This is another post from my blog, but here, I’m able to share more than I can on the blog.
I come from a broken home. I used to think we were just different, but one day something clicked, and I realized that we aren’t the epitome of dysfunction, we are broken. We are like week old dinner scraps from different meals. We’re all mashed together on a plate, trying to create a cohesive meal, but we don’t. Instead, we clash. We stumble, we burn.
I don’t know my biological father and the man that’s been here hasn’t been much of one to me. My mom is fucked up in more ways than one. She makes living hard. She’s disabled, bipolar, lazy, and mean. She says things that most parents wouldn’t. When I was younger, I would wear makeup and she would say I look like a whore. I know what you’re thinking, she may just be over religious—um, no.
She was baptized as Jehovah’s witness, but she claims Christianity, drinks, smokes, covets thy neighbor, engages in pre-marital sex and so much more. I have siblings.
My older brother has been in jail for most of my life. He recently got out of jail and has been working hard to create a better life for his girlfriend and child. My younger sister is a teen mom. And yeah, I am being judgy. She lied to all of us and told us that it was her first time having sex. It wasn’t, in fact, she has had unprotected sex several times, she just never thought she would get pregnant. She has no way to support herself or her baby and finds herself messaging former teachers, family from her dad’s side, and friends asking for money.