I'm a Twin

Me & Liz with my niece, Mikayla

I almost can't tell the story about my sister and I being raised by different parents without sharing the crowd pleaser, as it was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Long story short, I recognized at a young age that my mother was not a good {moral} person.  I was so embarrassed by it, and more so I knew that I needed a strong support system to reach my goals, and she wasn't capable of providing that.  So, about a year into my parents divorce I began expressing a desire to switch custody.

Within the first year of my parent's divorce my mother met and married another man.  Terrible idea, but no one asked me.  He was a former minister and removed from the Methodist church as he had cheated on his wife with a Russian order bride.  At least that was my eleven year old understanding, and that didn't come from my father-- whom refused to speak poorly of my mother and further disobeyed me to do so.  This man in a matter of three months became my step-father and in mere months moved us from our home to a new location.  An online seminary license later he was ordained in the Moravian Church and moved us a second time to Charlotte,NC and was the preacher of a small church.  I didn't like the dishonesty I witnessed and it caused me so much anxiety.  I saw through lies, and didn't understand how two people could be so selfish as to not provide for the children under their noses.  YET!  We were the "preacher's kids" and were forced to put on a charade at church.

I've always been outspoken.

I pride myself in having a backbone.

While we are all in this world to look out for each other, we also owe it to ourselves to take care of ourselves... for our own betterment.

I was tired of living a lie, and I genuinely needed support that was never going to be a choice in my current situation.  It was beyond important to me to be a college graduate and better myself, and I was certain that if I didn't get to move out of this living situation I would never achieve the things that were important to me.

I wasn't a bad student.  In fact, I prided myself on my grades- I was a bit of a perfectionist and I expected it of myself.  Pressure I put on myself, entirely.  I wasn't recognized for successes, and I was rarely commended for my efforts- not that I needed it, but I knew that getting into college would require more of me and I wasn't certain I could do that with a deficit of support. Not just a lack of support- but a deficit- more than lacking. Nearly a void of support.

In my mother's defense she was newly married and having to keep up with a lie.  She was the preacher's wife, and had a certain 'front' to maintain.  The pressure must have gotten to her, as it wasn't long before she no longer worked anymore.  Her nursing license revoked.  He dependency on strong medication becoming great and her attraction (or addiction) to surgery became apparent.  I can't remember exactly the timeline, but the change seemed drawn out and sudden all at once.

Needless to say I needed something that couldn't be provided.  I needed a genuine support system that was absent in her home.  I began expressing that I'd like to move in with my dad in an effort to get that needed support. My dad was known for pushing me, always to be better and not settle for success.  He's famous for asking me what I could do to better my grade/score on assignments or accomplishments.

My dad seemed hesitant in the beginning.  I think he didn't see longevity with my request.  Maybe he thought that I was angry with my mother and I needed an out, but soon he would realize that not only was something awry, there was malicious intent brewing and I needed to be rescued.

This began the most grueling years in my life. My mother resented me for expressing a desire to move out and live with my father.  She made it her mission to build up a force on her 'side' and to prove to me that I was out of my mind to suggest that I needed a different support system. I guess looking back on the situation, it's a hard sale to your congregation that one of your four children would like to move out of your home- how do you even explain it while avoiding the truth?

Insanity.

Maybe not initially, but this would soon be her tactic.

Maliciousness ensued.

I was ripped out of school numerous times, at least weekly, to see counselors, therapists and psychiatric specialists. Twenty-one different professionals. I counted. I was mortified. I, was ensuring the relentlessness of middle school woes during this selfish game of "tell my daughter she is crazy to want to live with her father." Each time a professional would reason out with me all of the realities of my life and conclude that, perhaps, I would benefit from a different living situation I would be moved to a new specialist. Rinse and repeat, twenty-one times. It ended with the most vicious and irrational professional I had ever met (and I'd met a few leading up to her). I remember her name. Dr. Engineer - she still practices in Charlotte. Look her up- her reviews speak volumes.

At home I was constantly cornered and questioned about why I'd ever want to leave. In my opinion the reasons only grew as the resentment and retaliation against me became more and more malicious.  Food became more and more scarce in the pantry- I wasn't provided lunch money- I was verbally ridiculed and I acted out. I let my grades fall and I survived on less and less sleep. I was also being medicated with medicine that made me dizzy and black out on occasion. I was desperate.

I began writing and recording things that were occurring. I kept my 'valuables' at friend's homes and I grew more and more anxious living in this situation. Moving was becoming more and more urgent.

Meanwhile, my dad was consulting with attorneys and continued getting the same response. It just didn't look good for a young girl to move in with her unwed father when her mother was the wife of a preacher and, on paper, had the more stable environment for a growing girl. I too was contacting local attorneys in search of legal aid. No one took me serious. I even remember asking my school counselor to put me into a halfway house so I could maintain my presence at school without suspicion and live in a safe place.

At this point it's been nearly three years since I first indicated that I would like to switch custody. My dad married his long-term girlfriend. My case to live with my father was becoming more and more of a reality with each professional I was forced to meet with.

