Well, I've come to a decision. Something I have been struggling with for quite awhile. My story. It's nowhere near pleasant, so if you are an ultra sensitive person, you may want to stop reading this now. All I can say is it's a lot harder for me to write this than it is for you to read it. I decided to write it now, as I'm hoping to leave it behind me once and for all. I will condense this as much as possible, but it will probably still be pretty long. Sorry.
My first few years, in my memory, were fairly uneventful. I know of some of the things that took place during that time, but that will tie in soon enough. All I remember from that time is never really being comfortable in the presence of either one of my parents. I had wonderful grandparents though, and spent as much time as possible with them. My sister Carolina was born when I was 5 and came with a myriad of health problems, so most of her first year was spent in and out of the hospital. As is understandable in a situation like that, I kinda got lost in the shuffle. I don't resent that in any way. What does make me sad to this day is that my mother wrote me off at that time, and didn't bother with me anymore than she absolutely had to....ever again. Life went on.
When I was 7, my parents divorced. My father already had another girlfriend, so he went to live with her. As was the case back then, we were left in the custody of my mother. I still have a very clear vision of the night she told me my father was gone. Being that my sleep schedule was already fucked by that time, I was still well awake that night. I was watching "Saturday Night Live" at the time. My mother was on her way out the door when she stopped, looked at me, and said, "Your dad is gone. He's not going to live with us anymore." She left, and I cried. Funny the things you never forget, eh?
So the true nightmare begins.....
Strange people coming and going. My mother rarely home. There was a babysitter my sister and I used to go to while my mother was at work during the day. At night, we were left in the care of the neighbor girls, Maya and/or Maria. They also had 3 brothers (Henry, Elvis, and Sepiene) and a cousin (Oscar), who were also at our house all the time. All 4 of them were my mother's "boyfriends". Due to this, they were apparently under the impression I was part of the deal. I spent the the majority of the next 3 years being raped and sodomized by all four of them. I did attempt once to inform my mother of this fact. My reward for this was to be slapped, and told "They would never do that. Stop lying." So my nightmare continued. It caused a ridiculous amount of health issues, physically and mentally. I got to the point where I couldn't even hold my bladder anymore. It hurt just to be up and walking around. I spent an enormous amount of time showering, with the hope it could take away the feeling of disgust I always had. In case your wondering....it doesn't work.
During this time period, my sister and I stayed with my grandparents for close to a year. Just for the record, at to clarify it now so I don't have to repeat it...my mother has always been fond of drugs and alcohol. On one particular Mother's day, she went with Oscar to my grandma Connie's house to do her lawn as a gift. While she was there, she spent a lot of time drinking. By the time she left there, she was drunk enough to cause herself to be in a car accident. The result was the loss of her left arm to the elbow. She spent almost a year in and out of the hospital, which granted me a slight reprieve from my own personal hell. Eventually though, it was time to go home. My nightmare resumes.
Enter my dad, my stepfather Chris.....
He and my mother knew each other all of two weeks before they got married. He was 7 years her junior, and he went from single to husband and father just that quick. I give him an enormous amount of credit for that, as he took on an obligation that wasn't his, and he did so willingly. I also remember when they came to pick my sister and I from the sitter. We were driving home, and my mother turned around and said, "I have something to tell you." To which I said, "You got married." Needless to say, they were both more than a bit shocked. They hadn't told anyone else yet...hell, most people didn't even know they were together yet. "How did you know that?" I just shrugged. I couldn't, and still can't, really answer that question, I just knew somehow.
