Bring on the bad days...and stop being such a big baby

                Ever have one of those days where you just want to scream “why me?!” at the top of your lungs? If you say no…you’re a liar. If you say yes…you understand my current feeling. I’m not going to go into what has happened today…because quite frankly it doesn’t matter, and would violate the privacy of some other people.

                But tonight…I’m throwing a little pity party. Or rather I was (I’ll get there in a second). But I spent a decent amount of time in the last 24 hours being really freaking irritated. I found myself getting really angry at life because it has this constant need to try and drive me absolutely mental.

Let’s be honest here…I have been through hell in my life. From an abusive parent that I got to watch slowly kill himself, to helping raise children that weren’t mine, to losing my own babies while I was still pregnant, to divorce at 21, not to mention the other 30 million little things from day to day. Now, I’m usually pretty good at giving myself reality checks and closing down the inner pity party. But for some reason today, it just wasn’t working. Given some of the things that have happened, things that have been said, and my just pure exhaustion from my current schedule…I was in full blown “poor me” mode.

Then I got home and read a fellow blogger’s post for the day So you had a bad day and it gave me a bit of a reality check. I had a bad day…big freaking deal. I’ve had them before and will have them again. Not even brushing on the idea that many people in this world had a much WORSE day…and the idea that I’m still alive and breathing…I’m still a lucky girl.

                That post got me thinking about the things I’ve been through. As examples…things I mentioned above. I had an abusive father. I went through absolute hell on Earth for a few years there. I felt lower than low, and basically learned that I wasn’t worth anything. BUT. There’s a catch. I also learned valuable life lessons. I learned that sometimes…people suck, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. I learned how to build my own self-esteem, and I learned how to not only be independent…but also that sometimes you have to live for yourself. I learned that you can’t “fix” other people no matter how much you may want to. And I also learned that sometimes you have to walk away from the people you love…and watch them make their own lives. The only way you can “live” for someone else…is by making yourself the best you can…and leading as full a life as possible.

                I helped raise children that weren’t mine, and it broke my heart when they were out of my life. But I had that chance. I had moments at 3 am with a small baby asleep on my chest…without a worry in the world. I protected a little life, and made a few moments better for them. I made them laugh, I watched them grow, and even if it was as small as teaching them to tie their shoes…I had some kind of impact. I learned at a young age that children are the future…and we have to protect their innocence as long as possible. I figured out early that there isn’t much more I want in life…than to have my own family eventually.

                As for this next topic…it’s one of the hardest for me to stomach, and one that I struggle with the most.  I lost my own children. I have been pregnant, I have had little mini heartbeats in me, and I have felt a child move in my stomach. And then I have been through the hell of a doctor grabbing my hand, apologizing, and telling me that my child’s heart was no longer beating…and that there was nothing they could do. No explanation, no chance at fixing it…it was just over. I know all of my children’s due dates, and angel dates. Sometimes it was quick, and it happened before I really had the chance to get excited…but other times it didn’t. In those cases it leads to explaining to family and friends that there was no longer a baby on the way…all while desperately trying holding it together. But as I’m trying to look at the positives…I have to accept that there was a reason I didn’t get to hold my children in my arms. Maybe it was because I would have ended up a single parent, maybe it was because my body couldn’t handle it…I don’t know. But I have to accept that there’s a reason. And it’s made me even more sure that I want children one day…in whatever way it takes. Whether I carry them myself, or adopt them out of a bad situation…it doesn’t matter. Heck…maybe that’s why it happened. Maybe I’m meant to give children stuck in the kind of home I was in…a better and safer place to grow up. It doesn’t matter…it all made me stronger, and showed me that I can truly handle anything.

