(Warning: This post may contain some offensive words or names. It contains real life situations, drug related material, and other items some may not enjoy. If you’re offended by a little offensive nickname, a simple curse word, any talk of drugs, poor people, or are just up-tight….this post may not be for you. You’ve been warned. Haha.)
I’m unsure as to how I should start this piece? Or segment? As you can see, I’m unsure as to what this will be. I have a book in me, or at least enough content in my head to fill a book. It would probably be a sort of depressing book, but these thoughts, and memories encumber my life. After my dad’s sudden death, and not being able to get out all those things I needed to say, I was left with a flooded mind, and so many unanswered questions. Part of me felt like a little girl still looking for daddies love, one part of me felt a little relieved – maybe even happy. I had wished for his death every time I had to listen to him tear me apart, I was happy to have that over.
After his death I began writing in a special notebook, I started to release my life onto paper. All this was in hopes of letting go of all the things that have tortured me for so many years. In hopes that if I put the words, and feelings down on paper – they wouldn’t have as much power over me. Of course, paper is not enough. I feel like someone should know, I personally wish I had found someone writing about a life like mine. It would have been reassuring to know that I was not alone in these struggles, and pain. I hope this will touch those out there who had similar up-bringing’s. I’m here to let you know, you’re not alone, and you will be ok. ….or something close to it. Haha….you may never reach normal but normal is over rated anyways.
(The beginning: To understand a life, you must look into the past. *My mother’s side*)
I was born to a young couple who had plenty of problems, they themselves were running from. My mother left here moms home at the early age of fifteen, just after her mother moved in with a new husband. At this stage in my mother’s life, she felt out-casted and utterly alone. Her mother began leavening her at home, never including her in any family gatherings or outings, and basically ignored her.
If you knew my granny you’d understand this perfectly. You see, my granny has only one thing on her mind, and that’s money. You’d know this from your very first encounter with her, she’ll ask things like “Do you have a boyfriend or husband?” “Does he have a good job? Does he make good money?” If your answers don’t match her “ideal”, then you’re in for an ear full. I refer to this as the “rich man” lecture, basically, if you don’t have one, you’re doing it wrong.
If someone were to ask me, “What’s the biggest thing your granny tried to teach you?” the answer would be to bag a wealthy man. A lot of people say my granny left my granddad, because his bank account didn’t harmonize with her want to avoiding working. Most of all, from working with fish.
Her new husband was better off from what I was told, at least more so then my granddaddy. You see, my granddaddy was a war Veteran suffering terribly. I’m told he would wake in the night screaming, he’d flash back to unimaginable images of things he had done, and seen. From the stories I remember hearing, my granddaddy was a hard worker, the ‘make it you own way’ type of man, but a bit of a dreamer.
The new husband was a recovering alcoholic – policeman, who I believe flew a plane at some point, but I don’t know if he really ever fought in a war. Either way, he certainly never seemed to be a haunted man, if he did in fact fight. Anyhow, if he didn’t like one of my grannies kids, she seemed pretty quick to push them aside. My poor mother, I can’t understand how any mother could do such things to her child, as if they didn’t exist.
It was even worse because her brother had health/mental problems and is the baby. My granny poured a lot of attention into him….I’m guessing in hopes that it would make him better. All of these repeated slaps to my mother’s face were too much, and she moved into here grandmothers house for a few month. All while her father was getting his affairs in order after the divorce.
Once he was settled, she moved in with him. At the age of sixteen she dropped out of school. She says she left school for two simple reasons – she hated it, and no one was telling her not to. She’d bring report cards home, only to be ignored, or pushed off to the side. No one was willing to help her, so she was stuck in this pit full of loneliness, self-doubt, and was generally lost. When your this age and no one cares about you, or the things you’re doing….what’s the point of caring? You have to remember that at this age, and in these kinds of situations….it’s much harder to see the bigger pictures. Like they say, hind sight is 20/20.
Now my mother is bouncing between her best friend’s house (happens to be the next door neighbor) and my granddaddies. At the age of seventeen she meet my father, through her best friend. Apparently, he was supposed to be a quick pick-me-up rebound after a bad break up. Only, it turned into months and in those months to follow (four or five as my mother recalls it), she was pregnant with me. She says that their first reactions to the news wasn’t really all the shocking, nothing more than a normal “oh really?” reaction. It’s safe to say that I was a “if it happens, it happens.” baby. (Her words.)