Well, after that, it took my dad all of about 2 months to notice something was wrong with me. I never told him directly what it was, but I think he knew from my reactions to any of the guys coming around that it had to do with them (yes, they were still coming around). He vetoed the guys from coming into our house, and me going to theirs. Due to the severity of my physical health issues (the bladder one being the worst at that time), I was finally taken to the doctor. I spent the next couple of years, between ages 10 and 12, going for doctor visits, tests, and the like. Was told the likeliness of me being able to bear children of my own was slim to none. I also went to a psychiatrist for a few visits, but as soon as my mother heard things she didn't want others to know, that was the end of that. I got most of the physical issues as fixed as they could be, but mentally started shutting down. Spent the time I wasn't at school hiding in my room, most of the time in the closet. I'm still not sure why I did that, it just always seemed like my only safe place. Life continues.
When I was 12, my brother Chad was born. A little less than 2 years later, my sister Heather came along. By that time, I was old enough to take care of them, so we rarely went to the sitter anymore. Dad was a long haul truck driver, so he wasn't home as much as he wanted to be. Not that it mattered. You see, my mother's "extracurricular" activities never stopped. She just had to hide it again. Shortly after Heather's birth, they decided that it was time for us to move to a new town, and a bigger home. After some hunting around, they decided to move us to a small town right outside of Riverside, CA (halfway between Orange Co. and San Diego). The house they had purchased was still being built, and since our other house was sold already, we went to stay with a friend of my mother's. We weren't there very long, but my mother managed to wreak havoc in that situation as well. An unexpected early return home by my dad resulted in her getting caught with her pants down....literally. I remember that fight well. But as my dad didn't want to leave his children behind, he forgave her and chose to stick it out.
Then, to Riverside....
By this time, in addition to her alcohol and pill problem, she decided to throw a meth habit in for good measure. She also decided to include my dad in this little game. Which brought with it a fresh new hell. I was pretty much completely in charge of the care of Chad and Heather by this point, the only time they weren't in my care was when I was in school. I was also introduced to the lovely experience of alcohol/drug induced beatings, egged on (and sometimes she even contributed) by my mother. Once I was beat up by both of them so bad, I spent the next week and a half wearing jeans and turtlenecks to school so no one would see it. This, like everything else, I considered my own fault. With the continuing drug and alcohol abuse by my parents, the beatings just continued to get worse. When I was 15, I finally decided to try and do something about it, and I told one of my teachers, who had already questioned me about it once before. No more beatings. It didn't matter, I still continued the mental shutdown. I slept less and less. The one constant thought that ran through my head all this time? Better to let them take it out on me only, rather than include the other 3 kids. I'm thankful it never happened, and would deal with it all the same to ensure that it didn't.
The next few years were kind of surreal. My parents grew more distant from each other, since dad was always working, and my mother was always partying. Since the accident, she didn't have to work, she received a $1,000 a month disability check. That, and the money dad made driving made our life more (monetarily) comfortable than most. I took on more and more responsibilities as time went on, and my grades at school started to suffer. I just dealt with it, I didn't really have a choice. My biological father was just finishing up marriage number 2, and was already on to the next girl, so there was no help there. By senior year, my mother decided I didn't need to go to school, that it was more important for me to be home to take care of the kids and the house. So I was pulled out after only a month of school. I was paying the bills (my mother showed me how to sign her name so I could do this), taking care of the kids, and keeping up the house. After a month of this, I just couldn't handle it anymore. I called my grandma Carol, and asked her if I could come stay with them. She said yes, so that afternoon when I went to go pay some of the household bills after being screamed at by mother, I took the ATM card with me as well, took $300 dollars out, and bailed. Within 6 hours, I was at my grandparents. She tells people she went looking for me, but I call bullshit on that. You see, I took the public local buses to get there, and had to sit out in the open for 2 hours waiting for the bus to take me to Orange Co., and was looking to see if she showed up, so I could go hide somewhere if she did. That's why I know she was full of it. If she had been there, she wouldn't have been able to miss me.
I showed up at my grandparents house that Friday night, and by Sunday, my "father" had come to get me to stay with him and his newest girlfriend, Joni. She was really a nice person, she and her family were very good to me the short time I was around. I stayed with them a little over a year, but ended up living with a friend of mine. My father was too busy to have anytime for me, so he cared for me the only way he knew how...leaving notes with money attached on the front door, so I would get them on the way out to school. It got old fast. Money has never been important to me, all I really wanted was for someone to give a shit. No go.
