Too many thoughts, too little time.

Posts tagged ‘I don’t get it’

I Do Not Have One Negative Memory

*she said sarcastically*

I now have a very light relationship with my parents. I’m not sure how one even has a real relationship when they are told that they only want to be heard from if they can remain non-controversial. Which means, only speak to us if you agree with everything.

But, I have to take the boys back to IN, and I stay at Grandma’s to crash for the night before going back to GA the next morning. I don’t stay in IN. And, Grandma lives next to Mom and Dad.

I’ve really attempted to not insert my opinions. Heck, I’ve even kept my mouth shut about facts. Because facts seem to have a liberal bias at their house. Soooo…what is there to safely talk about while they preach about Donald Trump being the best thing to happen since sliced bread? What is there to say when they grill my 9 yr old about why he doesn’t go to church? (“because I won’t give him the car keys” isn’t met with as much laughter as I had hoped)

So, friends! I can talk about my friends! This is good right? Ann is my best friend, they know this. Great, so far so good. Ann got me a Christmas present! I am on a roll, nothing “controversial” here. It was amazingly thoughtful. I had told her, a long time ago, how much I loved Barbie as a kid. And, how because there were always babies in my parents house, I was never allowed to keep Barbie’s shoes or accessories. Because the “baby might choke”. So for Christmas Ann brought me in a big box…with a Barbie, and 3 outfits, and a closet full of accessories. Probably 15 pairs of shoes, sunglasses, necklaces, purses, everything.

I finished my story, and my mother said “that’s ridiculous. You lie. You had dozens of pairs of Barbie shoes. We never got rid of them, you always lost them or didn’t take care of them. It wasn’t that great of a gift.”

So, I just said “well, I thought it was a cool gift anyway” and she said “fine, but just know, you always had the shoes.”

I dropped it. But, then I had a 12 hour drive back home with my husband. I remember. I remember crying as the threw the little stuff away. I remember my dad telling me if I didn’t shut up he’d give me “a reason to cry.” (which i always thought was stupid, obviously, I have a reason to cry,hence why i am crying) or, alternatively, telling me if I didn’t shut up, then we could just throw away all my Barbies. I remember, the choking explanation was used for why we weren’t allowed to have Legos either. I remember deciding the Barbies in swimsuits weren’t worth getting because we couldn’t get them wet, because mom said it would ruin their hair. I remember the Barbies were stored in this neon pink suit case, it was a hard case, it was little. Not a real suit case. I remember it had purple latches, and a purple handle, and the latches slid closed sideways, they didn’t flip up. I remember you had to make sure there was no tulle or satin or anything else not entirely within when you tried to close it, or it wouldn’t latch. I remember my favorite dress for Barbie was an orange-peach strapless column dress…it was satin and had a green velvet trim around the top. And, sewn to the waist were like, triangles of tulle, staggered and layered, so the tulle poofed out and had a bunch of different pointy ends, just shorter than the satin. I can clearly remember all of this…but I’m completely wrong about the shoe thing? And, believe me, if there is one thing I’m rarely wrong about, it’s shoes.

So, I started thinking back to the things that I’ve said as an adult that piss off my parents. And, I figured it out.

If I remember anything positive, they say that is exactly how it happened, they can’t believe i remember, I have such a great memory.

ANYTHING negative though is met with “no we didn’t”, “that’s a lie”, “you can’t remember that, you were too young”, “why are you always trying to pick a fight”

Even if it isn’t anything “bad”. I didn’t mention the shoe thing to accuse them of doing anything wrong. I didn’t tell my friend to play the martyr. It was more of a wistful memory “I would have liked that, but the baby would have choked on the shoes, so I couldn’t have it”. That was it. I didn’t attack my parents, I didn’t ridicule, I didn’t say it was stupid. I just said “I wanted this, and it didn’t work out”.

Any memory I have that isn’t positive is a lie, according to them. That I made it up because I want them to look bad.  Yes…because I’m really sitting here going “you know what would really make my parents look bad to my 35 yr old friend? if I tell her how I wasn’t allowed to have Barbie shoes when I was 6.”

How can ALL of my negative memories be wrong, while all my positive ones are exactly correct? I feel like I’m pretty fucked up for someone who had such a perfect childhood.

