A friend of mine encouraged I get my story out before I proceed with a business venture I am about to embark on. That time has come, so here is my edited almost ready to be fully published version of my truth.
Some call it anxiety, some call it “Self-worth and/or Confidence”.
Still others, might refer to it as, “Over Thinking”, or maybe “Fear”.
I’m not sure.
I was rejected a lot growing up. No one really accepted me, and the ones that did, never stuck around for long. I grew up being the problem. I was forced in and out of peoples lives constantly, always moving from one place to another home. I struggled fitting in, being loved and accepted.
I know I’m vulnerable so I put walls up and it comes out aggressive or like I’m angry..
So I aim to change that, and, at 30 years old..I’m telling my story and learning how to accept love while guiding others who have similar struggles.
Here’s my story.
Part 1 of 3.
Rough Draft Edited Version 2.
June 28th, 1991 3:54 pm
Interstate 85 North East – Greenville, South Carolina
I can only imagine the scene, Mom driving her hooptie Northbound towards hers and my brother and sisters’ warm cozy beds in Bangor, Maine. Surely she would make it before…….
Uh-oh…hate to be the barer of bad news.
But the bun in your oven is ready 3 months EARLY.
HelloWorld!
Tyler Michael Hollingsworth is created!
- “Baby Tyler’s thoughts: “…ew, its cold, bloody…’where are you taking me’…’wait a sec‘…WAHHHHHHHHHHH”
I envision that scene as: Baby me, crying, being taken away from Mommy to be placed into an incubator for the next almost 3 months; and as they are shoving me in this box I grab my Doc by his stethoscope and pull him really close and whisper in his ear
“You better get me some crack before you shove me in this thing”
Mom had a habit..or three…maybe five?
I don’t judge Mother, heck – it’s all I’ve known to be True and Real for a lot of my life.
Some quick facts about my daddy issues…
a) Hollingsworth isn’t even my real last name. Hollingsworth belongs to my Brother and His Father.
b) My biological fathers’ last name is Young. Daddy Young was in the army and has 3 beautiful kids and a lovely wife waiting for him back home.
Growing up was easy, Mother “Worked” a lot, and according to her – Kyle took a lot out of her. She blamed his mental illness for almost every short coming I asked about during our meetings years later when I finally had the chance to see her again.
“Kyle was so difficult” – “Kyle had a habit of harming animals” – “Kyle did this and behaved like this”.
However, she did admit to taking some of his pills since they did not really help him and they were “left over” from past prescriptions. She claimed they helped her stay on track and awake. I knew Mother had a lot on her plate, or, at least as much as my tiny brain could understand that concept.
It wasn’t hard to tell that I was, “one of those kids”. I was damaged early. I grew up around the things that shouldn’t be learned about until much later in life, during a D.A.R.E. Program or something similar.
I was still a very happy and jolly kid if you were to ask anyone.
One of mothers’ parties got out of hand when she passed out on the couch. That part I recall as normal – the part where she didn’t start telling people to go home, wasn’t. But whatever time it was, I knew that tomorrow was coming, and I had to get upstairs and get cleaned up for bed time. I loved bath time. Normally Mommy would yell at Kyle or Shyla to make sure I’m upstairs getting undressed for bath time. I was a big boy though, and tonight, I knew I was going to prove it! I didn’t need anyone to help. So I set up for the staircase.
I had to be quiet though, Mommy and her guy friends and the neighbor lady were asleep on the couch and floor. Once I got to the foot of the stairs, I saw Kyle…. with his Tonka Truck and the Hamsters sitting on the top step. I didn’t have time to play with them, plus, Mommy yelled at Kyle the last time he did that, and Kyle had to go see the Doctor again. Chances are he was going to end up killing them anyways..he never meant to. I asked when we were older.
So, I continued about my journey. I climbed all 10 stairs by myself, and then Shyla decides to scoop me up and swiftly push me into the bathroom inside of Mommy’s room.
“Bath time”!
Shyla told me to get undressed as she quickly shut the door to Mommy’s bathroom.
How I went from the bathtub and was now on Mommy’s Big Waterbed is a complete blur. But the next thing I feel is painful, and heavy, like pressure around my stomach and hip bones. It was a firm, strong grip that covered my entire torso, and tremendous pain in other areas.
I remember looking around and I could see another figure, it was my sister, she was crying and watching helplessly. I’m not sure what I wished she could have done…
I squirmed, and kicked and broke free from this persons tight grasp enough to scratch his face, but He threw himself on top of me again…and again..the pain was indescribable.
I was sexually assaulted that night and don’t know if I processed that properly as a child. Growing up, therapy proved no use and I remain who I am today.
The events following are flashes of memories I have, that sit in my memory like Polaroid Photos and replay themselves at will.
I remember fighting some, I caught my hand on glass and had cuts on my hands.
I don’t know what happened after that as I blacked in and out a few times, and the next memory I have is being carried out by a lady officer surrounded by other people asking questions.
The first few nights after being taken away from Mom was rough. My memory kicks back in Mid-way through staying with Grandma and Grandpa, then with Aunt Linda, and finally into the foster system.
I was five years old when we were taken from my mother. None of my family believed me when I would tell them what happened. My Brother and Sister both have different stories that match and contradict their own and mine..
