I don’t know if anyone will ever read this or even if I plan in sharing it but this is my story and how I decided to rewrite it. I feel like most people would start at the beginning, but the thing is I don’t remember much of my beginning. I do remember some things but not any of the normal things that you would remember as a kid. I remember always being the mad one, always being the one with the attitude, always being in trouble. I remember sitting at the table until I ate all my brussels sprouts and not getting along with my stepmom. I remember the spoon with the holes and it leaving welts on my legs with little holes where the spoon had no surface. I remember being grounded because my mom didn’t want me to end up pregnant or whatever the excuse was that day. There was lots of yelling and tears and sadness and isolation. My family wasn’t loving, or affectionate, or concerned about spending time together. When I say family, I mean my single mother. I know she “did her best” and “went without so we could have what we wanted” But now at 36 years old and considering myself an orphan I can say I see how it wasn’t about what we needed or wanted it was more emphasis on what she went without.
I don’t have a great relationship with my mother, and my father is deceased as far as my doctors, or any and all paperwork I fill out is concerned. My grandma always told my mother “He will get his Karma” and I believe the response was something like “But when, when will he finally get his Karma” My grandmother being the most Holy person I know, it's hard to imagine her saying “He will get his” btu I don’t even know the people around me anymore.
As I lay here in bed at three am, 17 weeks pregnant, alone, while my fiancé is sleeping at another home taking care of his other family which consists of his twin daughters and mother and father, I can't help but wonder if I can break the cycle. Can I change my story can I rewrite the next chapter of my life and leave all this turmoil behind. Can I grow out of this depression and anxiety and PTSD I'm dealing with. Can I be better, and make more money, and build an empire of my own that is not full of anger and sadness? can I rise above what I have been taught throughout life? Is this possible or am I damned to be stuck in the same rut that I was predisposed to?
A few years back my father did the most. He decided to call the sheriff on me for entertaining the idea that my 94-year-old grandfather shouldn’t be searching for his own apartment and that I could move into his home and take care of him. In a drunken and sad state, I pulled the trigger and told my father that him and the family only cared about their slice of the cake and getting their hands on the money for the house. To which my father replied with a text (mistakenly sent to me also) This is what I got from Krisanne last night. I can only assume that he sent a group chat to the aunts and uncles filling them in on my drunken text from the night before. I already don’t have a relationship with any of my father's family because he convinced them all I was a lying piece of shit when my grandmother passed away and I felt her speak to me. In that moment I was so distraught that I was losing the glue that held my families together that a frog could have turned into a prince then back into a frog and I would have told the world.
A little background on my father is that he is a true work of art... (I hope my sarcasm is standing out.) he is a certified alcoholic. Not diagnosed but he comes home from work every day and it doesn’t matter if it is 1pm or 6pm the first thing he does when he walks in the door quickly to the kitchen is pour himself a vodka and tea. He will tell you this is what he does, and this is what I witnessed firsthand when visiting in my older years. When I was younger it was probably soda or juice or whatever he decided to tell us that day. It was always in this big goofy mug from some sort of gas station maybe with a thick blue handle and a lid, meant for coffee. Vodka and tea were my father's coffee, and juice, and milk, and soda. As an adult and struggling with alcohol and deciding to stop drinking completely I don’t know why this didn’t stand out to me until now. my father was bounced from foster home to foster home, He was a bad egg I guess you could say. I remember my grandma and grandpa telling me stories of how when he was little and they were grocery shopping, a little old man told them how cute he was and my father sitting in the seat of the cart spat in this old man's face. I also remember them telling me in his teen years or older that he stood in their kitchen next to the fridge in a doorway and whipped eggs across the house hitting a mirror at the other end of the house, in the living room. I guess you could say he was a disaster from day one. His trauma has now become my trauma.
Visits with my father weren't all bad, at least I didn’t think so but here comes my mother with all about her... she claims that after I would visit my father be it a weekend or 2 weeks that I was hard to manage and was a “different child.” There are some good memories I have with him. Camping at Lake Hartwell and visiting Holly wild animal park. Swimming in the apartment complex pool and scraping my chin and knee open. Getting ring worm from said pool and then having a huge blister from the medication and the sun... well I guess not all of them are good memories. My father was the only parent who would take me to get my nails done when I would come visit, it was literally the first thing I asked for when I got there and the first special thing I did. My first bad memory that I can think of with my father was when he took me away from my mother and out me in school under an alias. I didn’t understand what was going on except that I was not seeing mommy and I lived with daddy and Robyn now. This is where sitting at the dinner table until dark and my veggies were eaten comes into play (thanks Robyn.)