I’m going somewhere with this, I think. But, I’m at 900 words and I need to go walk the dog before the thunderstorms/tornados are completely in the area.

A Success Story, Part 3

Continued from Part 1 and Part 2

Part 3: A Graduation, A Mustang, and A Teenage Mother

I had dreams and goals. One was to join the military, and get far away. I actually finished my junior and senior year at the same time. I never said anything, but when it was slow at work, or when I was babysitting all my siblings so my parents could grocery shop for 6 hours an evening, I did homework. They never checked or looked at it. I even graded it myself, so I could be sure I was getting my answers correct. They didn’t know until the college acceptance letters started rolling in. Texas, Florida, Ohio, Georgia, California…anywhere but here. I ended up getting a full ride scholarship to a state school 3 hours away, so, I began to pack, while my mother sobbed about me being so far away. But, I was going, damn it. So, I packed, and I told anyone who would listen. Luckily, our church wasn’t super conservative, so, I was encouraged in this pursuit. I even got a senator who went to our church to write me a letter of recommendation, so, he was a big help when he talked to my parents about me. There would be no hiding this and guilting me into staying home. (Unfortunately now, that senator is a huge home schooling advocate. He often blocks anything that may change the status quo, which in this state is basically nothing.)

This is always my parents’ first response when people don’t think homeschooling is great. That Punkie got a full ride scholarship to a good school, therefore homeschooling is good, and they are amazing parents. They never mention that I flunked literally every single class that semester I was gone. That, I didn’t make any friends. That they brought me home every single weekend.  But, I got into the good school, so, I am a success story.

Before I left, I got myself a boyfriend. I didn’t even really intend to. He was cute, and seemed like somebody I could get into some trouble with. We were going to college in opposite directions, and to be honest, I was tired of this burdensome “virginity” thing following me around. I was tired of modesty and acting right, because otherwise, I was a slut and men only cared about sex, and please insert your own used, dirty, useless, worthless, disgusting gum, tape, whatever analogy here. I didn’t want to get married for 15 more years, and I was not going to put up with this forever. So, I wanted to go ahead and get the first time out of the way, and move on. I never planned on a real relationship, and from what I had learned about men, he would be ok with that.

He wasn’t. And, I had been taught that love meant never standing up for yourself, it was long suffering, and if it involved pain and yelling and abuse, well, it was normal and probably your fault anyway. So, when the boy, Joe, began to fly his red flags proudly, I supported him, because he loved me, he said. And, when he reminded me, I was worthless, it hurt, but I was comfortable, I was used to this. He must REALLY love me, because that is how you treat people you love. After my first semester at college, I was put on academic probation. My parents told me if I would just come home, they would buy me a Mustang. I love cars, especially sports cars. Since I was doing so poorly at school, I agreed. I moved home, they found out about my bad grades and said I only came home because of my grades, not because I missed them, and, I never got the car.  I still pine after that 1967 Royal Blue Mustang they told me I could have.

Joe began pressuring me to get married. I said yes, because I never learned to say no. I was 17 and clueless. A few months went by, and he treated me worse. I thought long and hard about it, and decided, this was not what I wanted, it would not work. As we sat in his Accord, I told him, while I loved him, I could not marry him at this point, and we needed to call off the wedding. He begged me to give him a little while to process it, before having to deal with the embarrassment. I gave it to him. A couple weeks later the pregnancy test came back positive.

A Success Story, Part 2

Continued from here

Part 2: The Runaway and the Bad Influence

At 13, I decided I’d had enough. My mother was going to the hospital to have another kid. I was to babysit and put the kids to bed, and my grandma would come over and stay the night after that. I planned, I packed. I wrote my letter, and I shook out of anger and fear all day. I made the meals, and did the homework and put them all to bed. I needed to be taken seriously, so, I spent all day basically beating myself. Hitting, smashing my arms in doors, running into walls. Over and over. I was hurting so badly. My grandma got there, and I told her I was going to bed. She eventually fell asleep. I called my best friend and her mom, and they came and got me. I sneaked out of the house, nobody heard a thing. Nobody knew I was missing until late that night my dad called to tell us we had a new brother. By then, I was already at the police station. I told them everything. I tried to tell them the current bruises were self-inflicted, but we needed help. They were abusive, they were neglectful, they were not teaching anything, we were not being home schooled so much as we were being kept isolated. One officer sat down in front of me and took my hands, he said “If these are not from your dad, recently, we have to take you home, right now. We don’t have a choice. You have to have something we can work with now. Now, are you sure these didn’t come from today? Or do we need to take you back to your dad tonight?”  It was about 2am, I was exhausted, and terrified. This wasn’t going how I had planned. So, I said yes, they were new, they were from him, I was scared. Please help me.

