I haven't blogged in a while. I'm sorry. Things have been crazy. Not that people even really read much. Either way, I've been thinking about lots of things lately. Specifically about babies. I'm kinda scared about the whole idea of that.
Really I guess I should start with where my head is lately. I haven't been feeling well, and when I don't feel good I'm in bed all day thinking. By that I mean I watch a bunch of Netflix and think about where I am in life. Yup. I'm a sap. Sorry guys.
Kids. I don't want them. But at the same time YES I do likerightnowbecauseomgkidsarecool. It is very confusing.
Pros of having kids (ie: reasons having kids wouldn't suck)
~Seriously, kids can make you feel so much better when you're having a shitty day. Sometimes I miss having the kids around all the time.
~Someone who needs me. So it is a stupid stupid STUPID reason to want a kid, but I have realized that I am just the kind of person that needs to be needed. I like it when I can fix things. Kids break things, and mess up A LOT so it would be a constant thing.
~I really want to give it a shot at being a better mother than my mother was to me. I want to know that I can think of the right answers, or at least the funny answers.
Cons of having kids (ie: reasons having kids would suck)
~OH MY GOD. Sometimes kids make shitty days EVEN WORSE! They are needy and never can't do things on their own yet and so they complain ALL THE TIME.
~NEVER HAVING TIME TO MYSELF EVER AGAIN.
~What if I screw up being a mom? What if I make them even more screwed up than I am?
Diapers. Teenagers. Growing up. Moving out. Making huge mistakes. I'm not ready to handle that kind of thing. I'm still making mistakes. But that's what life is about, isn't it? Now trust me, I'm not going to have a kid anytime soon. I want to wait until we are settled and able to take care of a kid financially, and so does Brian.
So why do I feel like I'm missing something?
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
More past rearing the ugly sides of life.
A friend recently sent me a link to something that applies VERY much to my past, and it is actually a very helpful thing to read even if you haven't had an extremely dysfunctional childhood.
As I was reading through I wrote this out. It is long. Sorry in advance.
Wow. I.....don't even know where to start.
I guess my first thought is that there are so many people here who have things that have hit them hard. When you're there, you don't realize exactly how weird it is, how strange it is for the little things that just happen in your household that don't actually happen in "normal" households.
My mother is the only parent with whom I had a lot of contact as a child. My father passed away when I was 11, and they had been divorced since I was 5. Her husband was a trucker and really only was home a couple weekends a month. When he was home, he was constantly arguing with my mother, or rather, she was telling him how he shouldn't even be around as little as he was since it wasn't like he did anything anyway.
I'm the oldest of 4, me and my brother from my father and the two youngest from her husband. Things were ok (and by ok I mean I didn't really recognize it as anything being abnormal) until my father passed away. After that, my mother started to be malicious more often towards me and my brother, more violent and emotionally abusive.
She didn't leave bruises when we were young, and kept my brother on a leash of ADD meds even though they made him feel like he was suffocating in a sea of monotony and fog. She did more of the little controlling things. I don't remember going to anyone's house after 8th grade unless I had known them since kindergarten or I didn't tell my mother. My friends never came over after a few times because my mother would put on a face the first few times they were over, but then it was like they were family. They witnessed the things she did that I just expected, and didn't like it. My longest known friend was extremely confused all the time when we were over because after school we weren't allowed in the fridge, or even in the kitchen at all unless we were doing dishes. I'm still getting over not being allowed in the kitchen of my mother's house, and often I will forget to eat. I'm working on it, but it is hard at times.
On my 15th birthday, my baby brother was born. I love that kid more than I love most people. After that, my mother got worse. She started putting my brother in the detention home for the weekends because he talked back. She picked everything I did apart, told me that she wished it had been her who had died instead of my father since I was so horrid, told me that I had been raped by my father's brother when I was young (which I found to be false after asking people who had been there), told strangers who said I looked just like her "poor kid", called me fat, stupid, ugly and any other thing that you can think of. I tried to find someone who would make me feel better about it all, and started my horrid life of dating, which is too long to put here, but if you'd like to read it is here.
