6.

When I was maybe six or seven years old, I fell asleep on the recliner watching a movie with all of my brothers, as I did many weekends. This night was different. I woke up in the middle of the night to someone touching me, inappropriately. I was so young, I didn’t know what was going on, so instead of WAKING UP, i started tossing and turning. As soon as I did my older brother slipped his hands out of my pants and ran back to the couch, very quickly. I rolled back over and tried to go back to sleep. Never said a word to anyone about it, except for my older sister but not for another 20 years. Only because that same brother had done the same thing to her when she was younger.

What sucked is this brother is my moms only son, so even after my parents divorced he was always around. Even though this happened well over 20 years ago, it has stuck with me, embedded in my brain. I would never let him watch my daughter when she was younger (Or ever, but as a heroin addict no one questions my reasoning anymore) I always feel extremely uncomfortable around him.

My brother, as I mentioned is a heroin addict. He has seen my nephew less times in ten years than i have fingers on one hand. My mother had custody of him at one point, and now she gets him for holidays, long weekends, summers. All of the times that he could be seeing him, my mom gets him. He is not aloud anywhere near him. Every time he gets sober for any small length of time, he relapses. He refuses to do the right thing when it comes to my nephew.

Everyone assumes that is why I have really distanced myself from him over the last five years. More distance than normal. I cant even bring myself to accept his FB request. I lost my baby brother to a heroin overdose three years ago this summer. If I could go back and be more present in his life, I WOULD. So, that cant be it.

This was not the only time my brother touched me inappropriately, but it is the first memory I have of the abuse. Its not like I could tell my mom next time hes sober and she tells me to give him a chance. I do not ever see a chance in his future.

until next time…

Advertisements

4.

One Saturday I walked into our apartment and there sat my dad and little brother.

BACKSTORY: The man I  call my dad today is a white man who entered my life when I was almost 10. He gave me the best sibling i could ask for, my little brother. It wasn’t his child, it was a child he helped his ex raise. When they split up, he stayed in his life, the way his biological father never did. My biological father will from this point on be refereed to as Daddy Black, in real life I call him by his first name.

Little did I know this wasn’t some short term fling like the last few guys my mom had dated. Once I realized this guy was trying to stick around, I started doing everything I could to make him change his mind.

I started this earlier, I don’t feel like writing what i was going to write anymore.

until next time…

3.

When your spouse goes to prison, you can essentially divorce him/her for little to no cost. My mom being the smart woman she was took that bit of information and ran with it. Smart girl, however at 9 years old I was pretty pissed off about it.

“How dare she break apart our family.” Wise words of a fourth grader.

My life did a 180 flip so quick. I don’t remember the transition, I just remember it being changed. I had lived in a better neighborhood, and was getting a better education, my mom had a better position at her job. Things were looking up from an outside perspective.

My mom was in recovery, Alcoholics anonymous. If I am being honest i never remember my mom drinking. Like never. So in my mind she was either a liar, or a closet drinker. Or maybe my childhood was so fucked up that i didn’t realize her problems were a problem, because it was normal. Maybe the drink she always had in her cup wasn’t juice. Honestly who am I to say. She started going to meetings, a lot. AA dances, picnics, AA parties, our life really revolved around AA. It was good for her, it was good for me. Stability, something id never really had before. She had great friends, no drugs, happy weird people. If you have ever experienced AA people you’d agree they’re all weirdos. And I loved it.

Then my mom started to date. She dated everyone, she involved me in her relationship choices in ways a 9/10 year old should not be  involved in. She dated more than one guy at a time. She probably still doesn’t know to this day how that effected me in a negative way.

BACK STORY: I have ADHD , that came along with some pretty bad anxiety issues, and OCD, which I have been lucky to manage as an adult with out the help  of Big Pharma. My mom and i argued A LOT.  I use the word argue lightly. She called me a stupid nigger like my dad, smacked me with a belt a few times, told me how much she hated me, blamed me for things that could not possibly be my fault. I kicked her in the stomach once, told her how much I hated her, threatened to run away, call the cops on her (and the cops ended up being on my moms side). There was a lot of animosity. I knew my mom loved me. And I loved my mom, we just had some struggles showing it.

until next time…

2.

Btw… I remember having chicken pox…

When you’re a child, you pretty much believe everything that your parents tell you. I was nine years old when my mom uprooted my brother and I. My other brothers are all from previous relationships my dad had. We went straight from the slums to the proper. When my dad went to prison my mom flew with the opportunity to leave.