I spent 2 days with my best friend, 3 days in foster care, then had court. On the stand, sworn to tell the truth, I told the judge the bruises were self-inflicted, but we did need help. I didn’t know at that time, my parents knew the judge, and they got HSLDA to help them. In fact, 6 months later, we would switch churches and attend the judges.  I told my story, and I was sent to live with my grandparents for 3 months.  The mental and emotional abuse continued, but, this time it was just through phone calls, and court ordered therapy sessions to get to the root of why I “was a liar.” The therapy was though my mother’s therapist, who told me that of course they were angry and short tempered, they had a bunch of kids who would not do what they should, the abuse would stop when we behaved better. My grandmother eventually put me in counseling to get over the counseling.

I was eventually returned home, because my accusations were unsubstantiated. I was told a CPS worker would coming to the house every month for 6 months to check on us. Nobody ever came. I convinced myself that it must not be that bad, I mean, these people were there to help, and they all said I didn’t need help. So, I guess it wasn’t abuse. And, then it got worse.

They wouldn’t allow any family to visit anymore, because they had shown that they would “steal” us, and believe lies. I was not allowed to attend church functions. I wasn’t allowed to have friends. I wasn’t allowed to be involved with any activities, for years. I did my homework, I planned a new escape, I kept the house clean, I cooked, and I took my siblings punishments. All while being blamed for anything that went wrong. Any disobedience in my siblings was my fault, I had “taught them to be rebellious.” I was once punished for shouting “Oh yeah? Then who taught me?” Any time I wanted anything, I was mocked or got a guilt trip, because I didn’t deserve it after all I put them through.

I had a job, but, it was at my aunt’s business. I was the only employee, brought in to work when they had to go out of town. I didn’t have much to do most the time, so, I did school work, chatted online, and read books. I learned a lot about the outside world from that experience. I remember times locking up and walking a couple blocks through town to get a soda at lunch, both terrified my parents would show up then to check on me, and think I was lying about where I was, but also thrilled at this little bit of freedom. I saved money, while listening every day to my mother complain about how much time and money it took to take me to work. Because, of course I couldn’t be trusted to have a license at 16, what if I ran away again? I was often late to work, because my mother has never thought being on time was important.

Things were always so frustrating. I hadn’t changed after running away, except for getting angrier. The people who should have helped, didn’t. I was branded a liar, when I felt I didn’t have a choice. The fact the court cleared them meant they were viewed as amazing parents who had a rebellious child, tricked by Satan into hurting these amazing people. Yes, I was a direct attack from Satan on them. Me.

They got hugs and sympathy at church. Meanwhile, other parents told their kids they weren’t allowed around me, because I was a bad influence. My parents were applauded for how well we behaved. Of course we did, the price for giggling too loudly in church was too high to pay. We weren’t allowed in Sunday school for years, because my mother couldn’t bear to have us away from her. One of her favorite sayings, even today, she talks continuously about how she wants to buy 100 acres in the middle of nowhere, and we all can live there together, and she can be surrounded by her children because she loves them so much and can’t stand to be away from them.  When all 10 of us “quietly” tried to sneak into church 15 minutes late, and of course we ALL had to sit together, there was always a lot of noise as we got people to move for us. And, nobody dared say anything about it, because my mother was always quick to tell how difficult it was to get 8 children ready for church so early. She never told how we were all up and ready before her and dad woke up. She never told how we’d sit on the sofa at time to leave, and hear them having sex almost every week. She never told how she complained loudly about church, how she didn’t want to go, how they should just have their own church at home, where her kids could be with her all the time, and never around bad influences (except Punkie, of course.).

A Success Story, Part 1

I really debated about posting this. I’ve went back and forth. But, my 9 year old brother is staying with us for a couple weeks while our parents are on vacation. I’m really struggling, watching him. Not that he misbehaves. He doesn’t. He’s loud, but, when you grow up with all the noise he does it isn’t any wonder. I’m trying to curb the constant yelling and interrupting. I’m afraid 2 weeks isn’t enough time though.

