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i am still working on the other story but im also writing this one now. please read and comment!
this is probably the most important story i can ever tell. nothing would be th same if not for this. from the moment i was born i was tied to her, it was us against the world. but sadly we both have internal demons that caused it to be us against each other much of the time, when really it was each of us against our own self. no matter what anyone thinks i love my mother dearly. it pains me to see how she lives her life.
i can only tell this story as i saw it, felt it, lived it. i cannot speak for my mother. she has her own stories to tell, tainted by her own experiences, as my stories are tainted with mine. but really, are they tainted or enriched? both it would seem. even if it has been hard even for me to believe at times, i know my mother loves me very much. and i know most all she's done, she did for me.
i will move away soon, and i worry about leaving my mom here with no one. as the years have gone on ive seen my mother become more and more alone. i know she has a couple friends, but mostly she spends her time either home in front of the telivision lost in her insomnia, or out fighting with all her heart at work. my mother works for childrens services, and though my friends roll their eyes at the thought, she is good at her job, better than most.
when i was born my mother had tried many jobs, and i believe shed even tried college a bit, but im not sure. she met my father in hair school. she never went on to use her training due to allergies, but my father is to this day a hair dresser. but he is also a drug dealer. as he was when she was with him. my dad says my mom was fun, had a great sense of humor. he also says that they smoked pot, snorted cocain, and drank. that that was their lifestyle. my mother told me she was with him for the free drugs. i cant believe she brought a child into all that. but from what i know my mother stopped all that when i came into the picture. she became responsible. my father has four children and still has yet to become a functional adult.
my father left when i was four months old. he makes it sound a lot less dramatic than my mother does. she also says he cleaned out the bank account on his way out the door. i didnt meet my father until i was seventeen years old. my mother struggled to take care of me without money or my fathers help. she ended up moving from portland back home to her family in seattle. and from what i hear i was happy there. but my mother wanted to give me something she hadnt had. a family, a father. and im sure that she wanted a partner, someone to love her and battle life with. and my mother met eddie. he seemed great, i liked him, everything was going well. she moved us back to portland to marry him, got a house in the suburbs, and we were a family. but my mother hates the suburbs and my new step father was an angry, mean alcoholic. i tell these things as i have heard them told to me. i honestly have less memories of my childhood than could be counted on one hand. i blocked out the first ten years of my life. speculation on why i will leave up to you for now.
my mother waited the amount of time needed to get citizenship for oregon and then took me to live in student housing without eddie. during the time we waited he went bankrupt, he spent his time putting her down and making her feel like shit, and a couple of my rare memories occured. one isnt a memory so much as an image in my head. he would kick shoeboxes across the basement floor when he was angry. i can see and hear one skidding across the floor. there is nothing else, but it is very real in my mind. the other is a much clearer memory. i can see myself sitting at the dinner table with him yelling at her, yelling about her stealing his cigaretts, accusing her of hiding them. he was drunk of course. he was swearing at her, calling her names and being so loud and angry i was frozen with fear. i was only five years old. and then he went into the bathroom and punched a hole through the wall. that shouldnt be anyones first childhood memory.
my mother was in college at the time. she had wanted to be a preschool teacher but there was no room in the program so she switched her major to sociology. i think she would have been much happier teacher preschoolers. she loves kids. and she wouldnt end up in a job that would drain any happiness she might have left out of her body.
this is probably the most important story i can ever tell. nothing would be th same if not for this. from the moment i was born i was tied to her, it was us against the world. but sadly we both have internal demons that caused it to be us against each other much of the time, when really it was each of us against our own self. no matter what anyone thinks i love my mother dearly. it pains me to see how she lives her life.
i can only tell this story as i saw it, felt it, lived it. i cannot speak for my mother. she has her own stories to tell, tainted by her own experiences, as my stories are tainted with mine. but really, are they tainted or enriched? both it would seem. even if it has been hard even for me to believe at times, i know my mother loves me very much. and i know most all she's done, she did for me.
i will move away soon, and i worry about leaving my mom here with no one. as the years have gone on ive seen my mother become more and more alone. i know she has a couple friends, but mostly she spends her time either home in front of the telivision lost in her insomnia, or out fighting with all her heart at work. my mother works for childrens services, and though my friends roll their eyes at the thought, she is good at her job, better than most.
when i was born my mother had tried many jobs, and i believe shed even tried college a bit, but im not sure. she met my father in hair school. she never went on to use her training due to allergies, but my father is to this day a hair dresser. but he is also a drug dealer. as he was when she was with him. my dad says my mom was fun, had a great sense of humor. he also says that they smoked pot, snorted cocain, and drank. that that was their lifestyle. my mother told me she was with him for the free drugs. i cant believe she brought a child into all that. but from what i know my mother stopped all that when i came into the picture. she became responsible. my father has four children and still has yet to become a functional adult.
my father left when i was four months old. he makes it sound a lot less dramatic than my mother does. she also says he cleaned out the bank account on his way out the door. i didnt meet my father until i was seventeen years old. my mother struggled to take care of me without money or my fathers help. she ended up moving from portland back home to her family in seattle. and from what i hear i was happy there. but my mother wanted to give me something she hadnt had. a family, a father. and im sure that she wanted a partner, someone to love her and battle life with. and my mother met eddie. he seemed great, i liked him, everything was going well. she moved us back to portland to marry him, got a house in the suburbs, and we were a family. but my mother hates the suburbs and my new step father was an angry, mean alcoholic. i tell these things as i have heard them told to me. i honestly have less memories of my childhood than could be counted on one hand. i blocked out the first ten years of my life. speculation on why i will leave up to you for now.
my mother waited the amount of time needed to get citizenship for oregon and then took me to live in student housing without eddie. during the time we waited he went bankrupt, he spent his time putting her down and making her feel like shit, and a couple of my rare memories occured. one isnt a memory so much as an image in my head. he would kick shoeboxes across the basement floor when he was angry. i can see and hear one skidding across the floor. there is nothing else, but it is very real in my mind. the other is a much clearer memory. i can see myself sitting at the dinner table with him yelling at her, yelling about her stealing his cigaretts, accusing her of hiding them. he was drunk of course. he was swearing at her, calling her names and being so loud and angry i was frozen with fear. i was only five years old. and then he went into the bathroom and punched a hole through the wall. that shouldnt be anyones first childhood memory.
my mother was in college at the time. she had wanted to be a preschool teacher but there was no room in the program so she switched her major to sociology. i think she would have been much happier teacher preschoolers. she loves kids. and she wouldnt end up in a job that would drain any happiness she might have left out of her body.
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!!
Date: 2006-01-12 04:11 am (UTC)From:It's also interesting to see someone so readdy to give a brutal very self-honest apraisal of their life or should that be the spaces they have occupied in it?
Thank-you this has given me something to think on,whilst worrying myself with myriad concerns of my own,really something to modify my outlooks.
Terryb~?X