                When it comes to my divorce…in all reality, there are a million lessons I learned, and a ton of positives to the situation. Granted it ripped my heart out…and still bothers me on a daily basis. But…I know that it’s a good thing. I took a chance. I jumped out of the nest, tried out my wings…and went crashing into the ground. It hurt, and it changed me…but it taught me a lot about who I am. It helped me realize what I want and what I don’t. All at the same time…it’s given me a chance to figure out who I am by myself. I’ve had over a year now of being on my own, dating, doing all the things you’re supposed to do. I was too young, and despite everyone telling me that…it was a chance I needed to take. I’m glad I took the shot at it…because I refuse to wonder “what if” in life. It didn’t work out, and as I said…it hurt like hell. It ripped me apart and made me question everything going on in my life. But it helped me grow as a person…as opposed to someone’s “other half”.

                All of things have led to the person I am now. A person that despite her faults…tends to think she’s a pretty good person. I’m not perfect…I’m very very far from it. But my life is good. I have a house that is perfect for me. I have two cats that are like my children…and a puppy that will be keeping me on my toes. I have a good job…that although it leads to long hours, and a lot of time on my feet…pays my bills and keeps me entertained. I’m in school for something that I really LOVE. It’s hard, I’m tired, but I love that one day I will have a degree that allows me to help the people that are like my dad was. I love that I get use my life experiences to help other people. I have this amazing man that for some reason puts up with all of my insanity…and somehow seems to enjoy it. I’m being treated in a way I never have been. He appreciates how hard I work, keeps me in check, and the best part is…he knows the real “me”. He knows my faults, he knows my good qualities…and he loves me for both. He shows me he loves me at every opportunity, and makes me happier than I’ve ever been. We disagree, we argue sometimes. I get cranky and bite his head off…and then we move on. We work together, and even when we’re “arguing” I’m still happier than I’ve ever been, and can’t imagine my life without him in it. I can say with 110% certainty…he’s the man I’m going to marry. Not anytime soon, not for probably 3-4 years…but it’s going to happen. We’re going to have a house, a family, and two kick butt careers someday. And for once in my life…I’m in no rush. I know it will happen when it should.

                I have a few great friends, an amazing family behind me, and in reality…just a lot of good in my life. I have no right to have a “pity party” on a bad day…because as that blog post I mentioned earlier says…the bad days build your character. They are how you learn that life isn’t perfect. They’re how you get stronger and learn to work harder to achieve what you want.

                The bad days…are just blessings in disguise. So here I am. Imperfect, sometimes a royal pain in the ass, and most certainly learning something new every day. Bring on the bad days…I’ve still got a lot of growing to do.

Sisters

I am procrastinating again. Please…pretend to be shocked. I’ve been trying to get homework done…but the blog and my father keep popping into my brain. One thing in particular actually.

                I made a mistake last week…and posting some things on my Facebook about my dad, and his trial. I was thinking that my privacy settings were as they always used to be…and was under the impression that the posts were hidden from my little sister. I was sadly very mistaken. My little sister read the articles, saw things that I said, and was devastated. Meanwhile…I felt like the worst person in the world. I’ve spent so much time trying desperately to protect that girl from all the crappy things in life…and here I was the one that hurt her. Great how that works isn’t it?

                I know I’m not perfect…and obviously the situation wasn’t intentional. I have been repeatedly beating myself up about it…even knowing there isn’t anything I can do about it.

                My sister is about to be 13…and we have kind of a hard relationship right now. I’m 22…working 50 hours a week, going to school full time, trying to manage a house alone, coaching, and trying to run the weekly errands…gas station, grocery store, post office, doctor’s office, paying bills, etc. Meanwhile, she has school, and baton which take up a lot of her time. It is incredibly hard for me to get time with her…because let’s face it, my “free” time is frequently between the hours of 3 am and 9 am. Not exactly prime time to call and hang out with a preteen.

                It’s hard for her to understand. She thinks I don’t care…and that rips my heart out. She thinks I’m not making time for her…because she sees that I do things with other people. Issue being…those people can meet me for lunch between my classes at 1 pm…or can go out for a drink at 11 pm when I get out of my last class.

                It breaks my heart on a constant basis that I can’t do more. And anyone that knows me…knows that I push myself too hard, and try too hard to be everything to everyone around me. I run myself ragged for everyone…and yet I’m letting one of the most important people slip away.