When foster care homes started to open up, we all were first being placed in the homes together. It didn’t take long for Kyle to get matched up with his forever family and even shorter for Shyla to find her forever family.
It wasn’t for another few years that I would get my chance.
We started having Supervised visits with Mom at McDonalds after a few months, she always looked so happy to see us – But would start crying every time. Normally after the fries were done..but it was that cry that gave the vibe that this isn’t getting any better..in fact, it was probably going to get worse. That kinda cry ya’ know?
She’d always hold me a little longer and tell me to be strong, that “No matter what, Mommy loves you and I will always be there with you” – as she would tap my chest, I guess where my heart was, as if to affirm to me that I could count on that gesture for something.
One of the last few visits, she gave me a rock to hold onto, and told me that if I ever missed her, to “Rub it in between the palms of my hands and I will know she is with me wherever I am.”
I don’t know if I actually internally accepted that to be true, but I did hold onto that rock for a solid couple of years, along with a few other letters and articles I had collected over the years. I even took that same box with me when I got adopted and moved to Miami.
The box itself, was none other than a thick cardboard shoebox with Star Wars printed all over it. That’s why I especially liked it. I really liked Star Wars growing up.
I got the shoebox from my Father when I was 8. I had just gotten back from a 1 year pre-adoption visit. I was excited – He left it on the steps of my Foster Families house the morning we were going to the courthouse to finalize the adoption.
The letter stated that due to some rules at the Army Base he was stationed at – He wasn’t going to be able to adopt me.
Shortly there after; The adoption process began with my; now, adopted parents.
The Bonwit Family
The way, that I know the adoption process to work – is you live a year with the family prior to the finalized and official adoption court date. During that year of living with the Bonwit’s, when attending “Family Game Time”, I became suddenly uninterested and felt the urge to leave the table and not play any longer. Steve didn’t like that so much and his anger lashed for a brief moment. I knew I belonged with these people. And so it was, The judge presiding over the adoption asked each of us the required questions to finalize the adoption. It was my turn. I nodded and signed my best signature ever.
At birth, I had a different social security number. It was cool & began 007-**-****.
Life with the Bonwit’s, my new family, Family #7, started off interesting. Steve’s an Accountant at his Fathers private CPA Firm, Annette is a Registered Nurse at the Miami Children’s Hospital Ambulatory Inpatient and Outpatient Department. We lived a quaint life. Steve was angry and miserable a lot. Especially when he was drunk or even more so when I did bad in school. Most nights, especially during tax season, you could find Tyler making “Steve’s life an absolute hell causing him to lash out physically, verbally, and mentally”
Steve first started abusing me when I was 11 years old. For saying curse words he squirted and made me swallow bathroom hand soap. For getting bad grades or unsatisfactory reports, it was spitting in my face, ripping hair out of my scalp, or spanking me across my back, butt and legs with his size 48′ leather belt.
Amber let it slip that “She wished they never even adopted me”, I expected her to say that at some point during my time with them.
Hell, times when Steve would lock me outside, or put a knife to my throat and then his screaming I am making him do this….I wished the same thing.
I finally punched Steve when I was 16. I’d had enough and the whole pinning me to the wall thing – was getting old. He never touched me again after that day.
I remember 2 or 3 years before that, I reached out and finally told a professional about what Steve was doing, that though I was a “bad kid”, it hurt..bad. Steve talked his way out of it and scoffed about it when I got out of the psych ward.
Nothing like living with the Bonwit’s. I tried, but I was fucked up in the head, and the one thing that I probably needed to get help processing, some real therapeutic or psychiatric care that wasn’t aimed at fixing my medicine, or putting me in a psych ward that felt like jail, but was always pushed aside, ignored, or replaced with a new or dosage changed prescription. I finally stopped taking the medicine they had me on when I was 16.
None of it ever actually helped and most of the time, the medications’ side effects would always end up being disruptive enough that we would have to switch anyways.
To bring this all together – My whole life, I’ve known rejection, hatred, un-belonging.
I ended up filling in a lot of voids in my life to get closure, or to make sense of things that no one could help me understand, or they didn’t believe had actually happened to me.
I bottled up most of the time just to get by, to appear normal..I mean, I wanted to fit in at school, have friends and be normal… so, yeah….I guess I am a little insecure sometimes, and I guess I get really emotional at things other people probably don’t, and I do have a really hard time fitting in or knowing if I fit in or if I belong.
From my triumphs, I will teach and heal the souls of others to rise from their sorrows and embark on a journey full of passion, interest, and freedom. Away from judgement and negativity. I plan to do this by creating a land that adheres to a different standard of operations. Wait for the upcoming development of Thrive Off Trauma’s Free9 Program!
I started Thrive Off Trauma, LLC., IN November OF 2020. with one mission:
“TO DEVELOP A BETTER, SIMPLER LIFE FOR MANKIND”
I BELIEVE WE ARE MORE THAN ANY OF US KNOW.
– Tyler Michael 10/21/2021
IF WE CAN BE MADE TO SEE IT; INDUBITABLY, FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES WE WILL BE UNWILLING TO SETTLE FOR ANYTHING LESS.
COMING SOON!
- Youth and Adult Outreach Program
- Wellness Resort
- NARCenter.
My Truth 