I’ve decided to let Monday be unit study day for my kids. Since I have LB here, I figure he needs to do school work as well. But, I wasn’t brought anything for him, nor any guidelines or instructions. So, as I worked on the unit study packets this past weekend, I made him one as well. A few weeks ago, my mom was acting irritated that LB made her look bad, that he told our grandma he couldn’t read, but he reads all the time. I thought that was an odd thing to lie about, but ok. Now that I’m doing homework with him, I see, he really can’t read. And, he just doesn’t understand  anything we are doing. My youngest boy is old enough for 3rd grade. But, because of when his birthday falls, I started him late. He’s in 2nd. He’s 8 and a half. My brother is a year older. And, also in 2nd grade. And, struggling with basic addition, or ANY reading. Today, as my boys worked through the worksheets, LB said “I’m really getting behind in school now.” I said, “No you aren’t. I’m working with you.” And he said “Yeah, but I don’t do school at home.” I asked how he felt about that, and he said angry, why is he “stupider” than my youngest? I said “Well, why don’t you do school?” he said “Mom is gone all the time, so, 17 yr old babysits. We just watch tv or watch them play video games.”

If I bring this up, my mother will 1. tell me he’s lying. 2. tell me she has never stopped him from getting out his school books and doing work. and 3. she will decide the problem is the video games, and get rid of the system my brother bought with his own money.

My parents cannot admit their homeschool experiment was a failure, because, I wasn’t a failure. I’m a “success” story. And, that is the story I want to share. How I became the poster child for doing things right, their way. It’s long, so I will divide it up. The story is actually going to be published anonymously elsewhere. I submitted it, and they said it would definitely be published. There was some things that are fairly identifying, however, when I read through the other submissions, so many things weren’t identifying. The huge number of siblings. The messy house. The emotional and physical abuse. The ideal front, and the church attendance, that hid everything else. Sadly, my story can easily be told while remaining anonymous, because there are so many Punkies out there. I apologize for any repeated information. I am copying and pasting from my submission to the other place.

Part 1: Elementary School

I am a homeschooling “success” story.

A fact that is rolled out by my parents, constantly. They have 10 children, and, if you dare question them about anything, including the fact their 6 year old acts more like a 3 year old, or that their 18 year old son can’t read, they will quickly point out Punkie and how successful she is.

As I read stories and as the online community has grown, I realize there are other people out here just like me. People who had parents who kept them isolated, who didn’t let anyone around, who weren’t actually taught anything. In some ways I think my abuse wasn’t so bad. I mean, I didn’t have to wear dresses all the time.  While my parents loved the Pearl’s method of raising children, it required too much work to keep up with. And, the abuse wasn’t usually physical, much. So, I have nothing to complain about. Then again, I read stories and am jealous of kids who were allowed to go to church activities and be on debate teams, and even go to conventions. My husband, Brad, has some of the same thoughts. His abuse was mainly mental, spiritual, and emotional abuse. Mine was the same, but with some physical thrown in as well.

I went to public school from K-3rd grade. In 4th, I was homeschooled. I was given dozens of different reasons why I was homeschooled, always seeming to change with whatever hyped news story was being broadcast. I was handed a stack of books and told to do the work in them. Since I could read, my mother claimed she did not need to teach me, just read the directions. That never changed. The sibling just younger than me has severe learning disabilities, even now, in our twenties, she has the mentality of a 6 year old.  She didn’t get schooling.  Our parents decided she could not learn, and didn’t even try. While we grew up, I’m the one who taught her to write her name, and how to make letters. I taught her to ride a 2-wheeled bike, how to pet a dog (she was terrified of animals), how to tie her shoes. When she was 16, I taught her how to swim. I’d been working on helping her over her fear of water for years, and one summer, she was swimming with me. Not often, and she didn’t like it much, but she did it. One day my father decided she needed to swim, he wanted to see how she did. She started to cry and fight him. She screamed, I tried to stop them. He picked her up and threw her in anyway, because she was disobedient. She panicked and needed saved, I had to calm her while pulling her back to the boat, in the middle of the lake.  She’s never swum again. I taught other siblings how to read, and long division. My mother rarely ever cooked, she only knows how to microwave junk food.  She says she doesn’t know how to cook, but, somehow, I learned how to make real meals.