                I’m struggling. In general. But sometimes I wonder if there’s a small part of me that puts up a wall between my sister and I. Not intentionally…and this is only coming from me over analyzing myself…but I wonder. See…my sister has become what I used to be to my father’s side of the family. Something that I’ve realized more and more lately.

                Quick explanation…I used to be the golden child. I was my father’s “pride and joy” and therefore my grandmother’s as well. There are pictures of me in poofy dresses at fancy dinners next to my grandmother. I have old cards, emails, and endless pictures. I was absolutely adored…could really do no wrong. I was destined for this amazing future. And then I cut my father out of my life. Things changed. For my own protection (not to mention sanity) I got away from him.

                Suddenly…I wasn’t that golden child. If anything…I was this horrible person. I was surely going to ruin my life…I was clearly a disturbed human being that was selfish and would “use” people to get ahead. Who knows all the things my father put in people’s heads about me…but at one point he was telling them I was a drug addict and a stripper.

                Connection being…my sister has taken that place. No…she’s never had contact with our father…but that also means she never really had the chance to cut him out of her life. She wasn’t really old enough to make that decision in the way that I did before he did. So to my grandmother…she has become the granddaughter she always wanted. Smart, beautiful, and not nearly as evil as her big sister is.

                I don’t want that to bother me. Who am I to be jealous of something like that…and why do I let it get in my head as much as it does? I have no idea. I certainly wish it didn’t.

                I’m all over the place. Thanks to no sleep yet again I suppose.

Water park nightmare

I don’t know why this memory has been stuck in my head for a few days…but it has, so I assume that means my subconscious wants it out. This is one of the first times I’ve really talked about the physical abuse that came from my father…and it’s stressing me out a little bit to take another jump in the direction of being completely open. But here we go.

                I don’t remember the occasion, but my dad had set up a weekend at an indoor water park. It was me, his girlfriend at the time, him, and my friend Melanie. We had a great first day. Spent all day in the park swimming, going on water slides, and playing in the arcade. After a long day, we all went to dinner at one of the restaurants in the resort. At dinner, my dad suggested that my friend call her parents to check in and tell them goodnight. I reached for my phone and realized it wasn’t there. I started to panic, and hoped that it was back in the hotel room. I grabbed a room key, and Melanie and I went back to the room to look for it. We tore the room apart, looked under the beds, in our stuff from earlier, all through my purse…but couldn’t find it anywhere. We went to the arcade and searched everywhere for the phone. Still no luck. Defeated…we went back to the restaurant where I had the unpleasant experience of having to explain that I had lost my phone.

                My father…was clearly upset. He pulled me away from table and left my friend and his girlfriend there to eat. He quietly scolded me the entire way back to the hotel room…but once the door was shut, he lost it. He was yelling at me…telling me how irresponsible I was…and how ungrateful. He shoved me around a few times and when I tried to apologize, he smacked me across the face. Surprised…I shut up. He continued to yell, pushed me into the sink, into a wall, and I just kept my mouth shut.

                He continued to work himself up. Getting louder and angrier. I prayed that someone in a neighboring hotel room would call the front desk concerned…or that my friend and his girlfriend would come back. But of course they didn’t. I kept trying to put furniture between me and him when given the opportunity…hoping it would be enough of a discouragement for him to give up and leave. I went into the other half of the room, and mistakenly cornered myself. He continued to scream at me, and finally grabbed my arms, picked me up, and threw me into the half opened pull out bed. I hit the metal corners of the bed and bounced onto the floor. I cried out, but didn’t move. I didn’t dare try to get up and encourage it to happen again.

                All of a sudden he pulls my phone out of his pocket. He’d had it the entire time. He took it, and snapped it in half in front of my face, called me a few names, and threw the pieces of the phone at my face. He told me to stand up and explain myself. I stood up…but didn’t know what to say. I really hadn’t done anything wrong, and he and I both knew that. I stuttered a few words…not sure what was better…staying silent, or lying. He didn’t like my response, so he grabbed my arms again, put his face right in mine and screamed at me again while he shook me. He finished what he was yelling, and once more, threw me backwards into the bed. This time as I curled up on the floor, he left the room.

