and drama. The next 4 years have been better, much better. Without me realizing it, I have become a language arts guru. I didn’t plan on this. I never woke up and said, “Hey, I see this need and I am going to fill it.” I just did what was required of me and somehow, BAMM, I am considered the one to go to for language arts.
One would think this would be the end of my story, I have a job that allows me to spend time with my husband and daughter. I get to see my daughter everyday at school and have all holidays off with her. I get to go to Michigan to see my family each summer. But, guess what? I am still not at peace with it. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to accept that this is my life’s work. It seems too easy. But, it hasn’t been. It’s meaningful. Yes, but the pay is smaller than I’d like and sometimes the parents and students are disrespectful. But, the kids love you and your daughter loves having you at school with her. Yes, but next year, my raise will be $200.00 and I am taking on more duties. How am I going to afford to fix up the backyard? You get to see your sisters and mom every summer for two weeks! Yes, but today Johnny was so difficult to deal with…And the thoughts in my head go on and on and on…
find your lifework
Thursday, June 3, 2010
The Finding of Home
My story begins January 31, 1970 at Darnell Army Community Hospital at 8:02 a.m. This was the date and time that I made my arrival in this world. Who would have ever known things would play out the way that they did. This is how the story goes…
Upon being born there were already some circumstances that were going to be issues. My name at birth was Baby Boy Luckey. I know that this seems far fetched, but you will see as you read why I was given this name. The hospital staff gave me this name because my biological mother’s married name was Luckey. According to a court investigator’s report, (that took me over twenty years to see), my mother supposedly gave birth to me and walked out of the hospital leaving me behind.
She was given an ultimatum by her husband - either lose me or lose him. Because she had no family and no way of supporting me and the son that she already had, she decided to allow the state to take control. I became a ward of the state and was put up for adoption. My name was changed from Baby Boy Luckey to Christopher Bloomer after I was adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Bloomer in late February – early March.
You would think that I would have had a happy childhood. Unfortunately I don’t have many found memories of growing up. You see I grew up suffering physical, mental, and verbal abuse. I had an older sister that went through the same thing. In the 70’s there was no C.P.S. to call. If I were to tell about what was going on in the home, things would have gotten worse.
Long story short, I grew up hating my parents, especially my mother. My father would never be around to protect us. He felt that he was better off not being at home. So he would leave early in the morning, return home after work, leave again and not return until late in the evening. The only support I had at home was my sister, Patricia. We were all we had. She was my bridge over troubled water. I knew as long as she was there I would have a glimmer of hope. Reality soon struck like lightning.
Patricia graduated and left home. Patricia joined the military and made a life for herself. Now it was just me.
As a result I wound up getting in a lot of trouble. My parents could no longer deal with me. After being sent to juvenile three different times, I was sent to Abilene, Texas to a psychiatric institute. I was sent there as an alternative to T.Y.C. ( Texas Youth Commission) for behavioral problems. I arrived in Abilene, September 12, 1985 and stayed until January 17, 1987.
I returned to Killeen and enrolled at Ellison High School. I thought that maybe things would be different and for a while they were. But slowly things started changing back to what they once were. I didn’t suffer the physical abuse anymore, but the mental and verbal abuse were present and accounted for.
Allow me to fast forward a bit. From the time I was 18 until I was 37, I searched for me biological parents. It was very difficult because the state required for me to have an attorney to access records that a judge had sealed in 1970.
In 2001, a law was passed that if an adopted child wanted to access his/her records and had just cause as to why they wanted them opened, they could. In late September 2007, I was finally permitted to see what I had waited almost 20 years to see, or so I thought.
I requested and received everything in my file. I was looking for an original birth certificate that showed the names of my biological parents. Needless to say that was not in the file. However, what was in the file was an investigator’s report that detailed all of the events that led up to my adoption. The more I read the madder I got. The report stated that my mother gave birth to me and walked out.
