Choosing Sides. Amnesia?

My last post made me think. I was thinking about it all day, thinking about that and more.

That was not the first time I had encountered my stepfather when he was angry, nor would it be the last. What it made me realize, though, is that every time something like that happened… I moved out. He was not kicked out. My mother did not leave him. I was the one who left; I was the one who, essentially, was told she was in the wrong. At least, that’s how it feels now.

I spoke with my mother that day. I asked her several things, mostly about my childhood, before and after that specific incident. I fibbed to her a little bit, not stating that I awoke in the middle of the night nearly screaming because of the memory of it happening appearing in my dream. No, I didn’t want that to haunt her, knowing that she put her oldest child and only daughter at risk; I didn’t want that. I did call her that day with a purpose that day.

Throughout the whole day I had been thinking, going through my memories of the incidences and there are only three specific times that I can remember living at my mother’s while she was with my stepfather and then having to move back in with my Grandparents after something happened. Two of which have to do with my stepfather. One of them, there is a 2-3 week blank in my memory, starting with my last day of school when I lived with my mother and stepfather & beginning again with my first day back after winter break at a new school and living with my Grandparents again. Somewhere in-between that timeframe of 2-3 weeks something happened and I moved out.

I was in fifth grade. It was exactly a year before I had my seizure, leading to my diagnosis of epilepsy.

My mother could remember the incident of my stepfather chasing me through the house in a rage and me running to my room in fright, closing the door behind me and locking the door and him bursting it open, breaking the lock then hovering over me cowering on my bed, with his fist above his head; she could remember that clearly. That was the summer before I advanced to third grade.

My mother could remember the incident in ninth grade, the incident from the previous post. All of these were at least 10 years ago.

So how does she not remember the incident from the winter of my fifth grade year? I had called my aunt, her sister, before I called my mother to ask about it because, honestly, I was afraid of asking my mother. But my aunt didn’t have an answer; she didn’t know.

I can’t even give you a straight answer on what my mother told me. She was vague and tried to stay away from the topic of what happened. In the end, though, she did blame it on the fact of “that might have been when your absence seizures started”.  Absence seizures being basically when I space out. That’s the only outward sign and then I have no recollection of what happened during said time period of the seizure. They normally last 3-5 SECONDS.

How do I tell my mother, who definitely knows all the information about my epilepsy & the types of seizures I have, that there’s no way it could have erased 2-3 weeks of my memory and that I have AMNESIA. How do I tell her that she’s lying and it’s so obvious it’s ridiculous? How? What could have happened to me?

My husband thinks that there’s a possibility that something severe happened to me and she’s covering up for my stepfather. Honestly, I don’t doubt it. It just makes me worried because nobody will tell me, even more-so because she is still with my stepfather.

I’m scared.

 

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[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.

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! 🙂

Life = Drama

I shouldn’t feel like this. I don’t want to feel like this and yet I do.

My life is a soap opera. It’s drama-filled and it’s never boring. I hate it. It’s never a happy drama; something bad is always happening. I could name around ten (10) things right now that aren’t even close to good, but I don’t want to rant about everything.

I only want to get one thing out of my system. I’m so stressed about it, it’s not even funny. It’s scary. I’m anxious and freaking out and crying.

I’m honestly afraid that I’m going to lose my fiance. I honestly fear that I’m going to lose the man that I love.

Why? Because I made some bad choices in my past and they keep being dredged up when he’s just managing to stop thinking about them. And it isn’t as if I like to think about what I did in my past either – I hate it and I would rather not think on it either – but it’s harder for him. We got together right afterward. As in, less than a month afterward.

And I didn’t realize it at the time, in fact I didn’t realize it until my fiance pointed it out earlier this evening to me, but I had inadvertently lied to him.

At the time my fiance and I started our relationship I was just coming out of my bar-hopping/partying/drinking/sleeping around phase that lasted a whole three months. (Not very long, right?) Well, I don’t remember exactly when I said it or in what context, but I said that I wasn’t “that kind of girl” – the kind to sleep around or lie or betray him. And to be quite honest, I’m not. I just fell for him and I fell hard. When I told him that, and I can guarantee this, I didn’t think of myself as any sort of bar slut or some sort of floozy.

But he thinks I lied to him just to get with him. I didn’t and I’m scared that he’s going to leave me. He was angry about it earlier. He made a point of telling me earlier that when he was growing up it was said that the type of woman I was weren’t the kind for relationships and the men who tried to get in relationships with them were the stupid ones because they eventually ended badly – i.e: with some sort of betrayal.