After the first guy I just did as my mother said as often as possible, still trying to deal with the random things that happen in high school that already make people feel like they aren't good enough. I never went to parties, was in honors English, the A Cappella Choir, and tried to do things to make her proud that also made me happy. At home, she would yell about the dishes, my room, how I needed to clean the grooves in the kitchen floor (with a toothbrush since it worked best) and how I wasn't doing as well in Math as I should be (when I had a C). Eventually we ended up getting in screaming matches when I couldn't take her pushing my buttons anymore, and she sent me to the detention home, claiming that I was the violent one and had hit her. One of the times when I had obviously been the one injured (parts of my hair were trailing down my back, and I was obviously disheveled) they took me to my longest friend's house, since her mom was like a mom to me. When I got there, she was surprised that the cops had brought me in the back of the cruiser. "Pam, they escorted you here. You were in the back of the cop car." Then she saw my hair and about cried. She woke my friend up, and we all sat at the table and talked about what we should do. I was broken already, and pointed out that my mother would just say I had done it myself because I had been upstairs when the cops got there (which she did, not that the cops ever were notified). She knew all the cops, and that made her pretty safe from them.
There were a lot of things that happened, and I'd be lying if I said I had the time to post even half of them. I try to not think about it, because I'm not that girl anymore. I grew up quick after my father passed away, because I had to in order to survive.
The week before my 18th birthday, she put me in the detention home again, because she found out I was leaving and moving in with my grandmother. I had taken the money from my checking account (money I had earned from my job that I never got to use, ever) and she threw a fit. My probation officer had told me earlier in the week that it was likely, and that I should try to not do anything to bother her, but that I shouldn't worry because it was safer in the detention home for me anyway. I had gone to see her because my mother had grabbed my arm so hard in one of her fits of anger that I had bruises.
The fit that sent me into the detention home for the last time was the most violent. She pulled me around the house by the hair and shirt, and my little sister called the cops after she got our baby brother out of the way. I woke up the next morning in the detention home and I couldn't move my arms because they hurt really badly. I looked and I had HUGE bruises under both arms and more fingerprints on my arms. I showed the director of the d.h. and he called children's services to come and take pictures. I was more worried about the kids than I was about them getting her away from me. I was going to be away from my mother anyway. The kids I still worry about.
I don't know. I didn't have a normal childhood. I didn't have a normal dating life. I still don't have normal eating habits. I am growing up though.
I was lucky in that I grew up with other motherly figures instead of just my mother, or I don't know if I would know how to love people, how to trust people. I would certainly not be married to someone who I love with all of my heart, who tries to understand even though it is hard, and I would certainly never be contemplating children in the (distant) future. I'm still concerned about having kids at any point because I am SO scared that I'll just do the same things to them that she did to me.
Things get better if you can escape the tower, but escaping the tower will always cost you more than you think you can live with at the time. I still worry every day that my youngest siblings will eventually have to deal with the things that my brother and I had to deal with, and I'm trying to have a connection with them, which does mean that I have to play nice with my mother, play the prodigal daughter if you will while constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop in, where her niceties will be replaced with snide remarks and violence again. I'm living on my own, so I'm pretty sure it can't get worse for me with her, but the kids I do worry about, as she often takes her anger out on people who can't fight back when she has no other outlet.
tl;dr :Life sometimes sucks, but in the end, if you fight hard, you can escape with your life, though sometimes you will have missing pieces.
As I was reading through I wrote this out. It is long. Sorry in advance.
Wow. I.....don't even know where to start.
I guess my first thought is that there are so many people here who have things that have hit them hard. When you're there, you don't realize exactly how weird it is, how strange it is for the little things that just happen in your household that don't actually happen in "normal" households.
My mother is the only parent with whom I had a lot of contact as a child. My father passed away when I was 11, and they had been divorced since I was 5. Her husband was a trucker and really only was home a couple weekends a month. When he was home, he was constantly arguing with my mother, or rather, she was telling him how he shouldn't even be around as little as he was since it wasn't like he did anything anyway.
I'm the oldest of 4, me and my brother from my father and the two youngest from her husband. Things were ok (and by ok I mean I didn't really recognize it as anything being abnormal) until my father passed away. After that, my mother started to be malicious more often towards me and my brother, more violent and emotionally abusive.
