Why I’m me.

When you sit down and recount the great moments in your life that shaped who you have become, you really get to think A LOT. I was born September 6, 1986 at 11:55AM. I am named after my great aunt, Sarah who just so happened to be born the same day as me. At this point, I was the only child. I lived in Colorado Springs, Colorado. My “dad” was a PFC stationed at Ft. Carson. My mother was a stay at home mom. My first memory is when I was three years old. I was at my “dad’s” parent’s house so subjectively my grandparents. I remember the brown berber carpet in the kitchen. I remember the white walls and the shape of the kitchen. I am eating pepper out of the shaker and my grandma is telling me that I’ll regret it. I was almost 3. I don’t have any memories of my young childhood with my mother or father. Later in my life, I would find out that my mother was a negligent, abusive, piece of crap. She would give me a bottle every time I cried. She wouldn’t let me out of my crib. She locked me in my room. At 18 months, I couldn’t bear weight on my legs and could barely crawl. I went to live with my grandparents and shortly after I moved there I was mobile. I had asthma as a young child but my mother argued with the doctors and refused to treat it even though I was at the ER with breathing problems more times then I can count. After searching through my medical records from the Army, I found that not only was my mother negligent, she constantly was saying something was wrong with me. I was always sick. I was in the ER at least once a week. Eventually, my pregnant mother, dad, and I moved into a trailer park and my brother was born soon after. He was always given a majority of the attention. I began doing attention seeking behaviors and hurting myself so that I would get any attention. When I was 6 years old, my parents locked my door from the outside so that I couldn’t escape in the morning. My dad went to work early in the morning and I wasn’t let out until Fraggle Rock was on which was the same time I ate lunch. At age 7, I got lice from our neighbor and instead of my mother treated my beautiful, long, curly hair, she cut it all off. I looked like a boy. I was so hurt that she did that but hey, no more mornings of my school nurse combing the tangles out of my hair. I spent hours with my pets picking their fleas off and my mother said I was “fucking nuts”. She took me to the doctor and this was how the diagnosis of OCD came up. I was put into therapy which my mom stopped taking me to because it took too long and I was still a fucking nut. I came home from school one day and my mother was crying on the stairs. Apparently, my dad wasn’t allowed home anymore because my sister had said something happened. In fourth grade, we moved. They gave me the biggest room because I was the fattest and the messiest. Between 5th and 6th grade, I gained 75lbs. Instead of seeking medical attention or asking me why I had begun eating, my mother, brother, and now an older sister whom I had no idea existed prior to that begun calling me fatty and using my weight as a talking point at the dinner table. I began eating more because twinkles never made you feel like dog shit. In 8th grade, I started smoking. Instead of stopping it or grounding me, my mother just bought me cigarettes. She began asking me if I’d like to miss school to help her at work. Of course, I said yes. I missed 25 days in 9th grade. I also got my permit and began learning to drive. In 10th grade biology, I learned that two blue eyed parents cannot make a green eyed child. I sat there in disbelief. My mom AND my dad had blues eyes. I told my teacher he must be wrong but he assured me that it was impossible. I went home and that’s the ONE TIME in my entire life I remember my mother asking me what I learned in school. I told her and she said, “You want to know the truth?” She tells me about my real dad and that he’s an “abusive piece of shit who beat her while she was pregnant and left her for dead on the side of the road” I found him and I called his mother’s house. She was a vile woman. She said I was a bastard and that I wasn’t her grandchild. I was 16. I cried. I left it alone. I promised her I would never call her house again. Her response? Good. Don’t. The next weekend, my real dad called me back. We talked for an hour and he ended the call by giving me his personal cell phone number. I saved it in my little Nokia phone. My “dad” was so mad that I had contacted him. He broke it and I had no way of getting ahold of him again. I assume that he just thinks I want nothing to do with him and has left me alone out of respect. I had been a great academic student. I took all AP classes. I was in marching band. I was president of the history club and had placed all five years in the regional and state history competition. My senior year, I did an individual paper that placed first in regional. My “dad” read my paper and called me a communist slut and said that I was the reason the world was going to hell. I was a virgin and I didn’t understand how I was a slut but the name stuck and he continued calling me that my entire senior year. Its also the only time I remember him being violent with him. He slammed my head off my floor when I told him he was being unreasonable and he chased me through our yard and tackled me and punched me when I told him that it wasn’t cool to call people sluts especially virgins. I missed 47 days of school my senior year helping my mother at work. She wouldn’t help me pay for my trip to the state competition so my school put me as a charity case and paid. I had started looking and applying to colleges. I was accepted at 4 out of 5 including Brown and Case Western. I hadn’t gotten any scholarships but my parents said they refused to sign the parent part of the loans so I couldn’t get financial aid and had to put the school dreams behind me. After graduation, I was working at Blockbuster part time and my parents said I had to either join the military or I had to leave their house. Those who knew me, knew that was a terrible idea. I went in the Army and it proved to be the worst mistake of my life. I ended up going AWOL, DFRing, and turning myself into Ft. Knox. I ended up with a drug addiction. I spent that next year couch hopping, pill popping and drinking. I came home more of an addiction than a person. At some point, I met my daughter’s father. I don’t remember meeting him but apparently we had sex and made Adison. I wanted an abortion but my parents said if I get an abortion, they’d kick me out of their house. I kept her and at 24/25 weeks, they kicked me out anyways. I had her. My mother was in heaven. I asked for help and was never given it. I was told, “You spread your legs. You deal with it.” In 2008, I took a promotion and moved to Elmira, NY. I was alone and trying to raise a child. I ended up meeting my ex and he was the most abusive piece of shit to ever exist. He was lazy. He wasted my money. He was verbally terrible and the last straw was he threw fresh out the microwave Mac and cheese on me burning me. I left the next weekend. After the fact, I found out that he was beating Adison and giving her cold showers while I was at work. He had possibly done more but I had no proof. I lived with my parents again. I got a job at Best Buy. I had been snooping looking for pictures of my dad. I found a letter my “dad” had written to his chain of command asking for a discharge because he couldn’t trust my mother with us. My parents demanding $200 a week for rent. I barely made that. They made me apply for food stamps and buy their groceries. I met my husband and moved in with him quickly. I was free at last. My mother hates my husband because he won’t go around her. My dad hates him because he doesn’t know anything about fixing stuff.

My parents have never taken my younger three on visits. They don’t acknowledge their birthdays. Ben is 5 and has never spent the night at my parents. When I had Ollie, they refused to take Ben and Charley but took Adison. Its been almost a month since I spoke with my mother but she calls Adison’s father on a damn near daily basis.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s