Monday, April 3, 2017

Monday Memories: Would you be angry, too?

Iyanla fixes a part of my life with every episode of "Iyanla Fix My Life." I recorded an episode because I knew the subject matter is intertwined into my life today and possibly a look into my future. Three sisters who grew up in a dysfunctional home and haven't seen each other since their mother's death are trying to reconnect. There was a lot of sexual abuse going on in the neighborhood and all three sisters agree, in various degrees, that their life was dysfunctional. I am standing on my own on that front. Of course all siblings in a family have a different experience growing up. 

I was my mother's old faux leather bag that went with her everywhere, whether it was an appropriate setting or not. I don't think she fully wanted me, but until she met John I was the only constant in her life. And then when that went to shit over the course of 7 years and the day came that me and my two sisters and mom were moving out of our house, it was Clint who helped us move out. I was so happy to get away from the fighting that until now, I never questioned or even realized that another man was moving us, and that the other man was Clint. And, until now, literally right now, I'm suddenly remembering a night when my step dad woke me up and asked me if I remembered where Clint lived. I didn't of course, I think I was 8. But him asking me means I had been to Clint's house before and while my mom and John were still married. Shady bitch.

I listened to my mother talk to someone on the phone about John taking a pair of her underwear and going to the hospital to get it x-rayed for semen. Like, why the fuck would anyone talk about that in front of anyone, let alone their elementary aged daughter. I hate her when I remember these things. Yes, parents do the best job they can with what they have, but semen? Talking about semen on her panties from cheating on John is "her best job." I can only give her so much forgiveness and allow her room for human error until I leave her behind as the bitch she has always been. I mean, semen. I can't even believe that. And to think that I held that memory somewhere in my mind without knowing it until I started writing tonight and memories started flowing. 

The more I remember about her the less I hate myself. Because I know, I know, that the feelings I have about myself were placed on me by her so she didn't have to own up to her shit, such as cheating on John with two different men, the whole semen-gate, bringing her stripper friend around me, dragging me from apartment to house to who knows where as she gambled with men and job hopped. But it was my dad who didn't want me, my dad who left me. And I was so angry at him and sad because that's the record my mother kept playing. Maybe he had to leave us both to save himself, and hoped and prayed that one day I would understand that. 

Like she did with my two sisters, maybe she used me as bait to get what she wanted from my dad. That's another "fuck her" memory. She did that to John with Megan and Jade. "We are following the visitation agreement word for word and you better not be a minute late or I am calling the police." But when she wanted to party with Clint it was different weather. "Do y'all want to go to your dad's this weekend?" And I never understood why I had to go to my sister's dad's house just because they were going to see him. It was to get rid of me. To be free from kids so she could fuck who she wanted and smoke what she wanted and be who she wanted without guilt. 

"Doing the best she could" -- I'm just not buying it. And she has not changed! I don't want to attribute any of my self work to her, but that does add to my healing. 
It wasn't me. It was never me. Those were my eggshells. I was the child, not you. How dare you to ever place any blame or fault on me because of your problems, so many of which you brought on yourself. How fucking dare you! And as I grew older you continued, while trying to just make it day to day without breaking, while trying to figure out who I was, you never stopped. What the fuck were you thinking?
And let's fast forward to college graduation. The one thing I held onto every year since a little girl. I was going to college. I had no idea what college was but I knew it was a good place to go. And you started a huge fight via text messages, you coward. And you weren't there, once again, because you were selfish, once again. 

I'm in my mid-thirties and I am angry. I am sad. A chunk of my body is missing, the scars and stitches and bruises from climbing trees or playing chase or jumping off the diving board -- my pain was so different from my classmates. I felt like an adult when I was in elementary school. Today I feel like a child navigating through a corporate workplace and marriage and organizing my home and staying on top of laundry and grocery shopping. I've gained weight like you. I've made poor choices at my job like you. I've let clothes pile up in multiple places throughout the house like you. I don't have friends like you. I tell you that you cannot control me anymore. That ended the day I graduated college. But you do still have control, and I hope you never know this.

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