I was enraged at this point. But I am a fair man I wanted to here her side of the story. The report listed her name and I started my search in Texas for a woman with that name.
Within a few days, I found my mother. Initially we spoke over the phone and I was shaking during our brief conversation. It was agreed that we could meet. The bitter/sweet part about all of this was that my mother was in Austin, Texas my whole life and I never knew it. She tried to locate me, but didn’t know my name and I didn’t know hers.
When we met I showed her all of the paperwork that was sent to me. She read it and was sad by what she read. She simply stated that what they wrote about her was untrue. She was forced to give me up by her husband of that time. You see, she had an indiscretion which resulted in me. She was 19 years old at the time. By that time I didn’t care about what had happened then. I could do nothing about it anyway. I told her that I was without her in my life for 37 years and I would not be without her anymore.
That was just half of the battle. I still needed to find my biological father. After much communication with my mother (the one that raised me), she let it slip that my father attended Job Corps. With me being a former Job Corps Student, I knew where all of the Texas campuses were. The only campus he could have attended when I was conceived was Gary Job Corps Center. (By the way, I am also a former Private Investigator which enabled me to find the information that I needed.) I made contact with Gary Job Corps and inquired about my father.
God shined on me and had favor for me that day because they released information to me that I wasn’t supposed to have. All I needed was his name and the state which he was from. IU provided what they requested and they gave me the city in which he came to Job Corps from. I crossed referenced his name with that city and got a hit.
I was able to locate my grandmother (his mother) and my sister ( his daughter). My biological father died in 1999. I never had the opportunity to meet him. I am told that I look just like him. I have even been told that I have a lot of his mannerisms. I am just not as big as he was. All this took place in the summer of 2008. I keep in contact with my family on a regular basis. I was without for 37 and 38 years of my life. I made a vow to both sides that I would never lose contact with them and I have kept my word
I see my biological mother 2-3 times a year. She is still currently in Austin, Tx. My grandmother, sister, aunt and uncles reside in and around Clinton, La. I see them at least once a year. I do call down there on a regular basis. They were a little struck when I first made contact with them. They had no idea about me. My dad was just 16 when I was conceived. He went back to Louisiana and had no earthly idea that I even existed. Now I have all I wanted in finding out who I am.
As far as the parents that raised me, my mother is still living. She just turned 80 this past December. My father went on to be with the Lord in June of 2003. I can say this though. My father and I got very close in the mid to late 90’s until his death. I guess the old saying is sometimes people can be like Texas weather. Wait a minute and they will change. Most of them anyway. I give glory to God for that.
wait a minute and it might just change
Upon being born there were already some circumstances that were going to be issues. My name at birth was Baby Boy Luckey. I know that this seems far fetched, but you will see as you read why I was given this name. The hospital staff gave me this name because my biological mother’s married name was Luckey. According to a court investigator’s report, (that took me over twenty years to see), my mother supposedly gave birth to me and walked out of the hospital leaving me behind.
She was given an ultimatum by her husband - either lose me or lose him. Because she had no family and no way of supporting me and the son that she already had, she decided to allow the state to take control. I became a ward of the state and was put up for adoption. My name was changed from Baby Boy Luckey to Christopher Bloomer after I was adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Bloomer in late February – early March.
You would think that I would have had a happy childhood. Unfortunately I don’t have many found memories of growing up. You see I grew up suffering physical, mental, and verbal abuse. I had an older sister that went through the same thing. In the 70’s there was no C.P.S. to call. If I were to tell about what was going on in the home, things would have gotten worse.
Long story short, I grew up hating my parents, especially my mother. My father would never be around to protect us. He felt that he was better off not being at home. So he would leave early in the morning, return home after work, leave again and not return until late in the evening. The only support I had at home was my sister, Patricia. We were all we had. She was my bridge over troubled water. I knew as long as she was there I would have a glimmer of hope. Reality soon struck like lightning.