I hated being homeschooled. I hated being taken from my friends, I hated being home all day. I hated not being “taught”. I hated that I lost my reprive from my mother’s screaming, and my dad’s constant yelling and temper tantrums, often that ended with the sound of the belt being pulled from his pants, to hit us with. My mother would scream at us, calling us names, expecting me to parents the others, and if I wasn’t a very good 10 year old mother, then it was made clear that I was worthless. She was always pregnant, always tired, always napping. When she wasn’t sleeping until noon, she was sitting on the sofa, watching t.v., demanding we clean something. Or mad at us for watching t.v. too much. Wanting to know why we were hungry, why hadn’t we microwaved a plate of Pizza Rolls if we were hungry? But, don’t forget, you can’t eat too many, because then she and dad wanted to know why we were such pigs  and wasted all their money.

Dad would come home from work, furious that there were dishes left undone, and I should have done them. It  didn’t matter that it wasn’t my turn, or we’d been busy. The only thing that mattered was they needed done. He would fight with mom because she was lazy and he worked so hard. Mom would get offended and tell him it was our fault. The fight would ramp up, the screaming getting louder. And, eventually, she would decide she didn’t have to put up with it, and she’d walk out. Leaving us with him. He’d continue the yelling for hours, getting so in our faces, sometimes we’d get spit on us, it was disrespectful to not stand there and take it. He would punch holes in walls, he threw a toy tractor through a glass door, he hit my sister with the vacuum cord because she didn’t wind it right. He’d call us pigs and worthless. He’d throw cups full of milk. I remember one time very clearly crying, and he got in my face, demanding I explain why I was crying. I told him I was scared, and he said “Good, the Bible says you should fear God.” That was the moment I lost any bit of respect I had for him. My tears were often ridiculed and punished. I tried to protect “my” kids the best I could. Often mouthing off so the ire was turned towards me, while the others ran away. 20 minutes after the screaming stopped, he’d call us back. He’d apologize, but the apology was always blaming us. He was sorry he couldn’t control his temper, we had just pushed him too far. Then, he would say “Will you forgive me?” but, it wasn’t a question, it was a demand. The only allowable response was “Yes, Sir.” Then we had to give him a hug.

to be continued…

 

Be Careful Who You Hate

be_careful_who_you_hate_rectangle_sticker

 

I saw this bumper sticker on a car on the way to Detroit last weekend. You can get it here.

It really hit home for me, because it applies to far more than just homosexuals.

We joke all the time that we are in big trouble when our neighbor realizes how much she hates me. She really does, she is quite gossipy, and talks a lot, about everyone. I keep my mouth shut, but sometimes I just want to be like “yeah, I’m a liberal, who celebrates Halloween, doesn’t go to church, cusses, and wore bright white for my 2nd wedding.” All things she’s been vocal about how much she hates.

If anyone in my family knew the real me, they’d hate me. Because they’ve made it very clear they hate everyone like me.

If Aussie’s mother actually knew us, she’d hate us. Because she hates everyone like us.

If someone grows up their whole life hearing how gay people are perverted, and sinners and going to hell, do you really think they will tell you they are later?

If someone hears their whole life how abortion is murder and how any woman who has an abortion should be killed, or at the very least sewn shut so she can’t ever enjoy sex again, do you really think she’ll tell anyone she had an abortion?

If someone hears their whole life how America is the best country ever and if you don’t like it, you should just leave it, permanently, do you think they are going to volunteer that they actually think America is the world’s bully?

If someone hears their whole life about how God is real and you must never, ever question it or you go to hell, do you think they are going to go to those people with questions?

And, guess what, those horrible things that have been said? Those judgmental attitudes? They don’t actually stop the acts or the thoughts, they just make the “bad” person keep it to themselves and suffer alone.

Now, excuse me, I think I need to buy a bumper sticker.

Anger and Forgiveness

What is forgiveness to you?