                I was still there when my friend came back to the room. We silently crawled into bed and I cried myself to sleep before my father and his girlfriend came back for the night.

                To this day, I don’t remember what happened the next day. That hour of hell is burned in my brain…but when it comes to anything after it…I can’t remember anything. At the time it seemed bad…but at the same time, it almost seemed normal. And I know that’s not healthy or in any way okay…but it just was. I knew it wasn’t right. I knew it wasn’t something that was supposed to happen. But in some strange twisted way…I had trained myself to not think twice about it. I wanted a neighbor to call someone out of concern, but knew that they wouldn’t. I wanted his girlfriend to come back with my friend to intervene, but I knew she must have had strict instructions to stay out of the room. And I had accepted that. I didn’t fight him, I didn’t call for help, I didn’t try to get out. I just blocked out my brain for that period of time, and knew that eventually it would stop and things would be okay again.

                I know that’s a big issue these days. People sweep stuff like this under the rug. They hear a commotion, and they ignore it. They see bruises, and they don’t ask enough questions. This kind of stuff is more common that anyone realizes…and it needs to stop.

Everyone needs a Charles in their life

I was going to save this post for a while because I wasn’t completely sure what I wanted to say about it. But today would have been my step-grandpa’s birthday so I thought it was appropriate. See…my dad’s mom, and step dad (Charles) lived in Texas while I was growing up. We used to go visit them for a week, and Charles always seemed to understand me and the situation regarding my father better than anyone else on that side of the family.

                Charles was one of the sweetest people I ever met. He was patient, and seemingly quiet. He never really got in the middle of arguments, and would keep to himself. But there are a few distinct memories I have where he would get me out of bad situations when no one else seemed to really care or notice that something was wrong.

                As always, my father used to go off on me randomly. It didn’t matter where we were, who was around, or what was going on. He would just lose it and go on a rampage of either yelling at me, or threatening me quietly under his breath. I was constantly walking on eggshells, and I never knew what exactly was going to send him off the deep end.

                When we were in Texas things were normally calm. I would spend my days by the pool with my grandma diving for coins, or in the courtyard searching for lizards, frogs, or hummingbirds. At night we would sit around and watch Shirley Temple movies or play cards. But every once in a while my father would get on some tangent. It didn’t happen as often when we were visiting there, I assume because he wanted to hide his real personality from his mom. But occasionally, something would happen and he would snap as usual.

                There’s one day in particular where I don’t remember what triggered his freak out…but my dad was screaming at me in the laundry room of their house. Charles had been in their room, and my grandma had gone out to the backyard to sit by the pool or something. She had no idea anything was going on…and my father loved to wait until there was no one around to witness anything. To this day I haven’t a clue what he was yelling about…but he was pissed. He was red in the face, yelling, and I was just trying to stay out of arm’s reach of him. He shoved me twice, once into a wall, and once into the door. I was sobbing and just trying to calm him down, but the more upset I got, the angrier he got at me. I finally shut down…as I’d learned to do…and calmed myself to get him to calm as well. He finished his tangent, stormed out of the room, and then out of the house. I heard the outside door shut and I lost it all over again. I was curled up in a ball on the floor sobbing, when I heard the door open again. I jumped and expected to see him there, even more worked up…when I saw Charles walking in the room. He walked in with a Klondike bar…which anyone who knew the man…knew he always kept a stash of those things in the garage. I don’t remember him saying anything to me, he just walked over, smiled, handed it to me, and gave me a hug. Now…keep in mind…the idea of chocolate and ice cream would have been a deathly sin to my father short of some super special occasion…but I sat there and calmed down with Charles in the room.