“When we told his family the room was filled with happiness for a new baby, a first grandbaby, and all the special joys that came alone with it.” ( I certainly would have never known it, if she didn’t tell me. I don’t know if it’s me, or them, but they don’t have the best way of showing it….but I’m getting ahead.)
I don’t know a whole lot of details about the pregnancy but here’s a breakdown of what I know.
1. My dad still dabbled in drugs, he even trapped my mother in the back of a car (pregnant) with a bunch of people, and would not let her leave as he sat there and filled the air with his pungent addiction. Mary-Jane was one of the many mistresses my father bird-dogged (That’s hunted or chased after, if you don’t get the reference. We’re southern, not the incest kind of southern *as far I know, though my dad did sleep with my mom sister. Were still convinced my cousin is my sister.* 🙁 oh man, they might be a little like that. Can’t you just feel the trailer-trash vibe all over this? I am so off point now, haha)
2. My mother really craved fruit with me, it didn’t really matter what it was, but she had to have fruit almost every day. (I wonder why I was such a fatty?….ok, still am….shhhh, I’m still blaming the baby weight.)
3. My father would do the most ass-clownish things. My mother would go to work while he laid around getting drunk or stoned….scratching his nuts I imagine. (Is it strange that this is the picture I get when I think of my strung out dad?) He’d then get bored and trash the house, leaving it for my mother to clean when she returned home. (Pregnant mind you.)
4. I’m not sure if my dad was there when I was born, I want to say that he was, but I guess it’s not really all that important. I’m not sure if I’ve ever asked, and if I haven’t, I’m afraid the answer might be along the lines of… “We’ll see what had happened was… Your dad was out at his old buddie’s house, who lives on completely dry land…..on a boat…..because he’s one of those wayyyy out there hippies. He was in the middle of burning one when he got the call. He then weighted the options of whether he should get up and rush, or just finish what he was doing, and drive 30mph in a 55, because he’s blitzed out of his mind.” Sometimes not knowing is just better, it’s totally messed up that I find this answer to be more the “norm” than yes, he was there.
5. I know that my dad’s family had them around a bit (occasional family dinner/holidays), mostly to stuff my mom with food. My family are all big eaters….all the way around…..we’d make elevators drop like a small child trying to lift a giant bag of dog food. (Ok, maybe it’s not that bad….but it wouldn’t have been as funny if I had just said, we have a lot of fat people around here. Haha) My mother was super tiny, I mean slightly scary tiny. Every time I saw a picture of her as I teen, I had to ask if she was a crack whore. What? Strange family, I told you.
6. I know they left my gender to be a surprise. My dad was very sure he was getting a boy and OH BOY was he surprised when I wasn’t. I believe he was really disappointed by this….I was a failure from the start.
That’s pretty much all I know about the pregnant months. My parents never got married, but were together for three years, with the last year being on and off. This is also easier to explain with a break down.
1. My father was a bad drunk (already at the age of 21), he was also into (as far as my mother was aware.) crack, coke and Marijuana. I asked her what kind of “druggy” he was, I was already sure he was the type to snort and smoke, but I had to ask if he was the type to shoot-up. I was actually happy to know that my thoughts on that were right. She said “No, I don’t ever believe he was into that. He was never one for needles.” The man I knew was a 6ft something giant that weighted a good 350 plus pounds I’m sure. He was massive! A bear and he could easily have a match. However, he seemed to be a baby around two things…spiders, and needles. (This gives a whole new meaning to that old saying “don’t poke the bear.” haha)
2. (This one will explain why I refer to my father as asshat, and this is what I will call him for the rest of…..whatever this is….chronicles? Minions, opinions?) Okay, so I could forgive my asshat for the Marijuana, (I’m not uptight, I’ve heard all the research, and there’s a lot of things the plant can do. If you’re unaware, start looking up Marijuanas role in possibly curing cancer. It’s ok if you don’t support the positive aspects, to each their own. Love, peace and chicken grease. Haha) Anyhow, the harder drug usage, and over use of alcohol, is a lot harder to forgive….if he had just left it to smoking…..then he would have been a pretty damn cheery man. He would have been like the ‘happy looking bear, dressed in a pink tutu, dancing around in the circus for a yummy fish’ kind of happy. He’s likely sedated in some way, but hey, he’s not ripping people apart, and that’s pretty much the goal here. Instead he was an abusive asshat.
