Cross referencing the details from the people in my life about my father’s past. It’s clear no one wants or cares to know the details. My grandmother is ashamed, hurt and trying to protect herself as well as her kids. It sounds like the girl was around eleven years old and rocked the persona of a seventeen year old. She initiated a relationship with my father when my mother was pregnant with me and my father continued the relationship until being caught around a year and half later. There were possibly three other men under investigation and suspicion for having carried out relationships with the girl. The drugs used? Freebasing and snorting coke, drinking and smoking weed. I guess what’s lame is that I remember being at that age, wandering the streets and being ‘confused’ for someone far beyond my years working the streets. Adds a bite to the jokes my gram has tossed me over the years about being a street worker. Still brings me back to the question; why I was sent to be with him when I was a mental disaster and just past the age of the girl who he had a relationship with? Nasty parallels. I’m not on the attack towards anyone, but I do have questions. Just for personal understanding, I suppose, I feel as if I’m contributing to tossing the blanket over the past if I don’t seek out some answers. Yes. My grandmother is right. He did his time in prison. But a year and a half is a long time to be clueless about a girl’s age. And he was still doing drugs and cheating on my mother that entire time, with the neighbors’ daughter. They both were doing drugs, before and after my birth. My disappointment has always been present with my mother and father, but watching my gram’s anger towards the girl grow was baffling. As was watching her tell me he wasn’t the only one she’d ‘gotten.’ Believing he was nothing but a clueless victim in the whole ordeal, too high to know what was happening to him. The lie she has convinced herself to believe is so unbelievable that all I could do was gape at her. That disappointment is raw and runs deeper than I had hoped. She’s just being a mother who failed her kids. But not realizing that she’s continuing to fail the youth in her life. Yes, my mother made a horrible choice by having sent me to live with him at such a vulnerable stage in my life. But I still can’t say that I’d have been any better off if I’d stayed with her and my step father. I’m thankful to be alive and where I am now. I wouldn’t go back in time to change anything, for my past makes me who I am. I just wish my parents as human beings hadn’t gone through with having a child when they weren’t ready. I like to say they didn’t want me, but that’s not necessarily true. I was an accident, they were in the high of the moment and they did want me. They just weren’t ready for the responsibility, the constant need to evolve, communicate and grow together. As a family. My father didn’t want me or that family badly enough. Who could blame my mother for not wanting anything to do with my father after finding out the truth. She still had a child to care for and needed to figure out how to afford the two of us. But sending me off when she did, I’m not sure how I feel about that. I mean, again, I am far better off now, but as an adult with a child who was clearly mentally unstable should she have sent me to my father? I remember being a brat, calling her and her husband by their first names, acting indifferent or daring towards living with my father. And to be clear, my father never touched me in any inappropriate manner. He just sucks at being a father figure towards me because he doesn’t know me. Neither of them do. Finding that I’m not the only one interested in researching how to handle new challenges, it’s more disappointing knowing they could have possibly tried harder. But they didn’t and I suppose that’s okay because I’m where I am now and I couldn’t be more loved, cherished and protected by the few I hold dear. My mom came from a very quiet Chinese family. Her parents weren’t really there for her. She was the eldest, taking care of her brothers. Working at a young age. She let loose with my father and ended up with me. Finding out the truth about him around the same time as having me and facing then beating cancer, I guess she jumped on the most promising relationship she had available. A pen pal who she’d met in high school or something. In the excitement of reunited (Or was he just a back up plan? Maybe my father was just the placeholder, who knows? Only my mother…) love and a search for true family, they had my sister. Money became more complicated, as did my mother’s parents’ health. When my mother had me, no one in the family had shown up. Leaving her feeling all the more alone, with a child who’s father was in prison and believing her family didn’t support her. She hadn’t been told till much later that her mother’s previous stroke had led to a suicide attempt, thankfully the pacemaker kept her heart going. The second attempt came a little later when my mother walked in on her mother trying to cut the pacemaker out of her chest. Traumatic to say the least. Moving into the mother-in-law in her parents’ basement, things continued to be a struggle. Already having been expelled from daycare for biting a kid on the face and causing him to bleed, a kid who’d tried to make me clean up his mess mind you. I had started getting into a lot of trouble. Stealing from people at my school, stamps from