[Bad] Dream of a Memory

Do you know anyone that’s ever been abused? Any sort of abused? I do. I have. I was. Many forms, by different people at different times in my life. Most of the time, though, it was on repeat by one person: my stepfather.

For the most part I’ve gotten over it. While my mother is still, unfortunately, married to the man that treated me so badly throughout my childhood and adolescent years (and even now he bad mouths and talks down to me, but I’ve grown more of a back bone and will talk back to him despite fear of retribution), most of my communication with my mother is via telephone as she lives over an hour away and she works over 8 hours a day, every day, every week with the [very] occasional day off; she’s the main “breadwinner” of their household as my stepdad is (surprise-surprise!) a convicted felon & although he could find work at, the very least, a manufacturing plant, he refuses to work anything other than odd jobs that he runs himself.

Therefore, my communication with that entire household is limited.

And my mother.

I love her. I do. I may not always agree with everything she says. I may not agree with everything she does, especially the fact that she’s still with my stepdad, but I love her nonetheless. I will acknowledge her faults, though most of the time not to her face because she won’t most of the time. She confides in me and I, her. We understand each other because of, oddly enough, my stepfather. We have a mutual understanding between us and I’m thankful to her that, although she’s my mother, my Mom, she chose to have me live apart from her.

And that’s where everything comes full circle as to why I’m writing this tonight.

I woke up around three this morning, my eyes wide and in a panic. I knew I was in bed and if it wasn’t for the fact that my husband’s arms were still around me I probably would have screamed.

I dreamt of a memory of days long since past. It was nearly 9 years ago – the winter of 2005 – and I was living with my mother in the home she lives in now. It’s a small, technically one-bedroom, house that at the time housed my Mom & stepdad in what is now a closet; my two younger brothers, who were then 6 & 8 years old in what is now a combined living room/Mom & stepdad’s room; and me, in what is now my youngest brother’s room, that back then was right next to my mother and stepfather’s “room” and only separated by a sheet. There was no privacy whatsoever. It was Hell on Earth.

Normally I wouldn’t be living with them; I abhor my stepfather and nearly always have, but my Grandmother, whom I had been staying with, gave me an ultimatum that pushed me and I took it. I wasn’t going to give up a friendship for her old-fashioned ideals, but that’s a different topic altogether. So I found myself moving 45 minutes away and switching schools in the middle of the fall semester my first year of high school. My mother was happy that I was finally coming to live with her, but she wasn’t happy about the circumstances behind it. Honestly, everything was going well until the last day of school before winter break.

One of my friends, specifically a male friend, asked if he could come over and hang out for a bit after school. I told him I’d ask. I was more than naïve back then, I guess; he purposely left information out to me and I didn’t see the signs. Either way, we both got permission for him to come over and he rode the bus home with me. I’m going to point this out now: I never thought of him as anything more than a friend; he was JUST a friend to me in my mind. Well, apparently everybody else thought otherwise – including him.

He ended up eating dinner with my family because his mom hadn’t picked him up yet. When I asked him why she hadn’t shown up yet, he said that she wouldn’t be there till around 9PM. I was pissed! He never told me that and I knew, at that moment, I was going to get hell from my stepdad as soon as he left.

I was right.

After he left and my brothers were firmly asleep my stepdad started in on me and it just kept coming. I don’t remember everything he said; he asked me so many questions – accusing me of lying when I hadn’t and every time I denied lying he just got angrier.

What I haven’t said yet is that my stepfather is an alcoholic. I know by that time he was drunk for sure, but I couldn’t tell you how long he’d been drinking that day.

Finally, at one point, I was sent to bed. I think it was around 11-11:30 that evening. I was tired. I’d had a long day at school and then I’d been grilled and yelled at and intimidated by my stepfather. Nobody likes that. I fell asleep listening to him yell at my Mom, but the words were a blur to me, even then.

I was woken up again around 1AM, being dragged – literally – out of bed by my arm by my stepfather. He was pissed, and that’s an understatement. I don’t remember what the discussion at that point was about. I was being questioned again about my actions that evening and why I did what and several other co-existing categories. I remember answering something honestly and it must have been the wrong answer, and something that he disliked extremely or considered a “smart-ass remark” because the next thing I knew I was dodging a glass plate being thrown at me. If I hadn’t moved it would have hit my upper left shoulder near my neck. I don’t remember much after that other than crying and being scared.