I was 9, ha, wow… my daughter is 9. I was across the street playing with the lice girls when the police knocked in my front door. I didn’t see it happen, I just remember a LOT of police cars surrounding my house, and me not being aloud to go home. After that…. blank. I have no idea what we did, where we went, how we got there, if my dad was out on bail, how long it was after that, that my mom moved us to a new town, nothing.

BACKSTORY: My dad told me a lie for nearly a decade, and I believed it. It is a seriously ridiculous lie. My dad robbed a bank. He lead me to believe that he gave a friend a ride to the bank. Next thing he knows he is running out of the bank with money flowing out of his clothing all over the street. He jumps in the car, and my dad didn’t know what else to do, but to drive away… Yes I believed that. Even after I didn’t believe it, I pretended to.

I moved from a predominately black neighborhood, to an all white one. There was one other black family where we moved. They had lived there their whole lives… I on the other hand was a new black girl with a white mom, and a dad in prison. Literally, everyone I met was afraid of me. I cant help but laugh at that.

It seriously never dawned on me how racist that is. Maybe I am missing the point.

until next time…

1.

I often think  about my earliest memories. Even writing about it now, it is like my mind goes blank. Not because I don’t remember, but because what I have up there is not really worth remembering…

When I was probably 4, I remember standing in a circle with my dad, and a handful of his friends. I had a bottle of mountain dew in my hand, they all had beers. All I can remember about that moment is my dads friend saying “She tips it back just like you.” Talking to my dad, about me drinking my soda. This is always the first thing i think about when i think about my past. Dont ask why.

Once i was at a friend’s house, my older brother was dating his mom… I never thought about how weird that is until just now. Everything is a blur until my friends mom walked upstairs with a basket of wet clothing… they were all blotched with bleach stains. OOPS, it was my fault. I remember trying to be helpful because she was stressed out… Fail. That same friends older brother got caught smoking cigarettes by my brother. My brother and his mom then forced him to smoke cigarettes one after another until he puked. I sat outside on the porch watching. It was brutal. I was probably  or 6.

My dad used to take me to the bar with him, I was quite the daddy’s girl back in the day. I have, had, eight brothers. They all lived with us at one point. Neither of my sisters did. I remember he would sit me on the bar top, I would drink soda and eat free candy all night. In the early 90’s, in the ghetto, that was a totally acceptable thing to do. Now those same parents just keep their sleeping kids in the car while they go to the bar, HA. its funny because its true.

The first time I ever tried smoking pot i was around 6. I kept telling my dad it was bad for him to smoke. (don’t get it twisted I’m an adult now and an advocate for legalizing marijuana in every way) He smoked in the house all the time with his friends, once I went to him from the kitchen, my mom was doing dishes. I said something about him smoking, He hit his red acrylic steam roller, filling it with smoke, and put it to my lips. I don’t remember anything after that.

My dad was a crack dealer, he never hid that from me. If we are being honest my dad never hid anything from me. I’ll assume that’s part of the reason I’m one fucked up individual. I remember sitting in my car seat, around preK age. [[BACKSTORY: I was a super smart kid, got selected in a very small group of 4 year olds who took a test to get into Kindergarten a year early. I beat out like 200 kids. I am TOTALLY proud of that!]] My dad and I would drive around for hours, random stops. Usually seriously shady apartment buildings. ITS CRAZY that I can honestly remember the one we always stopped at. Yellow lights, hookers walking around. Of course back then i didn’t know what they were just ladies. This old man would come to the widow and hand my dad a baggy full of dollars and cents. That’s how i learn to count money. I have a clear vision of my dad looking back at me, handing me a bag of cash and asking me to count it for him, with a chuckle. My dad and I… we were so close, he’s a great guy.

My dad being very well-known in his profession meant he literally knew everyone everywhere we went. IT WAS ALWAYS SO ANNOYING. Right before my dad went to prison, I was in 3rd grade, a guy pulled up in front of my house and tried to solicit me into his car with candy. I mean I knew to scream, but instead i threatened my big bad dad on him, “Do you know who my daddy is!” Then i ran to my front door screaming for my dad, who knows if he knew who my dad was but he pulled away.

OH once, one of the women my dad cheated on my mom with, came to our door in the middle of the night, and my dad beat the shit out of her in the middle of the street.

That’s about it before my dad went to prison.

wait…

my mom won $10,000 on the radio.

my parents had a water-bed.

the carpet in my bedroom was blue shag.

the girls across the street had lice constantly and roaches, it.was.gross.

I used to make bracelets by braiding yarn and sell them in my front yard for $.25 when my mom would have a yard sale.

and my cousin used to molest me, Ive literally never said that before out loud, technically my mouth hasn’t verbally expressed it even still.

Until next time…