I have a lot of forgiving to do. I know this. I had to work on forgiving myself for many things, many of my choices. I have had to forgive Aussie for some things. My sister spent a few years calling me names and being rude because she found condoms in my medicine cabinet. I never liked her much anyway, so, I need to forgive. I need to forgive my ex-husband.  For the cheating and the emotional/mental/physical abuse. I need to forgive my parents, for the same abuse, for the lack of education… I’m sure they would appreciate it, but, I’m really being kind of selfish about that, I think I’ll feel better. 

But, it’s a process. Maybe it isn’t supposed to be. I don’t know. Maybe some of you can wake up one morning and say “all is forgiven” and move on without another thought. But, I can’t. I actually had a class last week, where we had to watch a documentary about meth. They were talking to people trying to get off of it, and one woman said that she hadn’t quit meth, she was quitting meth. It was a process. Everyday she had to tell herself today she wasn’t doing meth. And, I oddly feel that way about forgiveness at this point. Today I forgive you for that one time. And, tomorrow, I’ll forgive you for that other time, maybe, I’ll work on it. I’m not able, at this point, to do just some big lump of forgiveness. Maybe that is a flaw in me, but, I think it’s progress.

I used to be so mad all the time. I mean, all of it. I was so mad about how life was so unfair. About how everybody was so mean. But, I’ve tried to stop that, I know that wasn’t good for me. I’ve tried to change what I could, and fix what I could. I try to count my blessing and realize that things could have turned out completely differently for me, but they didn’t, and I’m extremely happy with where I am in my life, I’m proud of me, I like me, and my husband, and our little family. So, I can accept that all the crap is what got me here, doesn’t mean I’m thrilled with it, but, I accept it. I accept I can’t change the past.

I spent years avoiding my dad, and making it very clear that was what I was doing. Part of me wanted to completely cut my family out of my life, but, I also knew I depended too much on them at that point. I played mostly nice and I avoided dad. Recently though, I’ve been trying. I really have. I don’t think we’ll ever be close, but, I thought I could stay for 10-15 minutes after he got home from work, say hi, ask about work before I left. When he wants to stop by for a visit, I make a fresh pot of coffee for him. I know it isn’t much, but, it’s what I could do today, you know? The relationship is quite superficial, but, not so angry anymore, so, it’s something. I’ve tried to do the same with my sister and my ex. I don’t think we’ll ever be friends, but, I can be kind when we have to be around each other. 

Last week, it was a bad week. I had to go to court with my ex, thing one had strep throat, ex was over medicating him, telling me the divorce decree said differently than it did, just lots of little stuff. I had to leave the boys with mom for court. I went back to get them, and for some reason she started talking about how she’s learned to be a better parents and how she feels bad about the name she called us when we were little. She asks if I remember, then tells me not to say anything. I said I did. Then she starts pestering me about what I remember. I say what i remember her calling me, and she gets upset, spends 5 minutes telling me she never said that. So, I drop it. Then, she waits and asks again, then she says it. The whole thing was just bizarre. I say yeah I remember being called that, she says something about “why didn’t you say it then?” I said “because, honestly, the things you called us was eclipsed by the things Dad said and did.” Then, she tears up “Well, I hope one day you can grow enough as a person to find it in your heart to forgive him.”

It really felt like a slap in the face, I’d been trying. But, almost every time I see him, I have new things to forgive! I was trying, and it wasn’t good enough, it wasn’t enough. She changes the subject, but i’m fighting back tears. Finally I say I’m irritated, that I’d been trying. That maybe she should just tell me what forgiveness looks like to her since I’m not doing it right. Does it mean I can’t be hurt? Does it mean it never gets brought up again? Does it mean I have to pretend everything is ok all the time? For a MONTH my ex husband treated me like dad did for 25 years, and they want him arrested, but, I just need to shut up and forgive dad? And apparently forgive means opening myself up to constant hurt and pain from him, without another word of how he’s been doing this for almost THIRTY YEARS, so he and mom can be happy.