                Another time I remember being sick with the flu or food poisoning, and I didn’t want to eat anything. My dad kept trying to get me to eat things, and all I could stand the thought of was soup. But of course that wasn’t an option…wasn’t “healthy enough” for me being sick. I remember multiple things he made me eat that I ended up throwing up shortly after. He would yell at me, and tell me to go back to bed. I finally settled into bed, kind of hungry but afraid to eat anything else and get sick again…when my dad left with his mom. I don’t remember where they went or why…but I do remember that not even ten minutes after they left…Charles appeared in my room with soup. He never said a word about the situation, but sat with me as I ate, went back to the kitchen, washed the bowl, and put it back in the cupboard. I fell asleep not long after…and that’s the last I remember. I was so thankful for how quiet he was about it. I didn’t want to talk, and I knew that I could trust him to keep me out of more trouble with my dad.

                It’s strange to me. I rarely remember Charles talking about anything. He had had a few strokes when I was young, so he had a hard time speaking clearly. He used to answer the phone when I called down to Texas…and very quickly would respond with “let me get your grandmother.” My conversations would always be with her…and very rarely do I remember having any real conversation with Charles. But I didn’t need to. I have this extremely soft spot in my heart for that man…and all that he did for me. He made me feel safe and that someone understood that I was in a hard situation. He may not have said much…but he protected me. Not necessarily in a physical sense…but just in the sense that he gave me a sense of peace when I was visiting. He made me feel smart, and appreciated no matter the situation. Even when my father was being a raving lunatic…I had a friend there. Whether it was for a quick smile across the dinner table when no one was looking…a hug after being yelled at…or a secret Klondike bar…he was there.

                So while this post was originally going to be about my father’s way of secretly hiding the fights and the threats…it’s about something more important. Watch me get all philosophical here. It doesn’t take much to help someone going through a hard time, and I wish people understood that idea. You don’t have to be able to fix someone’s situation, in most cases there probably isn’t much you can do whether you want to or not. A lot of times, nothing you say will help. But being there…being a stable person in their environment can make a big difference. Everyone needs a Charles in their life.

                Happy Birthday grandpa <3

Please read and give consideration...

                There are a lot of things that I’m going to start posting about. Old stories that I finally have the stability to talk about. They’re stories that will make people uncomfortable, and writing them down has gotten me thinking about how I kind of wish I’d kept this blog completely private, even from family. I don’t want to hurt anyone with these stories…I don’t want people feeling guilty or like there was anything they could have done to prevent it all. Because quite frankly…that’s not true. The things that happened in my childhood weren’t anyone’s fault but the person who the blog is about. He made decisions…and no one could have prevented them.

                I know certain people in my family did everything they possibly could to get me out of the bad situations I was in. The fact is…there was nothing more they could do when the corrupt court system got involved. It’s really hard for me to open up about all the things that have happened in the past…and part of that is the risk I take in hurting my family. I kept many of these stories quiet because I didn’t want to hurt other people. I wanted to protect everyone else. But the fact is, this blog is about me telling the truth…the whole truth about everything that happened. I can’t expect to help someone else going through the same things…if I don’t make it known that these things happened. I’m being a hypocrite if I preach honesty and openness…but am holding things back myself.

                I want everyone to really think before they continue reading this blog. I’m going to give it a little bit of time before I post the stories…maybe a few days. And I really need anyone who reads to think a lot about if they can handle reading it. I’m finally at the point where I can talk about it all, but it’s still incredibly hard. I can’t handle hurting other people too.

                I know everyone who loves me did everything they possibly could in the situations we were all in. But there was a very mentally sick person trying to foil their efforts, and a court system that was less than helpful. Again, it is NO one’s fault except for the person who actually did the horrible things. I don’t blame myself, and I most certainly don’t blame anyone but him. If anything, I am unbelievably grateful for the people who were there to help. They all saved my life more than they realize now. I consider myself one of the lucky ones. It could have been worse. I could be in a MUCH worse place than I am…but I’m not because of the good people in my life who fought for me.

                So again please…think hard before reading anymore on this blog. It’s about to get extremely honest, and I’m going to share a lot more than I ever have.