In early 2007 I moved from Arizona to Nevada without any notice or planning. My marriage had come to the breaking point and the only place that I really had to go was to my mother’s. I could have stayed with friends, but at the time I had no job or income of my own due to a layoff (the beginnings of the housing crash were the cause) and frankly I wanted to be with my mother. She had relocated to Nevada with her job in 2003 from the city in Arizona that we had lived in since 1989. It was not an easy separation for us. My mom and I are closer than most siblings and have our relationship often compared to that of twins. The opportunities that this relocation would offer her were not something that she could turn down and although I knew it would not be easy for either of us, I encouraged her to go. She’s gone from poverty class hourly wages and living in a rented trailer to making $60,000 more a year than she was a decade ago, owning her own home, being able to save for retirement, being able to purchase a new car, and have more comforts in her life. I followed mom to Nevada because I wanted to be near her and had nowhere else I could realistically go. At the same time that meant leaving behind my friends and the few family members I associate with and a city that I truly love.
In the last four months I have run across images or information concerning three of the major men that used to be in my life. The first, *Scott was my boss back in the late nineties and early 2000s. He and I became lovers and were having an affair. He was married to a woman that he had met out of the country and had brought here so she could obtain citizenship. She also had health issues (at least so he told me and it very well may have been true) that prevented them from having a sex life. Again, according to him, she knew about me and was okay with our relationship. I fell in love with this man like I had never with anyone else. We kept our involvement a secret, although it wasn’t a well kept one. Continue reading
When I say I came from messed up origins, I mean that. Before I go any further I will say this; I know I could be far worse off and have many more problems than I do. I am in no way saying I have it worse than anyone else. We all have our own problems and they affect each of us differently. You will see as I tell this story just how far from normal my early years were though. I thank my mom and my mom alone for the way I turned out.
I was born on a Wednesday afternoon a few months before the seventies came to a close. My mother was 19 at the time, my father 21. Their union was not a happy one nor one born out of love. My mother had been given little choice by her adoptive mother, go with your boyfriend or become homeless because I’m kicking you out. Not much of a choice at that age. So they got married and I was the result. I blame neither of them for this, it simply was.
Although my mother was miserable she remained with my father for my sake. By the time I turned four she simply could not take it anymore and announced her intention to divorce my dad. I know she had a lover and that lover’s ex-wife (or ex-girlfriend) happened to be my babysitter in our tiny rural town. I remember very little of this time except for one event that stands out in my mind. My mother and I were in the trailer we lived in, my father was outside mowing the lawn. I was standing in front of the glass screened door watching him when he hit a rock with the mower. The rock hit this door and shattered the glass. It was loud and very scary. I wasn’t harmed, but this is what I remember from this time.
From this point what I’m writing will be a blend of memory and fact. I was too little to remember all this on my own, and I’ve done a damn good job of erasing a lot of it, but I’ll try to distinguish what is memory from what I learned.
When my father’s mother (Mim in these entries After Suicide – Part 1 of 2 and After Suicide – Part 2 of 2) found out that my mom was divorcing my dad, she decided that my mother should be punished. First she decided that because my mother carried around a spare pair of underwear for me that that meant she was molesting me and began spreading this around our small Georgia town. I don’t remember anyone talking to me about my mom supposedly molesting me. When that accusation wouldn’t stick and she found out who my mother’s lover was and thereby who my babysitter was, she decided the babysitter was molesting me. This accusation held more water for people, and so she spread that around instead. Continue reading
I was reading The Digital Ties That Bind: Love, Loss and Oversharing in the Internet Age and I found that I don’t see things exactly the same way, especially relating to the changes made online after something happens in or ends a relationship. Callie Schweitzer says in the article “There’s just no way to completely scrub your digital self from a relationship in 2014, no quick way to sever digital ties once they’ve been formed and no easy way to tell your social media networks that you’re no longer together.” Continue reading
When I read this article yesterday (note: now a week ago) I suddenly understood much more about what happened to my Pop in 2010. I may not agree with every conclusion this man has come to, but the aspects of fearlessness, isolation, and the belief that your death is worth more than your life rang very true to me. My Pop was a Navy Seal, Merchant Marine, and triple black belt. If that doesn’t require some fearlessness I’m not sure what does. Isolation was his life. His wife had dementia, they lived in the middle of nowhere, and my dad was the only one around. Continue reading
Trigger Warning: Graphic and emotional content.
I was laid off in April of 2013 and since then have been a house-girlfriend. My natural rhythm is to stay up until the morning. I’m a night owl and always will be. On a hot summer night in June of last year I was up playing video games and had finally decided to lay down at about 3:15am because I had a doctor’s appointment in the morning. As I shut everything down and headed to the patio for a smoke, I started to hear wailing. From inside I couldn’t even tell what it was. It sounded like a wounded animal, but not at all human. As I stepped outside I was able to hear a little better that it was a person, but completely incoherent. As a good neighbor, not knowing what was going on, I called security and reported it. I didn’t go to bed. Instead I stayed on the patio to listen if someone needed help and to try to figure out what was going on.