A normal sisterly fight with my sister set everything into motion. We were arguing over a babysitting job. I wanted to babysit and make some extra money and so did she. The only difference was that I had attended school that day, and thus in my mind afforded me the babysitting job. Rational, right?  She didn't agree. Thus resulting in a twin-on-twin wrestling match. One that I was losing quickly.  You see, she's stronger than me and ruthless and I was a sissy. She involved the only parent home at the time, and my stepdad called Dr. Engineer. She instructed he call the police.

{rolls eyes}

I was furious that he was involving the local first responders for a domestic dispute.  It's as ridiculous as it sounds. I went ballistic. I wrecked my bedroom and threw a lot of breakable for emphasis. The cops, firefighters and emts responded moments later and escorted me from the house. I took a ride in an ambulance to the hospital to be evaluated. On the ride I described much of what I've shared here and was told to prepare for my mother to be standing in the bay (she worked at the hospital we were headed to).

I was so furious and stubborn I decided my best tactic at this point was to just remain silent.

I sat for hours.

Without a peep.

Few things are more powerful.

I was offered a ride to the local insane asylum for an evaluation before I could be released. I insisted on the police car and was later forced to ride with my mother and step father.  Which I indicated was a terrible idea. It was. I was inundated with screaming as my mother sat in the front seat, turned around leaning over the Bonneville bench seat yelling at me. I lowered the window to allow the wind to drown out her voice as I had no intention of entertaining her.

Upon arriving at the asylum across town it was conveyed to the check in nurse that I attempted suicide on the way over by attempting to jump from the moving vehicle. I was baffled. Hence, maintaining my silence.

Hours passed.

My mother and stepfather became hungry and asked for a pass to leave for dinner.  (I can't make this shit up.) They were informed that I couldn't be left alone in the waiting room and that they would need to take me too. They assured the check in nurse that they "could handle me," you know the one that they moments earlier claimed that I had attempted suicide. It was a real show. I went with them as I had no other choice. I didn't order food, I didn't eat. I finally spoke and asked for a quarter to call my father from a pay phone. I called collect. My dad informed me that he would be there within a couple hours.

During the hours that stood between us I was asked to speak with a counselor and thus my parents too. Individually, all together, in couples, etc. Finally a conclusion was arrived and it was clear that I would be going home with my father, as it seemed to be the least restrictive environment for me. It was the popular vote, with almost everyone. Finally, 3 am and I was getting what I'd been asking for for years. I was getting my support and I was elated.

Until I was encouraged to get some shut eye upstairs.

At the asylum.

Yes.

I was told my parents would go to grab a coffee and work out the details of my relocation to Asheville, NC. Except my mother and stepfather never showed up for that coffee. They retreated home for shut eye and made it back to the hospital just before my dad and were in the act of signing paperwork to have me committed against my will.

A decision that my father knew I'd never forgive my mother for.

She signed me away, anyway. She used me as a pawn in a custody battle she recognized she was losing. In the end, she won the battle and simultaneously severed a relationship with me.

It was later at 8am that I was informed that I wouldn't be leaving the asylum.  It was Saturday, April 1. Yes, effing April Fools day and I am trapped in an asylum- it's taken twenty years to see that as humorous more than ironic.  I spent another six nights and six days without a clue as to my release, living situation or reputation at middle school.  Of course my parents marched into church that Sunday to tell the congregation of my whereabouts... They chose that day to reveal a truth instead of a cover up.

I returned to school for exactly four weeks before my Memorial Day weekend visit with my dad. It was only days prior to his pick up that I learned I wouldn't be returning to Charlotte.  I was to pack what I wanted to keep, and to keep my lips sealed.  I can't even remember if I told friends I was leaving, as a relief was finally washing over me.

I said goodbye to my mother and never {by choice} spoke to her again. It's been nearly twenty years.

Thus, I was from that point on raised by my father.  My mother was served papers while we left the driveway that day, and I was safe.  I spent my high school years living apart from my other siblings.  At one point my older brother moved in and shortly later retreated to Charlotte.  Years later my little brother was awarded custody with my father as a result of my mother neglecting his well being.

My sister was raised by our mother and I was raised by my dad.  I was supported and can proudly report that I achieved my goal.  I got to attend college... I was the only of my siblings to do so. Thus further reinforcing that, while the situation was difficult and a hardship, I got the support I needed to achieve the goals I had for myself.  I was a high school athlete, I graduated and I was accepted to the University I desired to attend.

Now I'm a teacher... hopefully providing the same safe haven for them that I often found in my school during such a volatile time in my life.

So, in short, my twin sister and I were raised by different parents.  She now lives in Winston Salem as a reservationist for American Airlines.  We are very, very different.  People always ask.  We find it funny.  Appearance wise, she is taller, brunette and much more athletic than I couldn't have ever dreamed of being.  She's very passionate and emotional.  She is kind to a fault.  She did not enjoy school as a kid, but was always much more popular than me.  She is a mother to my two-year old niece, Mikayla.  We were very close as young girls, and have become closer the older we get.

We both equally love to tell people we are a twin and watch their reaction.  It's always the same.  Most people claim we must be bluffing, but the truth is we are twins- she's just one minute older. (Why do people always ask that too?)