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 →
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 →
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.
In a span of about three years (October 2010 to June 2013) I had to deal with a lot of death. Pop (Grandfather), Spike (my cat), and then a neighbor. Pop and the neighbor were both gun suicides.
I’ll never forget October 10, 2010. My dad called me late at night, which I immediately knew meant there was trouble. My father and I are not close. We speak on holidays and see each other maybe every five years. The reasons behind that are stories for another day though. At the time when this call occurred, I was living with my mom and in the final stages of interviews for a job. When I answered the phone, my dad’s sobs could be heard. And he told me Pop had killed himself, just three days after his 66th birthday.Continue reading →
It has been a very long time since I was a member of opendiary.com or kept some type of journal, not counting sites like Myspace, Facebook, and Google+, which honestly don’t exactly count in my opinion. I created a new opendiary account after not using the site for many years, and not five days later they announced their permanent shutdown after 15 years. I then tried Tumblr, which I really did not like. So this post has been moved to a third site, wordpress. Fingers crossed this is where I can call home.
A long time ago I lost a job because of my opendiary. I was one of the first people in this country to lose a job due to an online social networking account, but you won’t find any news articles about me or the incident. Continue reading →