In the beginning…

I was born August 19, 1985 in the morning. Funny-I’ve never been a morning person. Every since I could remember, I’ve been slow to rise-grumbling all the way.

I have very few memories of my earlier years. I do know that there were many times I was left alone. That explains this loner attribute I’ve adopted. I’m not an introvert-I’m an observer. I see all, hear all, and internalize. Any other memories, if they were happy, are definitely clouded by the horrible things I endured.

One female grandchild.  The mistake that I was…overlooked and hardly valued. That creative child…let’s not pay attention to her. Let’s look at the male grandchildren. How wonderful they are. Yes, that was how it was. How awful to be 5 and have unwanted attention from one side and then desiring love from another.

Sides…yes, that needs an explanation. Family sides. Maternal and Paternal. Maternal side…I despise those people. The vast majority. For who they are, what they are, and how they live their miserable lives. They are like a disease that slowly feeds on the healthy cells around them, destroying them from the inside out and leaving an empty vessel in its wake.

Paternal side…I enjoy them. I love them. I want their love and acceptance. I need it. I need approval. I need to know that everything I’m doing is okay and worthy of their time adoration. However, early on I learned not to ask or expect these things. For I was a girl, slowly  trotting down a path of self loathing, destruction and denial.

I remember the first time I shot off my mouth to my grandmother (paternal)…’Why don’t you love me like you love them (the boys)?’
My mother told me I should shut up-she’s passive like that. Grandma, having a look as though a lightning bolt shot up her ass, said, ‘no, she’s right…’ But nothing else. No promise to love me. But she did. Maybe in an odd way after that. I just realized in that moment, at that young age, that perhaps I would never be able to win the love and acceptance of some people. Too bad I didn’t have someone there to tell me that I didn’t have to settle for that. That I was worth it to the people that truly matter.

Then, maternal side…how it would crush my mother to know that the man she idolized was nothing more than a perverted piece of shit! A child molester. A manipulator! Nothing short of a life ruiner! Yes, he ruined my life…with every unwanted, unsolicited touch. That is NOT what you do to little girls. Little girls-me and three of my cousins. Cousins that no longer want to talk to me since I spilled the little secret a few years back.

From as early as 5 years of age to at least age 13 or 14 this man would do horrible things. He would then try to bribe us with money and candy. This makes me feel disgusting and dirty as an adult to think that those things were able to buy silence. This man touched us. I hated him. I still hate him. I hated that my mother thought it was appropriate to have us stay with him. I just don’t understand how a mother refuses to see that her child is withdrawn and sad and cries at the mention of going to a house with THOSE people, and doesn’t question it at all. My mothers parents-they are people I refuse to give familial name tags to. They don’t deserve that.

I hate secrets. I hate having this secret. Now that I’m a mom, I know that I’d do anything to protect my son. He knows that he is so loved. Sometimes I feel like all the love I wanted and never received, I’ve reserved for this little magical creature. This wonderful, creative, inspiring, hilarious little person that is part of me. I wonder how people can have children and some not have these feelings of awe and admiration.

 

I guess I’m not sure what I’m hoping to get out of having this journal? Will this offer me relief? Could it help others? I’m not sure, but I’m hopeful. I’ll chronicle early memories, and then try to break through into healing. I’ve tried so many other things. I don’t see why this would hurt.

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