I moved back to my Grandmother’s within days after that. I don’t think anyone would question why. It was my Mom’s decision to move me back.

The thing is, this is only one of the instances of something abusive happening to me but for some reason it’s the one that pops up the most in my memory, in my dreams; it’s the one that troubles me the most and I don’t understand why.

I was scared then and it scarred me enough mentally and emotionally that it still bothers me to this day, enough to keep me awake at night. The abuse I’ve suffer throughout my life from my stepfather, and inadvertently from my mother, is probably the one thing that I haven’t completely gotten over and I’m not sure that I ever will. I think that’s what scares me.

Now it’s not the terror of being physically dragged away from my bed in the middle of the night by someone else; now it’s the terror of waking up and having to drag myself from my own bed because of someone else… because I’m afraid to face what might be in my dreams.

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Anticipation, Anxiety, & Grrrr

I’m tired; I’m out of energy; I’m nauseous and my breasts are sore. If I’m not pregnant, I want to know what the f*ck is wrong with my body because I never PMS (PreMenstrual Syndrome) symptoms like these. The most I have is a slightly sore lower back the day before I start my period and I don’t even HAVE that. So seriously… WTF?!

I’m not saying I am preggers. I’m not saying I am. The body can seriously play mind games and no matter how well I may know my body and even though I’ve been pregnant twice, it doesn’t matter. One, it’s been three years since my last pregnancy so being pregnant is a mere memory to me; I don’t remember every detail… obviously. Two, well, it’s been three years. My body’s changed since then, therefore symptoms and everything are bound to change. And I’m with a different man. I’ve heard that has something to do with it, but I’m honestly not sure.

That and I really just don’t want to get my hopes up in case I’m not preggers. Getting my hopes up and not being preggers REALLY sucks ass. I hate it. I’ve done that and it hurt. I didn’t like it, so I just try to stay neutral as much as possible. It’s hard, but I just… I just try. I try to remain, I don’t know, scientific, about it? I try to think of it logically? It’s hard to really say. Just that I try to not get emotionally attached to something that I don’t know is real or not. :-/

Le sigh.

Work, Write, Love

There are so many things wrong right now. It’s ridiculous. I’m thinking too much and everything is driving me crazy. I think I’m getting slightly depressed because I’m stuck inside all the time recently because of the weather, with all of this cold and snow that’s been coming through everywhere here in the eastern United States. I guess it doesn’t make anything better when my fiance is working overtime because one of his co-workers is so badly injured that he isn’t able to work for the next two (2) months, so him and his other co-workers are putting in an exponential amount of extra hours to cover for him. This week, alone, he’s worked over sixty (60) hours. While, yes, the paycheck’s going to be lovely and both of us are looking forward to it… I miss him. I miss him a lot and I don’t get to spend enough time with him. We used to spend more time with each other. Hell, when my aunt was living with us we saw more of each other then, than we do now and we had severe privacy issues back then!

But all of this is just me ranting and raving. I need to get it out of my system. I have nobody – absolutely no one – to talk to about all of this.

I don’t have any close friends. I don’t really trust my family with personal information any more. It’s come to the point that the therapist who stops by bi-weekly to help with my child in his development (he’s a little behind, y’see) is easier to talk to than anybody else… except, of course, my fiance. But then it comes down to the fact that he’s never here and when he is, he seems to be sleeping because he’s so worn out from working. We never talk anymore. We never spend time with each other. We don’t even have money for a single Valentine’s Day dinner, I’ve come to find out.

I’m trying to figure out his schedule so that maybe I can arrange my mother and stepfather to babysit the children for a night or two so that my fiance and I can just have a night to ourselves and we can just, I don’t know, go out. Spend time with each other. See a movie. Have dinner. Go to a bar. Just have fun with each other. It’s not a big deal. The whole point, nonetheless, being is that we just need to spend time with each other. Without the children. Every couple does.

I feel like I’m losing him. And maybe it’s just me. I know I get paranoid sometimes and I definitely know that I have a tendency to overthink things, but it seems like my fiance and I have been growing distant from each other as of late and I don’t like it. Not one bit.

I know he loves me though. I need to stop being paranoid. The signs are there that he loves me. I’m letting too many things build up inside of me. Little things. Reminders from my past; things that people have said to me that are starting to get to me. It’s unfair and I don’t like it. I know what he’s really like. But again, that’s the problem. The little things that are wiggling their way into my mind are making me doubt stuff like that and, in my mind, if I really love my fiance I shouldn’t ever doubt him. I know that nobody is perfect; I know that no relationship is perfect, but I can’t help but continually wonder if something’s going wrong or if… just if.

