Some might refer to my life as tragic. I say “sometimes you have to sacrifice one to save a thousand”
You see, I have a story to tell and it’s not pleasant but through it all, I’ve prevailed with great understanding and the knowledge to educate or at least, empathize. Not everyone believes they carry that same strength. It is my goal to prove they can. Not only is it possible to survive drugs and alcohol but inturn, you can teach others how to survive and win in this twisted game of life. My life, My stories, will not be in vain.
Back to 1985, I was 5 years old. My mother was the coolest mom on the block. The neighborhood kids would spend the night with me for “girl’s night” and my mother would encourage them to “let loose” take off their tops and run around the house. My mother, like myself choose be free of conformity. My mother didn’t get any type of sexual rise out of this display, what she got was appreciation for being “so cool.” It was the appreciation she needed. That same year, she taught my neighborhood friend and I all about sex. Not the birds and the bees, Stuff to make up nearly vomit and scream “EEEEEW” Nothing about my mother was sane or age appropriate. I remember asking her what a blowjob was at age 6. (Because I’d heard her talking about it) She laughed, and then proceeded with a play by play. By age 7, I had my best friends humping the arms of sofas and painting their breasts with my face paint kit. My mother had unintentionally released hormones in me that would have naturally occurred via teenage hormones (hence, my sexual addiction). I’d go through my mother’s VHS tapes and gather my friends around to show them home made porn. The tapes starred my mother and her then, child molester boyfriend. Oh yeah, mom and dad split when I was 7 but have no fear, there was always a man to take his place. Anyways, I never knew a person’s mouth went “there” until I saw my mother’s boyfriend doing so, GROSS.
Elementary school was a joke. I went to school every day coached on what to say. Where my bruises came from, Why I missed so many days, mommy and daddy don’t do any drugs etc.. I did okay grade wise and when I didn’t, mom made sure to pay the teacher a personal visit and bully them into a passing grade. There were many days and I mean MANY days, I was left behind with no one to pick me up when elementary school released at 2:15.(hence my abandonment issues) The principal would let me sit outside ‘till around 3 then call me into the office for safety and make emergency card calls. My aunt Cailin always came to my rescue and my mother; well she was full of apologies. Mom was great at apologies, shed hug, cry, plead for my forgiveness, tell me she loved me more than anything in the whole world, the whole shebang! All addicts do this so if you have a “boohoo, My life is so hard, you don’t understand.. This happened and that happened and this is why I can’t do what I need to do” THEY are an addict; YOU are an enabler; WAKE the fuck up.
I guess maybe I skipped a few years in my story telling. This is what I do, Tangents. Before mom was on her own, dating said child molester, she was fighting head to head with my father on the daily. He, as well as her, used any and every drug they could get their hands on along with alcohol. Every night our home filled with loud music, “playful” gunshots and fear. Several people were in attendance and I was to stay in my room, terrified. Every morning I awakened to drunks and drug addict everywhere. My mother and father had painted their toenails and put makeup on them. I was invited to join in on the laughter.
On the nights my parents weren’t “having fun” mom and I were escaping. Sometimes it would be to a neighbors, only she would return to my father leaving me with my friends. All night I’d worry about her never returning. One night she and I slept on a blanket for hours in the bushes until my Bigmama and Aunt Chris arrived to rescue us. They swept us away to Jupiter Florida for the weekend with only the clothes on our backs. My Bigmama always rescued us. God rest her soul, she was quite the enabler but she didn’t know better. She only wanted us safe and believed moms manipulation as many do when they love their addict.
Another night my father held me hostage from my mother. I remember him running around our dark home tweaking. He’d check every window every few minutes, yell at me to stay in my room and yell things I didn’t understand to my mother who was outside pleading. Mom or someone called the police.
Here I am, maybe age 6, sitting in my room alone, while my mommy was screaming outside and I wasn’t allowed to help her. I heard quiet taping on my window and saw flashlights shining through. I looked to see and it was the police and mommy. They cut the screen, pulled me through and placed me in her arms. The next day, we were home again. Mom, Dad and myself. Understand why abuse feels like home? It was, Home.
When I was 4, our house burnt down. My Shar-Pei puppy named Ugly was in there and my parakeet named Chirpie was too, along with photographs, my babydolls and a lifetime of memories. I still have my half burnt baby shoes. We moved around a few times while our home was being rebuilt. First we stayed with my Bigmama, then in a trailer which seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. There were farm animals next door. The walls were covered in brown paneling and the only thing in the fridge to eat was a jar of mayonnaise. I ate the mayonnaise with my fingers while my mom slept in (She always slept in). I remember being so scared in my new room. My mother lay next to me singing “Que sera sera.. whatever will be, will be. The futures not ours to see. Que sera sera, what will be, will be” While she sang, I thought of my favorite wall paper my parents previously hung in my burnt down room. It was full of happy little girls each with a pretty dress and an umbrella or a flower. It hurt me to think about my losses.
After leaving the trailer, we moved into a hotel. The Interchange motor inn, classy. My father was a jack of many trades and at the time was a painter. While he was at work, mom and I would play by the pool. Well, mom would lay out and I would swim and beg for attention. Got my butt whopped for it too. One morning, I was awakened by my mother’s giggles and what sounded like Wayne, a family friend. I wasn’t facing them but was sharing a bed with my mother and could hear them messing around. The bed was shaking and I heard a flirtatious “stop, hehe” I was only 4 or 5 but I knew what was up. I turned around “in my sleep” so I could witness it for myself. What I saw was more than I’d bargained for. Wayne was lying in the bed with mommy playing with her exposed breasts. Daddy was at work. I WAS IN THE SAME BED. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and “woke up” I told my mom I saw what they were doing and it was “gross” She apologized and so did he but I was disgusted and hurt. I couldn’t believe she was doing that to daddy and to make matters worse, made me swear not to tell. Wayne got off the bed and sat at the mini table and chairs located next to the ac unit and window. In 1984/1985, Men wore these ridiculous corduroy daisy dukes. One lean to the left and their sack flopped out. So here I am 4 or 5 years old, lecturing my mother and Wayne on what’s appropriate and what’s not. I look over to Wayne who’s crotch was at eye level and hanging out was his aroused man part. I remember trying so hard not to look but I couldn’t help it. I could see wetness dripping off. They begged me not to tell my father and of course, I didn’t but I carried it with me all of this time, until now.
Incidentally, I found out about two years ago, my father was the one who burned down our house. He did it one day after our home owners insurance kicked in so we could have a new house. No words. All I can say is, for years I lived in fear that someone might burn our house down. I, we might lose everything.
I don’t really know how to close this entry…. All I can say is..
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