I cried so hard. I told him straight-out that at the time I didn’t think of myself that way at the time and that I really am not like that. I told him that I was sorry for inadvertantly lying to him. He didn’t say anything. He pretty much stayed quiet until he had to get ready for work.

I didn’t want him to go to work. I was… am… afraid that he’s not going to come back.

I miss him.

I love him.

I wish someone could explain to me something. Help me.

Friendship Fail.

A month or so ago I posted about my “best friend” who’s getting married later this month and we were having some difficulties because early-mid last year I was taken advantage of in a most deplorable way and he was standing up for her fiance in the wedding. I haven’t fully gotten past what happened back then and I told her that if he was going to be there, if I had to be around him so intimately [because I, too, am in the wedding] then I wasn’t going to be in the wedding and probably not even attend the ceremony or reception.

Back at my other posts, I thought we had patched things up to the point where we determined that he wasn’t going to be coming: not invited, nodda.

I found out earlier today that not only did neither she nor her fiance tell the friend (the guy who date-raped me) that he was no longer invited to the wedding or anything to do with it, I found out the exact opposite! She has been in contact with him, messaging him and questioning him “why the lack of sudden friendship? I hope there’s no hard feelings from when you moved out earlier this year”.

And no, there’s not apparently. As it turns out, “the guy” and my supposed “best friend” are still good pals and she still considers him a very close friend and is very upset with her fiance because he took his friendship with “the guy” for granted and now she’s trying to mend it. Literally. So far, in fact, that she’s trying to get him to stay in the wedding that he dropped out of being in.

Yeah, the same one that I’m in later this month that my “best friend” said he wasn’t even going to be at. Yet, here she is trying to get him to salvage his friendship with her fiance and come to the wedding “because it would mean a lot to him and he wouldn’t have invited you to stand up for him in the wedding if he wasn’t trying in the friendship”.

I’m so friggin pissed. I’m not sure many people have any idea of just how angry I really and truly am.

So basically, I’ve decided that I’ll go. My children aren’t. They’re going to be staying at my mother’s house for, at the very least, the day of the wedding. My aunt is going because MY fiance decided he wanted absolutely nothing to do with her after this particular stunt and that she isn’t worth rescheduling part of his day at work. Honestly? I’m just going to see what exactly she thinks of me. If “the guy” is there, most especially in the Bridal Party, then I’m just walking out and never speaking to her again. It will be her fault and I just don’t care. I’m at the point of almost not going anyway.

I don’t know what she must think of me, but she must think I’m just some little toy, some sort of pawn, to be used and played with and whose emotions are so easily messed with it’s not funny. She must think that I’ll forgive her for anything. And she must not believe what I told her. I’m hurt; I feel betrayed. This is truly the last straw and for more reasons than one.

She’s the reason why my fiance almost broke up with me this afternoon. And that’s a much longer story. Let’s just leave that at with her, there’s been so much drama and it’s causing him to doubt me in several ways.

I’m not a liar and he has no reason to doubt me. I’m hurt, I’m disgusted, and I’m betrayed. I will not lose one of the most important people in my life because of some petty drama. She wants drama, she’ll get it on her wedding day, especially if she’s the cause of it. Using the “but it’s my wedding day” card won’t work on me then.

And I’m normally not such a bitch. I’m just that angry and hurt.

Gobble, Gobble, Gobble

For all those in the USA, like me:

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Yes, yes, I know. I’m a little bit late posting it since it’s after midnight, but I figure since most everyone would be busy with their families and/or friends and/or both today, then it would not be a big deal. As for me? I slept in till around 1PM, whereas my fiance slept till around 2:30PM; he had gotten up off and on with the children because apparently I was dead asleep, but I woke up before him. It really makes no sense, in my opinion.

We had a small, personal Thanksgiving dinner at home with just the two of us and the three kids. He had to work this evening, so it wasn’t anything big. We had mashed potatoes, turkey, stuffing, pumpkin muffins, and rolls. It was really very good. It was, also, the first Thanksgiving that all of us spent together. Last year my ex had my children, per court order, and my fiance and I (we weren’t engaged then) spent the holiday at my best friend’s house. Her family is like my second family and they invited us for Thanksgiving dinner last year. We had a blast.

But I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving this year, whether it was just a small occasion or some huge get together. For me, Thanksgiving is all about being together with the ones I love, about family. I guess I’m a traditionalist like that. 😉

My Life As It Is Now.

It’s… odd. At least to me.