She didn't leave bruises when we were young, and kept my brother on a leash of ADD meds even though they made him feel like he was suffocating in a sea of monotony and fog. She did more of the little controlling things. I don't remember going to anyone's house after 8th grade unless I had known them since kindergarten or I didn't tell my mother. My friends never came over after a few times because my mother would put on a face the first few times they were over, but then it was like they were family. They witnessed the things she did that I just expected, and didn't like it. My longest known friend was extremely confused all the time when we were over because after school we weren't allowed in the fridge, or even in the kitchen at all unless we were doing dishes. I'm still getting over not being allowed in the kitchen of my mother's house, and often I will forget to eat. I'm working on it, but it is hard at times.
On my 15th birthday, my baby brother was born. I love that kid more than I love most people. After that, my mother got worse. She started putting my brother in the detention home for the weekends because he talked back. She picked everything I did apart, told me that she wished it had been her who had died instead of my father since I was so horrid, told me that I had been raped by my father's brother when I was young (which I found to be false after asking people who had been there), told strangers who said I looked just like her "poor kid", called me fat, stupid, ugly and any other thing that you can think of. I tried to find someone who would make me feel better about it all, and started my horrid life of dating, which is too long to put here, but if you'd like to read it is here.
After the first guy I just did as my mother said as often as possible, still trying to deal with the random things that happen in high school that already make people feel like they aren't good enough. I never went to parties, was in honors English, the A Cappella Choir, and tried to do things to make her proud that also made me happy. At home, she would yell about the dishes, my room, how I needed to clean the grooves in the kitchen floor (with a toothbrush since it worked best) and how I wasn't doing as well in Math as I should be (when I had a C). Eventually we ended up getting in screaming matches when I couldn't take her pushing my buttons anymore, and she sent me to the detention home, claiming that I was the violent one and had hit her. One of the times when I had obviously been the one injured (parts of my hair were trailing down my back, and I was obviously disheveled) they took me to my longest friend's house, since her mom was like a mom to me. When I got there, she was surprised that the cops had brought me in the back of the cruiser. "Pam, they escorted you here. You were in the back of the cop car." Then she saw my hair and about cried. She woke my friend up, and we all sat at the table and talked about what we should do. I was broken already, and pointed out that my mother would just say I had done it myself because I had been upstairs when the cops got there (which she did, not that the cops ever were notified). She knew all the cops, and that made her pretty safe from them.
There were a lot of things that happened, and I'd be lying if I said I had the time to post even half of them. I try to not think about it, because I'm not that girl anymore. I grew up quick after my father passed away, because I had to in order to survive.
The week before my 18th birthday, she put me in the detention home again, because she found out I was leaving and moving in with my grandmother. I had taken the money from my checking account (money I had earned from my job that I never got to use, ever) and she threw a fit. My probation officer had told me earlier in the week that it was likely, and that I should try to not do anything to bother her, but that I shouldn't worry because it was safer in the detention home for me anyway. I had gone to see her because my mother had grabbed my arm so hard in one of her fits of anger that I had bruises.
The fit that sent me into the detention home for the last time was the most violent. She pulled me around the house by the hair and shirt, and my little sister called the cops after she got our baby brother out of the way. I woke up the next morning in the detention home and I couldn't move my arms because they hurt really badly. I looked and I had HUGE bruises under both arms and more fingerprints on my arms. I showed the director of the d.h. and he called children's services to come and take pictures. I was more worried about the kids than I was about them getting her away from me. I was going to be away from my mother anyway. The kids I still worry about.
I don't know. I didn't have a normal childhood. I didn't have a normal dating life. I still don't have normal eating habits. I am growing up though.
I was lucky in that I grew up with other motherly figures instead of just my mother, or I don't know if I would know how to love people, how to trust people. I would certainly not be married to someone who I love with all of my heart, who tries to understand even though it is hard, and I would certainly never be contemplating children in the (distant) future. I'm still concerned about having kids at any point because I am SO scared that I'll just do the same things to them that she did to me.