God I was mad. I went on, “No, I don’t remember, I don’t give a shit what names you called us. I cared that you’d get dad all worked up, and you’d get him mad, and he’d start screaming and breaking things and demanding we get up and scrub the house at 3 am, and you’d just walk out. But, not usually before making fun of me for crying because i was scared. You’d just leave, leave us with him, crying and scared, with me trying to calm down the 4 yr old on my lap crying and half asleep. Then you’d come home to a clean house, and a calmed down husband, and everything was fine. I care about that. But, you’ve never asked for forgiveness or even apologized for that one. I remember him throwing Bro’s little tikes tractor through the huge glass door, then demanding the 5 yr old clean it up all the glass. And you didn’t do anything! I remember him punching a hole through the wall on Christmas Eve, then throwing our toys away at 2am, and you didn’t keep quiet that time. You didn’t walk away that time. You helped him! You told us it was all our fault. I care that you didn’t stop it, that you didn’t protect us!”

What I want to say:

“You want me to forgive faster and i’m working on it! I have 30 yrs of crap to forgive. I have a father who was always harder on me than everyone else because I wasn’t his, he only tolerated me to get you! I have a father, who i called him crying…’daddy, he’s cheating and breaking things, Help me. I got to go.’ and my ex hid in the closet, and dad went and knocked on the door, and when Joe didn’t answer, he left. I said ‘break in the door! He’s there! It’s my house! break in the door!’ and he said “no, you aren’t worth going to jail over. I have a dad who rushed out to pick up his favorite daughter from her boyfriends or church or whatever, after she’d been sick and hurting all day, but she went anyway, then couldn’t drive home, the night i had surgery. He CARRIED her in the house, but, my kids toys were on the floor, so he kicked them, came back, dumped over the entire toy box, then made me clean it all up. 4 hours after I got home from the hospital. Because sister MIGHT have gotten hurt if he tripped. I married a guy you said I had to, then when I said thats why, you told me that you didn’t mean it. I had dad hit my kid in front of me, then, when I took the boy away, he came after me to scream and berate me for how i parented and how horrible my kids were. I passed out in the driveway once, from a panic attack I had while he screamed and trashed me, and he said I faked it! You stood by as he hit us with belts, not caring if the buckle got us! When he left a handprint bruise on my leg after I cried because he broke my bike, your only words of comfort were ‘go put some ice on it, you shouldn’t have made him so mad.’ You didn’t stop him from hitting the other sister with the vacuum cord! my 25th birthday was being taken out for lunch by my brother, followed up with him screaming at me, putting me down, calling me names, telling  me I was a bad mom and my life would be perfect if only I would have done everything you ever said. When I pointed out I did marry dipshit like you told me to, it turned into, ‘we also told you not to have sex with him before you were married, so, that was your own fault.’ apparently, this plan only worked as long as I never broke a rule since birth, after that, I was all on my own. You know how that fight got started? I went out, to take myself out for ice cream that night, I had to borrow your car. I turned the key, and it didn’t start. And that was my fault. I destroy all your things, I don’t take care of anything, you guys are tired of helping me. Even though, I never even drove that car, the battery was just dead. 

I hate being part of a giant family, and I hate that you always want to pretend our last name is Walton. I think it was selfish to have that many kids, when sister 2 could have used more time and attention and support. I hate that you had 2 more kids after i had mine, because you robbed my kids of having real grandparents, you guys are basically their friend’s parents. You punish them for things your kids did, you take your kids’ side. i hate that my kids can’t stay the night at your house, because they don’t want mice crawling over them when they sleep. I hate that you don’t see that this is gross and a problem! I hate that I get lumped in with everybody else, nobody knows ME they know me as part of you all, and i’m not. I hate that you get offended that I am not close to the 2 baby brothers, and you really hoped we would be. They are 20+ yrs younger than me!

I stay in your life not because I desire any sort of relationship with you, either of you, but so i can try to protect sister 2 somewhat. Because my boys consider brother5 their friend, and I can’t or won’t take him from them. And, really, I keep hoping I can show brother 5 that there is more to life than you teach him. I’m not writing you off, because I still have 2 other siblings living at home. 

I hate that I can’t say I’m done with the drama, and I’m just going to keep to myself, because then you two make fun of me, you put me down, you roll your eyes and call me a martyr. Make snide comment about how i’m overly emotional and need to grow up. Because you guys need the drama. You pretend you don’t, but you do. How are you going to feel better than everyone if you don’t fight with them? If you don’t have drama going on constantly?

 

Such A Stressful Week

Where do I even begin?