I’ve wandered into “what if” categories. I really don’t think that’s a good sign.

A good sign, though, I think, is that he is the one person (not including my children) that I can’t picture myself without. I think and think and think, and then it occurs to me that we already act like we’re married. We share bills, rent, a home, chores, cooking (though, I will admit he does the majority when he’s not working); we share decisions and we compromise. We actually talk about where we’re heading in the future – where we want to go, in the sense of “when we finally get a house of our own and not this place, we’ll…” or “when we’re more financially stable we’ll take a trip to *example place* with the kids… they’d love it”. It makes my heart just grow and burst with such warmth. I feel like squealing and crying from happiness sometimes.

And, y’know, I guess it’s also probably a really good sign that when I’m reading my romance novels or watching my romantic-comedies (*cough* chick-flicks), or any sort of movie or book that has a significant amount of romance in it, I picture the leading female as myself and the leading male as my fiance. Especially once they start dating; especially if it’s starting to get more romantic. The thing is, though, it doesn’t have to be the “more romantic” parts. I have a wild imagination, and if I can picture my fiance and I doing something similar – then we’re in whatever book or movie I’m watching or reading at the time.

I love him and I’m in love with him. I’m not convincing myself of this. I’ve known it for about a year and a half now. My feelings have not faded; they’ve only grown stronger. I guess, though, I didn’t anticipate all of the other emotions – the stress, anxiety – that would come with it.

But he makes me feel beautiful. He makes me feel whole. He makes me feel complete. With him, I am me and no one else. I don’t have to be. He feel in love with me at my worst and has helped me pick up the pieces. I truly believe he loves me for who I am. It’s just hard to believe sometimes. It’s a scary thought… to have found somebody so completely right for me that they’re willing to accept all of my fuck-ups & help me through my rough patches. It’s hard to comprehend to have found somebody who loves me even if my family is so against the relationship, or just completely horrible in their own right but he still loves me because, well, because my family does not define me. My family is not who I am. Just because I am related to them by blood does not always mean they are my family.

And he accepts me. And he loves me. And he loves my children.

That’s all that matters.

Fuck the world. We don’t need anyone else. Nobody else’s opinion matters.

Just ours.

Since Last Month!

Omg, it’s been so long since I’ve updated anything on here! I can’t blame it completely on being busy, but the majority… yeah, I have been. With the holidays just passing and my aunt moving in with my fiance and I, plus the extreme cold weather passing through, so everything’s been quite hectic.

Oh, and the wedding that I was in. That happened in between Christmas and New Year’s. Lovely, lovely.

So! Let’s start off, shall we? It seems we have quite a lot to cover. 😉

Christmas was different. Didn’t really know what was going on until about two days beforehand; it was really crazy. My stepdad got all angry because I told my mom to tell him that if he couldn’t accept the fact that she wanted to be with her family on Christmas then he didn’t have to come. He got p*ssed, there was some yelling involved, and he didn’t come. My mom and brothers did, though. It was much more fun of a day than I expected it to be.

My aunt helped cook Christmas dinner, as did my fiance. I made chicken and noodles. There was some squabble over use of the kitchen. There’s some sort of tension over the kitchen. My aunt’s always been the one in the kitchen and, since I’ve been with him, my fiance has always been the one in the kitchen – kind of a switch of perceived gender roles, which we have no objection to, by the way. It’s weird though. Every time my fiance just takes a step into the kitchen, in our own home, my aunt goes in there as well even if she has no reason to be in there. She’ll start talking to my fiance, offering advice (“why don’t you do this?” “why don’t you add that?” “I normally do such n’ such”) and it drives both me and my fiance bonkers, because I normally have to intercede in some way. Cause, y’see, we don’t have a larger kitchen so more than one person being in the kitchen at the same time, especially if the 2nd person has no reason of being in there, causes extreme problems. My fiance is to the point that he’d rather be at work, out of the house, just in general away from my aunt, than at home.

For example: on New Year’s Eve, he had to work the next morning, a 12-hour shift, and so when he got home that evening he brought snacks, champagne, and general stuff for a night in for the two of us. My aunt immediately got on his case: “Well I’ve got that” “You can use this instead” and it drove him absolutely crazy. He’d had a good day at work, an extremely good day at work, and – the way he told me – he didn’t want to come home and her voice be the first thing he hears cause it just ruined it for him.