the teachers, candy, books, and attacking other kids if they challenged me. Eventually finding out that the house would be Willed to the eldest brother (due to traditions that the family has mostly turned away from), leaving her and her family homeless. Plus the added request from us for our own rooms, which my grandparents weren’t willing to give up the guest bedroom upstairs. A large part of their disinterest in allowing me to have the guest room across from their bedroom likely came from two things. One being there was a super old Chinese lady that came to visit for a month every year and that was the room she stayed in. I think she is/was a great grandmother or something.. she always brought me and my sister dried Chinese sausage, which we never knew what to do with. But were always excited about it. And the second reason was probably because hearing my cries had already been bad enough through the floor, image on the other side of the wall? Too close. They never liked how often I was in trouble. I doubt they wanted it that close to home. Everyone’s hands were tied. My mother needed help and support, thought she found it plus love and happiness and settled in. No one could offer her any real easy, instant aid to the obstacles at hand. I think a lot of my family had already had enough of ‘the system’ after my father was arrested and the few people who heard the severity of cries, were close enough to know that making a fuss about my step father would only lead to my mother then being a single mother of two little girls from different people. Please don’t have kids unless you are really ready. For everything and for nothing at all. You are raising and taking full responsibility of their health and happiness, their growth and wellbeing for a minimum of twenty-five years! They say eighteen but fuck that, we are all still pretty lost at the age of twenty-five. Besides we as a society shouldn’t encourage the idea of ‘freedom’ from our kids in the first place. I know I don’t have a child first hand, but I do understand the need for alone time and breaks from the kids. I still feel the goal for parents and their kids shouldn’t be about reaching an age of adulthood but maybe the ability to be aware, understanding, compassionate and supportive. Loving and healthy. Money, communication and time management become very important when raising children, somethings my parents were not skilled at. All of this occurring around the same time as my father being released. Both my grandmother and my mother, out of disgust, chose to never want to know more than needed. My mother and uncle Frank’s caution about being nice with her, more importantly the wonderful woman’s voice from Santa Barbara whisper in my ears. Something happened the other night after confronting my grandmother. First involved talking with the family about me and my whereabouts, which she understood and complied easily. Then, my disappointment in her for being so focused on the eleven year old being the evil one. She was willing to admit that it takes two to tango. But the conversation was done when she told me it was not her problem, that it was my problem. A problem she feels I’ve dug up from the past and need to deal with and get over. I told her that this was me dealing with it. That I need to understand some things, and everyone needs to understand that the actions they’ve taken in the past have had consequences which are now surfacing. Apologizing for her being the one in the middle but that’s due to my parents sucking and her being there for me as a kid. Explaining this and still being told that it wasn’t her problem and that that’s why I see a therapist. I had hit a brick wall and it hurt. Stunned, really. I know she’ll always be there for me in any other way she can. Just not this. Anything but this. And with that, the door was slammed shut in my face. Something shattered. Maybe a window from her mind and I got cut up a bit. I don’t need to be a baby about all this. If she broke a window from slamming the door shut, maybe a draft will cause things to stir, I just need to step back and be understanding with her. You can’t always teach an old dog new tricks, but they still need to be loved. I just never wanted to harden myself so much with her. The one person in my family who’s always been warm and soft. I can’t shut her out, I want to so fucking badly. Just drop the whole damn family. Leave the toxicity behind me. But I can’t do that to her. I care too much for her. And I know I’d regret the time wasted later. Working on recalibrating my mind, figuring things that are off limits to talk about with her, whether I need some space for a while from her and everyone, if I should only meet her for coffee from here on out. No more accepting rides home. My life, my problem. Or am I just being a brat by taking that time and escape from my father’s twin away from her? I’ve always been her joy and I know there isn’t much joy in her life. I do not need her to change her view. I just need to understand. Everything. The thought processes behind the choices that were made. Then I can move on. I understand that she’s a mother and can’t handle the truth of her son without breaking apart in shame. I was surprised by her anger towards the girl. I needed a moment to deal and cope. Questioned a little more to verify where she stood and I’m done. I’ll bring it up with her if needed but I’ve reached as far as I can with her at the moment. She