Patricia graduated and left home. Patricia joined the military and made a life for herself. Now it was just me.
As a result I wound up getting in a lot of trouble. My parents could no longer deal with me. After being sent to juvenile three different times, I was sent to Abilene, Texas to a psychiatric institute. I was sent there as an alternative to T.Y.C. ( Texas Youth Commission) for behavioral problems. I arrived in Abilene, September 12, 1985 and stayed until January 17, 1987.
I returned to Killeen and enrolled at Ellison High School. I thought that maybe things would be different and for a while they were. But slowly things started changing back to what they once were. I didn’t suffer the physical abuse anymore, but the mental and verbal abuse were present and accounted for.
Allow me to fast forward a bit. From the time I was 18 until I was 37, I searched for me biological parents. It was very difficult because the state required for me to have an attorney to access records that a judge had sealed in 1970.
In 2001, a law was passed that if an adopted child wanted to access his/her records and had just cause as to why they wanted them opened, they could. In late September 2007, I was finally permitted to see what I had waited almost 20 years to see, or so I thought.
I requested and received everything in my file. I was looking for an original birth certificate that showed the names of my biological parents. Needless to say that was not in the file. However, what was in the file was an investigator’s report that detailed all of the events that led up to my adoption. The more I read the madder I got. The report stated that my mother gave birth to me and walked out.
I was enraged at this point. But I am a fair man I wanted to here her side of the story. The report listed her name and I started my search in Texas for a woman with that name.
Within a few days, I found my mother. Initially we spoke over the phone and I was shaking during our brief conversation. It was agreed that we could meet. The bitter/sweet part about all of this was that my mother was in Austin, Texas my whole life and I never knew it. She tried to locate me, but didn’t know my name and I didn’t know hers.
When we met I showed her all of the paperwork that was sent to me. She read it and was sad by what she read. She simply stated that what they wrote about her was untrue. She was forced to give me up by her husband of that time. You see, she had an indiscretion which resulted in me. She was 19 years old at the time. By that time I didn’t care about what had happened then. I could do nothing about it anyway. I told her that I was without her in my life for 37 years and I would not be without her anymore.
That was just half of the battle. I still needed to find my biological father. After much communication with my mother (the one that raised me), she let it slip that my father attended Job Corps. With me being a former Job Corps Student, I knew where all of the Texas campuses were. The only campus he could have attended when I was conceived was Gary Job Corps Center. (By the way, I am also a former Private Investigator which enabled me to find the information that I needed.) I made contact with Gary Job Corps and inquired about my father.
God shined on me and had favor for me that day because they released information to me that I wasn’t supposed to have. All I needed was his name and the state which he was from. IU provided what they requested and they gave me the city in which he came to Job Corps from. I crossed referenced his name with that city and got a hit.
I was able to locate my grandmother (his mother) and my sister ( his daughter). My biological father died in 1999. I never had the opportunity to meet him. I am told that I look just like him. I have even been told that I have a lot of his mannerisms. I am just not as big as he was. All this took place in the summer of 2008. I keep in contact with my family on a regular basis. I was without for 37 and 38 years of my life. I made a vow to both sides that I would never lose contact with them and I have kept my word
I see my biological mother 2-3 times a year. She is still currently in Austin, Tx. My grandmother, sister, aunt and uncles reside in and around Clinton, La. I see them at least once a year. I do call down there on a regular basis. They were a little struck when I first made contact with them. They had no idea about me. My dad was just 16 when I was conceived. He went back to Louisiana and had no earthly idea that I even existed. Now I have all I wanted in finding out who I am.
As far as the parents that raised me, my mother is still living. She just turned 80 this past December. My father went on to be with the Lord in June of 2003. I can say this though. My father and I got very close in the mid to late 90’s until his death. I guess the old saying is sometimes people can be like Texas weather. Wait a minute and they will change. Most of them anyway. I give glory to God for that.
wait a minute and it might just change
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