Last week, my brother woke up to find his wife, her 3 kids, their furniture, and all their food was gone. She is leaving him because he doesn’t clean or help the kids with their homework. Ok, I’m not saying my brother is perfect, but, what do you expect when you, a 30 yr old mother of 3, marries a 19 yr old? I mean, really? He’ll grow up.

The wife talked to my aunt and it turned into this big bash Punkie thing, because I got a divorce and nobody cared, but, now she wants one and everyone is saying she shouldn’t. And, apparently the wife said “And, I know all about Punkie.”

Now, I was told about this. I assumed she meant (from other parts of the conversation) that she knew that after I caught my husband cheating, I didn’t leave, but, I quite openly had a boyfriend. Well, while i’m not proud of it, I don’t care that anybody knows, I never hid it. Maybe if I can’t be a good influence, I can at least be an example of what not to do.

My mother assumed she meant that my dad is not my biological dad. So, she calls me in a panic to tell me that now people might find out. I told her I couldn’t care less. I never understood why it was a secret anyway. Well, apparently my parents talked and decided to tell my siblings about this. And, tell all of us that my dad was married before.

Ok, I’ve always known my dad wasn’t my biological father. And, when they told me my dad had been married before I basically said “Yeah, no shit.” I’ve put together pieces over the years. That was my entire reaction.

The sister I don’t like has been throwing a huge tantrum about this, and how she is so ashamed and embarrassed, then she demanded to know my biological father’s name. No, just, no. It is none of her damn business. I’ve never even asked. Then, I have one sister my parents haven’t told yet, and the evil sister demanded to be there when the other sister was told “for moral support”. Ummm…I’ was told when I was 4 with no support at all and been fine for 20+ years. This sister just wants her nose in everyone else’s business. She doesn’t even like me, so, she can stop acting like this ruined some bond or something. Then, she got my other brother all worked up as well.

So, she has turned my brother’s divorce and my birth into being all about her.

And, that is what I am not handling well. Not at all. I feel, like, my privacy has been invaded. Like I am some how “less than”. I feel bad for my parents and her reaction. I am mad that all I hear about is how she is handling it, no one has asked how I am doing. I don’t know if this changes anything for any of them, and so, now I just wait, I guess. I don’t know, I don’t know what the right thing to do here is.

It’s bringing up huge abandonment issues that I have. My biological father disappeared after my mom told him about me.

My adopted father was abusive for years.

My ex husband left me and the kids, because I asked him to take out the trash.

Noah’s dad left as soon as I told him I was pregnant.

I have a long string of ex-boyfriends.

I’m not handling this well. I was happy burying the issue for decades.

Then, my ex calls me to ask why I let the kids be such brats. They are sarcastic, and he threatens to punish them, but, his punishments are too harsh. And you know, he can fucking suck it up for the SEVEN DAYS he has had them this year.

And, an innocent question led to the discussion of future children for Husband and I, I’ve always told him I was done, but, if he wanted more, then we’d discuss it, and I could probably be persuaded. well, he made a comment, that made me say “Never mind, that option is off the table.” which led to lots of tears for both of us.

Then, evil sister called my husband just not to tell him my dad might be having a stroke or a heart attack. And, of course evil sister is there at the hospital, because, where else would she be except in everybody else’s business? She didn’t even call me, she called my husband and had him tell me. (I left, dad is fine, they aren’t sure what happened.)

My brother’s divorce is freaking me out as well, just a reminder that it doesn’t matter what I do or don’t do, if my husband wants to leave, he just can. And, there is nothing I can do about it.

And, to top it all off, I’m 4 weeks away from graduating. School is getting more difficult, I’m taking 5 classes. This week, I have 3 papers due, 22 discussion board posts, 4 quizzes and one test. That’s for ONE WEEK.

The damn scale still isn’t moving. I did have to buy new underwear today, so, I guess that is progress, and, I ran a mile for the first time ever. But, the scale still says “fat”.

And, I think I am PMSing.

The good news is, in the past, I would have spent a lot of time drunk last week. Now, I ran. So…progress.

I can’t even explain how I am feeling. Can you be numb and stressed at the same time? I’m having a hard time even crying. I’m looking for a fight, but, I don’t trust anyone enough to fight with them except the husband, and he doesn’t ever fight. He kept telling me I could cry this weekend, and, I just couldn’t. Not really, I kept saying “i’m fine”, and, well, I’m not.

 

 

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