needs some time to relax her porcupine spikes. I’ve dug up things from the past that are hard for her to face. My sharing my disappointment likely hurt. As it should, but she’s a mother from a generation that abusive husbands that locked their wives in the kitchen was the norm and alright by society’s standards. She’s been strong and there for me in all the ways she could. I respect and love her forever for that. I explained a little to her that the girl’s age matches my cousin’s which also made me question my mother’s choices about sending me off all the more. Hopefully my gram can sit and chew on that bone for a bit. Maybe she’ll surprise me. But otherwise, I can only smile sadly from a safe distance away. Sliding the mask snuggly in place. It’s always been there. I guess, now I just know I can’t take it off entirely with anyone within my family. And putting on a show with that mask on just feels like a dark empty room with a single light hanging above. The ring of my own ears buzz from the bulb. It saddens me, hence needing the space. I want to ditch my family but I love my grandmother too much. Unfortunately, all my grandmother has left is her shitty family. That’s all she knows. That’s all I hear about. I don’t care about them. Just her. I get that everyone’s trying their 'best’ with what they’ve got in life. But I don’t want to see the faces of the twins any more. And it sucks because I know my choices now are also taking a toll on my little brother, who thinks I’m the most amazing person in the world. That’s just another difficult relationship for me. The warm feeling of family, being there for his arrival into this world. And watching for a second time in my life as the doors to warmth and love are slammed in my face. My step mother never liked me because my father is still in love with my mother. I am just the constant reminder. Then being taken in by my grandmother. It’ll take a while, if ever, for me to be able to look at my gram in the way I used to. She slid the screen door shut and I ran right into it. A door no matter how weak, has still been firmly closed. It’s too bad. Maybe I managed to clean a lil grime from it with my collision.. Doubtful. I can face my disappointment and be one with it. I will not give up on her. I love her, that disappointment is not worth the lost time with her. Breathing and contemplating on the best walls to set into place for her, for us. Having had the chance to ramble to two mothers, I’m continuing to breathe with confidence in my choices. Cutting the family out, save my grandmother, so long as she doesn’t gossip to the family, we avoid the topic and keep it short n’ sweet. I can have my cake and eat it too; its bittersweet, dropping the family and biting my tongue with my gram. There is no remorse felt from never seeing the twins again, especially together. My grandmother on the other hand. I already feel guilt from the little flashes of anger I’ve felt in the past and thats nothing in comparison to holding my tongue. I do not want to live in regret, I don’t want to look back and wish I hadn’t been overtaken by rage, rejecting offered time to spend together. There’s no personal gain from forcing her to change her opinion of the girl, just a better understanding of my grandmother. I do not feel bad for telling her that I was disappointed in her anger towards the girl. That’s all that I personally needed to do. And personally accept where and how she’s led herself in life. If I wish to be angry, I have my parents to take that out on, all four of them, along with my father’s father. Honestly my father’s father is the one I can place the most anger on he’d always been a raging alcoholic who beat his children, and likely my grandmother too. But that’s a waste of energy, he’s drunken his brain to mush, he doesn’t even recognize his eldest son. All of them have continued to be rather selfish and cowardly in one way or another. But I don’t see the point in being angry or see what that’d accomplish me in the end. I’m pleased with never seeing my uncle or grandfather again. I’m not really sure where I stand with my father yet. I can’t say my father has ever done me wrong. Aside for cheating on my mother with a child. But I don’t see any personal gain from keeping him around in my life. I don’t often enjoy the time we spend together, mostly because he’s too busy complaining about the life he hasn’t made any effort to change. He doesn’t know how to talk to me. He tries to fill the space with complaints about his wife and the drugs or money he hasn’t received yet. My favorite is when he starts talking about the car he’s been saying he’ll get me since I was sixteen. I can recall a red car, a green SUV and a white car, all of which he’s claimed to give me. He wants to be my friend. I guess what makes my father toxic, is just how sad it makes me, sitting across from him and not seeing anything different from the guy I visited in prison all those years ago. For he’s locked himself into a life he’ll never escape. Doesn’t want to. He too doesn’t want to lose his last chance at a family, having a mother for his son who he loves dearly. And at least someone loves him, I’m sure his choices have led him to be rather lonely dude. Same goes for his twin brother and their father but I don’t care about them. My mother, I haven’t even bothered braced myself for looking down that rabbit hole. I love her and I’m joyous during the short periods we spend