I’ve never been a morning person. Ever. Even when I had to get up early so I could get ready and make sure I was on the bus by a certain time so I wouldn’t miss school, I was the grouchiest lil’ thing in the world. But you’d never know it.

I was good at putting up a happy front. With the life I’ve lived, I had to be otherwise people would be constantly asking me if I was okay, did I need something, or treat me different. Oddly enough, me being happy – or pretending to me, acting like I was – didn’t seem to help and I realized that sometime around my junior year in high school. I stopped caring. I would wake up 10-15 minutes before the bus came; I would brush my hair and pull it up in a ponytail or bun, put on some eyeliner (if I felt like it that day), and grab whatever I could find in my closet. Half the time I re-wore the same pair of jeans 3-4 days in a row. Please don’t get me wrong, though. I did take showers, use deodorant, and keep clean. I just didn’t care about my general body image.

Or socializing. That year I lost all of my friends because they, as I’ve come to find out within the past couple of years, thought I was “too snotty” or “too uppity” or that I thought I was “better than everyone else because I got better grades”. When they told me this these past few years I laughed out loud, and quite obnoxiously at that. Back in that timeframe, I literally just, for lack of better words, didn’t give a fuck. I wasn’t going to “dress to impress” every single day of the week when it was obvious nobody cared anyway. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone beforehand, besides. I was sick and tired of the rumors being said behind my back; that’s why I ignored and just walked passed so many people. They want to talk bad about me and then act like it was nothing? Even when I heard them personally saying it? Ok. Fine. I’ll ignore you.

I’m not a bitch. I give second, third, fourth, and so on chances. But that year I gave up.

Oh, and what’s even funnier? I didn’t have good grades. I got the occasionally A, but it was mostly C’s and D’s, again, the occasional B. I was no where near smart. I cried a lot because I didn’t have good grades and I honestly tried in my classes.

But honestly, none of this is what I wanted to talk about. I just kind of got off track. (But I meant every word.)

My life is different now than it was then. Obviously.

Back then, I wasn’t a mother. I was a teen whose life sucked horribly. At one point I think I considered suicide. Right now I would never even come close to considering it. Right now, in my life, I don’t fake being happy because I genuinely am happy. I don’t put on a happy smile so people will treat me differently. I smile when, well, when it feels right.

Compared to back then, my world is topsy-turvy. I never would have imagined my life as it is now if you would have asked me to back then. I would have said that right now I would either be in college or doing something with my career, maybe planning a wedding or in a serious relationship. The only two that are correct are the “planning a wedding” and “in a serious relationship”, which kind of go hand-in-hand.

At this point in my life I’m a mommy of three and one of my babies, my oldest, is in school. Every weekday morning I wake up between 6:30 and 7AM so I can start getting ready for the day and, more importantly, start getting my baby ready to get on the bus and off to preschool. When we transferred to the school district we’re in now, it was a big switch. Before it was only 2 days a week (Monday and Wednesday) and now it’s preschool every day, which is something I had never heard of.

It’s been three weeks now and we’re finally adjusting to the schedule, though I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that my fiance started his new job and, currently, he’s working a 12-hour shift and leaves at 6AM. (I hate to admit it, but it’s hard to sleep without him.

Recently I’ve been waking up about a half-hour before my fiance leaves for work, though I don’t know how I manage to time that so perfectly. I normally end up staying awake for the rest of the day; I can’t seem to get back to sleep, but by the end of the day I’m ready to pass out. I’ve been getting a lot more done, though. I’ve been eating better or, I should say, I’ve been sticking to my diet better. My kids have been happier and I’ve been sticking them to a better schedule/routine. (Right now it’s about naptime, though they’re fighting it really, really hard. Hence why I’m still typing.) Today I’ve gotten two loads of dishes done, put away one load (from yesterday), swept and mopped the kitchen, taken out the trash can and diaper pail, picked up all of the dirty clothes and started picking up the computer room. Oh! And I finished paying the bills. 🙂 All before 3PM.

This was all between making two bottles three or four times, one sippy cup twice, and handing out snacks at least four times minimum. Oh, and three diaper changes multiplied by 2 with four of those being poopy. And an hour and half (1.5) to two (2) hours was taken up by my oldest wanting me to watch “Pocahantas” with the little booger. The way I was asked I couldn’t say no; besides, it’s one of my favorite Disney movies too! Lol!

But yeah. I feel super accomplished today. I never get this much done.

And believe it or not, my children are currently quiet and asleep now.

Heck. Yes.