An Open Letter to the Huhta Family

I spent part of yesterday watching the responses from family members on a post my brother had shared about my Grandmother Julia Huhta.  I had mentioned she was bi-polar and had issues.  He was surprised and I had added more information about the Huhta family tree, i.e. suicide, alcoholism, pedophilia to name of few.  I thought it might help him put his life into some kind of perspective and if he felt any similar illnesses he could get help.

The visceral and ugly remarks back to me were astounding.  I became the target of unwarranted and unsolicited taunts. They attacked my history, credibility, and my self worth.  I sat there stunned and perplexed.

I think of the days and nights of living in pain and torment.  Diagnosed and treated (medication) with anxiety, depression, PTSD and sexual abuse.  I spent years in a hopeless state.  Psychotic night terrors/dream/waking states would keep me up for hours frightened of the voices I heard and I kept looking for a soft place to fall.

I also think of the number of yoga classes, meditation courses, books, blogging, and any other healing methods so I could find inner Peace.  It was a daunting task and there were days all I could day was sit and or sleep.  I found hope in the smallest acts of kindness.  A yoga teacher praising my posture, a kind response on a blog, a call from a friend.  Each step was added and I slowly started to rise to begin building a life that had been completely destroyed by my "mental" illnesses.  

This has been a long ten year journey.  I am kinder and more compassionate now having lived it.  For the most part the Huhta family ignored my plight and said little or nothing for years.  An occasional lazy message of "we miss you" would filter in.  It was their idea of "trying" to help me.  I believe the kindness of strangers have shown more interest in my life and well being.

I thought at worst they were indifferent or incapable of helping another.  Too busy and caught up in their own lives to be concerned with a brother.  What I discovered is even worse.

They do not believe I have had ANY problems and I am telling a "story".  I can clearly see how their children or others that are afflicted with mental illness, sexual abuse, addictions, etc., have nobody to turn to or will be believed.  The idea of this is so shocking and cruel, I cannot even begin to begin to process it all. 

I never dreamed I had my own family of origin silently cheering on my own demise.  I will overcome this and them.  I will not let them define my history or my own self worth.  I will rise again.  I now understand the Silence of so many.

I will conclude with this quote from Teddy Roosevelt:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”