When I was 15 we moved out of our family home into a two bedroom apartment. My parents were avid alcohol and drug abusers. Both my older brothers moved out so I was the only child still at home. Things were really tough, but they had been for years. After I turned 16 I went for my first real job, McDonald’s. I had already been working with my parents as janitors at two large plants already, but I wasn’t getting paid for it. I just done it to help my parents because shortly before I turned 16 my dad got very sick. His sickness left him in a coma for almost a month they actually had lost him twice but was able to bring him back both times. He was on 100% oxygen and they said he wouldn’t be right after these events and probably wouldn’t make it. However over a month later to our surprise he was able to come home, still on oxygen, but doing alright. I would watch him sleep for hours. I was so afraid he was gonna quit breathing when I wasn’t there. Eventually he was able to come off the oxygen. Here this miracle stood before me, this man who almost lost his life, his wife and his children. He beat all odds and pushed through like a hero. My hero… However within months had decided to piss it all away again on drugs. Even worse than before now, the Drs had become his biggest supplier now. And what daddy got he shared with my mother. A perfect opportunity for them to become sober again, burnt bridges had become whole again. I was so optimistic. Then it all shattered again. I was so heart broken. For months I had watched him sleep on our couch downstairs, I made his breakfast and lunch every day, I talked with him and read to him and got to know a man I never knew before.. my sober dad. It was amazing. I’ll never understand how he chose drugs over me agin. I worked a midnight shift with my mom cleaning toilets and being disrespected by peverted men. While mom was busy sleeping with the boss, I kept my head down and tried to stay as small as possible in the plants. I’d pretend I didn’t hear the nasty comments coming from some of the men there and just cry myself to sleep at night in bed.
Yesterday was my 36th birthday. It was the first time since my 25th birthday that I didn’t freak out or cry. I would love to to say that I freely welcomed and embraced it like a champ, not exactly. However I didn’t fight it either and I was proud of that. Ever since I was a child I’d watch my mother in front of the mirror on her birthdays or most other days too. I’d watch as she would raise the skin around her eyes to where it had laid years before. She would tell me how awful it was to be in her thirties and to never enter them if at all possible. She’d panic with every grey hair she would find. I’d watch her wince in pain as she would track down every one of them and pluck them from her head and toss them away. She talked about her thirties like it was the end of your life. I was mortified! There was no way I was ever gonna enter my thirties!! At age 25 I started to realize there was sn’t much I could do about it and eventually I too would be thirty. So I did what I thought any 25 year old would do after learning they had no choice in the matter. I cried… Yup, every single birthday I spent a good portion moping around crying like a baby. And after entering my thirties, I cried even harder on those special days. I wanted to wish my thirties away. And it wasn’t until I spoke with my mom a few weeks ago that things changed my outlook. I was groaning to her about turning 36 and how awful it was and she replied “ohhh what I’d give to be in my thirties agian”. 😳🤦🏻♀️🙄
I was browsing around a little store. There was a big table with all kinds of books stacked around each other. I slowly walked with my eyes skipping across every other book. My eyes landed on one that grabbed my attention immediately. I picked it up to look it over and on the front it said “burn after writing”. That’s strange why would you burn a book? After closer reading, I realized it was a book that asked all kinds of personal things about yourself. And you had to be brutally honest. No wonder it said to burn after writing. I wanted to toss it down, but I really couldn’t. I needed this book. I needed to be honest with myself for awhile. And maybe this book will help me do just that. But then I thought about Joshua finding it and reading it or someone else. All though I didn’t have stuff to hide the thought still really made me nervous. Why was it freaking me out and exciting me at the same time?!
It’s been a few days and my book is still sitting near my bed. I haven’t touched it, not even looked through it. Every time I see it I want to get it out and start writing in it. But at the same time I don’t want to. Part of me doesn’t want anything to do with it at all. What am I so afraid of? What am I not facing? There must be something I’m not being honest with myself about.