together. But the moment I was in that stupid mini van with with family headed to the airport, I permanently sealed the weaker bits of me from them for my own handling. They couldn’t handle me. My being broken and angry just broke and upset them more. That hadn’t been my aim. I don’t know what was, probably just being a kid and needing love which I didn’t know how to accept. And they didn’t know how to give. Being told I was fucked up because I’d reached a point of feeling nothing. I could tolerate being yelled at and lectured, go from breaking down to absolutely nothing. Feeling, hearing, processing nothing. Realizing how peaceful of a place I’d found. It still leaves me chuckling softly, the anger my stepfather held for years, thinking I hadn’t cried when I was sent away. His stupid, dumbfounded ‘oh’ when I told him years later I’d be a fucking disaster from the ride to the airport to upon arrival at Sea-Tac. I remember it being night time, they couldn’t risk sending me on any flights with connections incase I disappeared. I was mad, enraged, heartbroken, and clearly not to be trusted. When I stepped out and onto the gate, my father was standing there waiting for me with a stupid teddy bear. And that just enraged me more because he’d been the first person aside for friends who’d instead of lecturing and berating me, he gave me a gift and accepted my angry silence and kept a light smile on his face. I know he was trying and I knew he knew this was his only chance to try. I just didn’t want him to. And its those little efforts that had been made that makes it harder to just cut him out now and forever. Which is what the lazy, emotional side of me wants. To just ditch them all. But in the long run, I have a lot of work to do because I’m not going to do that, ditch them all. And I’m proud of myself for being able to continue knowing I won’t regret my choices later. I’ve only experienced two major regrets; one being that I never turned him in. And the second being that I have forever lost cherished moments with my mom’s mom by being selfish and allowing myself to be consumed by my negative emotions. At a young age I found and have fed on the fruits of early success achieved from learning from others’ mistakes. Rita had always spoke highly of her Aunt Rita. Receiving cards, gifts and letters over the years. I had always told her to respond. Send her a hello. Literally. I tried convincing her with a blank card and a bright blue highlighter. All she had to do was write ‘hello,’ address and stamp the envelope. She wanted to write more, unfortunately, by striving for perfection and getting caught up in life. She missed her chance to share her love and appreciation for her aunt, with her aunt. The unsent letter now sits in a box filled of photos from my life. Not yet ready to face Rita. Nor is she ready for the letter. I’ve never read it, and I never will but I do hope that some day I can return it to her, both of us happy and offer her the encouragement of burning it and letting go, knowing her aunt has finally received the love she already knows is there. I do not ever want to suffer that sort of regret and loss and these are the moments in which I get to those decisions. I fear my mother also regrets the time lost with her mother. But my mother has made many mistakes over the years. Nearly losing her house, losing her car and needing me to buy her a new one. Claiming me for taxes until I turned eighteen, making it impossible to sign up for financial aid for college without sending her to court for illegally claiming me. Needing to borrow excessive amounts of money from both of her children to pay off the debit built during the extended period of time her husband wasn’t working. Never sending my grandmother child support. My mother, father, stepfather and grandmother have all been there for me in different ways. They have all also been incapable of being there. They’ve disappointed me as well as each other. Each one of them are humans who’ve made mistakes but have still taken some part in raising and loving me. I am thankful for those bits of aid, I am not mad, though extremely thankful for those around me capable of expressing it for me when needed. I need space. None of them hold any leverage over me any longer. None of them have had any real say in my life for a very long time. The space is for contrast. I need them to see me as an adult, an equal, a stranger. Not as a child, reckless teenager or lost and confused young adult. I need them to see that who I am, is mostly my doing. They can’t keep living thinking all they’ve done in their lives hasn’t had some nasty affects on me. They can’t keep feeling as though they’ve been there for me because they none of them have ever always been there for me. But I can and will be thankful for the occasional moments that they each were able to be there for me. Pleased with myself for being a frog capable of hopping out of it’s broth, out of harms way and carefully watching as my grandmother continues to slowly cook herself, swimming and stirring the family’s secret, toxic recipe. Unconditional love. It can be both freeing and restricting.
We need to get a photo of the whole Ballard crew before we all move away and split up. sassyquatchprincess lost-in-petrichor fauxlita blondeelvira we gotta make it happen!!!!
yasss
Choosing recovery will be the most difficult thing you ever do
Because it means you’re choosing to live
When you still want to die