Things get better if you can escape the tower, but escaping the tower will always cost you more than you think you can live with at the time. I still worry every day that my youngest siblings will eventually have to deal with the things that my brother and I had to deal with, and I'm trying to have a connection with them, which does mean that I have to play nice with my mother, play the prodigal daughter if you will while constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop in, where her niceties will be replaced with snide remarks and violence again. I'm living on my own, so I'm pretty sure it can't get worse for me with her, but the kids I do worry about, as she often takes her anger out on people who can't fight back when she has no other outlet.
tl;dr :Life sometimes sucks, but in the end, if you fight hard, you can escape with your life, though sometimes you will have missing pieces.
Monday, November 28, 2011
The past rears its head once more.
I have been playing Skyrim all day for the past 2 days. I needed a break, so I put on Torchwood. It made me think about the past and how many different things I have or haven't done that I regret. Tried to get past that by watching Bones, which I have NO idea why I thought that might work if aliens didn't help but I'm weird. I guess I really just need to get somethings out in the open for myself.
I have always given all of my heart to people who need me. I can't help doing it. Until someone breaks my trust, if they need help, I feel awful if I can't help them. This has led to a lot of mistakes, not all of which are regrets. My single biggest regret was something that led into me growing up and listening to what I feel to be right, which makes it one of the most right things I've ever done, no matter how stupid it was.
I should probably start at the beginning of my relationship debacle of a life instead of jumping to the middle. I was 15 when I dated the first mistake. (Thinking this over now, its possible that this line of thought was brought on by the fact that I saw my first ex on Black Friday) I was too young, he just wanted sex, and while it was a mistake I don't regret it. It should have been someone else maybe, but I learned how to identify lust from love.
3 years later, I dated an alcoholic (yup, I sure know how to pick them, and was reminded of this particular mistake on Thanksgiving. Man do I love my family....) I have a hero complex, as I mentioned (though in much prettier words) when I started this rant. He didn't know how to control his drinking, but managed to control me in the guise of me escaping the control of my family. I wanted to prove I was worthwhile. I wanted to fix him. He didn't want to be fixed, but was willing to allow me to think I was helping. I figured it out a month later, and again, it wasn't a mistake. If it weren't for that mistake, I would never have managed the courage to leave my family.
Immediately after dating the alcoholic, I dated Eddie. He was sweet, kind, caring, innocent and shy. Shy is an understatement, but this isn't that story. He was almost perfect. A year and 3 months we were together, and everything was plain and simple and separated, as we were both in different colleges with very little time together. It was moving towards me eventually marrying and being a housewife. I will never be a stay at home mom, and I did something stupid that I both regret and don't regret.
This is my side of what happened, the side I couldn't bear to let Eddie know, that I am ashamed of still. I was in college, and started talking on line to Jeremy. When I couldn't sleep in college, and Eddie wouldn't answer his phone in the middle of the night, I would get on line or on the phone and talk to Jeremy. He knew that I was dating Eddie, and he was still after an old flame of his. I was slowly growing aware of where Eddie and I were going and was afraid, though I wouldn't admit it even to myself at that point.
Jeremy and I decided that we should spend some time together as friends, as we had reached a level of trust that meant spending time together was necessary. He picked me up the day after I had helped Eddie move out of his dorm room, and I was going to spend the weekend out in Toledo with him. One thing led to another and we ended up in bed together. I'd like to say that it happened once and I realized how wrong I was, but I didn't. It took me almost a month to break up with Eddie afterwards, and I told him that it was because I wasn't what he needed.
While that was true, he also wasn't what I needed. He was ok. He just wasn't more than that. He didn't constantly challenge me, didn't make my heart race, didn't steal my attentions. He was more interested in his anime and rubix cubes and math. I loved him, but I wasn't in love with him.
Jeremy and I were a wonderful summer, the kind of summer fling every girl should have before she grows up. We were fire and passion and that ended up consuming us so much we crashed and burned with hatred and pity and general destruction. It was tragic. It was beautiful. I feel like I should regret it, and part of me does, but thinking it through, if I had never lived through that, I wouldn't be where I am now. It was the best and worst time of my life, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
I do regret what happened after Jeremy. After Jeremy, I went through a period of time where I went through guys, not really caring about anything other than feeling something. I moved out of my Grandmere's house, tried to grow up and instead made a lot of mistakes. I hurt people who cared about me, then I took a trip, met a guy and grew up.
