I don't even know where to begin. I guess a little background is a good idea, just incase someone actually reads this, it'll make more sense.
I'm a stay at home mom. I have 2 kids and a wonderful husband in picture perfect suburbia. I drive a nice car and I live in a nice house with my two cats and great family.
Thats the "me" I like to think about. I also have a "me" from the past. I was the oldest of 6 children and came for a very abusive and very scary household. My mom was just 20 when she had me and we lived with my grandma in a small down just west of where I live now. Life was great then. My mom worked and my grandma took care of me. We'd watch soap operas and play games and I truly felt loved. My dad was pretty nice then, he would pick me up on the weekends to do things with him. We'd go to the mall and he'd take me to the park and cook me spaghetti. From what I can remember, he was really nice to me. I never called him "dad" though, I remember that vividly.
My brother was born when I was 8. My mom, myself and my brother were living with my grandma at this time. After he was born, I don't really remember doing anything with my dad. This was the time in my life when I remember feeling forgotten. When I was in 2nd grade I came home from school one day and my dad's truck was at my grandma's full of boxes. My mom and brother were moving to the other side of town and my mom left me with my grandma. I'm pretty sure I wanted to say, but since then, I've always felt abandoned.
Things are a little fuzzy after that. My grandma became sick with dementia, she already had diabetes really bad as well. The house we lived in was ok. I didnt have a bedroom so I slept on the couch. There were times I'd have to call my neighbor to help me with grandma when she'd fall in the middle of the night or get confused about where she was. My mom didn't have a phone, so the neighbor was my lifeline. I'd go there after school and ask to borrow things, just to get away for a few minutes, just to feel like I had a mom. Don't get me wrong, my mom wasn't MEAN, but she was very neglectful of me, but loved my brother. This is when all my anger began.
A year later my sister was born. Another child to compete with. While I was trying to keep my grandma safe and go to 3rd grade, my mom had another child she just loved to bits. Mind you, the town was small. There were just a few hundred people in my town, no store-no stop light-nothing. Its not like my mom couldn't just stop by and see me. She was too busy with the other kids.
A little more than a year after that- you guessed it- another sister was born. I was in 5th grade, trying to do my homework, take care of a house that hardly ever had groceries and take care of my grandma. I remember having to walk a plate full of food from one side of town to the other just to feed my grandma. I didnt have decent clothes or a warm coat, I'd even wear my grandma's old shoes to church. By this time I felt very unloved. I was my grandma's caretaker and I was in 5th grade. She was soiling herself by this time and would have night terrors. My uncles would have to come in the middle of the night to calm her down. Remember I said I slept on the couch? Those nights I wouldn't sleep because my grandma would be freaking out in the kitchen. I don't know how I made it through.
In the spring of 1990, my grandma died. Is there a word that means "beyond devastated"? If so, use that word here. My mom and dad moved into my grandma's house with my siblings and my dad became the boss. He was mean and nasty.
Like I said before, food was hard to come by. It wasn't like I could come home from school and find a snack and do my homework. When snacks did show up at my house, I would steal them and hide them because I never knew when I'd get another. One day my dad caught me with a box of cupcakes under my bed. ( I actually got a bed after my parents moved in, but I shared a room with the other kids.. I had a top bunk). He grabbed me by my hair, said he was going to call me petunia from then on because that was porky pig's girlfriend and thats who I was. A pig.
I also didn't get the opportunity to be just a big sister. I had those kids with me from when I got home from school until they went to bed. When I was in 6th grade, my mom had another son. So it was me and 4 more kids. I didn't get to play with my friends a lot, I was cleaning up after kids and babysitting.
I remember my mom asking me to get the laundry off of the line one afternoon before she went to work. So here I am, with a bunch of little kids and trying to reach the clothesline to get the clothes off of it. I just put the clothes in the basket and went inside because someone was crying. When my dad got home from taking my mom to work, he picked me up by my hair and threw me on the ground and kicked me for not laying the clothes in the basket flat. Looking back, I'm not sure how I survived. I was beaten, belittled and taken advantage of (not sexually) by my own family. I missed my grandma SO much, I missed being a kid.
When I was in 7th grade, my mom got pregnant again with another child we couldn't afford. We were on welfare. I was getting picked on because I had to wear dirty, stained clothes. I had to get free lunch at school, and at that time you had to stand in a different line, so I was picked on for that. I was miserable. My only saving grace was a local church. When I was allowed and not watching kids or cleaning I did get to do lots of activities with them. I loved the leaders and would wish they'd adopt me. By this time, I was big enough that my dad started making me do manual work. He would make me carry huge things up and down our basement stairs. I remember a HUGE couch that should have taken a few men to carry. I had to help him carry it down a set of very small stairs. I also helped him carry a pot belly stove down these stairs too. About 6 years ago I was diagnosed with a problem that is a direct result of this. Im sick a lot because of this problem.
Did I mention that my parents were also pot smokers? Did I mention that they were spending hundreds of dollars on this? I didn't have clean clothes or enough to eat, but they had enough money to buy an ounce or more of pot every payday. I knew how to roll a joint before I was 10, I knew to spray room spray before answering the door and I knew my parent's dealer by name. In fact, I remember taking money to the dealer for my mom.