We ended up going out that night. We ate, drank, stayed out and had some fun. We came home before it turned into 2014. The first thing we did when we came home was put the children to bed then locked ourselves in our bedroom, drank the champagne, ate chips and salsa, and watched movies on the TV we have in our room cause we’re awesome like that. LOL!

I just feel bad. My aunt’s supposed to be moving out and she’s going on living here two months. She was supposed to have moved out near a month ago. I love her, but I hope she doesn’t secretly hope to move in full-time with me. We just don’t have the space. She’s not even paying any sort of rent or bills while living here and she thinks that she’s entitled to everything! So yes, she’s starting to drive me nuts too. I love her, but just like when I was younger, I’m not sure how long I can stand living with her.

Changing topics: the wedding was absolutely beautiful. I had no idea, though, that churches hung the triquatra. I thought it was a Pagan symbol, so I’m thoroughly confused. The Methodist church my best friend got married in still had their Christmas decorations up and on the tree was several triquatras. If someone could explain that to me, I would greatly appreciate it. My fiance, who is well-versed in the Pagan religion, many religions in fact, had no answer.

The batchelorette party was the night before, but I’m very proud of myself as I did not get as sloshed as most people would have expected. I had lots of fun though. We held the party at the groom’s mother’s house, which may seem odd, but if you knew all of us… well, it’s really not that odd, to be quite honest. We played many games, drank till the sun came up, ate chips and dip, pranced around in nightgowns and watched baby videos. It was awesome.

Oh, and can’t forget the guy that hung out with us. One of the other bridesmaid’s, that I don’t really know, boyfriend; he even pranced around in a nightgown with us! It was awesome! Especially the part where he changed in front of us! Does that mean we had our own personal stripper??? LOL!

Though the craziest part about the time surrounding the wedding was the fact the majority of my time was spent with my fiance’s ex who happens to be a close friend of my best friend who was getting married. Said ex was driving me and my best friend around everywhere. It was freaky. Then, y’know, when my fiance showed up at the reception (because he had to work and wasn’t able to make it to the ceremony) she gave him the evil eye… and me, for that matter. Total evilness. She avoided both of us completely but sat herself in the perfect position so that all she had to do was look up and she’d be able to see us and, well, glare. Completely creeped me out. Gah.

Lemme tell ya though, the snow storm’s been fun. The polar vortex or whatever I’ve heard it been called. I’m totally snowed in. We have a total of around 12 inches. Every one on my facebook newsfeed was saying “oh, we’ll only get around 2-3 inches, they’ve said this’ll happen before and it didn’t”. Well hey, it happened. Dumb*ss. I kinda trust the weather channel. I’m not talking local weather channel; I’m talking national weather service. I get daily updates. Heck yeah. My oldest still isn’t back in school cause of the storm and I don’t expect the school to open until, at the earliest, next week. What’s sucky is that all of this means that school is going to go even further into June because on the norm, without the make-up snow days, school goes into June. Fun, fun, fun. :-/

But on the upside of everything, my fiance and I finally might have enough for our wedding in… duh dun duhn!… JUNE! Wish us luck! 🙂

Poem: “If Only”

Pardon me if I cry
a little.
Is it all right if I cry
a little?

I swear it’s not me you’re dreaming of.

I didn’t mean to say
the wrong things.
I don’t want to fight.
I’m sorry.

I don’t even know what we’re fighting for.

Can’t you just
let me know
what bothers you?

Isn’t it
easier
talking,
communicating?

I’m so sorry that I ever disappointed you.

I know I’m not
perfect and
that you
have flaws
too.

Can’t you just see me as I see you?

Why do we fight
with our silent
words?

Where did
we go
wrong?

Why won’t
this end? 

I hope
this ends.

I love you.

(c) K.C. 2013

(c) K.C. 2013

Written a decent amount of time ago when my fiance and I were in a tiff. Neither of us are confrontational and are more the “silent fighter” type. It was a long, drawn-out and torturous time for me, and I assume him. Thankfully, everything worked out in the end. I only recently found this and wanted to share it.

My Mother and I

I have a complicated relationship with my mother. That’s putting it lightly.