During my short stay with my friend, my mother finally found me. Turns out my dad walked a month after I did, and was now living in Washington state. After many tears and begging, my mother convinced me to come home and help her with the kids.
Suckered again....
I went this route for about 2 years. By this time, my mother had a whole new set of men, and still no time for her children. I was 19 1/2 when I went home. My sister Carolina was 14 at the time, and was a self contained unit. She had developed a meth habit of her own by this time, as was screwing anyone who asked. My mother KNEW this, and had no issue. Believe it or not, she was proud. Seriously. I found out later that she had already been telling people her oldest daughter was a lesbian, because of the fact that I refused to whore myself around. So mother was never around, my sister was twacked out all the time, and it was my job to keep it from the little ones as much as possible. Carolina and I never really got along, and this was just made worse because of her drug habit. That put a whole new responsibility on my shoulders. Doing my best to make sure my 14 year old sister didn't drop dead. I can't tell you how many times I went to her room when she crashed once a week from being up and doped for most of it. I was constantly going in to check to make sure she was still breathing. At one point, she did try to clean up, but it only lasted a few months. There is nothing worse in this world than watching you little sister going through meth withdrawals, I promise. During her brief stint of sobriety, we got along for the briefest moment. The draw of the drugs was too much for her though, as my mother always had her supply in the house. So within a few months of using again, Carolina became pregnant with her first daughter. Still a baby, and having one of her own.
At the end of this last stint with my mother, she had a full blown meth/pill habit, and was an alcoholic of the highest order. During one of her major drunks, we finally had it out. Her shitting on me, as usual, and me finally telling her I was done with that. Her last words to me before I went out the door.....
"When I was pregnant with your sister (Carolina), your father wanted me to get an abortion. I wish I had done that with you."
I left, and never went back.
I went to stay with my grandparents once again. I had been staying there for about 3 months when I received a phone call from my dad's new girlfriend, Tammi (my mama). She told me my dad wanted to get full custody of Chad and Heather, and asked if I would be willing to help. To which I said yes. There were so many people that ended up testifying against my mother retaining custody, she didn't have a chance. So Chad and Heather moved to Washington. A couple of weeks before my 22nd birthday, I get a phone call from my dad, asking me if I wanted to come move up with him and the kids.
So begins my life in the Northwest.....
It becomes fairly uneventful from here, just minor blips here and there. It was very strange for me to be encouraged to do something for myself. I never had before. I checked into school, got a job, had a life of my own for the first time ever. Met a boy, got engaged, broke up with him 5 years later. Moved farther north (Bellingham) a year later, and met some of the most wonderful people, my closest friends in the world, a makeshift family of my very own. The blood is not what binds and makes family for everybody, kids.
If any of you are wondering how I could forgive my dad, even though he was not of my blood, and not forgive my mother....well, because to this day, my mother blames me for everything wrong in her life. She tells people that I'm evil, and a variety of other lovely comments like that.
My dad on the other hand....when he moved to Washington, he decided to do something about his problem. He cut the drugs, and put himself through AA, because he wanted to be around for his children. That, and when I moved up to Washington, he apologized to me, and asked me to forgive him for what he had done wrong. How could I not, especially when I knew he was sincere about it? For the couple years of bad, he did much more good for me than anyone else ever has, and was, and still is the best daddy a girl could ever wish for.
So this is me. These are some of the events in my life that shaped who I am today. Still wishing the people who brought me into this world would just stop and give a shit about something other than themselves, but they are both as selfish as ever. Trying to grasp a little bit of happiness while I'm still here. There is of course a lot more to this story, but nothing I choose to talk about at this time.
Not that it matters. I think you get the point.
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