It took so much pain and loss for me to realize how very important home was to me, how important my guys are to me, and how much I needed them. It took all that journey to end up here, married to a wonderful guy whom I love immensely.
But that is a story for an entirely different blog post. Because it has so much more than this, even though it is so much shorter.
Thank you for reading, dearest reader. I needed to just write like my muse has been beating me up lately, and I think that she is currently sated.
Peace and Love
I have always given all of my heart to people who need me. I can't help doing it. Until someone breaks my trust, if they need help, I feel awful if I can't help them. This has led to a lot of mistakes, not all of which are regrets. My single biggest regret was something that led into me growing up and listening to what I feel to be right, which makes it one of the most right things I've ever done, no matter how stupid it was.
I should probably start at the beginning of my relationship debacle of a life instead of jumping to the middle. I was 15 when I dated the first mistake. (Thinking this over now, its possible that this line of thought was brought on by the fact that I saw my first ex on Black Friday) I was too young, he just wanted sex, and while it was a mistake I don't regret it. It should have been someone else maybe, but I learned how to identify lust from love.
3 years later, I dated an alcoholic (yup, I sure know how to pick them, and was reminded of this particular mistake on Thanksgiving. Man do I love my family....) I have a hero complex, as I mentioned (though in much prettier words) when I started this rant. He didn't know how to control his drinking, but managed to control me in the guise of me escaping the control of my family. I wanted to prove I was worthwhile. I wanted to fix him. He didn't want to be fixed, but was willing to allow me to think I was helping. I figured it out a month later, and again, it wasn't a mistake. If it weren't for that mistake, I would never have managed the courage to leave my family.
Immediately after dating the alcoholic, I dated Eddie. He was sweet, kind, caring, innocent and shy. Shy is an understatement, but this isn't that story. He was almost perfect. A year and 3 months we were together, and everything was plain and simple and separated, as we were both in different colleges with very little time together. It was moving towards me eventually marrying and being a housewife. I will never be a stay at home mom, and I did something stupid that I both regret and don't regret.
This is my side of what happened, the side I couldn't bear to let Eddie know, that I am ashamed of still. I was in college, and started talking on line to Jeremy. When I couldn't sleep in college, and Eddie wouldn't answer his phone in the middle of the night, I would get on line or on the phone and talk to Jeremy. He knew that I was dating Eddie, and he was still after an old flame of his. I was slowly growing aware of where Eddie and I were going and was afraid, though I wouldn't admit it even to myself at that point.
Jeremy and I decided that we should spend some time together as friends, as we had reached a level of trust that meant spending time together was necessary. He picked me up the day after I had helped Eddie move out of his dorm room, and I was going to spend the weekend out in Toledo with him. One thing led to another and we ended up in bed together. I'd like to say that it happened once and I realized how wrong I was, but I didn't. It took me almost a month to break up with Eddie afterwards, and I told him that it was because I wasn't what he needed.
While that was true, he also wasn't what I needed. He was ok. He just wasn't more than that. He didn't constantly challenge me, didn't make my heart race, didn't steal my attentions. He was more interested in his anime and rubix cubes and math. I loved him, but I wasn't in love with him.
Jeremy and I were a wonderful summer, the kind of summer fling every girl should have before she grows up. We were fire and passion and that ended up consuming us so much we crashed and burned with hatred and pity and general destruction. It was tragic. It was beautiful. I feel like I should regret it, and part of me does, but thinking it through, if I had never lived through that, I wouldn't be where I am now. It was the best and worst time of my life, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
I do regret what happened after Jeremy. After Jeremy, I went through a period of time where I went through guys, not really caring about anything other than feeling something. I moved out of my Grandmere's house, tried to grow up and instead made a lot of mistakes. I hurt people who cared about me, then I took a trip, met a guy and grew up.
It took so much pain and loss for me to realize how very important home was to me, how important my guys are to me, and how much I needed them. It took all that journey to end up here, married to a wonderful guy whom I love immensely.
But that is a story for an entirely different blog post. Because it has so much more than this, even though it is so much shorter.
Thank you for reading, dearest reader. I needed to just write like my muse has been beating me up lately, and I think that she is currently sated.
Peace and Love
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