My mother says he often got drugged out and drunk, only to return home and yell at her for minor things. Going as far as to throw things at her. He was emotionally and verbally abusive. He was cruel.
3. My mother suffered this for three years. After I turned three, things went further south than hell is. My asshat was way out of control, the drinking, drugging and abuse grew to a level of sheer explosion. One particular night, one angry strung out man, and some terrible moves on my asshats part….was the last straw.
4. (My mother recalls it as if she’s reliving it, there in the moment. Though her voice shows only a hint of sadness, the anger is apparent. Here’s her accounts of the night.) “I was home with you, after getting off work. (She was working at a local IGA) We lived in a small trailer, you were on the floor playing. (Pictures flash through my head of what I imagine she sees when recalling these memories. Even more so now that I am a mom, and am able to picture myself in her shoes.)
Your dad came in angry, he’s demanding to know if I had talked to a male coworker or seen him. I told him that I had went to work that day, of course I had seen him….he works there. He became enraged, you could see it in his eyes. A sick change, blind with jealous hate and strung out on junk. He began pushing me around and choking me. You were still sitting close by with your toys. (I can only imagine the fear I must have felt, I wonder if at the age of three…was this a norm for me?) He just kept yelling and pushing me around. I couldn’t do this anymore, I had already given him so many chances.”
“If he had only stopped the drugs, been the good guy we knew was hiding under these sickeningly, dirty habits. You were three, I knew you were starting to notices, to act out. I didn’t want you to live like this, I couldn’t let you. I told him I was done, I wouldn’t have this for you, and I wouldn’t take it anymore. This sent him further over the edge. He said I could get the hell out, but I wasn’t taking you anywhere. Instantly I swooped you up in fear of what he may do, I couldn’t let him get his hands on you. He came at me, pushing me with you still in my arms. I held on tight as his massive paws pushed me about, then he wrapped his giant hands around my throat. I was sure I’d pass out, but I fought. The trailer we lived in was hot, and the neighbors ran a cable from our house for power, none of us had air conditioning.” (Something she couldn’t be more thankful for now.)
“On this night, both our windows were open to keep cool. I hoped if I screamed loud enough, the neighbor would help. In a moment of his release, I managed a scream that brought the neighbor running. The knock on the door threw your dad off, in his moment of shock I raced out the door and into the other house. The neighbor managed to calm him down some, but the only phone we had between all three of us had been ripped from the wall in retaliation. Thankfully, the neighbor was able to get it working, I called your granddaddy and he rushed over.” (I’ve heard many stories of the night he rushed over. When I was a child, I imagined him as a super hero. Ripping the door off and scaring my bear of a dad into hibernation. Saving my mother and me.)
“Your granddaddy came in a little car, and I was instructed (by asshat) to grab what I could take. I was never coming back for anything else. He had already done away with all of our pictures, and a few other keepsakes. I could only save your hospital hat, bracelets, and baby book. I grabbed as much of our clothes and your toys, as I could pack into the little car.” (I hear a sort of sadness as she thinks on the things she had to leave behind, or that he had taken from her.)
“After a few weeks, I really wanted to get more of your toys. Mostly, I wanted to get your little red tri-cycle. I knew I couldn’t go back there but I called. I told him the things I wanted, that I wouldn’t come but my dad would. He finally agreed, but it came with the weirdest price. He demanded I send back all the panties he bought me – I couldn’t have your tri-cycle if I didn’t. I had to send your granddaddy with a brown paper sack full of panties to get your trike, but I got it. Your dad asked me to do a lot of strange things, and he himself did a lot of weird stuff, but that one was way out there.” (She jokes about how she was happy to do it, because he probably didn’t buy them anyways. His girlfriend probably left them or he stole them from her. She also jokes that he must have wanted them because he didn’t want other men seeing her in the panties he bought, and that he’s too cheap to buy the crackhead new ones.)
Alright, this one is already insanely long and we’ve just began to dip our toes in the water. All my minions, please enjoy this look into my life, and everyone stay tuned for all the things that have formed my life. The good, the bad and the ugly.