Delving into the past...
Was sitting and wondering what I even have to write about.
My inane topics are fly by night, moment’s notice, on a whim….but I have so
much HISTORY. I could write about my history. I really like the idea of keeping
this blog up, it’s been there for me when I didn’t have an ear to talk to. The
relative anonymity of the internet appeals to me. I’m no Dooce or anything like
that. But I do like that after some breaks where I didn’t blog at all I can
come back to it. Facebook is not so helpful, since I am friends with everyone
from my boss to my mom. Meh. No amount of even pretend anonymity and I share so
openly……people are probably like why? Why am I friends with this woman? And now
it’s too late to unfriend her without it being awkward. Hell, I have those
people myself.
So I was thinking what of my history would be the best. I
suppose all of it. I’m not trying to be Debbie downer today and I’m in a
relatively good mood so we’ll stay away from the sexual abuse stuff…..
My earliest memory was of my parents fighting (okay, kind of
a Debbie downer) and I was in a crib. There was thunder or lightening or both
and I was terrified. Seeing as how I never knew my parents together, this has
to be a memory from around 1 year old I would guess. I always wondered if they
always hated each other or what. But they started out good. They wanted me
which was more than I knew, I figured I was the accident that started the marriage.
But once my mother had a baby, she didn’t want to mother my father. And I can’t
say I blame her. So she was 22 and divorced. With a baby. She was probably kind
of scared honestly. Then she found another man and the cycle continued. Get
married, have a baby, get divorced. I hate to say it, but she was with my
horrid stepfather the longest and they still aren’t divorced. Just in relationships
with other people and not living together, but not divorced officially.
My next memories are hazier, seems to always be hazy like a
late summer afternoon. I remember my grandma who died when I was 8. She was a
character. I remember laying in her backyard and the sun blazing on my jeans
and falling asleep in the grass while I was SO warm. It was awesome. She has a
little dog named Smoky. For years we would whisper to someone else in the
family to gets someone else’s goat and when they’d ask what, it was “oh
nothing, just something about Smoky”. I do not know why we found that so funny
but we did indeed. One Halloween we went trick or treating around the neighborhood
near the hospital (we were always at the hospital) and went back to visit with
grandma afterwards and they x-rayed our candy. Seemed pretty to cool to me and
my cousin.
I remember short visits with my little sister since she didn’t
live with us. Sometimes I’d be allowed to spend the weekend with her at her
aunt’s house. Thinking how lucky I was to have any contact as mom seemed to
have little to none. That sister is the most fucked up one in the family. I
sometimes feel bad for myself and like my mom picked my stepfather over me, but
she has to feel worse. As far as she knows, mom didn’t even try to keep her.
And shortly after that, I was sent to live with my dad while my mom picked up
her life. I hated it there. My step siblings seem to enjoy tormenting me,
putting gum in my hair, telling lies about me to get me in trouble. I was
young, they were teenagers, I probably irritated them as well.
Once my mom seemed to be doing okay again and I had ANOTHER
little sister suddenly, I was like..why can’t I live with the baby? So I moved
back in with my mom and my sister’s dad (who I feel like I barely knew before
mom suddenly had another baby and another boyfriend). Life was pretty normal
there for awhile. Then we dealt with Grandma dying and my mom gave birth to my
next little sister (seriously, she’s like a rabbit-my two middle sisters are
only 1 year and a half apart!) and I listened to them fight. My stepdad bad
mouthing my mom. I knew she was crazy, but I didn’t like that he would try and
get me on his side and he seemed especially cruel when she was pregnant. He
tried to teach me how to ride a bike, but I gave up until I saw my friends
doing it one day and then I was like…well, if they can do it, BY GOD I CAN DO
IT. And indeed I could. Therein began my love affair with bikes. Seemed like I’d
often be out riding my bike and I always seemed to have one, even before we
moved to Oregon.
Sometimes we’d go to my aunt and uncle’s house and they’d
let me borrow their ten speed to ride around and I’d feel SO cool. A real ten speed!
With handlebar breaks! I could pedal backwards just for fun! Oh the joy I used
to find in that. Seems kind of silly now, but mostly when I’m bike riding
nowadays, I’m in a rush.
My stepfather wasn’t all bad. I actually liked him
sometimes. Which makes it harder to deal with everything that happened. He’s a “villain”
and should be painted as such. So yeah. Sometimes he would teach me things,
like how to shoot a bb gun and how to catch a fish. Other times and especially
after I started developing and realized I was chunky, he’d turn on me. Making
jokes like “Want to lose 30 lbs of ugly fat?” and I’d say yes and he’d answer with
“Cut off your head then” and laugh like it was the funniest thing ever. I’m
beginning to see why my brain is so mean to me and my fat. It’s society. =(
That’s a whole blog on its own really.
Also, fuck you to the guy who yelled “Big booty ho!” out his
window while I was walking down Coburg road. I suppose maybe you meant nothing
derogatory, maybe you were merely calling it as you see it and think ho is a
perfectly acceptable name for any woman. But fuck you just the same, because you
are an asshole. Most likely you’ve never worried about your weight and you
think it’s funny to yell out your car window at people. Who then don’t want to
go outside and risk other people calling them names.
Whoa, that was a tangent. Sorry y’all.
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