All posts for the month August, 2013

A survivor’s story, and the door to a happier life.

Published August 22, 2013 by ohmageezers

Being a young expectant new mom has pulled back a lot of the past I’d rather not remember.. A lot of fears of how I’ll be when my child comes..

I don’t really know how to say this without saying something someone may not agree on, but I’m going to say it anyway.

I had parents, yes. But I didn’t have parents. I didn’t know who my father until I was almost six, and the only reason I did, was because I was the deep dark secret that my dad didn’t hide well enough.

In other words, he never told his other family about me. And the reason being? His older brother night have also been my father.. Pity neither of them wanted to find out until my mom decided someone was going to pay for the bastard child she hadn’t wanted.

My step mom still to this day swears my uncle is my father.. My father doesn’t speak to me very often. It’s a new excuse every time. Our last conversation consisted about how he demanded we didn’t name our son the name we chose because it had a bad light in horror movies. His demands fell on deaf ears.

My mother was stuck with me, and after my grandmother (her mother) passed, and my only protection in the house was gone, she made sure to make that clear. I was too light skinned.. I didn’t have as pretty hair as my baby sister whom had a dark skinned father.. Her perfect baby..

I had turned into her personal punching bag. I annoyed her the moment she walked in the door, and learned that any small action would encourage screaming, name calling, and a beating. I learned that in her eyes, I was a waste of space. And for a long time, I believed it and I hated myself..

I have quirks now that no one understands, but if I ever explained, they always tried to pity me. This is not being posted for pity. I don’t need that. This is a story of my survival.

Surviving the nights where I was afraid to fall asleep until the pills knocked her out because I knew she’d find a reason to come into my room raging and scare me awake, or how I hated to shower when I was young, and now have to shower with the door locked or when everyone is gone, because she was notorious for coming in and beating me for me leaving something out, or taking too long. Having my mother wrap the cord to the iron around my throat while she got her Sunday clothes ready because I didn’t want to go play happy at church.. (It took a long time for me to actually enjoy church again..) I rarely wear belts and wont wear one unless it is for fashion simply because I sported the design of my mother’s woven leather one on my legs and back far too much..

I wasn’t one of those kids who kept their secret hidden, no.. After second grade I told people.. But I learned fast that telling on my mama only got us attention. She would lie and tell some outrageous story to the police or Social Services and the moment they drove away, I was punished.

I started to remember a lot of those things that happened when I got a phone call from my mother this week.. We spoke for a bit and I asked her if she had told her friends that she was going to be a grandmother. Her reply? “Oh god no!” She then tried to make some pitiful excuse about how it “wasn’t her place to share my news” and such. I knew better.

She forgets that I was raised by her and know when she lies through her teeth.. Actually, her lying only works on strangers.. Even the people at my home church can tell when she’s lying, and that’s pretty bad.

But this conversation cut deep, and I knew I was a sucker for punishment just to answer her call.. But I guess.. I guess I was hoping that for once, just once, that she was happy for me.. I knew better than to be that hopeful. I knew what she thought of my fiance and how we had met. I wasn’t the one she would ever be proud of, and that had to be something I had to accept. If i was to be a good mother, and feel like I was doing things right, my mother couldn’t be part of that life. I could never ask her about things when my son got sick, or leave him to visit with his grandma. She had to be a shadow in my family’s life..

My biggest fear is that my son will hate me like I hated my mother. Like she hated her step father. And my grandmother detested her father.. My biggest fear is that I won’t break this generational curse.

I’m too afraid to say anything to my fiance simply because I know he’ll scoff and tell me I’ll be an amazing mother. I have to tell myself that no matter what, I’ll take those years of abuse and depression, and make my son’s life like mine should have been.. To teach him that I always will love him, and that he’ll never have to be afraid of me like I was of my mother.. To be the mom I always wished I had. That was proud of every single one of us, and not keep a favorite.

I am set on keeping my stories of survival close to my heart, and use them as tools to always remind myself what my son’s mother should never be. To always remember the feelings I had when my mother’s words were harsh, and the rules simply set to torment. I will keep my ten year old self close to me to always whisper when I’m doing things right.

My son’s life counts on how and what do. And I’ll move mountains for that little boy.. For his future siblings.. My children will be happy.. They will be loved.. They will never have to walk the road I did or fight the demons I did as a child. I will break this generational curse, and be that parent mine couldn’t be..


Inspiration.. Lost..

Published August 21, 2013 by ohmageezers

There was a legitimate reason to starting this blog.. If I could remember why.. 

I’m too pathetically easily distracted I guess.. But I know I needed this! I needed something and somewhere to be able to let things off my chest.

The girl with the dirty secrets. 

Now I know many girls have a lot dirtier secrets than I, but in a small town like mine, my secrets could ruin more than just my life.. The double standards in which I live are a bit detrimental. One slip up could ruin a lot of happy lives, and a few already unhappy ones as well. 

But then again, most of us have a secret or two like that.. The ones we’re never very proud of. 

The only question is can we live with them? If no one else is to know, can we ourselves handle knowing what we did or what we know? Sometimes it depends on the weight and severity of our dirty little whisper of a secret. Sometimes our own conscience gets it’s annoying little nose into things it shouldn’t.

Either way, the moment a secret is shared, you never know who it will effect..