I finally drag it out in private and start reading through it. The book is asking me to sign it. Sign that I’ll answer each question about myself honestly. I skipped past the signing part thinking it sounded pretty cheesy. I mean why should I sign it? I know if what I’m writing or not is true. Anyways I was skipping through some of the questions. If you had one person to stick in a room and torture for one night who would it be? EASY!!! Jeremy!! What posters did you have on your wall as a teen, again, easy. The Beetles, Dawsones Creek. I laugh a little at the thought of some of the silliness I did have on my wall as a kid. Ok, next question. What did you want to be when you grew up? What is your favorite food? I go in to write and pause.. what did I want to be when I grew up? A lawyer maybe. And my favorite food, that should be easier than the questions I just answered. But I can’t answer it. I can’t answer because I don’t know. I started randomly thinking of food, but nothing stuck out to me. I can’t answer this question. If I can’t answer something so simple how on earth will I get through this book. I mean sure, I can put it on the top of my closet and forget about it. But somehow I knew I couldn’t do that.
First time I seen you in well over a year. I really missed you and wanted to tell you. You were never really easy to talk to tho. You aged a lot this past year, I can see it in your face. I couldn’t stop watching you, but you wouldn’t get still enough to look at me. My eyes pleaded with you to pay attention to me. My heart cried out for you to love me. I watched as you messed around the kitchen with your new daughter in law. And I watched you play with her daughters hair. I watched how you embraced their new baby and covered him with kisses. I listened to you talk sweetly to your boyfriend and treat him so lovingly. I watched how you loved on my brother for having her there and you tell him how much you love him. I wish I could have been a part of that. You barley spoke a word to me tho and you ignored my daughter completely. You didn’t bother with my husband. And your boyfriend didn’t bother saying a word to us. I guess I’ll always crave your attention, but I except that I’ll never get it. Happy Thanksgiving mother.
I love you so much. I’m sorry I haven’t spoken with you in a while. I’ve needed some time away from you. You caused me a lot of pain in my life. And I felt like I needed a break from it. I don’t understand why you done the things you have done or why you had continued to treat me a certain way. I forgive you mom. I forgive you for all the things you done to me as a child. I forgive you for the bad ways you made me feel. I forgive you for allowing me to get hurt. I forgive you for how you treated me as an adult. I forgive you for not being there for me. I don’t understand the reasons but whatever they are. I forgive you. I know you must have had some terrible things happen to you in your life to cause you so much bitterness. I can’t imagine the pain you must have gone through for you to have taken it out on your little girl. I’m so sorry for all the bad that happened to you. I’m sorry you weren’t loved the way you had deserved to be loved. Or treated the way you deserve to be treated. I hope one day you can forgive me too. And all the people who have cause you pain. I love you mom so much.
Here I am missing you again mom. Joshua is sick, on top of not being able to walk for six weeks because of his knee surgery. We fought today, we’ve fought a lot lately. Mostly because I’m tired. I feel like I’m doing everything alone, mostly because I am. I wish I could tell you about it, ask for your advise…for your help. But I’m still not talking to you. Why didn’t you make better choices mother? If you had, I would have been able to call you right now. I’d ask you to come curl up on my couch with me and have a cup of coffee. I’d tell you how stressed these last few weeks have been and how I’ve felt every bit of giving up. I’d lean my head on your shoulder and tell you how much I miss daddy and how I wish I was able to have one more conversation with him. I miss him a lot lately. I’d ask you what I’m supposed to do in this phase of my life. 35 no biological children, living with a man that is my pretend husband. I love him dearly, but it would be nice to have his last name. God mother, why can’t you just love me. Good night mother.
I just need to know, I just want to know
Where are you
This feeling I’m following, for something I don’t know
Is it just crazy, it’s got to be crazy
I keep following, where the hell am I going
I got to have it, I think I just need to have it