At this point I’ve put the past in the past, where it belongs. There are times when I have start dwelling on what has happened and who to believe: the rest of my family or her? Then I realize that it doesn’t matter because it’s over and done with. What matters is what she and every other person in my life chooses to do now – how to handle their own life and how much they want to be involved in mine, whether they truly want to help me or they don’t. I can’t make those decisions for them.

But it all comes back to my mother.

From the time I moved out with my [now] ex-husband, she was one of the few people to support me even if she wasn’t fond of him. I was happy about that. She told me how she felt and she was honest; she didn’t hide from me the fact that she didn’t like him. It’s the fact that she still helped me when I was pregnant and inbetween homes, when everyone else was proven right that he was an a**hole and they wanted to shove it in my face.

She helped me. Then.

Two years later I’m living on my own an hour away from her and she’s still the one that I talk to the most out of my family and still the one that I see the most out of my family. She’s still the one that is most willing to help me when times get tough and something comes up suddenly. She’s my mother; mother’s do that kind of thing.

But she didn’t when I was growing up. She was never there. Ever.

She’s told me that she’s trying to make up for it. It honestly seems like she is. There’s just one problem.

My mother’s letting me stepfather influence her too much. I’m not sure if it’s consciously or subconsciously or if it’s because she’s been with him for so many years, but it’s happening. I have proof. It’s this proof that hurt me the most.

Those months ago, earlier this year, when my ex took my children for three weeks and I panicked because I had no idea where they were, just a vague idea, and he wasn’t allowing contact? That’s when it happened. On the second day after he finally fessed up that he wasn’t bringing them back like he said he would I finally told my mother. She told me to calm down and basically go through every thing that I already had. She said she would wait a day or two to tell my stepfather. My mom was on my side. She thought that what I was doing was right, especially since I had already spoken to my lawyer and was calling him everyday to try and get something done. She was proud of me, though not half as anxious.

Those two days went by fast. I kept my mother up-to-date with what was going on. One day, mid-afternoon, my cell phone rang. It was my mother. She told me that she’d told my stepfather the night before and then she started in on me about how I needed to “get something done to get your kids back”.

Because I wasn’t trying to do that?! Seriously?!

She kept yelling and ranting at me through the phone. She had switched sides, from being completely on my side to completely agreeing with whatever my stepfather said. What’s sad is that within the past night and earlier in the day I had just been discussing that I thought my mother would do that.

It hurt. It hurt a lot.

It was bad enough that I was so anxious that I couldn’t be in the house by myself, I was restless so I was constantly walking, I’d had multiple panic/anxiety attacks and I wasn’t able to even GLANCE at children without bursting into tears.

And she had the nerve to tell me, as a message from my stepfather, that what I was doing wasn’t enough, was wrong, and I needed to do more and not to listen to my lawyer?!

I love my mother, but F*CK THAT!

It was the first and only time it had happened in my life, but I just lost it. I started yelling and screaming at the top of my lungs into my phone at my mother. I don’t remember everything I said. I couldn’t control what I said. Every word that came out of my mouth was exactly what was on my mind and how I was feeling. I had snapped.

That had never happened to me before. Nobody previously and nobody since then has gotten me that worked up.

I know this: I told her that my stepfather was just that – my stepfather, and that he had no right to tell me what to do. That I was an adult and I didn’t care if she was my mother she couldn’t make my decisions for me. He wasn’t my father, he’s never been my father, and he’s never tried to act like my father so he needed to just shut the f*ck up.

And that was just the part that I can remember. I ranted at my mother for a good five minutes. And then I hung up on her without letting her say anything. And didn’t answer any calls from her house for a week. The only communication would be if something came up having to do with my children, and even then I was emotionless and stayed on the phone for as short a period as possible.

And I don’t think she realizes what she’s doing. What she did. I don’t think she realized how much she hurt me.

Unfortunately, nothing about this changes the fact that I love my mother. No matter how shitty she may treat me. It’s like I’m in an abusive relationship and I just keep coming back for more. I don’t understand why I do even though I know how I’m going to be treated and that I’ll never reach any sort of approval in her eyes.

I’m the child she didn’t want. At least, that’s my assumption.

When I was pregnant, right after I left my ex-husband, my mother and stepfather asked me two questions: “Is it yours?” and “Are you going to keep it?”

My mother was in almost the exact situation with me and she kept me.

That hurt too.

I don’t think she realizes that, unlike the rest of my family, I don’t hold grudges. I just keep memories. I will remember. I will never forget. Ever.

But I won’t hold it against her. I love my mother.