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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Never Woulda Guessed

I’m excited about this. I have to post it.

I went to court earlier this week. I was so nervous. It was against my ex; I was suing him for full custody, back support, and to raise the child support that I’m supposed to be getting. I was afraid of the things he could say; even though I knew I had the advantage I was afraid he would lie about something. Or exaggerate. Anything. I was afraid. Nervous to a worrisome extent.

Then I got to the courthouse with my fiance and a couple friends, meeting my lawyer there 30 minutes before everything started. My lawyer and I discussed everything while my friends kept a look out for my ex, who hadn’t arrived yet. Occasionally they were asked questions too, but that wasn’t a big deal.

The big deal was that by the time court was due to start my ex had not shown up. We deduced that he wasn’t going to.

After vigorous questioning by my lawyer, since it was a fill-in judge in place of the original judge on the case so we had to bring him up-to-date, and giving the judge the “evidence” from the past couple of months, I was astounded by what was decided. I didn’t know it could go the way that it did since my ex wasn’t present.

I was awarded full custody with visitation only when arranged prior with me, with my permission and supervision only. Child support was raised to the maximum per week, which totals to over $1000 per month. And I was awarded all the back support my ex owes me for the past year, which is quite a lot.

Now, if I ever get any of the money that’s owed me is another story. :-/

I’m uber excited about the full custody thing, though! That was my main goal. Sure, the child support thing is going to help out a LOT, but I wanted my children in my care and mine alone. Joint custody obviously wasn’t working out between us and we needed something more steady, especially for the children. I just want the best for them and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. It’s not spite or hate for my ex, even though I do dislike him with a passion; it’s love for my children. I believe in father’s rights… when they deserve it. If he hadn’t done some unforgiveable things to the children, I would have more faith and trust in him. Until he can prove otherwise, though, this is how it will be.

I don’t know why my ex didn’t show up though. He knew about the trial that day. He’d been served a notice that he had to sign for which said what we were going to court about – custody, child support, and everything. He hasn’t tried to contact me or even replied to any of the times I’ve tried to contact him via phone or other modes of communication. And that is part of why I wanted full custody: because I think he’s just dropping out of my children’s lives completely. To make a point: we actually had to search to find his address as he’d moved without giving the courts, or myself (which, legally he should have done), any sort of notification. It only took a couple of days since there were multiple people searching, but the fact of the matter is that we actually had to search for it!

I don’t know, and I’m not sure if I care or not. I do know that despite my anxiety I do believe that I would have felt better if he had come because I believe in a fair trial and without him there to defend himself, then… gah, I don’t know. I guess I just feel that it was a bit unfair, even though I got everything I wanted. Is that weird?

Matters of the Heart

I need to write this. I need to get this out of my system before I explode.

First off, I’m over my ex-husband. I’m over him so thoroughly it’s crazy. That’s not what I’m concerned about. I’m concerned that one day I’m going to look at one of my children, particularly my oldest child who has my ex-husband’s eyes to a T, and hate them. Loathe them. Wish they were never born. I don’t want that now and just the thought of it possibly happening makes me sick to my stomach and want to cry.

But I know of people that it’s happened to. And it worries me to death. I think it’s a large part of what stresses me out and keeps me up at night.

I love my children. My oldest is in preschool and learning more and more everyday. All of them are so smart, wonderful, adorable, loveable… and while I may be horribly biased, I’m not the only one who thinks so. Especially the loveable part, though. All of them will just go up to someone and give them a hug, say “hi” and smile that heartwarming smile that they have.

I don’t understand how I could possibly come to abhor any of my children, but like I said… I know of other mothers who’ve began to dislike their children after a certain amount of time.

My own mother did it. I don’t want to take after her. I’m afraid that I will. I think that’s what scares me the most: becoming like my mother.

But it’s mind over matter, right? All a power of will?

Guess I need to work on my strength of the mind, heart, and soul. Or something 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.

Truly Happy

I have few true happinesses in my life. But I have them.

They are different than the things that make me smile. Something good happening to my favorite character on a TV show can make me smile. Reading a book and finding out that the two lovers, once seperated, finally found their way to each other again (even though it’s highly predictable) can make me smile.

Seriously, brownies can make me smile. And that was before my diet.

It’s just… those aren’t the kind of things that I’m talking about.

I’m talking about the feeling I get when my youngest child walks over to me when I’m sitting down and climbs up on my lap and just hugs me; just wraps his arms around me the best he can [since he’s so small] and lays his head on my chest and cuddles into me. It’s that feeling.

It’s the feeling I get when my oldest child runs up to me and latches onto my leg in an imitation of hugging and looks up to me with a huge smile and his eyes bright and tries to say, in his working language, “Love you, Mommy”.

It’s the feeling I get when I see my fiance smile. When he holds my hand. When he says or does something for no other reason than to make me laugh.

It’s the feeling when my fiance and I are laying together at night, my head on his chest and his arms around me, and I feel secure, safe, loved and we’re talking about nothing and everything.

It’s those moments when I feel Truly Happy.

Recollection of a Dream

It was a time of war. Everywhere I looked there was sadness. Buildings were crumbling to the ground, everything in various shades of black, brown and red. I was searching for something. I could feel it inside of me. I had been looking for days, weeks, months; you could see it in my eyes and on my body. I was worn down and hadn’t had a shower in a long time.

It was like I was in tunnel vision. All I could think was “where is he? why can’t I find him?”

Then a little boy ran past followed by more children. And then I knew. Somehow, I knew. I had found him.