The summer after 7th grade I secured a room in the basement for myself. It was a cement room with no carpet or heat, but I didn't even care. It was mine. It had a bed. I could read books and write and do my homework without kids crawling all over me. I got to sleep without crying babies waking me up. The downside to this was my dad yelling my name over the banister. If I didnt come flying up the stairs he'd rip me by my hair out of my room. My mom got a new job then, and I'd have to wake up at 3am when my dad would take her to work to make sure the kids didnt wake up. I'd have to sit on the couch in the dark, not fall asleep and wait for my dad to come home. It usually took an hour, then I could go back to sleep for a few hours until I had to get up for school. I was tired more often than not.
I spent most of the next few years trying to balance school, church, taking care of my pain in the ass siblings and avoiding my dad. I remember wishing he would die, or trying to think of a way to kill myself that wouldn't hurt. Thinking about that now makes me sad. I was just a kid and wanted to die. I didn't deserve the abuse I was put though.
In high school I'd sleep over at friend's houses and be away as much as possible. I would take babysitting jobs every night of the week just to get some quiet time.
The last time I remember getting hit, I was 19. I had just started to date my husband. My sister had stolen something from my room and I took it back. My dad came at me for making my sister cry and I put my hands up so he wouldn't hit me in the face. He said I tried to hit him and smashed my face into the kitchen table. I still have a small dent in my hairline from it.
I think I would have committed suicide if I hadn't met my husband. That life just wasn't worth living.
Heavy… I know. My brain is full. I don't have room for another thought so I have to get some of the bad ones out so I can make room for new and good thoughts.
After I got married and moved out and had my own kids, I knew what family was all about. I had a hard time being a mom because I wanted to be the PERFECT mom. (Im still learning that just isn't possible.)
My siblings and I were ok "friends", I still hated my dad with a passion and my mom and I we're getting better. I'd call her a lot and we'd talk. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing. I didn't like going up there on holidays because I always felt left out.
Shortly after Christmas of 2010 I got an email from my youngest sister saying that everyone hated me, that the christmas gifts I gave them were terrible and to not call or visit again. If I showed up, she'd start a fight. That didn't exactly make me want to take my kids up there, so just didn't. I figured if my mom wanted to talk to me, she'd call. I thought I'd give it a few weeks. She never called. She died in March 2012.
During this time my oldest sister and I had started to text and be sorta friends again. She called me and told me she needed me to come up there because my mom had died. I was scared to death. Not only would I have to deal with my mom's death, I'd have to deal with my dad as well. When I got there, I was in the middle of a panic attack. I walked in and saw my mom, dead, on her bed. My dad's first words to me were "are you here for your free look?". Please keep in mind, I wasn't mean to anyone, I was a good kid. I was told I was hated, so I chose to stay away.
I was numb. My youngest sister was taking my mom's clothes, my brother was figuring out bills, my other sister was bawling on the couch and my dad was telling us how he'd have to find a new girlfriend, possibly one in prison so he wouldn't have to deal with this anymore.
After the coroner took my mom away, my brother told us that we each owe my dad $500 to pay his various bills- comcast-electricity-sewer/water that he hadn't payed in months. There wouldn't be a funeral for my mom, not a wake, not an obituary… nothing. I refused to pay him anything. I would have gladly paid for a funeral. My dad said my mom just wanted to be cremated and that was it. I know for a fact that was a lie. Her and I had talked about it before. I ended up writing an obituary, and posting it online for her family and friends. People were asking me why no funeral or wake. My only reply was "my dad is an asshole". Which he is.
My dad is living in my grandma's house, rent free ( when my grandma died, they were living there and the house was paid for. My uncles said they could live there, to just keep up with the taxes).
Guess what? He hasn't paid the taxes in about 3 years. Everyday I hope the state comes and takes it from him. He doesn't deserve to live there, no matter how trashed it is now.
At the end of June my dad's mother, my granny, became closer to dying. We went to see her a few times. I LOVED her. She was always good to me growing up. She was such a sweet grandma and at the end of June she passed away. My heart broke. My siblings were posting all over facebook how sad they were ( even though they barely knew her, they were just looking for attention). I called my dad that day and asked if he wanted to ride to my Aunt's house. He told me "no, its too much drama" and hung up on me. See what I mean about him being an asshole? Right.
Her viewing was night before last. My dad wasn't there. Everyone asked me over and over where he was. I didn't have an answer other than "being a jerk at home?". I was embarrassed that I was the only one of my family that showed up to the funeral. Not even my "oh so sad" siblings showed up. Just me. So now I have my grandma's death and my mom's death floating around in my head and no one to really talk about it with. No one from my "family" to say it'll be ok or to get a hug from. Of course my husband is a SAINT, but I would have loved to have support. My grandma had a ton of kids, they all showed up with their kids and grandkids… except for my dad. It was just me.
If you read this.. thanks for doing so. I just needed to get all that off of my chest. Yes, I feel better, but I think I have some healing to do and I need to just move on and forget about my fake "family". Im sure there will be more posts to follow.