Quietly I followed the children; they were playing some sort of game – chasing each other with not a care in the world. They had no idea what kind of world we were living in. That made me smile a bit, before I remembered what I was searching for.

I came to the entrance of one of the many refuge sites. They were hard to come by and very well hidden to the rest of the world. Those who wanted to stay away from the war – the young, the elderly, the disabled – hid there.

I was a prisoner of war who escaped to find my child. The enemy had captured me early on; I knew they were coming for me and I gave my only child to someone I trusted, a semi-elderly woman past her prime, to watch over him until I, hopefully, came back to get him.

She was here. He was here. I could feel it in my heart.

As I walked through the dark tunnel – there was no electricity – women, men, and children of all ages looked at me in fear and awe. I can only imagine how I looked to them. Occasionally I would stop and ask someone who looked especially kind, normally a woman, if she knew where the woman I was looking for was. I was always asked many questions and then pointed forward with a smile. My hope was growing.

Finally I stumbled upon her. I found her with her back to me and so I observed her. She had cut her now-gray hair short; it used to be long and wavy, mid-back. I didn’t think I was gone for that long. Had I been?

She must have sensed me behind her because right before I called her name she began turning around to face me. She didn’t look surprised, just… determined. There were children behind her, some sleeping, some looking up curiously at me. She motioned for them to go and play. I looked at all of the boys; which one was mine?

I spoke to her: “You know why I’m here. I told you I’d be back.”

Her eyes got harder, fiercer, more determined. “I didn’t think you’d make it back alive. You can’t have him.”

I choked back a sob, bringing a hand up to my chest to steady myself. “He’s my flesh and blood. I trusted that you.”

“He’s mine.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks now. There were people staring from their seats in the hallway. I didn’t care.

“You have eight children of your own! He’s my child! Give him back!” I yelled it to her. I was crying, scared.

She snarled at me. “You abandoned your own child to go with the enemy. He’s no child of yours!”

I cried even more. And then a child came running up to me, wrapping his arms around my legs, hugging me. I looked down in surprise. Was he…?

He looked up at me. “Are you my Mama?”

I leaned down and hugged him tightly as I cried. I could see the tiny features that grew with him in the baby I gave birth to long ago. This was my baby boy.

* * *

I woke with tears streaming down my face. This truly is the recollection of a dream I had last night. It was one of the most vivid dreams I’ve ever had and I can’t get it out of my mind. It scared me out of my mind. I could feel everything. I knew everything that was going on. I could see myself as it was happening. I hope something like what happened in my dream never happens in real life.

Childlike: “The Toughest Question”

This small script is written for the Daily Prompt: Childlike. The description is to explain your biggest regret – as though to a small child.

Child: “Mommy? Why aren’t you and our real daddy still together?”

I look at my child with sad eyes. I knew this day would come, but in my heart of hearts I was hoping that it never would. How was I going to explain this to him?

Me: “What do you mean, sweetie?”

I have to play it cool, make sure I know what he’s talking about. I have to try and not upset my child that I love so dearly.

Child: “When we were little you left our really daddy, right? And took us with you, right, Mommy? Why? Didn’t you love him anymore?”

Oh my poor, poor, sweet child. This is going to be so much harder on you than I wanted it to be. I’m sorry.

Me: “It’s not that, honey. Your real daddy and I, we… well, we didn’t get along anymore. Your real Daddy was being really mean to Mommy and he wouldn’t stop hurting Mommy. He even almost hurt you and Mommy didn’t want that at all. But, you see, honey, nobody would believe Mommy for a really long time.”

I can see my child’s confusion and the scared look on his face. He’s trying to figure out what happened. There’s more coming from him… and from me. I’m not sure if I’m prepared enough for this yet, but I have to try. For my child.

Child: “My real daddy hurt you, Mommy? And he… he almost hurt me? But… but why?”

Because he’s a mean asshole who never really loved us or wanted us in the first place… but I can’t tell you all of that.

Me: “I don’t know, honey. I really don’t know. I’m not sure if your real daddy ever really wanted us in the first place, sometimes.”

My little child looks so hurt right now. I wish it weren’t so, but I don’t want to lie to him. I know that I’m softening the truth and that’s almost as good as lying, but isn’t it better that he be prepared for the future?

Child: “R… really? B… but… Mommy?”

Oh, my baby. He’s about to cry. I never wanted to hurt you so.

Me: “Yes, honey?”

Child: “Do you still love me?”

I think I might cry. How could I ever have let him think I didn’t love him?

Me: “Yes, baby, I do love you and I always will. It’s your real daddy that I don’t love.”

I pull him onto my lap, hugging him tightly as tears threaten to spill over onto my cheeks. I don’t ever want him to doubt my love for him again. For him or his siblings.

My child looks up to me from the tight embrace; something has occurred to him again. I just smile softly down at him and nod, wordlessly telling him he can ask whatever he wants, no matter how painful it is.

Child: “If you don’t love our real daddy, how can you love us?”

I grab him and wrap my arms around him tightly. Tears start running down my cheeks; I can no longer hold them back. Oh, my poor, sweet child, how I love you. Please, please, please hear the truth in my words, feel them in my touch, in my embrace. I love you and your siblings… always and forever.

Me: “Oh, honey. I love you. I love your siblings and I always will. I… it’s just, I’m not sure if I ever really, truly loved your real daddy. So you see, sweetie, my love for you and your siblings has nothing to do with your real daddy. I love you all because you’re my babies and that will never change. I love you forever and always no matter what.”

Child: “I love you too, Mommy.”